#THE WAY HE TRUSTS HER EVEN AFTER SHE LEFT

[beautifullilacsky]

"Will you overthinking this?" He asked as we were walking hand in hand in the park.

Me, fully aware I have already started overthinking the moment he mentioned that her friend broke off her relationship: "....... juuup"

"What are you overthinking about? Lets discuss it together, let me help"... I explained how, maybe, now that she is single, she might try to get over a guy by getting under another one. Or maybe, since you guys tall about problems and are pretty close, she turns to flirting now that she is single. "Okay and? Why would I get into that while I have my girlfriend at home? I would say no thank you. Also, I don't think she is the person to do that. I have met her before she was in a relationship, and she also wasn't like this then". Okay, well, .. maybe she will have heard bad things about me and will not like me or she will think I am not good enough for you, or too much, and tell you to break up with me. I mean, I'm in a relationship with you, not with her, but ja, well... He put his arms around me and stopped us from walking on, hugging me from behind. "Sometimes I forget how insecure you can be. Do you really think I'll just break up with you because someone tells me to? And besides, I think you should meet her. She is really kind and everytime I mentioned something, she was always more on the reassuring side." Well, I also thought your other friend was kind.. "..... true. ..... I don't have an argument against that."

"So... if she were to still be in a relationship, would it be okay? .. meh, I feel like that's a bad excuse. "Yeah she is in a relationship anyway" , as if that changes anything. Doesn't that sound like a bad thing to you?" Hmm. Well. Honestly, I felt better when she was in a relationship, assuming it wasn't an u know who typa relationship. It's always a 2 people's decision. And that way, I am at least sure that one side is on the no side (as I said it out loud, I realized how fuckedup it sounded.) "Shouldn't you trust me to already be on the no side?" .... I should, yes. I just don't know what to make of the fact that you told me that you can't promise me that it won't happen again. "That was a year ago" .... "back then I wasn't super sure, and before that I was def not sure. Also, I did not want to force you to trust me (def different exact words from his, buthey, u get the point.). It's been a year." Would you get back to it and say something different now then? "Yes. I am sure that it will never happen again".

And there it was. I know he is a firm believer in actions over words, but sometimes I need words to be sure. He told me that he tells me the truth, and I know he does. Thus, if he tells me, I believe him. So. Maybe this is what I needed to truly get to trusting him again. His word. It's not a signed contract, I know. I can't sue him if his words turn out to be false. Though, I needed this. I needed his faith in himself to make sure it won't happen again. Fuck damn hey. I needed him to believe in himself. If he doesn't believe he will stop it the next time, who am I to believe so? Well well well. Before he left, if our roommate wasn't sitting right next to me, I would've said after he asked me if I'm still okay (for like, the 3th time): "if you say it won't happen again, I trust you." Fuck. And I'd mean it. I feel like I have entered a new reality. One in which it is safe for me to have faith in him. In which, sure, maybe a girl will flirt with him, but I can laugh about it. I can be proud to be with that hotstuff that she can't help but talk to. I can make jokes about it and raise my eyebrows up and down. I can do it all, and enjoy the situation, knowing. Truly knowing. That it doesn't matter at all if the other party is on the "yes-boat". He isn't, and he won't get onto it either. Even if a chance presents itself, he won't even see it as one. He has the set in stone plan to come back home to me. Even if she would get him drunk and touch him all over, ... he will say no. Even if it scares me more with booze, he is still himself. He doesn't get into a crazy trans and turns into a different person with different values. He is still the same person who held my hand as we walked in the autumn colored park, and said that it would never happen again.

It feels like something in me has been freed. As if trust was a fluffy creature within me, which was tied down. His words freed it. It still can't believe that the tiny trust guy is free. That it's safe to stand up now and run and smile and truly trust. It's astonished, grasping for those words that set it free. Wanting to hold them and craving for them to invade its veins with its lightning energy and brightness. May it no longer feel the need to stay on the ground; the ties have been undone. Fuck.

[respectthepetty]

Spare Me Your Mercy Thoughts

I have waited almost four years for this show since MDL made a placeholder for Euthanasia in early-2021, and now that it is here, I'm going to gush about all the ways I love it!

Just like a few of Dr. Sammon's other shows airing around the holidays (Manner of Death, Dead Friend Forever, and Petrichor), I'm thankful I got the first episode of Spare Me Your Mercy on Thanksgiving and the last will come on Christmas because this is the exact show I need for the holiday season since it began the entire series with Tew, the cop, having to perform euthanasia on an animal.

I grew up and still live in a rural area where cattle far outnumber the actual folks, so I fully understand euthanasia is a good death as the word implies, so I will not be struggling through the premise of this show, and I have faith the show won't either because when Tew fired the gun, the scene was peaceful.

And the show is making some pointed remarks about how things operate outside of bigger cities since Kan specifically mentioned he has about 2,500 patients. When the other officer asked the nurses if Kan had a long queue, they didn't even respond. Kan also clarified that his specialty is palliative care, so he has to monitor a wide range of long-term illnesses, so even though Tew might actually be from this place, he is now the outsider and out of his depth before he even started.

Sidenote: I cannot be mad at a nurse, even if one of them turns out bad because the way they all protect Kan from the police is the teamwork I love to see.

The red light to notify the office the doctor is seeing a patient coming on right after Kan responded to the nurse that it wasn't a murder case yet was perfection.

I already knew Kan was going to be my favorite character, but Tor is doing amazing showing the layers Kan has, as expected. Kan tells Tor he can cry and shows him kindness, but when pushed, Kan makes small digs about how people should spend the last moments of someone's life cherishing them when rudely questioned by Tew regarding the unexpected deaths knowing Tew did not get to see his mother before she died. He also made a subtle display of knowing where things were located in the house because he is in control.

The way he slid his LINE information into the conversation AFTER indirectly telling Tew he was being emotional due to his grief is why I'm excited to see another version of Manner of Death's Tan. Kan probably does like Tew but he stays focused and calculated.

He is terrifying without there being any concrete detail to pinpoint on why he is scary. Som, while describing people being possessed by evil murderous spirits, was terrified of Kan, and the transition from Som telling his story to Kan appearing at the exact moment Som was going to state what human form the evil spirits take was brilliant.

But what's even more terrifying is the treatment of the terminally ill. They are viewed as a burden, locked away, and isolated.

And Tew witnessed it. He got a glimpse of what Kan sees daily, so the show is already building up a case in defense of Kan's actions. If he is performing euthanasia, Tew could understand. He heard the goat's bell. He knew it was still alive, but he decided to end its suffering, cleanly and swiftly, which is what euthanasia is. He saw that man left behind by his family and even moved to go get him. And he was bothered when the man's daughter stated her reasoning for leaving him out there alone.

He also stopped Kan from continuing to question Som. Therefore, the true conflict has been set. Tew, whose job is to discover the truth, doesn't need it if it causes pain, but Kan's entire job is making pain manageable.

And I always want to trust a woman, but as suspicious as the director is being about everything, babygirl would be the perfect person to attempt euthanasia since the dead would end up on her table where she could claim the death was the result of the illness.

Because euthanasia is a good death.

And this ain't it.

He understands that.

But someone doesn't.

[ganondoodle]

can you tell us more ab shargon’s kids?? :0

(sorry for the ... very rough sketch and probably unreadable text, struggeling alot with art atm ... still ..)

Thank you for asking!

Shargon has two young children, Jyothi and Tyura (forgive the weird names, made them when i was young and they are too ingrained now to change ..)

(Shargon is a single parent; demons do not have a gender/only one, all of them have the ability to bear children with an organ that sits right beneath the demonic heart, they also do not need a partner, they can just decide to have a child and trigger the process- while carrying they cannot shapeshift since an unborn demon cannot go along with that- genetics are usually not a problem since demons generally draw from a huge gene pool dating back eons; if they have a partner they will have to exchange some heartblood for the child to be a mix of both; growing a child is very energy draining and when carrying its not unusual for a demon to resort to consuming food, which they typically dont need to do; maintaining a certain energy level is very important since otherwise the risk of deformities in the child increases alot; a newborn demon (birth occurs through the mouth) has a few baby teeth with which to bite its parent/caretaker and feed on their demonic blood, it is not a requirement but many do since it accelerates their growth and can even out energy imbalances)

Jyothi, comparable to a 13 year old human, is a rather healthy young demon with alot of skill using elemental magic (wind in her case), which is why shes being taught by Lord Eadrya; Eadrya wants Shargon dead and regularly attacks him and although both of his children inherited his unnatural and hated/feared eye color, Jyothi stood up to Eadrya not knowing who they were at the time (and thus not their status and reputation) since Shargon lives extremely isolated- and even challenged them to a fight showing so much character and skill that Eadrya saw past her heritage and offered to teach her

The two get along well and she often sneaks away to find them bc she is so eager to learn and spend time with such a powerful and careless demon that everyone respects ... unlike her parent, who is weak, riddled with anxiety and hated by everyone, she still loves him of course, but the more time she spends away the more she adopts the way the other demons think and speak of Shargon

Shargon hates that she goes to them so much, mostly bc he is afraid they, and especially Eadrya, will hurt her or stop her from returning home, even with her special status bc of her talents, she still is his child after all; he does not and could not force her to not go though (a benefit is that she has been the only one besides Thor (Eadryas best friend) able to stop Eadrya from literally killing Shargon, as much as they are horrible to him, they do care alot for her)

(Jyothi has only started to grow her horns and her markings and colors will shift alot as she grows, as is typical for young demons)

Tyura, comparable to a 6 year old human, is much more like Shargon himself, very fearful and skitters away if theres anything they are unsure of, they are of the same elemental type as Shargon (lightning) but thus far has never used it beyond weak defensive shocks; they are also mute and have a deformed left hand likely bc Shargon was attacked and hunted for a long time while carrying them, thus not able to provide a stable energy level the other demons know of them but any attempt to get close to them has been prevented either by Shargon himself or .. Tyura fleeing and hiding (their body structure is also rather similar, the round shape is largely just fluffy feathers)

when Shargon is in the human world his children tend to stay with the only other demon he can trust (Ceryrion, an earth elemental and the chillest guy you can imagine), they dont like him much but love children and will happily go about their day while a little Tyura clings onto their back (though Tyura will absolutely dive back to Shargon whenever they notice his presence) both kids have been to the human world before but since it is very uncomfortable to be in as a demon he has only done so for them to meet Mori (Shargons human friend that lives .. illegally .. at the gates to the demon world) and avoided bringing them there otherwise

the time he is away has notably increased alot after accepting the deal with Zaphira (being her bodyguard .... 24 hours a day .. granted she did not know he had children, and also didnt know anything about demons but that she could use him to solve her problems)

here i go rambling again, i hope that gave you a bit of an idea of them ;O;

[auroras-zenith]

what doesn't kill you // part 4

you had your whole life planned out for you; start an agency with your best friend, scale the charts and make japan your bitch. but when a tragic accident leaves you incapacitated and out of a job, you find you just need to start fresh. you cut ties–and for two years, you've all but disappeared. until they need you again and come knocking at your door.

bakugo x retiredpro!reader

prologue ✧ previous ✧ next

You'd be lying if you said that at least part of the motivation for coming tonight wasn't to see him. Or rather, for him to see you.

"It was totally badass though! You were like, 'No I won't leave till I'm done!' even though the building was collapsing and stuff!" Chargebolt complimented, quite enthusiastically.

Jirou looked unimpressed. "You make it sound dorky."

You had to agree. "It wasn't like that." You argued amusedly, lips twisted into a grin. "It was way cooler."

You had contacted Jirou after that day that she had visited you, deciding that you had gone far too long without her in your life. It was weird, finally getting to know somebody who you had gone to high school with, but it was nice nonetheless.

She was dating Chargebolt, you'd learned, the quirky but endearing individual who had secured his spot as ninth on the Japanese hero charts.

Tonight was a new experience for you. Everyone else standing as you socialized with Japan's top heroes, it was odd being the only one sitting. In a wheelchair no less.

Insecure wouldn't be the right word to describe it. You were practically Bakugo's female counterpart. You didn't get insecure; but you couldn't deny that you did feel rather out of your depth.

"Hey look! it's Kiri!"

You turned to where Chargebolt was pointing–feeling your back straighten instinctually as your eyes locked onto an ash blonde man dressed in a nicely pressed suit stood beside him.

Bakugo choked as he saw you–but Kirishima was headed towards where you stood before he could come up with an excuse not to follow. His grip on the champagne glass in his hand tightened.

"Hey Denki! Jirou, L/n." Kirishima greeted with a toothy as they reached your group–Bakugo quietly standing by his side, his eyes trained firmly on his shoes.

"How are you doing, L/n? You look amazing." The red haired giant greeted kindly.

His knuckles were going white as he stared holes into the floor. He had bought you those shoes, he noted. The day that the two of you opened your agency.

God, how could this be happening?

He couldn't look up–couldn't bear to see you like this. Crippled.

It felt disrespectful to the memory of you he held so highly in his mind. His partner on the battlefield. Someone he trusted with his life.

So he kept his neck bent and his mouth shut, feeling ready to fall apart at the slightest inconvenience.

"-t children, Katsuki?"

"What?" He asked, only catching the last half of your sentence as he tuned back into the conversation. He felt his chest squeeze oddly at the sound of your voice.

"I asked if you were still screaming at children." You repeated, cocky grin slightly tense as you tried to fall back into the same familiar rhythm of teasing and bantering that you normally had with him.

No matter how much you denied it, part of you was on the edge of your seat, yearning for his approval.

But how could he give it to you while he was so focused on the floor?

"Oh. Uh, no." He said gruffly, eyes unwavering. He didn't so much as crack a smile. "I've- uh- I've got to go. I think I hear Pinky calling." He mumbled, hand in his pocket and head bowed as he quickly left.

Your smile faltered slightly–and suddenly everything you had thought about 'not feeling insecure' flew out the window as you shrunk back into your chair.

What were you doing here? In a room full of Japan's top or soon to be top heroes?

They had been your classmates at one point, but it was different now.

One wrong move and now you sat, crippled in a wheelchair as they all strived to reach the common goal you all shared.

The goal you would no longer be able to achieve.

You stared at your lap as the cogs in your mind turned furiously

"L/n?" Jirou called, not appreciating the way your shoulders curled inward. "You alright?"

You nodded slowly. It was an uncomfortable feeling, the one that haunted you now. Not sad. You had long believed there was no point in being sad. Rather... resigned.

Defeated.

You had fought a battle, and you had lost. Now you had to live with the consequences.

Like the partner you had known since your first year of high school unable to even look you in the eye.

"I think I'm going to head out early." You finally mumbled, shaking your head to try and clear your thoughts as you looked around for your things.

"They haven't even announced the awards yet," She frowned. "You don't want to stay?"

No. You really didn't. "Just text me an update? Of who gets what." You couldn't care less, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

You were headed for the door the second she agreed, mumbling quick goodbyes to everyone who stopped you on your way out.

The sterile smell of the hospital only spurred your movements faster as you rolled through the automatic entrance. Bags that had been so kindly brought to you by your friends for your stay dumped haphazardly by your room door, medication wildly thrown into your pockets; you grabbed your things, heaving them into your lap as you made once more for the hospital lobby.

You just needed to start anew.

Red lights foretold an ominous warning as you waited silently in the back of your uber, headed home. Tonight would be spent packing what you needed, you had decided.

Tomorrow, you would be gone.

a/n: wouldn't you like to know weather boy

taglist: @floverisland @biancatomlinson @rosaryia @highlandhyena @sarashu @rednicotine @emmaiscool22 @your-mum3000 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @sikuthealien @thefirst-ofus @harryzcherry

permanent tags: @phtmmsqrde @pikachuzhc @stabbygabyy @frosted-flakes

[howlingday]

Pyrah reaction to jaune going on a date with Cinder.

"See you guys, later!" Jaune called as he walked out the dorm.

"Later, Jaune~!" Nora sang. "If you don't come back, we're gonna assume the best~!"

"I feel like we're going to call him at some point," Ren amended to his partner, "just to make sure his date is going well."

"And mess up his groove?!" Nora gasped in offense. "Never! Right, Pyrrha?"

"Uh-huh..." Pyrrha mumbled as she watched Jaune walk down the hallway. When her partner came to her with the news of him going on a date, she responded the same way she did when he was going to ask Weiss to the dance; she was supportive, swallowing her pride and trusting in Jaune's decision, even if it meant losing him forever. "Yeah..."

"See? She agrees with me!" Nora beamed.

"Are you sure you're okay with this, Pyrrha?" Ren asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and looked at him with instinctive panic. He quickly removed his hand, keeping it close to his chest. "Pardon me."

"No, no, it's fine." Pyrrha sighed.

"Is it, though?" Nora asked. "I mean, Jaune is your partner and, well..."

"Well, what?" Pyrrha huffed, turning away from the door. "That I would be jealous of Jaune's date because I may have feelings for him? That by letting Jaune go, I've forever doomed myself to the infamous friend-zone, leaving feeling alone and vulnerable for the first time in my life since meeting Jaune?"

Nora and Ren looked to each other, then to Pyrrha.

"I mean, yeah, kinda." Nora answered.

"Well, that's not true at all!" Pyrrha went to her closet, quickly grabbing her huntress outfit. "In fact, I am completely independent, and I don't need Jaune to keep myself occupied!" She darted into the shared bathroom, almost bulldozing her remaining teammates in her way. "In fact, I'll use this time to better myself!" She shouted from the bathroom. It swung open and Pyrrha quickly passed the two and stepped outside the dorm. "I'll use this time to improve myself! To make myself a better huntress!"

As the door shut behind her, Nora and Ren were left to look at each other in stunned silence.

"Uh, should we go make sure she's okay?" Asked Ren.

"You can," Nora offered, "but I know better than to get in that girl's way!"

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

Why was she doing this? Was this really what she should be doing? Would this be considered a tantrum? This really felt like a tantrum. After all, what would Jaune think?

Pyrrha shook her head after pulling her sword free of recent drone victim. She shouldn't have been having thoughts like this. After all, Jaune was his own person, so she shouldn't be so concerned about him, much as she wanted to be. He won't always be around, so it makes sense for her to be independent from him now and then. After all, she didn't want their partnership to develop into a codependency.

Or maybe she did? Much as she wanted to be more than just Jaune's partner, there was a part of her that also wanted to keep the status quo of their relationship. It's better to play it safe with what you already know and are used to, right? After all, Pyrrha had always been Pyrrha before Jaune's arrival in her life, and she'll be that way after Jaune was gone from it.

To spend time with Cinder. To care for Cinder. To leave Pyrrha behind to wed, and have children, and grow old, and become legends with Cinder. After all, Jaune chose Cinder, and Pyrrha would accept what, or whoever Jaune would choose.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Invincible Girl?"

"Hello, Cardin." Pyrrha greeted flatly. The former bully may have been forgiven by Jaune, but the rest of the team had all agreed that the feeling was not spread mutually throughout the rest of his friend group. "Are you also training?"

"Nah, no need to." Cardin grinned. "No need to improve on perfection, right~?"

"No." Pyrrha scowled, walking to the drone service station. What little drones that remained would be deployed from here while the drones still on the training ground would be relocated to the basement level, where they would be restored to fighting capabilities... if it were possible to do so. "There's no such thing as perfect, and if there was, it would have to be maintained to keep it's 'perfect' status."

Cardin chuckled. "Well, I guess you would know that, wouldn't you?" Oh no... He was hitting on her, wasn't he? "So maybe you could help me maintain my perfection? Teach me a thing or two?"

Pyrrha was about to send out drones, with or without Cardin in the arena when a thought came to her. "Okay, Cardin. I'll make you a deal." She stepped away from the podium. "If you can beat me, I'll help train you to... keep your perfection."

"I'm not an idiot, Nikos." Cardin snorted. "You could beat me bare-handed!"

"Could I?" Pyrrha asked. "We can test that right now with me not using any weapons."

"Hmm..." Cardin squinted his eyes. "And what if you win?"

"Oh, I think the workout will be more than enough for me."

"Hah! Alright then!" Cardin grinned. "Get ready to lose, Pyrrha!"

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

"I... I can't believe I lost..." Pyrrha whimpered pathetically.

"Believe it, Nikos." Cardin chuckled. "Now, about my training..." He curled his finger under her chin. "I think I know where to start~."

"Fine..." Pyrrha groused, her face flush with defeat.

"Heh heh..." Cardin chuckled from inside the trash can. "Yeah..."

"HAH!" Pyrrha huffed, walking out of the gym, victorious. "I was right. I am far from perfect." She smiled back to Cardin, his legs limply dangling from the bin. "Thanks, Cardin! I'll be sure to let your team know where you are." She giggled. "If they ask."

"If who asks?"

"Jaune!" She flinched, seeing her partner walking up to her. "Oh, uh, I was training and, well..." She then noticed the mess he had all over him. "What happened to you?"

"It's..." Jaune sighed. "It's a long story."

"Well, you can tell us back at the dorm."

"Uh, actually..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"She was that bad, huh?" Pyrrha prodded as they walked.

"Well, no, but..." Jaune pursed his lips. "I guess we were just... incompatible."

"Incompatible how?" Pyrrha asked as they climbed the steps. "Er, if you don't mind me asking."

"Well, she..." He stopped to think for a moment. "She wasn't really that interested in me. And whenever I asked her about her life, she'd get all defensive."

"Well, it is her life." Pyrrha nodded.

"Yeah, but... When I asked her about where she wanted to eat, she called me an idiot for not planning that far ahead."

"Oh, really?" Pyrrha raised a brow. "Well, what was your plan?"

"Well, I didn't really have a plan because I thought she was doing all the planning. I mean, she was the one who asked me out."

"Hmm..." Pyrrha pursed her lips this time. "I think you two should have talked about it."

"If I could, I would- WHOA!" Jaune slipped, suddenly finding his hand caught mid-air by Pyrrha. "Thanks." He smiled.

"No problem." She smiled back as he stood on his own feet again. "What were you saying?"

"I was saying-" He looked down, seeing he was still holding her hand. "Oh! My bad!" He yanked his hand away.

"No, no! I'm sorry!" She held up her hands defensively.

Jaune's smile fell a bit. "Actually, now that I brought it up, she actually got mad at me for apologizing. Said something like, 'apologies are excuses for incompetence'."

"She sounds..."

"Mean? Bossy? A total pain?"

"I was going to say, 'difficult to work with'," Pyrrha giggled, "but those work, too."

"Heh... Yeah..." It was then that they arrived at their dorm. "Can't wait to get out of these puke-covered clothes."

"Oh, did she do that to you?"

"No, I just didn't make it to the trash can on the way back." He chuckled. He then sighed. "Honestly, Pyrrha, I kinda wish we went out instead."

At this, Pyrrha perked up. "R-Really?!"

"Yeah," Jaune nodded as he entered, "I feel like hanging out with my best friend would have been better than wasting my time getting yelled at for a few hours." He walked into the bathroom.

"Jaune!" She shouted, suddenly noticing Ren and Nora were in the room, staring at her. Regardless, it was now or never.

"Er, yeah, Pyrrha?"

"Would... Would you like to go out with me then?" Ren and Nora looked at her with wide eyes, slowly turning to Jaune, both almost shaking with anticipation.

"Uh... No thanks, Pyrrha."

And just like that, all of Pyrrha's hopes had been shattered. She wanted to cry. She wanted to fall to her knees and break down. She'd already let her guard down to ask him, so she might as well let it all out completely. But while she was looking at him, she couldn't. Not while he was looking at her, she couldn't.

"Tonight was rough as it was." Jaune scratched his head. "Maybe next week would be better."

"Okay." The door shut and Pyrrha sat down on her bed. Suddenly, Ren and Nora were in front of her. She waved them off like pestering gnats. "Not now, please..."

"Uh, yes, now!" Nora took hold of Pyrrha's hand with both of her own.

"Did you hear what you two just said?" Ren asked.

"Of course I did." Pyrrha sighed. "He said, 'No thanks, Pyrrha.' Hah... At least he was up-front and honest with me."

"Pyrrha..." Ren took hold of the champion's shoulders. "What did he say after that?"

"He said tonight was rough and that... next week... would... be... better..."

Pyrrha threw off the two and scrambled for the opposite end of her bed. Taking hold of her pillow, she squealed her delight into the cushy, feathery bedrest. Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Jaune was doing the same into a bath towel as he realized what he'd just said to her.

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"Yo, Cardin! You in here?" Russel called with his following. "You think he went to a diner?"

"Ugh, no way!" Dove waved his hand as Lark stood close behind him. "No way he would eat that trash!"

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 8

Writer's Note: Short and Sweet this evening! One final shot - Don't forget to submit your answer for our poll Sending all the love, as per X

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear // Mild violence // Mild kissing // Mild indications of sleeping together (nothing overly descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Readers over the age of 18 only please

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

Geta turned over from his side to meet Aurelia’s face, only to find she wasn’t there. Perplexed, he got out of bed and put on his robe to go and find his wife. On walking out the door, he found Alba attending to basic chores around the hall.

“Alba, where is she? Where is Aurelia?” he was growing concerned as she never left without letting him know where she was.

“Ah my Lord, someone came to fetch her this morning? Macrinus, I believe was his name?”

Geta breathed in deeply and straightened his posture. He and Aurelia had a long discussion last night over her stance on Macrinus and his leering way of imposing on their household.

“She left unaccompanied? You let her?”

Alba didn’t know what to say. She knew Aurelia was a woman of her own right, taking little heed of any advice she was give. “Sire, I-”

“Enough Alba. Where did they go?”

“To the Gladiators.”

***

“You put great work into your men, Macrinus, no?”

“Oh yes, Empress. Great work indeed. These men came from nothing. I have made them into the stallions they are today.” Aurelia tried her best to hide her disgust at the lack of empathy that this man had.

“Tell me, Empress, if you will. Do you trust your husband?”

Aurelia stopped walking and stared at the man, “Why do you ask such foolish questions? Of course I trust him.” Macrinus nodded his head, “Why, do you have concern that I should not?” She knew his game. She was much more intelligent than these men give her credit for.

“Well my Lady, it is just that – ah, forgive me, I should have said nothing.”

“No, no, Macrinus. Tell me now. I demand it.”

“Do you know of his plans for Ostia, your hometown?”

Aurelia furled her eyebrows, “No, I do not. But you have began, so you will finish.”

Macrinus sighed, taking Aurelia by the arm, walking further. “He wishes to build a further palace, right by the water. Great fortresses to blockade and guard Rome’s great land. It means that all who live there will be displaced. I wonder what will happen to your dear Mater and Pater. It’s all very sad. I’m surprised he has not discussed this with you, after all you are the Empress and have a right to know.” Aurelia nodded her head, why did Geta not tell you of such plans?

“Thank you for your kind service Macrinus.”

“Anytime, my lady.”

They walked further down the hall before they were met with a searingly angry Geta. His long cloak swept in the wind, with each thunderous step he took along the uneven tiles. He bit his lip as hard as he could in a bid to contain his emotions.

“Macrinus, I see you have found my wife. How are we seeing today in so?”

Macrinus grinned at the Emperor. He could see he had gotten under his skin. “My Lord, I have a meeting with your brother – I think it best for you to join also. We have good news for the future of Rome!” He clapped Geta on the shoulder, to which Geta grimaced at his wife, grabbing her by the arm. “Let us meet Caracalla, and hear this good news.” He leant down and growled into Aurelia’s ear, “Never leave me again without telling me where you are going.”

Aurelia looked up to him to see him extremely angry, she curtly nodded and carried on walking to meet Caracalla in the main event space. However, she was as equally angry with him and would discuss the matter later.

***

Caracalla stood entwined with several people, all kissing various parts of his body. He shooed them away once Macrinus and Geta entered. He didn’t notice Aurelia behind but once she emerged he announced, “Ah brother, good to see you have brought your dog with you, yet again.” Geta looked at Caracalla with only fire in his eyes, “Brother, it would serve you well to keep that mouth of yours shut and stop with the degradation of my wife.”

Caracalla laughed, “Oooh brother please, calm. It was merely a joke. Anyway, it is good she is here. She needs to know of the new and good news!”

Geta questions, “What good news?”

“Macrinus is eligible for Senate promotion.”

“Excuse me?” Geta exclaimed. “Brother, may I speak with you a moment? In private.”

The two took themselves off to the exterior balcony, while Macrinus announced to Aurelia, “Some people just don’t know when to stop, Aurelia.” She perked her ears to this, “Yes, I would agree. I have seen so much destroyed from people not knowing their boundaries. But, do tell, how have you experienced?”

“Ah I shouldn’t say,”

She interrupted him, “Yes, as you keep alluding to Macrinus, yet spill all. Do tell.” She affirmed confidently.

He smirked at her, “Senator Thraex. He is a man who, let’s just say, has a want. A problem. He borrowed quite a bit of money off me, but cannot pay it back.” Aurelia was about to speak before Macrinus began again, “You see we found a solution – I now own his home. He has nothing. That’s what we need in Rome, Aurelia. Men who get what they want, and ensure nothing in their way stops them.” Aurelia narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth before the loud clashing of voices and objects stopped her. She rose from her seat to walk over to where Geta and Caracalla were. The door suddenly flung open with Caracalla rushing out, tears streaming his face, “MACRINUS, COME NOW. WE’RE LEAVING. GAMES ARE CANCELLED TODAY. YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING BROTHER!” Macrinus rose, bowed to Aurelia and followed Caracalla.

Looking into the room she saw Geta like she had never seen him before. Enraged. Red faced. Veins popping out in places where she never thought a vein would run. He roughly took her by the hand, muttering words to himself that Aurelia couldn’t make out. Geta took her to his quarters rather than hers. He sent all hands away, he just wanted the space to him and Aurelia.

As soon as they were on their own, he sat down on the large seat in front of him and broke down to cry. Aurelia knelt before him.

“Dear one, what is wrong?” Aurelia asked softly.

He looked to her with such sorrow in his eyes. “I thought something happened to you this morning, when you weren’t there. I am sorry for the way I acted toward you earlier. I was rushed.”

Aurelia took his hands, “Geta, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have left without saying anything but I didn’t want to disturb your slumber. You look very sweet in your sleep.” She giggled to the Emperor, to which he wrinkled his nose in return and kissed the back of her hand. “I promise, from now on tell you everything and even bring you with me if I must.”

Geta nodded and continued, “Now I have Caracalla to worry about…”

Aurelia sighed, “Only now you have to worry about him?” she jibed.

“Aurelia, this is serious. I fear the disease my brother has of the loins has spread to his brain. He is saying the most ridiculous things, and agreeing to the most ridiculous ventures. I really think that Macrinus has had a helping hand here. My brother is very impressionable.”

Aurelia paused then began, “Speaking of Macrinus, he was telling me of your venture you want to see through for Ostia.”

Geta looked at her with a puzzled look, “What plans?”

She relayed what Macrinus had told her. Geta began, “Aurelia I have never said such things – why would I want my palace at sea level anyhow? Surely that would entice more to invade Rome if they knew the leader was there at such easy access?”

Aurelia paused to think. He had a point. Until it clicked, “He’s trying to drive a wedge between us. He wants me to think ill of you.”

Geta was to begin again before they were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Marcus Acacius busts through, “Emperor, Empress, forgive me for the intrusion, but something has happened at the Senate. It’s Macrinus. He has been appointed in as Senator over Thraex. He is the new higher power.”

Aurelia’s eyes shot wide, with Geta clearing his throat.

“We must discuss how we are to solve this problem. Immediately.”

Part 9

[m4rv3l-girl]

I've Recently stumbled across your page and I am already in love with your writing! The way you capture the story and the characters amazes me! I've never done this before but I have a request if you have time to make it come alive✨️

Reader is Tony starks daughter and is dating bucky, her dad didn't agree and right before reader had a solo Misson, she argued with Tony about bucky and they left on bad terms, bucky said goodbye and waved off reader on thier Mission. It was only supposed to be a 3 day mission and then home again but reader goes missing, kidnapped by hydra or something and they keep her captive and torture her for information on thier winter solider and Tony and bucky work together despite thier differences to find you. After bucky did some digging he found an old hydra base and seen there was some recent activity and figured that was thier best shot, once they got to you, you was unresponsive and bucky carried you back to the quinjet, and Tony broke down apologising and praying for you to come back. You spend a few days in medbay with bucky and Tony by your side and when you awaken, Tony tells you he approves of bucky and couldn't be happier that you're with him because he loves and cares about you as much as he does🥹

Crossfire

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Kidnapping. Torture. Injury. Blood.

Y/N paced across the polished floors of the Avengers Compound, her mind a whirlwind of frustration and nerves.

The mission briefing echoed faintly in her memory—a quick in-and-out reconnaissance, a simple data retrieval from an abandoned HYDRA facility. Three days, tops. But the tension in the air between her and her father made it feel like she was walking into a battlezone before even stepping foot on the Quinjet.

"You’re distracted," Tony Stark said sharply, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. His tone carried the weight of the argument they had been having for the last twenty minutes. "And you know what happens when you're distracted out there? You make mistakes. Mistakes that could get you killed."

Y/N halted mid-stride, her shoulders squaring as she turned to face him. "I'm not distracted, Dad. I'm focused. You just don’t like the fact that I’m with Bucky."

Tony threw his hands up, his voice rising. "You’re damn right I don’t like it! The guy has a kill list longer than the history of Stark Industries. I’m supposed to be okay with my daughter dating a former HYDRA assassin?"

"Former," Y/N snapped, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "He’s not that person anymore, and you know it. You’ve worked with him, fought alongside him. He’s saved lives—your life."

Tony’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. "That doesn’t erase what he’s done, Y/N. You’re too close to see the danger—"

"Danger?" she cut him off, incredulous. "You’re one to talk about danger, Dad. I grew up watching you suit up and put your life on the line every other day. And guess what? You weren’t perfect either. Bucky has done everything to make amends, and I love him. Why can’t you just accept that?"

The declaration hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Tony’s face softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But he quickly buried it under a defensive mask. "I’m not trying to stop you from living your life, Y/N. I’m trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what? From being happy?" Her voice cracked, a mix of anger and despair laced in her words. "I thought you’d understand by now that I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to trust me."

Tony opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Bucky Barnes stood in the doorway, his blue eyes flickering between Y/N and Tony, tension etched into every line of his face.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asked, his voice measured but tinged with concern.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Peachy."

Tony shot Bucky a withering glare. "Great. Just in time for the part where I get ignored because you’re here."

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer to Y/N, his hand brushing hers. "You ready to go, Doll?"

Y/N nodded, her anger with her father momentarily eclipsed by the comfort Bucky’s presence brought her. She grabbed her duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"You’re still not listening to me," Tony said, his voice strained as she moved toward the door.

Y/N paused, glancing back at him. "I heard you, Dad. But I’m still going."

The words hung heavy in the air, a finality that neither of them wanted but neither could avoid. Tony’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping as though he’d already lost.

Bucky followed her out into the hangar, his metal arm brushing against her shoulder. "You good?" he asked quietly once they were out of earshot.

Y/N exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "Not really, but I will be. He’ll come around eventually. He has to."

Bucky frowned, his brows knitting together. "I’m sorry. I know this is hard."

Y/N stopped walking and turned to face him. "It’s not your fault, Bucky. He’ll see what I see in you someday." Her voice softened, her hand reaching up to rest against his chest. "And when he does, he’ll realize you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me."

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small, grateful smile, but his eyes still held a trace of sadness. "I’ll wait as long as it takes, Doll."

The Quinjet engines roared to life behind them, signaling her departure. Bucky walked her the rest of the way in silence, his hand never leaving hers. At the base of the ramp, he stopped, his grip tightening just slightly.

"Come back to me," he murmured, his voice low and earnest.

"I always do," she replied, forcing a brave smile.

Bucky hesitated, then leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to make her heart ache. He stepped back as the ramp began to close, his eyes locked on hers until the Quinjet doors sealed shut.

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself as the jet lifted off. The mission awaited, and she had no idea it would be the hardest battle she’d ever face.

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The Quinjet’s descent was smooth, its engines humming softly as it hovered over the outskirts of the abandoned HYDRA facility. Y/N sat strapped into her seat, her mind focused on the mission at hand. It was just a data retrieval—no direct confrontation expected, no heavy lifting. Simple. Yet she couldn’t shake the lingering weight of her argument with Tony, his voice still echoing in her head.

"You make mistakes when you’re distracted."

Shaking off the thought, Y/N tightened the straps of her tactical vest and tapped the comms in her ear. "Quinjet’s holding steady. I’m heading in now," she said, her voice calm and collected.

"Copy that," Natasha’s voice came through the comms. "We’ll be on standby if anything goes sideways. Keep your comm open."

"Always do," Y/N replied, grabbing her pack and stepping off the ramp.

The facility was quiet, overgrown with weeds and moss, the metallic structure dulled by time and abandonment. The surrounding trees swayed slightly in the wind, their shadows stretching ominously over the building’s rusted exterior. It looked like any other defunct HYDRA site—empty, unassuming, and forgotten. But Y/N knew better. HYDRA rarely left things without a reason.

She approached the entrance, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. Her fingers brushed over the keypad by the door. It was broken, wires spilling out like spilled guts. It took only a few moments of tinkering before the door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond.

"First door’s open," Y/N reported, stepping inside.

"Good. Be careful," Natasha replied.

The air inside was stale and cold, carrying the metallic tang of disuse. Y/N moved cautiously, her steps light but deliberate. The map of the facility played out in her mind as she advanced toward the central server room. It wasn’t far—just down a few turns and one floor below.

The first few corridors were uneventful, lined with old HYDRA propaganda and broken equipment. She paused briefly to inspect her surroundings, ensuring she wasn’t leaving tracks or triggering any dormant security systems.

"How’s it looking?" Natasha asked over comms.

"Quiet," Y/N replied. "Almost too quiet. I’m at the main staircase now, heading down to the server room."

Descending the steps, Y/N felt a chill creep up her spine. It wasn’t fear—not yet—but the kind of awareness that came from knowing she wasn’t truly alone. She tightened her grip on her weapon, her other hand brushing over her utility belt.

The server room door came into view, heavy and fortified with an old HYDRA insignia etched into its surface. It was locked, of course, but Y/N was prepared. Pulling a small device from her belt, she attached it to the door’s lock. The device beeped softly, hacking into the outdated system.

"Almost in," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone on the comms.

The lock clicked open with a satisfying hiss. Y/N pushed the door ajar and slipped inside, her eyes scanning the room quickly. Rows of servers stood like silent sentinels, their lights flickering faintly. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by the faint glow of the machinery.

"Made it to the server room. Starting the data download now," she reported, setting her pack down.

"Copy. Keep your eyes peeled," Natasha warned.

"Don’t worry, I’ve got this," Y/N replied, inserting a small drive into one of the servers.

The drive blinked to life, and data began to flow onto its storage. Y/N kept her weapon close, her gaze flickering between the server and the door. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness—the hum of the servers, the soft beep of the download, the distant groan of the building’s aging infrastructure.

"Download at 30%," she said after a few minutes.

The process was uneventful, just as she’d hoped. At 70%, she allowed herself a small smile. This was exactly what she needed—a straightforward mission, no complications, no distractions. It would give her time to clear her head, to figure out how to talk to Tony when she got back.

The drive beeped again, signaling completion. Y/N pulled it free, tucking it securely into her belt pouch.

"Data’s secure. Heading back to the Quinjet," she said, rising to her feet.

"Good work," Natasha said. "Keep an eye out—something feels off about this one."

Y/N didn’t argue. She felt it too, that unsettling itch at the back of her mind. Her senses sharpened as she made her way back to the staircase, her steps even quieter now. The corridors seemed darker than before, the shadows longer and more sinister.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard it—the faintest shuffle of movement behind her. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she turned, her weapon raised.

The staircase was empty, but the air felt heavier.

"Nat, I think I’ve got company," Y/N whispered into the comms.

"Do you see anything?" Natasha asked, her tone instantly alert.

"Not yet," Y/N replied, backing up the stairs.

She was almost at the top when a sharp noise echoed through the corridor—a clang of metal against metal. Y/N whirled around just as a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. Before she could react, a figure lunged at her from the side, slamming her against the wall.

Her weapon clattered to the ground as she struggled against the assailant, a HYDRA agent clad in tactical gear. She managed to drive her knee into his gut, sending him stumbling back, but more figures emerged from the shadows.

"Ambush!" Y/N shouted into the comms, adrenaline surging through her veins.

"Y/N, get out of there!" Natasha’s voice was sharp, but the words barely registered.

The agents swarmed her, their movements precise and coordinated. Y/N fought fiercely, her training kicking in as she blocked blows and struck back. She landed a punch that sent one agent reeling, then ducked under another’s swing, sweeping his legs out from under him.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp pain exploded at the base of her skull as one of the agents struck her from behind. Y/N’s vision blurred, her knees buckling. She tried to fight through it, but the world tilted violently, and darkness crept in at the edges of her sight.

"Y/N!" Natasha’s voice was frantic in her ear.

The last thing Y/N saw before the world went black was the HYDRA insignia on one of the agent’s uniforms.

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Consciousness crept back slowly.

Accompanied by the steady throb of her head and the unmistakable ache of her muscles pulled too tight.

Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing dim, flickering light. The air was stiff, carrying the sharp scent of metal and disinfectant. She tried to move, but her body was restrained. Her wrists burned where they chafed against something unyielding. As her senses sharpened, she realized she was tied to a chair, her arms pinned behind her and her legs strapped down tightly.

The room was sterile and barren, its walls an industrial gray with faint streaks of rust. A single lightbulb swung overhead, casting shifting shadows around the space. There was no window, no visible way out except for a heavy metal door directly in front of her.

Y/N tugged at her bindings experimentally, her breath hitching when the cuffs dug deeper into her skin. They were reinforced, leaving little room for maneuvering.

Her comms were gone, her weapons stripped away. She was completely alone.

Before she could test her restraints further, the door groaned open. Y/N’s eyes snapped up, her expression hardening as a HYDRA agent strolled in. He was tall and wiry, with sharp features and a smug grin that made her stomach turn. His uniform was pristine, adorned with the HYDRA insignia on the shoulder.

“Well, look who’s awake,” the man drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with false cheer. He carried a clipboard in one hand, tapping it lightly against his palm as he approached.

Y/N didn’t respond, keeping her face blank despite the fear roiling in her chest.

The man circled her slowly, his boots clicking against the floor. “Y/N Stark,” he mused, as if testing her name on his tongue. “Tony Stark’s pride and joy. And yet here you are, all alone, with no daddy or boyfriend to save you.”

She clenched her jaw but said nothing.

The agent chuckled. “Silent treatment, huh? That’s fine. I have all the time in the world.” He stopped in front of her, crouching so they were eye level. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know. About Stark. About Barnes. About SHIELD.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a defiant smirk. “Go to hell.”

The agent’s smile didn’t waver. He straightened, setting his clipboard on a nearby table. “I was hoping you’d say that. It makes things more fun for me.”

He picked up a small device from the table—a thin rod with a glowing blue tip. Y/N recognized it instantly: a neural stimulator, HYDRA’s favorite tool for “persuasion.” It sent jolts of electricity directly into the nervous system, causing excruciating pain without leaving a mark.

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to show fear.

The agent tilted his head, studying her. “You know, I’ve always admired your kind. So loyal. So resilient. But everyone has a breaking point.”

He activated the device, the blue light intensifying. “Let’s find yours.”

Before she could brace herself, he pressed the rod against her side.

White-hot pain exploded through her body, stealing her breath. Her muscles seized involuntarily, and a strangled gasp escaped her lips. The pain was blinding, radiating from the point of contact and spreading like wildfire.

When he pulled the device away, Y/N slumped forward, her breathing ragged.

“Still with me?” the agent taunted, tapping the rod against his palm.

Y/N forced herself upright, glaring at him through the haze of pain. “Is that all you’ve got?” she rasped, her voice hoarse but defiant.

His smile faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “Tough girl,” he said, almost admiringly. “But this is only the beginning.”

The next jolt was worse, targeting her thigh. The electricity tore through her muscles, leaving them trembling and weak. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle a scream, tasting blood.

“Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” the agent demanded, his tone sharp now. “Where is he? What does he know about HYDRA’s operations?”

Y/N spat blood onto the floor, her eyes blazing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sneered, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. “Don’t play dumb with me, Stark. We know you’ve been cozying up to him. You think you can keep secrets from us?”

Her head throbbed where he pulled, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You’re wasting your time,” she said through gritted teeth.

His grip tightened before he released her abruptly, sending her head lolling forward. “Fine,” he said coldly. “We’ll do this the hard way.”

The next hour was a blur of pain. The agent alternated between the neural stimulator and his fists, delivering calculated strikes to her ribs and abdomen. He peppered her with questions, each one more demanding than the last.

“Where is Barnes?” “What are Stark’s latest projects?” “What does SHIELD know about HYDRA’s current operations?”

Each time, Y/N’s answer was the same: silence or defiance.

Her body screamed in protest, every nerve on fire. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her vision swam, but she held onto one thought with iron resolve: Don’t break.

By the time the agent stepped back, she was barely upright. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her head hanging limply.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” he admitted, wiping his brow. “But strength only lasts so long.”

Y/N lifted her head weakly, a faint smile playing on her cracked lips. “You’ll… have to try harder than that.”

His expression darkened, and he raised the neural stimulator again. But before he could use it, the door creaked open, and another agent entered.

“Enough,” the newcomer said firmly, glancing at Y/N with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “We need her alive.”

The first agent hesitated, his grip tightening on the device. “She hasn’t given us anything.”

“Then we’ll keep trying,” the newcomer replied. “But for now, she needs to recover. Dead subjects are useless to us.”

Reluctantly, the first agent set the device down. He leaned in close to Y/N, his breath hot against her ear. “You’re lucky,” he hissed. “But don’t think this is over.”

He stepped back, and the two agents exchanged a few hushed words before leaving the room. The door slammed shut, plunging Y/N back into oppressive silence.

She slumped in her chair, every inch of her body throbbing with pain. Her breathing was shallow, her head heavy. But deep inside, a flicker of hope remained.

Bucky will come for me, she thought. He always does.

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The morning after Y/N left for her mission dawned uneventfully in New York. Bucky Barnes sat in the Avengers Tower common room, staring at the cold coffee in his hand. He wasn’t much of a morning person, but sleeping last night had been nearly impossible. He’d spent most of the night going over his last conversation with Y/N.

Her kiss had lingered, both on his lips and in his memory, but her nervous energy had also left a knot in his chest. He’d tried to reassure her that she’d be fine, but deep down, Bucky hated every second she spent on solo missions. She was capable—he knew that better than anyone—but the fear of losing her gnawed at him constantly.

Still, he’d let her go. She’d hugged him tight and told him to trust her, and he’d kissed her temple, swallowing his protests. Now all he could do was wait.

Tony Stark walked into the room, his usual swagger missing. He had his tablet in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. His face was drawn, and though he wouldn’t admit it, the argument with Y/N before she left had taken its toll.

"Barnes," Tony greeted curtly, settling into a chair across the room.

“Stark,” Bucky replied, just as curt. The tension between them was palpable, but both men had agreed to coexist for Y/N’s sake.

Tony’s gaze flickered to Bucky’s untouched coffee. “What, no appetite for caffeine today? Don’t tell me you’re losing your edge.”

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Just not in the mood.”

Tony let out a low hum, tapping at his tablet. He wasn’t one to dwell on feelings, but the weight of their last argument sat heavy on his chest. He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N’s frustrated face, her voice cracking as she defended Bucky.

"She’ll be fine," Tony muttered, more to himself than Bucky.

Bucky’s gaze snapped to him. “You better hope so,” he said quietly. “Otherwise, you’re going to regret every word you said to her.”

Before Tony could fire back, FRIDAY’s voice interrupted.

“Mr. Stark, Sergeant Barnes, I’m detecting an irregularity with Miss Stark’s mission. Her comms have gone offline.”

Both men froze, the tension in the room morphing into something heavier.

“What do you mean ‘offline’?” Tony demanded, sitting upright.

“Miss Stark’s communicator went dark approximately seven minutes ago,” FRIDAY responded. “I’ve attempted to reestablish contact, but there’s no response.”

Bucky was already on his feet, his expression hardening. “Seven minutes? And you’re just telling us now?”

“I alerted you as soon as the anomaly was detected,” FRIDAY replied evenly.

Tony swiped at his tablet, pulling up the mission parameters and Y/N’s last known location. A map of Eastern Europe materialized on the screen, marked with a blinking red dot.

“She was in contact before this,” Tony said, his voice tight. “She reported everything was going according to plan. What the hell happened?”

Bucky stepped closer, peering over Tony’s shoulder. “Can you pinpoint her last known coordinates?”

“Already done,” FRIDAY replied. The map zoomed in on a dense forested area. “Her last transmission came from these coordinates. There’s no sign of further movement.”

“She could’ve lost the signal,” Tony reasoned, though his tone was far from confident.

“Or someone took her out,” Bucky said bluntly, his jaw clenched.

Tony shot him a glare. “Real helpful, Barnes.”

“It’s a possibility,” Bucky snapped. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. If her comms went dark, something’s wrong.”

For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Tony turned to FRIDAY. “Initiate satellite surveillance of that area. I want eyes on the ground, now.”

“I’ve already started the process,” FRIDAY confirmed. “However, the forest cover in the region is dense, and visual clarity may be limited.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated feeling powerless. The soldier in him wanted to grab a weapon and go, but without more intel, he’d be running blind.

“What about her tracker?” Bucky asked suddenly.

Tony frowned. “She wasn’t wearing a full tracker. Just the one embedded in her comms unit.”

“Of course she wasn’t,” Bucky muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Don’t start with me, Barnes,” Tony snapped. “She insisted on traveling light, and I didn’t exactly have time to argue after our—” He cut himself off, biting back the word argument.

Bucky turned on him, his blue eyes blazing. “You didn’t argue because you were too busy picking a fight with her about me. And now she’s out there, missing, and we’re wasting time because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Tony slammed his tablet down on the table, standing to face Bucky. “Don’t you dare put this on me,” he hissed. “She’s an agent. She knew the risks.”

“She’s your daughter,” Bucky growled. “And you should’ve supported her instead of pushing her away.”

The room fell silent, both men breathing heavily as the weight of their words settled between them.

“Gentlemen,” FRIDAY interjected, “I suggest you put your differences aside. I’ve detected signs of unusual activity near Miss Stark’s last known location.”

Tony and Bucky immediately turned to the screen, their argument forgotten.

“What kind of activity?” Tony asked.

“Thermal imaging shows multiple heat signatures converging on the area shortly after Miss Stark’s comms went offline,” FRIDAY reported. “It’s possible she encountered hostiles.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “HYDRA?”

“There’s no confirmation yet,” FRIDAY replied.

Tony grabbed his tablet, his hands moving rapidly as he analyzed the data. “We’re wasting time sitting here. Get the quinjet ready,” he barked.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He was already heading for the armory.

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The quinjet hummed as it cut through the sky, slicing through clouds with precision. Tony sat in the pilot’s seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. Bucky sat beside him, silently scanning the mission data on a tablet.

Neither man spoke. The weight of their shared fear hung heavy in the air, but neither dared voice it.

“How far out are we?” Bucky asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Thirty minutes,” Tony replied, his voice clipped.

Bucky nodded, his gaze fixed on the screen. The thermal imaging showed nothing new, just the same cluster of heat signatures near Y/N’s last location.

“She’s strong,” Tony said suddenly, his tone almost defensive. “She’ll hold out.”

Bucky glanced at him. For a moment, he considered saying something comforting, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. She will.”

But deep down, both men knew the truth: time was running out.

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When the quinjet landed, Bucky and Tony moved quickly, stepping into the dense forest with weapons drawn. FRIDAY’s guidance led them to Y/N’s last known coordinates, the eerie silence of the woods amplifying their unease.

The site was undisturbed, save for a few scuff marks in the dirt that hinted at a struggle. Bucky crouched, his fingers brushing against the ground.

“Tracks,” he muttered. “Boot prints. At least six people.”

Tony scanned the area with a handheld device, his jaw tightening. “They took her,” he said grimly. “We need to move.”

Bucky rose to his feet, his expression dark. “Let’s go.”

Together, they followed the trail deeper into the forest, their determination unwavering. Neither man said it aloud, but the same thought echoed in their minds: We’re coming for you, Y/N. Hold on.

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The sharp sting of fluorescent lights buzzed above Y/N’s head, piercing through the darkness she had come to find solace in.

Every time her mind threatened to pull her away, back to a place of quiet oblivion, another jolt of pain grounded her to the suffocating reality of the room.

It had been a full day, though it felt like weeks. Time had blurred, lost in the cycle of pain, silence, and interrogation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink of water. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, and each shallow breath she took sent spikes of agony through her ribs. She was sure one, maybe two, were broken.

But she was alive.

That fact alone gave her the smallest sliver of defiance to hold onto, even as her body screamed at her to give up.

The metal chair she was tied to groaned softly as she shifted, her wrists raw from where the restraints dug into her skin. Her head hung low, strands of her hair matted with sweat and blood clinging to her face. She blinked slowly, trying to focus her vision, but the pounding ache in her skull made even that a monumental effort.

The door creaked open, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. She clenched her fists, summoning what little strength she had left to steel herself.

“Still breathing, I see,” a voice sneered.

The Hydra agent stepped into the room, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. He was tall, with a thin, wiry frame that belied the strength he wielded. His cold, calculating eyes scanned her, searching for cracks in the armor she wore so stubbornly.

Y/N didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

“You’ve held up,” he said, circling her like a vulture.

“I always do.” She spat.

“You think you’re strong,” he whispered, his voice venomous. “But everyone breaks eventually. You will tell me what I want to know.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat burning. “Go to hell,” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

The agent smirked. “Ah, defiance. Admirable. But futile.”

He rose to his feet, pacing slowly. “Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” he demanded. “His weaknesses. His routines. Anything useful.”

Y/N lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her lip curled into a faint smirk, though the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The agent’s expression darkened. Without warning, he lashed out, his fist connecting with her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, stars exploding behind her eyelids.

“Wrong answer,” he said coldly.

Y/N tasted blood, metallic and bitter, pooling in her mouth. She spat it out, the crimson splatter landing on the floor between them.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

The hours that followed were a blur of agony. The Hydra agent wasn’t particularly creative in his methods, but he was thorough. He punched, kicked, and struck her with calculated precision, targeting places that would hurt the most while leaving her alive enough to endure more.

Y/N bit down hard on her lip to stifle her cries, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She focused on one thing: staying silent. Every moment she resisted was a victory, a small act of rebellion against the monster before her.

Her mind drifted to Bucky. She clung to the memory of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way his arms felt around her. She imagined him whispering reassurances, telling her to hold on, that he was coming for her.

“I’ll find you, Doll,” she could almost hear him say, his voice steady and sure. “Just hold on a little longer.”

It wasn’t real, but it was enough to keep her going.

Eventually, the Hydra agent grew frustrated. His fists were bloodied from the beating, and Y/N’s defiance had begun to grate on him.

“Why do you fight so hard for him?” he demanded, his voice filled with venom. “Do you think he’d do the same for you? He’s a monster. A killer. Do you really think you’re anything more than a distraction to him?”

Y/N’s head lolled forward, her vision swimming. She was too exhausted to lift her head, but she managed to rasp, “You don’t know him.”

The agent growled in frustration, slamming his fist into the wall. He turned to the guard stationed by the door. “Bring the electric setup,” he barked.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had endured physical pain, but the thought of being electrocuted sent a spike of fear through her. She closed her eyes, trying to summon the last dregs of her strength.

The minutes stretched into an eternity before the guard returned, wheeling in a cart with a sinister-looking device. The Hydra agent grinned wickedly as he connected the electrodes, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“This,” he said, holding up the wires, “is going to be much worse.”

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow pants. She refused to show fear, but the trembling in her body betrayed her.

The first shock hit her like a lightning bolt, her muscles seizing violently as pain tore through her. She bit down on her tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth again.

“Talk!” the agent demanded, turning the dial higher.

Y/N shook her head weakly, tears streaming down her face. “Never,” she gasped.

The shocks came again and again, each one more excruciating than the last. Her vision blurred, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. She wanted to give up, to let the darkness take her, but the thought of Bucky and her father kept her hanging on.

“They’ll find me,” she whispered through cracked lips. “You won’t win.”

The agent sneered. “We’ll see about that.”

She didn’t know how much longer she could last, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

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The hum of the Quinjet’s engines was deafening in the silence between Tony and Bucky. It wasn’t the soothing kind of quiet, the type that offered peace. This was the kind of silence that screamed louder than words, thick with desperation, fear, and the unspoken truth neither man wanted to voice.

Time was slipping through their fingers.

Bucky sat rigid in his seat, his metal hand clenched so tightly around the edge of the table that the material groaned in protest. His flesh hand rested on his thigh, fingers twitching with barely restrained agitation. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the holographic map in front of them, narrowing on the blinking red dot that marked the last location Y/N had been before her comms went dark.

"Why haven’t we heard anything yet?" Bucky growled, his voice low and edged with a dangerous kind of fury.

Tony stood at the console across from him, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. His fingers flew across the controls, pulling up every Hydra base within a 200-mile radius, cross-referencing them with known activity. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"Don’t think for a second I’m not doing everything in my power," Tony snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite. He was too worried, too consumed by the gnawing guilt threatening to consume him whole.

The argument they’d had—the words he’d thrown at her—played on an endless loop in his mind.

"You think I’m going to stand by and let him ruin you?" "You’re better off without him, Y/N." "I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me!"

He had been wrong. He knew that now. Bucky wasn’t the enemy, not when the real danger was out there, holding his daughter captive.

"Her last ping was here," Tony said, jabbing a finger at the map. "A base Hydra abandoned years ago. But…"

"But it’s not abandoned anymore," Bucky finished, his voice cold and flat.

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. "Satellite scans picked up heat signatures. They’re faint, but they’re there. It’s our best lead."

Bucky pushed up from his chair, pacing like a caged animal. His hands flexed at his sides, the familiar rage simmering just beneath his skin. "If they hurt her—"

"They did," Tony interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. "You don’t take someone like her and leave them unharmed. We both know that."

The weight of the statement hit them both, a brutal reminder of the clock ticking down on Y/N’s life.

As the Quinjet drew closer to the coordinates, the tension in the cabin became suffocating. Tony adjusted his suit piece by piece, the arc reactor glowing faintly as he prepared for battle. Bucky was already geared up, his combat knife strapped to his thigh and his rifle slung over his shoulder.

They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything left to say.

The Quinjet’s navigation system beeped, and FRIDAY’s voice cut through the silence. "We’ll arrive at the designated coordinates in five minutes."

Bucky inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His mind raced with thoughts of Y/N—her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she always looked at him like he was more than his past. She had to be alive. She had to be.

"FRIDAY, scan for life signs as soon as we’re in range," Tony ordered, his voice firm but hollow.

"Already running scans, sir," the AI replied.

The Quinjet began its descent, the Hydra base looming in the distance like a jagged scar on the earth. The surrounding area was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up.

"This feels wrong," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.

Tony didn’t answer. He was already moving, the ramp lowering as the Quinjet touched down. Bucky followed without hesitation, his every sense on high alert.

The base was dilapidated, overgrown with weeds and rusted with age, but it was clearly operational. Lights flickered faintly in the windows, and the faint hum of machinery echoed from somewhere deep inside.

They moved quickly and quietly through the corridors, clearing rooms with precision. Every second that passed without finding her felt like a lifetime.

"Anything, FRIDAY?" Tony asked, his voice a strained whisper.

"One faint life sign detected below ground," the AI replied.

Bucky’s heart stopped. "Is it her?"

"Unknown, Sergeant Barnes. The readings are weak, likely due to interference."

Tony exchanged a look with Bucky, and for the first time, they were united in their fear. "Then we don’t have time to waste," Tony said.

The descent into the lower levels of the base was harrowing. The deeper they went, the darker and more oppressive the air became. Bucky’s grip on his rifle tightened, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

When they reached the door to the room FRIDAY had identified, Tony hesitated. His hand hovered over the panel, his eyes darting to Bucky.

"You ready?" he asked.

Bucky didn’t answer. He simply nodded, his jaw set in determination.

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The room was cold, a damp chill seeping into Y/N's bones as if the very walls around her were trying to finish what her captors had started. Her head lolled to the side, resting against the edge of the chair. Each breath rattled in her chest, shallow and labored. She blinked sluggishly, the dim light overhead casting uneven shadows that seemed to mock her.

The Hydra agent who had come in earlier was gone now, his absence offering no relief. His tools of torment lay discarded on the table nearby: a scorched prod, frayed wires that still sparked faintly, and a bloodied rag he had carelessly tossed aside.

Her body bore the marks of his persistence, evidence of her refusal to give in. The electrical burns on her arms still throbbed, skin raw and blistered, and blood trickled down her temple from a cut that hadn’t stopped bleeding since he had struck her last.

She had screamed. She had cried. But she had not spoken.

"You’ll tell me what I want to know eventually," the agent had sneered earlier, his gloved hand tracing the edge of the prod. "Everyone breaks, little Stark. Even you."

Y/N had glared at him through swollen eyes, lips trembling but silent. Her defiance had earned her another jolt of electricity, the current tearing through her body with merciless efficiency.

She hadn't screamed that time.

Now, alone again, she wasn’t sure if her silence had been bravery or stupidity. It didn’t matter anymore. She was dying. She could feel it in the way her body was shutting down, each pulse of her heartbeat weaker than the last.

The faintest flicker of hope she’d clung to for the last day—Has it been a day?—was now extinguished. She had believed, foolishly, that someone would find her. That Bucky would find her. But the hours stretched on, the silence within the base mocking her.

No one was coming.

Her head tipped back, and a soft, bitter laugh escaped her cracked lips, though it hurt to even make the sound. The effort sent a sharp pain through her ribs, where she suspected at least one was broken.

"Guess this is it," she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. Her throat felt like sandpaper, each word scraping against it painfully.

Her thoughts turned to Bucky, unbidden but inevitable. She pictured his face—those piercing blue eyes, the slight scrunch of his brow when he was worried. The way he always called her Doll with such affection it made her heart ache.

He had always been her safe place, her anchor. But now, she was adrift, sinking beneath the weight of her despair.

And Tony… her dad.

Tears pricked her eyes, blurring her vision. She thought of the last conversation they'd had, the fight that had sent her storming off. The words they’d exchanged burned as much as the wounds covering her body.

"You think you’re untouchable because you’re my daughter? Because you’re dating Barnes?" "You don’t trust me to handle myself, and that’s the problem."

She had been so angry, so sure of herself. But now, sitting here on the edge of death, she couldn’t even remember what she had said to him as her final words before the mission.

Would Tony regret them? Would he care?

A fresh wave of despair rolled over her, heavy and suffocating. She let her eyes slip closed, her body slumping further against the restraints.

She was so tired.

Time lost meaning in the haze of pain and exhaustion. Seconds blurred into minutes, minutes into hours. The only constants were the ache in her body and the pounding in her head, faint and unrelenting.

At some point, the Hydra agent had returned. His boots clicked against the floor as he approached, his silhouette looming over her. He said something, but the words were garbled, unintelligible.

He hit her again—she didn’t know where, only that it hurt. And then he left, muttering something about "usefulness" as he disappeared through the door.

She was alone again.

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow gasps, her lungs burning with every inhale. She tried to lift her head, but it felt too heavy, her strength long since drained.

She tilted her gaze upward, staring at the cracked ceiling. The faintest flicker of a thought crossed her mind—a desperate plea she hadn’t dared to voice before.

"If anyone’s out there… please."

The silence answered her.

It wasn’t until later—how much later, she couldn’t say—that she heard it.

At first, it was so faint she thought she was imagining it. A soft hum, low and soothing, cutting through the oppressive quiet of the room.

Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her bruised face. Was it her mind playing tricks on her? A final mercy before the end?

But then it grew louder, more distinct.

A voice.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, the faint rhythm skipping erratically. She strained to focus, to make sense of the sound.

"Doll…?…Y/N?..."

Her eyes fluttered open, wide despite the agony that coursed through her. That voice. She would recognize it anywhere.

"Bucky," she croaked, the name barely escaping her lips.

Her body trembled as she tried to move, to shift against the restraints holding her down. The pain was excruciating, but she didn’t care.

They were here.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. Bucky had found her.

The faint hum of his voice was joined by another sound—a distant, rhythmic pounding. Footsteps.

Her breath hitched as tears spilled down her cheeks, cutting through the grime that covered her skin. "Bucky," she tried again, louder this time, though it came out as more of a rasp.

The footsteps grew closer, the sound echoing through the hallways like a beacon. She forced her head up, her neck protesting the movement, and fixed her gaze on the door.

Please…

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The door slid open with a groan, revealing a scene that made both men’s hearts drop.

Y/N was slumped in a chair in the center of the room, her head hanging low, her body battered and bruised. Her hands were tied behind her back, her wrists raw and bloody. The floor beneath her was stained crimson, a grim testament to what she had endured.

"Y/N!" Bucky’s voice broke as he rushed to her side, dropping his rifle and cupping her face gently in his hands.

Her skin was pale, her breaths shallow. She didn’t respond, her head lolling slightly as Bucky tried to rouse her.

"Come on, Doll," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Stay with me."

Tony stood frozen for a moment, his mind struggling to process the sight of his daughter in such a state. But then he was moving, fumbling with the restraints to free her.

"She’s alive," he said, his voice shaking. "Barely, but she’s alive."

Bucky didn’t let go of her, his thumb brushing softly over her cheek. "We’ve got you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We’ve got you, Doll. You’re safe now."

Tony swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

Bucky nodded, scooping her up as gently as he could. She didn’t stir, her body limp in his arms.

"Hang on, Y/N," Tony whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, just hang on."

As they carried her back to the Quinjet, the weight of their failure pressed down on them both. They had found her, but the fight was far from over.

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The soft whir of the Quinjet engines filled the cabin as it raced back to the compound.

Bucky sat with Y/N cradled in his arms, his hand trembling as it brushed gently against her cheek. Her face was battered, her skin pale beneath the bruises and streaks of dried blood.

“You’re okay Doll, hang in there…” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You’re almost there. Just hang on a little longer.”

Y/N’s head leaned against his chest, her breaths shallow but steady. She tried to respond, to offer him the comfort she knew he desperately needed, but her voice was a faint rasp.

Across the cabin, Tony sat hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. He stared at Y/N with an expression that Bucky had never seen on him before—raw, unfiltered anguish.

“She’s going to make it,” Tony muttered, as if saying it aloud would will it into existence. “She has to.”

Bucky didn’t reply, his focus entirely on Y/N. He could feel her heartbeat, faint but persistent, as if she were clinging to him with the last of her strength.

“Just a little longer,” he murmured again, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The Quinjet touched down at the compound, and a team of medics was already waiting. Bruce Banner, dressed in scrubs, stepped forward, his expression grim but focused.

“Let’s move her,” Bruce said firmly, directing the medics to carefully transfer Y/N onto a stretcher. Bucky reluctantly let her go, his hands lingering as if afraid she might disappear the moment he wasn’t holding her.

“I’m going with her,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bruce nodded, sparing him a brief glance. “Fine, but let us do our job, Bucky.”

Tony followed behind them, his silence unnerving. He hadn’t spoken since they landed, his usual bravado replaced by a heavy, suffocating guilt.

In the medical bay, the atmosphere was tense as Bruce and his team worked on Y/N. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring her fragile vitals. Bucky stood at the edge of the room, his fists clenched as he watched them clean her wounds, set her broken rib, and stitch the gash on her temple.

Tony stood beside him, his gaze fixed on Y/N’s pale face. He finally broke the silence, his voice barely audible.

“This is my fault,” he said, his hands shaking. “If I hadn’t—if we hadn’t fought before she left…”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from Y/N. “This isn’t about the fight,” he said quietly. “It’s about them. Hydra. Don’t lose focus now.”

Tony didn’t reply, but the guilt in his eyes remained.

After what felt like an eternity, Bruce stepped back, pulling off his gloves. “She’s stable for now,” he said, addressing both men. “The next 24 hours will be critical. She needs rest and observation, but she’s a fighter. If anyone can pull through this, it’s Y/N.”

Bucky nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

Hours later, the medical bay was quiet. Tony sat slumped in a chair by Y/N’s bedside, his head in his hands. Bucky was on the other side, his metal hand resting gently over hers.

“She always gets herself into trouble,” Tony muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was thick with emotion. “Just like her mom.”

Bucky glanced up at him, surprised by the vulnerability in Tony’s tone.

“She used to drive me crazy, you know,” Tony continued, his eyes glistening. “So damn stubborn. I see so much of her in Y/N.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “I was wrong about you, Barnes.”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the admission.

“You love her,” Tony said, his voice firm despite the tremor in it. “I see that now. And she… she loves you, too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. Someone who’d protect her when I couldn’t.”

Bucky’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened. “I’ll always protect her,” he said softly. “I swear.”

Tony nodded, his jaw tightening as he fought back tears.

It wasn’t until early the next morning that Y/N stirred. Her fingers twitched first, a faint movement that made Bucky’s breath catch.

“Doll?” he whispered, leaning closer.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a soft groan. Slowly, her eyes opened, unfocused and glassy but undeniably alive.

“Bucky?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here, Doll.”

Tony was at her other side in an instant, his expression a mix of relief and overwhelming guilt. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly. “You gave us a hell of a scare.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted to him, her brows furrowing slightly. “Dad?”

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, it’s me. I…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the fight, for not trusting you… for not being there when you needed me. I…You picked a good one, Sweetie, I’m sorry, He’s..—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile despite the pain it caused. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Tony exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as he reached for her hand.

Bucky leaned in closer, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “You scared the hell out of me, Doll,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I thought I lost you.”

Her tired eyes met his, and she managed a small, teasing smile. “You’re stuck with me, Barnes.”

His lips twitched upward, a weak chuckle escaping him. “I’m so glad you came back to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

Y/N’s smile softened, her gaze steady despite her exhaustion.

“I always do.”

——————————————————————————————————

Thank you for taking the time to leave a request. Hope you enjoyed it, Hun! 🫶

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[cryptid-killjoy]

Babyface was nodding like yeah what she said.

"Exactly."

He meant it though. He had not come to take her away. He'd gotten in the mind set before he stepped off the boat and he made up his mind when he gave Ellie his parting last words of just in case. He had no intentions of making Mazzie leave. He also had no intentions of making any decisions for Ellie. He was done thinking he knew what was best for anyone. That's what fucked things up.

Once both Ellie confirmed neither one of them were there to try and take her away Mazzie's body language started to relax. She still seemed at the ready, but after realizing zombies were on this island now that made sense to Babyface. He was just glad she started to talk to Ellie even if it wasn't to him right off.

"He's at the control center with the donkeys and our Papas."

Babyface's eyes bugged. "You mean the Coachman survived?"

"I didn't say that."

He glanced over at Ellie unsure what that meant.

"You mean? Honest John and Gideon? They're here?"

"Something like that. You'd be surprised who's here."

Mazzie was still focused on what Ellie said. How things went before. It made her stare at Babyface despite them saying they weren't going to try and make her leave.

"The Coachman's not happy with you. He was ready to give it all to you. He wants to know why we would trust you now?"

"I thought you said he didn't survive?"

"I didn't say that." Mazzie spoke stern and slow.

Babyface looked at Ellie more than once. He wasn't always the quickest on the uptake in these situations, but he understood something strange was going on.

A part of Babyface was hoping this conversation would play out a little differently. He was hoping for more wiggle room before he put all his cards on the table. He wasn't even completely sure he understood what was going on, but he decided he didn't care. He knew he made the decision before stepping foot off that boat. It had been in his head for months. If he ever had a do over, he knew what he would do. Here he was with a real do over.

"Look Mazzie, please. I don't know what the Beagle is going on here. I almost don't care. All I know is I wrecked it right up. I want to stay here with you like before. Just like we talked about. I don't want to be a donkey. I want to be like you. I'll stay. I'll take care of it with you."

He glanced back at Ellie with every other statement.

"You know I loved it here. That part doesn't have to change. What can I do to make it up to the island? I just want to stay with you."

That was the most disarming confrontation Mazzie could have been hit with. Several island boys started to pop up out of the candy woodworks as if the island itself understand the ramifications of the conversation.

"You'd stay?"

The half a dozen or so boys began to line up behind Mazzie. She waved a hand downward to stave them off. The island listened to Mazzie.

"Yes." He looked at Ellie again knowing this time around the boys were some extensions of the magic that was the Coachman's wife embodied in this cursed place. It was knowledge they didn't have the first time.

She looked passed Babyface to Ellie. "Is that why you're here too? You want to stay too?"

Babyface hadn't meant to put Ellie on the spot, but to him this was the only way. It was his only regret in his entire life. He didn't regret pulling the trigger, but he sure did regret fleeing the scene. He was so scared of becoming a donkey he left his crew behind.

Every Beagle for himself. Get out alive. That's all he could think at the time. Hindsight after juvie and seeing his mother made him realize there was another role a Beagle could take that was just admiral to the family. It was why he was in juvie. He took the fall. He was ready to take the fall now.

“It was probably some douchebag boy who was sent here,” Ellie said, resolutely. That, she could believe. There were so many here that were ripe for the taking. The boys that would probably come up with a game like ‘Poke the zombie’. Ten points if you get it’s stomach. Twenty points if you get it’s head.

She had her hand on Babyface’s back, the two of them using one another to steady themselves as they looked up at Maz. The hair was definitely a big change and Ellie thought back to the slumber parties that they had - how fun it would be to do something like that again and be girly and cute and braid each other’s hair now that hers was long enough. But that felt like a part of a Oogie-induced lifetime dream now. Making her yearn, making her nostalgic for something that probably would never happen.

All things considering - Mazzie’s reaction seemed fair from her point of view. They had tried to talk to her and Jax until they were blue in the face about how wrong the situation with the Magic Man was. But no words had been able to convince her. That’s why Babyface had did what he did. It seemed kind of foolish now to expect that just because their lives had changed - they had become street kids in other towns, misplaced, an orphan, losing a whole family - that her mind might have.

“We’re not here to take you away,” Ellie affirmed, with a nod of her head, her blue eyes trying to meet Mazzie’s darker ones. “We’ve just - we’ve been thinking about you. And how things went the last time around. And then there’s been this whole zombie epidemic and we had to leave New Orleans and -” She shrugged with a sigh. “It’s been this whole big thing.”

She looked up at the candy-canes again, that Mazzie had been climbing, and then asked one of the many questions that had a hold on her heart right now.

“Where is Jax?"

[ak319]

Hello, I love your writing so much, if you can do so, could you please write a Yandere!Arthur Morgan x infant daughter reader where he's a papa bear to her, and he finds out she's being bullied by other kids in school. Ofc familial /platonic please

Thank you and hope you have a great day!

AN: moi heart AGH! Cute!! Tsym btw! (^///^) Warnings/MDNI: None, jus' fluff fluff nd' fluff! A little angst, bullying +++ Arthur is 30, Modern AU🍼 tag list: @nayykura @shackspossum @whalecage

Arthur's ears perked at the sound of your soft burp, a tiny noise that brought a tired but satisfied smile to his face. Finally. One of the trickiest tasks, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. He adjusted his grip on you, gently patting your small back, his broad hand covering you almost entirely. Rocking in his old chair, the rhythmic creak matching his soft coos and steady breathing, he lulled you into a peaceful slumber, and before long, he drifted off too.

After a long, grueling day this was what grounded him. You were his balm, his anchor, the only thing keeping him steady after everything he’d been through. Holding you brought him a peace he never thought he’d feel again.

Stirring awake, he carefully laid you on the bed, making sure to stack pillows securely on the empty side. Then he stretched out beside you, his rugged face softening as he traced the curve of your cheek with a rough, calloused finger. He couldn’t resist placing featherlight kisses on your tiny forehead and rosy cheeks, his heart swelling with a love so fierce and pure it almost hurt

He couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. Just you, him, and this quiet farmhouse nestled in a peaceful community. The same family farmhouse he had nearly sold, back when everything seemed simpler, before life turned upside down.

Then he almost lost it all. Your mother, his wife (M/N), taken from him in a senseless tragedy during his time as a cop. The memory still felt like a jagged wound, one that would never fully heal. By some miracle, you had been spared, untouched by the violence that claimed her. God knows what he would have done if… if something had happened to you too. The thought alone twisted his stomach into knots. He knew he wouldn’t have survived it, he would’ve lost himself entirely.

So, he made a choice. He left it all behind after ensuring the culprits got caught and sentenced. The city, the job, the chaos. He packed up what was left of his life and came here, to the farm. Away from those dangerous, vengeful people who had shattered his family.

He wasn’t alone in the transition. His childhood best friend, John, stood by his side, helping him find his footing in this new chapter. With John’s support, he rebuilt, trading badges and bullets for the quiet rhythm of rural life. Now, he works from home as a graphic designer, balancing his new career with the role that means the most to him: being your father.

The move to the farmhouse was no easy feat, but Arthur didn’t care about the logistics, his top priority was you. Arthur let only Abigail watch over you while he handled the chaos of packing and unpacking. He didn’t trust babysitters, no way in hell. He’d heard enough horror stories from folks and read about things in the news that made his blood boil. The idea of leaving you with a stranger wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unthinkable.

The only person he trusted was Abigail. “You’re family, and you’ve got Jack, so you know how it is,” he’d said when asking her to keep an eye on you. His version of breathing was checking in every ten minutes, asking Abigail if you’d eaten, slept, or cried. Even when he knew you were safe, his mind wouldn’t rest until he saw you again.

The farm itself had seen its fair share of upgrades, some subtle, others impossible to miss. The once-simple property now stood fortified with long, reinforced fences and modern electric security gates. The kind designed to deliver a harmless but sharp jolt to anything attempting to breach them, ensuring no unwelcome visitors, human or otherwise, made it in.

Security cameras were mounted everywhere, their lenses scanning every corner of the property without missing a spot. Arthur had spent weeks installing them, triple-checking blind spots until there were none.

And for those thinking of trying their luck? Booby traps, carefully concealed and strategically placed, added an extra layer of insurance. He hadn’t been sure at first, was that going too far?--but the idea of anyone getting past his defenses to threaten you erased any hesitation.

Inside, the house was an entirely different kind of fortress. Childproofing was everywhere, every sharp corner was padded, and cabinets latched tight.

Then there was the basement. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had been transformed into a stockpile, his grandfather’s old cavalry arsenal, now fully restocked and meticulously maintained. The weapons had been relics from a long-forgotten outlaw era, but Arthur saw them as a necessity. A last resort. If anyone dared to cross that line, they’d find out the hard way what kind of man they were dealing with.

Because nothing, nothing, was more important than keeping you safe.

❀˖°

“Hey--no, no-" Arthur picked you up, his glare faltering under the effort to stay stern. “You don’t claw or brawl with Pa’ on this matter, miss.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as your legs thrashed in the air. 'Aren't you a tiny feral adorable kid---no be strict , Arthur-'

' “You, ma’am, are going in the tub-”

“WAIT! I’ll go myself!” you blurted, words tumbling out so fast they were practically gibberish. But Arthur, seasoned in the art of decoding your toddler babble, understood every syllable.

“Fine,” he huffed, setting you back down and straightening up with his hands on his hips. He gave you a look that screamed, I’m watching you.

Your eyes darted everywhere but to him. “Um-kay!,” you muttered with exaggerated determination, shuffling your feet as if preparing for the world’s longest journey.

“1,” you started.

“2…”

“um..4? 3-”

“You ain’t counting to ten for the tenth time, young lady. That’s it.” Before you could stage another dramatic delay, he swooped you up mid-mock-Olympian stance and plopped you straight into the tub.

“NOOOOOOO! NOT FAIR! you wailed, your indignation echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Nothing’s fair in baths and bedtimes,” he said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Bunny.”

❀˖°

Arthur set the plates and a steaming dish of soup and garlic bread on the table, his ears perking up as your voice carried in through the open window, accompanied by Mouse’s sharp barks. His German shepherd was stationed outside, a necessity for security, Arthur didn’t trust Mouse’s temperament indoors, and keeping the dog outside served as both a deterrent and a watchful guardian.

He glanced out and spotted you with a ball, your tiny frame dwarfed by the expanse of the yard. His jaw tightened. What’d I say about being out at this hour?

He stalked to the lawn without hesitation, his boots crunching against the gravel. He scooped you up without warning, setting you on his hip like you weighed nothing.

“When it’s near dusk, you are to be inside, you get inside without me needing to remind and call you every time,” he said, his voice firm, though not unkind. “Why do I always have to repeat myself?”

“I was gonna come, Pa’!” you protested, squirming slightly. Jeez, he needs to loosen up sometimes.

Arthur stopped, fixing you with a look that left no room for argument. “Some things I say are meant to be words on stone, you hear me? No arguing, Bug.”

He set you down gently but guided you firmly toward the house, casting one last glance at the fence and Mouse, whose ears twitched as if sensing Arthur’s unease.

❀˖°

The early morning mist still clung to the fields as Arthur loaded up the old truck, a fishing pole in the back, tackle box rattling as he slid it into place. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and fresh earth mingling with the faint smell of dew on the grass. You sat in the passenger seat, your legs swinging with excitement as you clutched your little fishing hat, a hand-me-down from Arthur that was still a bit too big for your head.

The drive to the lake was peaceful, the old truck rumbling along the dirt road as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. The lake, just a short distance from the farm, was quiet this time of morning, still and calm, with only the occasional ripple as the wind stirred the water.

Arthur parked the truck by the shore and hopped out, stretching his arms over his head. He opened the back, grabbing your tiny fishing rod first, a smaller one he had made sure to get just for you. He handed it over, his large hands carefully guiding yours to the handle.

“You know what to do, Bug?” he asked, crouching down to your level, his tone soft but serious.

You nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “I throw it in, wait, then reel it in, Pa’!”

“Good girl,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “But remember, patience is key. The fish don’t always bite right away.”

You gave him a mock serious look, puffing out your chest. “I can be patient.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled your hair before picking up his own rod. Together, you both walked to the edge of the water, the soft crunch of grass underfoot. He demonstrated how to cast his line, showing you the way to swing the rod before releasing it into the water. You watched carefully, eyes focused on the movement, and then it was your turn.

Arthur stood behind you, guiding your hands as you swung the rod and released the line, the soft splash of it hitting the water echoing in the quiet morning. You let out a little cheer, stepping back to wait.

“Good job, Bug. Now we wait.”

You sat down on the grassy shore, your legs dangling, and Arthur followed suit, sitting close enough that he could keep an eye on you but still giving you the space to enjoy the moment. The world seemed so still here, only the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore and the occasional bird call filling the air.

Minutes passed. Arthur cast his line again, his concentration on the ripples in the water, but he always kept an ear out for you. You were so quiet, so focused on the task at hand, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Pa’?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but curious.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can we do this every month!?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, his chest tight with love. “Of course, Bug. We’ll always fish together, whenever you want.”

You beamed, your little fingers still wrapped around the fishing rod, staring out at the lake with a peaceful contentment that mirrored his own.

And then, as if on cue, there was a tug on the line. You gasped, your eyes wide, and Arthur was there in a flash, his strong hands guiding yours as you struggled to reel it in.

“Got it, Bug! Reel it in, slow and steady. You’ve got this.”

You grinned, your little arms straining against the weight of the fish, the excitement in your eyes contagious. Arthur stood close, his hands still hovering just in case, but he could see you were doing it all on your own.

With a final pull, you brought the fish to the shore, Arthur helping you hold it up for a brief moment, both of you staring at the wriggling catch.

“We did it!” you cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

Arthur laughed, lifting you up into his arms. “You did it, Bug. You caught the first one. I’m proud of you.”

You giggled, your face flushed with happiness. “We’re gonna have fish for lunch! YAY!👹 "

Arthur laughed, holding you close. “Yeah, we will. And we’re gonna have a lot more days just like this.”

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you both spent the rest of the morning fishing, the peaceful quiet of the lake wrapping around you like a blanket. Every now and then, Arthur would catch a fish of his own, but it was clear which one of you was the real star of the day.

❀˖°

One evening, as usual, Arthur sat at his desk, working on his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused face. You were sitting nearby, playing quietly, but after a moment, you turned to him, your small brow furrowed in thought.

“Pa,” you asked, your voice soft but filled with curiosity, “why don’t I have a mommy like Jack? Like the ones on T. V. ?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question, dreading it, but he knew it was time to answer. He paused for a moment, setting his laptop aside, and turned to face you, his expression gentle.

“Well, Bug,” he started, his voice warm and tender, “you know how some kids have two parents, right? They’re like a big team, helpin' each other out. But you,” he said with a wink, “you’re extra special. Sometimes, God decides one parent is all a kid needs. Just one, but that one’s enough to love ‘em, protect ‘em, and make sure they’re always happy.”

He leaned down to your level, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “And that’s you, sweetheart. You got me, and I got you. We’re a team too, just the two of us.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. Arthur ruffled your hair affectionately, the worry in his chest easing as he saw you begin to understand.

“Some kids might need a bigger team, but not you. You’re my girl, and I’m all you need, ain’t that right?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes lighting up with trust and love. Arthur smiled, his heart full. “You don’t need a mommy to be loved, Bug. You’ve got all the love you could ever need, right here with me.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, feeling your little arms wrap around him. “And I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what.”

❀˖°

Arthur couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. One moment, it seemed like you were still a tiny thing, curled up in his arms, and now, the time had come to enroll you in school. He didn't want to let you go. He'd kept you close, always close, and the thought of someone else seeing you, taking care of you, made a cold knot form in his stomach. But he knew John was right. You needed to make friends. You needed to grow.

"Y/N needs to learn how to be around other kids, Arthur," John had said, his voice filled with that well-meaning confidence. "Jack goes to the same school too, so it'll be fine. It's just school. Let her have a chance."

Arthur had reluctantly agreed. He trusted John, mostly, and if Jack was there, well... that was a bit of relief. Still, the idea of you being away from him, surrounded by others, made his chest tighten. He was used to keeping you safe, keeping you all to himself. The thought of someone else influencing you, teaching you things....but he would do this for you.

And so, with his heart heavy but his determination set, Arthur had filled out the papers and enrolled you in school. He kept telling himself it was for your own good, that it would help you grow, make you more confident. Even if it was hard to admit, you were growing up, and he had to let you experience the world outside the walls of their home.

But Arthur knew something else, too. You were shy. You didn't like being around other people, especially strangers. He'd always been there to protect you, to shield you from the world outside. But now, the world would be coming to you.

As he walked you to school for the first time, his hand lingering a little too long on your shoulder, he whispered softly, "You stick close to brother Jack, alright? If you need any help, you go to him. You don’t need anyone else. Just him, just me, and you. No one else matters."

You gave him a shy nod, looking up at him with those wide eyes that always seemed to need reassurance. Arthur smiled down at you, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

"Good girl. And don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

❀˖°

“You eat your lunch today?” Arthur asked, his tone casual but observant, as you stood in front of him with your hands tucked behind your back.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh!”

Arthur opened the lunchbox, finding it spotless inside, not a crumb left. For a moment, he felt a spark of pride, was he really lucky enough to have a kid who finished her lunch every single day? But then, something about your overly innocent expression made him pause. He set the lunchbox down and folded his arms, tilting his head.

“So,” he said, setting the lunchbox down and crossing his arms, “how was it?”

“Hmm?” You glanced up at him.

“The sandwich,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah!” you said too brightly. “Really yummy.”

Arthur tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What did I make again? Just slipped my mind.”

“Uh… peanut butter and jam?” you mumbled.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed calm. He crouched down to your level, his presence steady and unyielding. “You sure about that, darlin’? Because I know I packed you a chicken and cheese sandwich this mornin’.”

You froze, the color draining from your face.

He sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Now, you and I both know you didn’t eat that sandwich. So why don’t you go on and tell me what really happened?”

You looked down at your shoes, your voice trembling. “I… I was going to eat it, but some kids… they took it.”

Arthur’s heart sank, though his expression remained calm for your sake. He reached out and gently lifted your chin so you had to meet his eyes. “They took it?”

You nodded, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. “I told them to stop, but… but they wouldn’t give it back. They laughed and said it wasn’t m-ine anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Bug,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “you listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, gets to treat you like that. You understand?”

You sniffled, nodding against his shoulder.

“They got names, these kids?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with a steel promise that this wasn’t going to be ignored.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. Then, in a barely audible whisper, you murmured a few names.

Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening. “Alright. I’ll deal with ‘em. You ain’t gotta worry about that anymore.”

As he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers brushed against a faint redness across your skin. He stilled, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but Arthur held it gently, his thumb brushing over the red mark. “Bug,” he said, his tone dropping to that low, firm register that always made you listen. “Who did this to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you sniffled. “It... it was the teacher,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Arthur blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “The teacher?” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath it.

“I told her about the kids taking my lunch,” you explained, your words coming in halting gasps. “She... she said I was tattling and hit me with a ruler for ‘causing trouble.’”

Arthur’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but only for a moment.

Arthur stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Get your shoes on, Bug. We’re going to the school.”

“But-”

"No buts. No one lays a hand on my girl, now c'mon, Pa’s got somethin’ he needs to take care of."

The sound of Arthur’s boots echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet hallway as he strode toward the principal’s office, his expression carved from stone. His hand hovered protectively over your shoulder as he guided you along.

The principal looked up as Arthur entered, his usual composure faltering at the sight of the respectable ex-cop's stormy glare.

“Mr. Morgan,” the principal began, forcing a tight smile, “is there-”

Arthur didn’t wait for pleasantries. “There a reason my daughter came home with a red welt on her hand?” he demanded, his voice low but seething.

The principal blinked, momentarily caught off guard “I--I’m not sure what you mean-”

“She told me her teacher hit her,” Arthur interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut. “With a ruler. After she reported kids stealin’ her lunch. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, if a teacher disciplined her, I’m sure-”

Arthur stepped forward, leaning over the desk, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think layin’ a hand on my girl is ‘discipline’? You call ignorin’ the bullies and punishin’ the victim a job well done?

“We have rules about-”

Arthur leaned forward, his presence towering even as he kept his voice level. “You got rules about discipline, huh? How about rules about protectin’ kids?! Or do you only enforce the ones that let you blame the victim!?”

“Mr. Morgan, I understand you’re upset-”

“Upset doesn’t cover it,” Arthur snapped, his voice rising slightly. “My girl’s been comin’ home hungry because you let bullies run wild. And now she’s got a bruise on her arm because she finally got tired of takin’ it? You think that’s how you run a school? By punishin’ the one kid who’s just tryin’ to eat her damn lunch in peace? Because if that’s how you run this place, we got a bigger problem than I thought.”

The principal held up his hands, visibly nervous. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan, we take such incidents seriously. I’ll speak to the teacher and-”

“No, you’ll do more than SPEAK!" Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, you’ll make sure she’s held accountable. And while you’re at it, you’ll deal with those bullies, too. My daughter’s been hungry three times this week because of them, and now she’s got a mark on her hand for speakin’ up?! That ends today.”

“Of course, of course,” the principal stammered. “I’ll handle it immediately.”

Arthur straightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’d better. You’re gonna deal with those bullies and that damned teacher, properly. And you’re gonna make damn sure no one here ever lays a hand on my daughter again. Otherwise, I’ll be takin’ this to the school board, the police, and anyone else who’ll listen. You got no idea what I can do. You got me? You’ll be answerin’ to me."

He turned, placing a reassuring hand on your back as he guided you out of the office. As soon as you were outside, he crouched down and looked you in the eye.

“You did the right thing, Bug,” he said softly. “And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you leave dealin’ with grown-ups to me, alright? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as he pulled you into a hug.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said, ruffling your hair. “We’ll make somethin’ good for dinner and figure out how to make sure this never happens again.

❀˖°

“So... no school?” you asked hesitantly, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and sighed. “No, Bug. You’re still gonna study--but at home, alright?”

He could already hear John’s voice nagging in his head, telling him he was being too overprotective, that keeping you out of school might isolate you further. But Arthur dismissed it. You were still so young, still figuring out the world, and he decided what was best for you. Nobody else.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over your hair. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you go back there to get hurt again. Not by kids who don’t know how to act, not by some teacher who should’ve never had a classroom in the first place. You’re my responsibility, and I ain’t lettin’ anybody mess with you like that. Ever again.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the bed. His words felt like a shield wrapping around you, and you trusted him entirely.

Arthur watched you settle, his jaw tightening slightly as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He’d been right on the edge of losing it, of storming over to those kids’ homes and making their parents pay the price and make them understand what it meant to raise decent human beings. And that teacher? Though fired, it still didn’t sit right with him. The thought of her laying a hand on you made his blood boil. It had taken every cell to control to not blow her brains out.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on you instead of the anger that threatened to bubble over. “I’ll teach you myself,” he said, his tone lighter now as he tried to make you smile. “We don’t need teachers like that, anyway. I’ll make sure you learn plenty, and we’ll even have fun doin’ it.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” he said, tugging the blanket up around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, you get some rest, Bug. We’ll figure out all the details in the mornin’.”

❀˖°

After finishing up the dishes and double checking all the doors, Arthur made his way back to your room. He found you sitting at your small desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with intense concentration.

"What’re you workin’ on, Bug?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, a hint of shyness in your eyes. "A thank-you card," you said quietly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "For who?"

"For you." You held up the paper, a drawing of you and him making a cake. Above it, in your wobbly handwriting, it read: "Thank you for being my Pa."

Arthur froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped closer, kneeling beside you to get a better look. "Well, I’ll be..." he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s real nice, darlin’. Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day."

You smiled, a little bashful but proud. "You always take care of me. So, I wanted to make something for you too."

Arthur reached out and gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "You don’t ever have to thank me for that, sweetheart. Lookin’ after you? That’s the best thing I’ll ever do."

You nuzzled into his chest, your small arms wrapping around his neck. "Still. Love you, Pa."

"I love you more, Bug. Always and forever."

[famouscyclenerd]

Mor's reactions to Az and Elain is explained in his BC

this is my opinion btw, nothing's been confirmed.

I've seen both sides use her reactions to "prove" that their ship is endgame in whatever way. We don't have her pov in any of the scenes however.

So as of right now, we don't know why Sarah chooses to highlight Mor's reactions whenever there is an interaction between Elain and Az in her presence, but I have my theories, and ya'll already know it's not going in e/riels favor, SO BUCKLE UP MY DUDES WE'RE GOING FOR A RIDE!👹

I think it's important to note that Azriel and Mor's relationship has been slightly... turbulent throughout all of the decades they've known each other. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't been absolutely unstable, but there is a huge lack of communication on both sides that's been in dire need of resolvement in order for them to have a good and healthy friendship.

Although Sarah hasn't confirmed it, moriel was supposed to be endgame. PERIOD! I still can't believe there are moriel deniers. Reading ACOMAF, moriel was the plan and that's a !fact! (TRUST, I was there when MAF realeased and the couples were feysand, elucien, nessian and moriel) and it became evident in ACOWAR that she changed her mind on them for unknown reasons.

So what do we know about them and their feelings for each other? In MAF Feyre noticed Azriel reactions towards Mor. I honestly find that so fucking funny when "Beautiful, but near-unreadable." and "His skin was as cold as his face." is how Feyre first describes his face, yet she clocks his feelings for Mor almost immediately.

"It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened, and his gaze slid over Mor's body (...) A wisp of shadow curled around Azriel's ear, and his eyes snapped to mine. I schooled my face into bland innocence."

"Mor patted Azriel on the shoulder (...) The lurking shadow vanished entirely as Azriel's head dipped a bit (...)"

This was the very first scene where Feyre observed Mor and Az together.

"Yes - Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her presence."

I find this interesting since some of you can say: "GOTCHA! His shadows vanishes around Mor like they do with Elain and moriel was supposed to be endgame in MAF" but I don't think this is good for the e/riels at all, as Sarah kept this going even after she decided that they weren't going to be together. This basically established e/riel to be moriel 2.0 and it didn't work out the first time, so why would it work a second time?

I find it interesting when Feyre, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel leaves to go see Elain and Nesta for the first time - Azriel decided to leave behind his shadows.

"(...) No shadows trailed us, as if he'd left them in Velaris."

Why? Because he didn't want to unsettle the sisters as they were there to convince them to work with them.

"Then I shifted to the right, grateful those shadows were nowhere to be found (...)"

"But Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit. I wondered if Rhys's spymaster often got his information through stone-cold manners as much as stealth and shadows."

How sweet! First meetings :D

To speed things up a bit, we have Mor finally telling Feyre more about their relationship. How she's aware he wants her, but doesn't see himself good enough to be with her.

“He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me.”

This is very crucial and something I'll circle back to later!

Then we have the cauldron scene that seemed to be what would finally make a change in their so far static relationship.

"Faster than any of us could see, Jurian fired a hidden ash bolt through Azriel's chest. Mor screamed."

"Mor was shaking - trying hard not to, but shaking as she stared at the protruding end of that arrow, visible between the gap in Azriel's wings."

"Jurian's sword was already out - and he was looking at Mor as if he was going to kill her first. Azriel's blood-drained face twisted with rage as he noticed that stare."

"Azriel cried out in pain. She froze."

"Mor looked at Azriel and there was real fear there. Fear - and something else. She didn't stop moving until she kneeled beside him and pressed a hand to his wound. Azriel hissed - but covered her bloody fingers with his own."

I've said this before and I'll say it again. If you know SJM terminology, you know what the "something else" means. This was the mating bond snapping into place for Mor. We were all waiting for it to be adressed in ACOWAR, but clearly that never happened.

As of WAR and FAS, Azriel's feelings for Mor doesn't waver. He continues to stare after her with longing, hunger, sadness whatever - even with Elain in the room fyi. But Mor's feelings for him has been changed irrevocably - as Sarah decides to sink the moriel ship once and for all by telling us Mor is not romantically interested in men, something Az is not aware of, as far as we know. And she continues to sleep with men, which makes him confused and hurt. Their relationship remains the same as it always has been.

So with this out of the way, let's take a look at Mor's reactions to e/riel!

"Azriel's hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he'd been standing long after he was gone."

This is... an interesting reaction and something that Sarah obviously wants us to notice. So why is that?

"Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me."

Ah, the lovely potato scene! As I was re-reading it, there really was nothing romantic about it whatsoever. Rhys explaining why, as this was more to highlight Azriel's ptsd than show any romantic indication between him and Elain.

However, Mor's reaction is certainly something to note on. She tenses as she watches them. And in here comes my reasoning as to why Az's POV is so important to her reactions. Because previously, we see Elain and Az together through other people's eyes, and it can come across as very sweet and innocent, ♫the start of something new♪ perhaps. But the BC really just threw any sliver of a chance for e/riel out the window, imho.

There was simply nothing sweet about Azriel's inner thoughts as he was interacting with her. His self worth is at an all time low around her, meaning it has most likely always been like that whenever they've been together.

He is so aware of his own flaws, his status, his looks etc and basically comparing himself to her. She is so flawless and good and he is this ugly monster.

"Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift."

"His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around." ← as they do with Mor

"Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin."

"Wrong - it was so wrong."

"She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond his scars."

"Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence."

"He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to." ← this is straight up diabolical💀

Although we have never gotten Az's POV when he's around Mor, I imagine it to be very similar in terms of how he views himself and them. And I think Mor understands this. When she looks at Elain and Az, she sees herself and him. And I think her heart breaks for him as she watched history repeat itself, likely knowing that there isn't much she can do but watch as he self destructs again and again.

As I mentioned, this makes me look at e/riels interactions differently when knowing how Az views himself around her. I believe this made every interaction between them, that could carry hints of potential romance, into something much darker than what it seemed like on the surface. And I think Mor sees this, as well as Rhys.

This kinda leads into a post I was planning on writing, but couldn't be bothered. But it was about Az and Rhys and how as of SF, the character that knows Az the best is Rhys. And we see Rhys shut down any e/riel interaction known to man. Feyre: "how handsome they could be together" and Rhys: "Azriel has been preoccupied with the same female for five hundred years" etc.

With the bonus chapter in mind, I have a headcanon that, like Feyre did to Lucien, Rhys used his daemati powers on Azriel and essentially read what we read, leading to him interrupting them as he (like many of us) did not view what was happening as something romantic. If you read on a surface-level, what Rhys did could appear mean, but to me, he did this because he cares for his brother and that particular kiss would not make Azriel feel better about himself. At all!

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question." ← He is not completely over her, even in SF.

If my headcanon is true (which we might never even find out) I just have to point out that Feyre found no ill will when it came to Lucien's regard for Elain, only concern, sorrow, longing etc. Compared with Rhys and Az, where good intentions was not on the table, but simply lust and self-hatred on Azriel's end at least.

I'm not sure why Sarah decided to toy around with e/riel except because Azriel was suddenly available after she decided to ditch moriel, but I do believe that they've turned into nothing but a red herring for gwynriel and elucien. And it worked, a little too well maybe.

See I could pull in my girl Gwyn and her scene with Azriel to compare and show the contrast of it, but I'm not going to..

"The young priestess smiled - and he thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows."

This is already... so different to what we've seen with the other two.

"He blocked out the bloody memory that flashed, so at odds with the Gwyn he saw before him now."

He thinks about her and how far she's come compared to when they first met.

"Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music."

"He blinked. It wasn't every day that people took him by surprise, but..."

This is just cute c:

"Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle."

"(...) rubbing his hands against the cold, grateful for its bracing bite and the distraction of this impromptu lesson."

He is aware of his hands and not thinking about how "ugly" they are when she is around him. He is also happy about this surprising lesson, not at all interested in being alone to mope anymore.

"Azriel laughed."

"(...) something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch."

You already know. But Az was in a shitty mood right before this, and it did not take much of Gwyn to calm him down, leading him to feel slightly better about himself and even feeling like he could get some sleep after all.

Compared to both Mor and Elain, his shadows are present and interacting with her and she's paying attention to them as well. Which is a first. And let's not forget the ✨spark✨

Which of these three ladies is better for Azriel? Mor and Elain are basically the same for him, himself and his shadows reacts more or less the same around them. Or Gwyn, which read in a lot more positive note than the previous two?

I think Sarah knows at least🤷‍♀️

[silverynight]

The roommate

<---Previous

Part XXVI

"What's your ideal date, Izuku?"

Perhaps it's just an innocent question, but Izuku is so tense because of the mission, he immediately has a bad feeling about the whole situation. Besides, even though he's usually friendly towards anyone, the way Toga is grabbing his arm is making him want to put some distance between them as soon as possible.

"Uhh... it used to be going to the park or maybe a fair and share a crepe with the person I like–"

"Are you hungry, Izuku? Do you want a crepe?" Toga asks, blushing even more.

"No, thanks... I actually have to go."

"Why?" Kana cuts in, the moment she notices that Toga looks disappointed. For the most part, she left them alone; she seemed happier walking right behind the two and not engaging in their conversation at all.

"My boyfriends are waiting for me," Izuku blurts out, not knowing if it's the right thing to do at the moment. He knows he should be trying to pretend things aren't going that great in his relationship, but right now there's nothing he wants more than to see them again.

The grip Toga has around his arm tightens and it becomes slightly painful.

"You're hurting me," he points out and Toga squeezes him even tighter against her before she lets him go.

Izuku doesn't like Toga at all. She makes him feel uncomfortable and nervous.

"They'll eventually hurt you," Toga narrows her eyes. "They don't deserve you."

Izuku starts wondering if Toga is one of those people who started sympathizing with the heroes' haters after Kana was released and shared the villain's ideals with the world or if she was always like that due to personal experiences.

"They love me and they try their best," Izuku argues; the need to defend them is stronger than anything else. "I can't ask for more. Besides, I make mistakes too. Nobody is perfect."

"Pro heroes certainly aren't," Toga huffs, getting more irritated with Izuku's response. "But people seem to think they are."

"Some of them do," he agrees. "But not all of them. It's truly a mistake to idealize people, not only pro heroes. They are human too and although they shouldn't get away with crimes just because of their position, we shouldn't judge them too hard when they make harmless mistakes."

Toga shakes her head, but doesn't argue with Izuku because she doesn't have anything to say to that.

"I don't trust pro heroes and you shouldn't either."

"I trust Kacchan and Shoto."

She hisses and Kana doesn't look happy either, but Izuku stays calm, mostly because there's a lot of people around. Although he shouldn't feel like this; they're just two girls with strong opinions.

"I must go. It was a pleasure to meet you," Izuku tells Toga, before waving at Kana.

It looks like Kana wants to say something else, but Toga stops her; Izuku has never been that relieved to leave a shopping center before.

As he walks away and into a street nearby, he finally has the time to read Hagakure's texts; she apparently didn't like Toga at all and decided to ask Yaoyorozu to find out more about her.

"Izuku."

He hears Shoto's voice and he definitely bumps into a broad chest and a hero suit that looks exactly like his, but as soon as Izuku looks up and stares into familiar mismatched eyes he is completely sure this is not his Shoto.

He knows Hagakure is still following him because it's part of the deal, but he wonders that now that she's seen his "boyfriend" she would go back to the agency immediately.

"Hi," he mumbles nervously before he takes his phone to text her quickly, but a pair of hands snatch it off his as they also take Izuku's groceries.

"Let me help you with that."

"You know what?" Izuku smiles, trying to look as calm as possible. "I forgot something, I need to go back to the mall."

"I know you're really smart, Izuku and I'm sure you know this is not your stupid boyfriend. But you'll have to come with me–"

"Hagakure!" He screams. "This is not Shoto!"

The villain makes such a disgusted expression that looks so foreign on Shoto's features that it makes Izuku to instinctively take a couple of steps back. He's ready to run.

"There's a pro hero here?" The fake Shoto hisses. "I should've known!"

Then he takes a knife out and Izuku has the sudden feeling (maybe because of his nightmares or the way Toga approached him earlier) that he has finally solved a complex puzzle.

"Toga?"

"I told you to call me Himiko!" She hisses again with Shoto's face before stabbing him.

Izuku screams in pain.

"What are you doing? You told me you weren't going to hurt him!" Is that Kana's voice? She doesn't sound happy anymore.

"I won't kill him. He just needs to learn a lesson!"

Izuku wishes she stopped using his boyfriend's face and voice because it hurts to see Shoto trying to harm him, even though Izuku knows it's not the real one.

Then, she removes the knife, which is even more painful; he knows it'll also make him bleed profusely. Then, something collides with Toga, and she begins to turn back into her original form.

A blond, naked, but wild young woman willing to do anything for what she wants.

Although Izuku is not sure what she wants at the moment, the only thing he knows is that he's bleeding, feels dizzy and his knees can't support him anymore.

He falls to the ground as he realizes Hagakure is the one fighting Toga.

There are a couple of people in that area now and some of them are calling an ambulance and others the police and asking to be transferred to a hero agency.

A couple of them are taking videos of what's going on. At least they have Toga's transformation on their phones now.

Everything's confusing.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know she was going to hurt you!" Kana is at his side now, although Izuku can't be that sure; his vision has become blurry out of the sudden.

He's going to pass out.

"She's confused, but she means well..."

There's a scream, but this time it comes from Toga.

"What did you do? You blinded me!"

Izuku nerd's heart would have loved to see how Hagakure managed to do that with her quirk; he has seen her on YouTube videos a couple of times... does she reflect light to the point–

His vision turns completely black for a second.

Maybe it's not the time for hero combat analysis.

"Die!"

The familiar, absolutely rude yell comforts Izuku immediately and even the explosion that follows it.

"Izuku, love, are you alright?"

For a second, he flinches at the sight of Shoto, but one look tells him this is his boyfriend, the real one.

"It's alright, Izuku. It's me, please..."

He feels safe now, despite the pain and the amount of blood that's coming from his open wound; Izuku had been trying to stop it with his hands, but he's too weak to put pressure on it.

His vision is turning black again.

"Izuku, don't close your eyes," Shoto pleads, desperate, worried; Izuku is almost sure he's about to cry. "Stay with me. The paramedics are here–Izuku!"

"IZUKU!"

His Katsuki is getting closer now, but he can't stay awake anymore.

At least he's with them again.

***

He wakes up a couple of times; the first one he's inside an ambulance and the paramedic is asking a few questions to Katsuki.

"Izuku?"

His eyes can't stay open for too long.

The next time he's on a bed, in a room that smells too clean and covered on light blue sheets.

"Are you alright, baby?"

Izuku beams as he looks up at Katsuki; he's being extremely soft and gentle with him because he's worried. He also looks tired and like he's about to break.

"Love?"

Shoto is there too, which makes Izuku feel better immediately; he's still dizzy, but there's no pain now, although Izuku suspects they gave him a couple of painkillers for that.

Suddenly, his boyfriends take his hands and lean closer to him.

"I'm glad you're here," he manages to say.

"Don't you dare scare us like that again!" Katsuki huffs, trying to hide his own concern, but he intertwines his fingers with Izuku's. His eyes are red; he must've been crying. Shoto doesn't look any better.

"I was scared." The man with mismatched eyes admits.

"It's okay," Izuku smiles, pulling them closer (one at a time) to give them both a kiss on the forehead. "I'm here."

***

You can read Part XXVII, Part XXVIII and Part XXIX on my patreon already.

Patreon

[deathmetalunicorn1]

If it's okay can I please ask for a yandere Poseidon with kianna

But where they're relationship but she leaves Without a Trace

And he can't find her and ends up thinking she is dead but years later he sees her again and Ragnarok but with a teenage boy that looks

exactly like him and acts like him and later on he finds out she was pregnant with his child but thought he wouldn't want her anymore

And so that is why she left Without a Trace

And he ends up meeting his son that she named Yui after her deceased sister and finds that his son loves his mother very much and is very protective of his mother and does not trust the sea tyrant

-He could only look down at his shaking hands, rage and anguish filling him as he couldn’t find you. It was like you had just vanished.

-Poseidon could recall how you had been acting a little odd the past week, asking him cryptic questions that didn’t make any sense, and he remembers brushing you off when you seemed more emotional than normal.

-How he wished he could take every instance back, how he wished he could worship you the way you deserved to be; he regretted how he treated you.

-His guards were swarming his kingdom, searching high and low for you, and with each passing day that you were not found, Poseidon grew more and more enraged at himself, feeling responsible for your disappearance.

-It was years later, almost 20, and Poseidon still looked for you, sending out patrols that had the sole purpose of finding you to return you home to him. He was a shell of himself without you, looking ragged and bitter at the world. He couldn’t bare the thought of looking at someone else who wasn’t you.

-Each day he had to ask himself why you left, did you not love him anymore? Was it something he did or said? Why did you leave?

-The day a guard ran in, saying they had found you, Poseidon had power sprinted out of his palace, rushing after the guard, even bypassing him, so he could hold you in his arms again.

-You had returned, knowing you needed to face Poseidon one day, but thankfully, your darling son, who was a mirror image of his father, was right there with you, fully prepared to protect you if need be.

-Your son was a ray of light in your life, but a mama’s boy, as he adored you and wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands to keep you safe, something he inherited from his father.

-When Poseidon skidded to a halt, looking haggard, seeing you there, looking as beautiful as the day he lost you, with a young man standing beside you, who looked exactly like him.

-Like lightning struck him, your cryptic questions all seemed to make sense- you had been pregnant and you were asking him, in a roundabout way, if he would be okay with a child, but with him brushing you off, you took it as he didn’t want a baby and you refused to give your child up, so you ran.

-Poseidon approached you as you looked concerned, seeing how terrible he looked, the bags under his eyes, how skinny he looked as you cupped his cheeks. His hands lifted to cover your own as his eyes closed, his shoulders relaxing as he sighed deeply, feeling relief for the first time in years.

-Seeing your husband in this state made you realize how much he loved you, realizing that he looked for you for all these years, not knowing that you were down on earth, raising your son, alone.

-Yui glared slightly, pushing Poseidon off you before hugging you, “Hands off my mama!” You chuckled softly, reaching up to pat his head softly, “Yui, this is your father, Poseidon.”

-Poseidon wanted to get to know his son, but the sharp look in his child’s eyes was full of nothing but distrust, as he remembers many nights where you were crying, missing Poseidon, “So? I’ve never met him before, and he made you cry!”

-You were a bit frazzled, seeing Poseidon’s desire to make up for lost years but Yui’s anger and resentment at his father for all that has happened.

-It took a while, as well as a very long, in-depth discussion, that both you and Poseidon should have communicated things better, you should have told Poseidon that you were pregnant, and Poseidon should have listened to you and paid more attention that you were upset.

-You agreed to come home, and Yui followed, but that started a new issue, as both Yui and Poseidon where fighting over you, arguing who loved you more and who gets to hug you first.

-You had to wonder what things would have been like if you had told Poseidon straight out, if you didn’t run away, and if Yui grew up with his father around.

-Perhaps time will heal things, but it might be a while as you watched the two locked up, trying to wrestle each other down, acting childish.

[solavita]

headlock (gojo satoru) — chapter four

pairing ; satoru gojo x fem!reader

words ; 6.0k

warning(s) ; mentions of corruption, enslavement, reader gets slapped, espionage

author's note ; this work will include dark themes like violence, enslavement, character death, psychological trauma, and references to torture. sexual content is also included. reader discretion is advised.

masterlist can be found here !

Shortly after packing up her things, Yui left, with a brief kiss to your cheek as a means of good luck. There was no mirror in your room, but you could only assume that you looked out of place. You exhaled slowly, hands brushing over the fabric of the dress she had chosen just for you. The deep green velvet dress hugged your sides, the cut modest enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention, but elegant enough to demand notice, with moderately tall heels clicking as you grabbed the bedframe in order to steady yourself. You hated the way that the shoes made you feel taller, more visible, every movement amplified. 

You thought back to Hana’s words. How she said not to trust anyone here, not even herself, and in turn, that extended to Yui. Were you to trust what she said about this man Kento? Or was this another deviously left trap you were about to find yourself in? And yet, what choice did you have? You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being dressed for a funeral — the question was whether it would be yours or not. 

Looking out the window, you let out a huff. The evening stretched ahead of you, the unknowns piling higher with each passing moment. Your chest felt tight as you thought about the dinner, the people who would be there, the conversations you would have to navigate, the lies you would have to tell. 

And Satoru. 

His presence lingered in your mind like a shadow you couldn’t shake, a threat that was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. He would be watching you tonight. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, that sense of being under a microscope, every word, every gesture dissected. He would know if you faltered. 

You open the door and stepped outside, the cool air of the hallway brushing against your skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth you had grown accustomed to from your room. You barely had time to adjust to the dim light before your eyes landed on him. 

Satoru Gojo stood a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to his gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. He was dressed in fine clothing, the kind that suited someone of his status — a tailored black suit with subtle silver detailing along the lapels, his shirt collar unbuttoned just enough to lend an air of defiance to his otherwise polished appearance. The dark fabric contrasted starkly with his shock of white hair, which looked as though he’d spent precisely two seconds running a hand through before deciding it was good enough. 

He was scanning you through his black blindfold, not even bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. “Well,” he said, his tone casual, like someone who was on some type of date. “Don’t you clean up nicely? Nice to see you in something a little less coated with blood.” 

You bristled at his words, at the way he looked at you like you were some shiny new toy. But you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, your hands gripping the folds of your dress to keep them from trembling with fear. 

He saw right through it. 

“You nervous?” He asked, his voice dropping slightly. “Big night and all. Lots of important people watching. You probably haven’t been around this many people since Japan was a thing, or, wait, how many people were in the cell you were in again?” 

You met his gaze, forcing yourself to hold it, even as the weight of his words, his attention pressed down on you. “Why would I be nervous?” You asked, the words steadier than you would ever feel in this type of situation. “It’s just dinner, right?” 

“Exactly. Just dinner. Keep that in mind, and you might just enjoy yourself.” 

He extended an arm, and as much as it made you internally cringe to grab it, you did so without so much as a rolled eye. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, then, with one last deep breath, you stepped forward, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you moved past him. The closer you got to the sounds of talking, laughing, and the clinking of glasses, the more you could feel a sense of dread wash over your entire being. The grand hall loomed ahead, its tall, arched doors already cracked open, revealing a sort of golden slow. It was a life that promised warmth, elegance, and luxury — everything that was so sickeningly out of place in the world you knew lied beyond these walls. You glanced at the gilded carvings that adorned the walls, the intricate chandeliers hanging high above. Everything screamed wealth, power, and indulgence. 

It made you sick. 

Millions had died — men, women, children. Lives snuffed out in the name of the Republic, in the name of order, all for the sake of a vision built on power and control. Those people were gone now, scattered to the winds, or buried in unmarked graves. And you were here, dressed up in a fine green dress, playing the part they wanted you to play, even though you hadn’t even been put up onto television yet. It felt like a betrayal — a betrayal to everyone who had died believing that there was a way out of this nightmare. 

“Thinking too much, sweetheart?” Gojo’s voice cut through your thoughts, his tone light, almost amused. He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the tension in your expression. You forced yourself to take a breath, to unclench your jaw, to smooth out the lines that had formed between your brows. “Just admiring the decor,” you said, the words laced with sarcasm you didn’t bother to hide.

Gojo chuckled, his smile widening, though there was something darker behind it—something that said he knew exactly what you were thinking. “It is something, isn’t it?” he said, his voice carrying a note of mock appreciation. “All this opulence, all this grandeur. Makes you wonder what it’s all really for.” You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as you approached the grand hall’s entrance. The double doors stood tall and imposing, the gold accents shimmering in the light. You could hear the laughter more clearly now, the sounds of people enjoying themselves, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of the suffering outside these walls.

Gojo’s hand brushed against your arm, a light touch meant to guide you, but it felt more like a reminder of who was in control. You looked up at him, his smirk still in place, and for a moment, you thought you saw something else in his eyes—something almost like understanding. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same infuriating confidence.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice softening, though the challenge was still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if it was true. You weren’t ready. You would never be ready for this—this charade, this lie you had to live. But you didn’t have a choice. Not if you wanted to survive. Not if you wanted to help those who still believed in something better. 

Gojo pushed the doors open, the warm light spilling out into the corridor, washing over you in a wave of heat. The laughter grew louder, the voices merging into a cacophony that made your head spin. You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders, forcing a smile that you knew didn’t reach your eyes. The grand hall welcomed you, the faces turning to look, the smiles widening, the laughter continuing.

The guests were exactly as you’d imagined them—men and women draped in finery, their laughter too loud, their smiles too wide. They sipped from crystal glasses filled with deep red wine, their conversations laced with arrogance and self-satisfaction. These were the people who thrived in this new world, who had taken everything and given nothing back. They were comfortable, complacent, and utterly oblivious to the blood that had paved their way here. Gojo slowed his pace as a man approached, his uniform adorned with medals that gleamed under the chandelier’s light. He greeted Gojo with a firm handshake, his voice booming as he praised the successes of the Republic.

“Satoru,” the man said, his smile wide. “Always a pleasure to see you. And this must be your guest for the evening?”

Gojo turned to you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. The touch was subtle but firm, grounding you as much as it was a signal to stay in place. “Indeed,” he said smoothly, his tone light. “Allow me to introduce our new addition to the fold. She’s adjusting well.”

The man’s eyes swept over you, his gaze lingering a moment too long. You fought the urge to look away, forcing a polite smile that felt like a mask. “Welcome,” he said, his tone patronizing. “It’s good to see another face embracing the future we’ve built.”

You nodded, the bile rising in your throat. “Thank you,” you said, the words hollow but necessary. 

He turned back to Gojo, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “These newcomers don’t know how fortunate they are, do they? To be part of a new era, to witness the rise of true order. The Republic of Shōkan has brought us to heights we could only dream of before.” He gestured broadly, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Look at what we’ve accomplished! Peace, unity. The weak have been weeded out, and now only the strong remain. It’s survival of the fittest, the way it was always meant to be.” 

You swallowed hard, the words twisting like a knife in your gut. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him of the cost of their so-called peace—the blood, the suffering, the lives they had destroyed for their vision of power. But instead, you forced your lips to remain in that tight, polite smile, your gaze drifting to the floor as your nails dug into your palm

Gojo must have noticed the tension in your posture, because his grip on your back tightened just a fraction, his voice cutting in smoothly. “Minister Tanaka always knows how to put things into perspective,” he said, his tone lightly mocking, though it seemed to go unnoticed by the older man.

Tanaka beamed, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s true! And we’re just getting started. Once Japan is fully secured, we can begin expanding our influence even further. Imagine—a world united under the Republic’s vision!” He looked at you then, his smile widening. “You’re young. You’ll get to see it all—this world we’re building. The Republic will shape the future, and you should feel honored to be part of it.”

“Of course,” you said, the words like ash on your tongue. “It’s… an honor.”

Tanaka clapped a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, his laughter echoing through the grand hall. “You’ve got her well-trained, Gojo! It’s good to see the young ones understanding their place.” He gave you one last, lingering look before turning away, disappearing into the crowd, his laughter still ringing in your ears. 

You exhaled slowly, your chest tight, the smile slipping from your face as you turned to Gojo. His eyes were already on you, his expression unreadable, though his grip on you loosened slightly. “Good job,” he murmured, his voice so low only you could hear. “You played your part well.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as you tried to steady your breathing.

Gojo’s hand slipped to your arm, his voice softening just slightly, almost as if he could sense your thoughts. “Not everyone here deserves your hatred, you know,” he said, his tone surprisingly sincere. “Some of them are just… doing what they think they need to do to survive.”

You looked at him, your eyes narrowing. “And what about you?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Are you just trying to survive, too?”

He paused, his smile fading just slightly, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—something almost like regret. But then he looked away, his smile returning, though it was colder now.

“Who knows?” he said, his tone dismissive. “Maybe I’m just here for the entertainment.”

—

The dinner stretched on, each passing moment feeling heavier than the last. Courses came and went, accompanied by wine that seemed to flow endlessly, dulling the edges of conversations that were sharper than they appeared. You picked at your plate, forcing yourself to eat just enough to avoid drawing attention, your senses heightened by the oppressive air of the room.

Gojo remained at your side, his presence an infuriating mix of comfort and threat. He engaged easily with the other guests, his words charming, his smile disarming. Yet, even as he bantered and laughed, you could feel his attention on you, like a predator keeping one eye on its prey. The sound of a fork gently tapping against a glass silenced the room, the hum of conversation dissipating in an instant. All eyes turned to Gojo, who rose from his seat, his smile as dazzling as the chandeliers overhead. The air shifted, the room’s energy focusing entirely on him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice smooth, carrying just enough weight to command the room. “It seems our esteemed host, Suguru Geto, has been called away on urgent business. A pity, really—he was quite looking forward to this evening.”

A few murmurs rippled through the crowd, but Gojo raised a hand, his smile widening. “But fear not,” he continued, his tone light, almost playful. “I’ve been asked to step in and say a few words. And I think we all know I’m never one to pass up an opportunity to talk.” Laughter filled the room, the sound grating against your nerves as Gojo lifted his glass, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

"We have come far, haven’t we? From the chaos of rebellion to the unity of true order. And it’s all thanks to the hard work, the dedication, and the loyalty of everyone in this room."

The guests murmured their agreement, a few lifting their glasses in response. Satoru’s eyes flicked to you then, his smile widening. "And speaking of dedication, I’d also like to introduce a very special guest tonight. Someone who has recently joined us, and who will, I’m sure, play a very important role in the Republic’s future." Your heart skipped a beat, your pulse quickening as every eye in the room turned to you. You forced yourself to keep your expression calm, a polite smile on your lips as Satoru placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip light but firm.

"This," he said, his voice carrying with an easy authority, "is our newest addition. A woman who, despite the circumstances of her arrival, has proven herself to be resilient, adaptable, and willing to work toward a brighter future for all of us." He paused, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment, a flicker of something dark passing behind them. "We are very lucky to have her." The applause that followed felt hollow, the smiles around you empty and false. You kept your own smile in place, your hands folded neatly in your lap, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“And,” he added, his tone shifting slightly, “let’s not forget the people who make all of this possible. People like my good friend, Kento Nanami, whose tireless dedication to the Republic ensures that even our most ambitious plans run smoothly.”

Your stomach dropped.

The name hit you like a slap, your breath catching as you tried to process what you had just heard. Kento Nanami. It wasn’t just a name anymore—it was the name Yui had whispered to you, the person the rebellion had sent to this dinner. Your head spun as you tried to reconcile the quiet rebel spy with the man Satoru spoke of so casually, so confidently, as though Kento’s loyalty to the Republic was unquestionable.

Gojo continued, oblivious to your internal turmoil. “Kento is one of the most reliable people I know,” he said, lifting his glass again. “And I’m sure we can all agree that this world would be a lot messier without his steady hand guiding the way.” The room chuckled again, and you forced yourself to join in, your laugh hollow and strained. You glanced around the table, your eyes searching for Kento, and there he was—seated several places down, his face carefully neutral, his posture relaxed. He lifted his glass in a polite nod of acknowledgment, his expression giving nothing away.

You stared at him, your mind racing. Kento Nanami. He’s the spy. He has whatever the rebellion needs. But how were you supposed to get it from him? And what could it be? Yui had been vague, leaving you to piece together what you could from the fragments of information you’d been given. You didn’t know how, but you had to find a way to get close to him, to make the exchange without drawing attention. Gojo’s presence complicated things, his every word and movement a reminder of the fine line you were walking.

The grand hall began to empty, the hum of conversation shifting as guests drifted toward other rooms or the estate gardens. You watched carefully, waiting for the right moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Kento Nanami remained at the far end of the table, speaking quietly to a pair of men whose uniforms marked them as officers. He looked composed, unhurried, but you could see the subtle tension in his posture—the way his shoulders stayed just a little too straight, his gaze lingering on the men’s faces as though measuring each word. 

Gojo was distracted, caught in a conversation with an official who gestured animatedly as he spoke. You took your chance, slipping toward the edges of the room, weaving through the clusters of guests with a practiced air of nonchalance. Your breath came shallow as you approached Kento, every nerve on edge. He noticed you before you reached him, his sharp eyes meeting yours briefly. He gave no outward reaction, but his subtle shift in stance seemed almost like permission. The officers he’d been speaking to stepped away, leaving him momentarily alone near the farthest edge of the hall.

You stepped closer, keeping your movements casual, careful not to attract attention. When you were close enough, you spoke softly, your voice low enough that only he could hear. “Kento Nanami.”

His expression didn’t change, but his gaze flicked to you, sharp and assessing. “I wasn’t aware we were on a first-name basis,” he said quietly, his voice calm, measured. 

“I think we can dispense with formalities,” you replied, forcing an edge of calm into your own voice despite the way your heart was racing. “You know why I’m here.”

For the briefest moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or calculation. He glanced around the room, his movements slow, deliberate, before returning his gaze to yours. “Do I?”

“Yui sent me,” you whispered. The name hung in the air between you like a test.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze narrowing slightly. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Reckless,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I told her not to involve anyone else.”

“Then you’ll understand that I don’t have much time,” you said, your voice firm but hushed. “Whatever it is you’re carrying, I need it.”

His eyes swept over you again, his expression unreadable. “And what makes you think you can handle it?” he asked, his tone cool. “This isn’t some message to pass along. What I have… it could change everything, but it’s useless in the wrong hands.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “I’m not here because I want to be,” you said, keeping your voice low but steady. “I’m here because I have to be. If you want to get this out of here, you’re going to need my help. They already watch me. No one will suspect I’m moving anything.” For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze searching yours as though weighing your every word, every breath. The room around you felt unbearably loud, the laughter and conversation like a mask hiding the precariousness of this moment.

Finally, he exhaled, a quiet sigh that carried the weight of resignation. “What Yui said about you… I hope she’s right.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket, his movements smooth, unhurried. When he withdrew his hand, it was clenched around a small, metallic object.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping the object into your hand, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. “A flash drive,” he murmured. “Encrypted. Inside are documents—locations, plans, names.”

Your grip tightened around the drive, your mind racing. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“Keep it safe until you can move it,” he said, his tone clipped. “Don’t let anyone near it. And don’t trust anyone—not even the people who claim to be on your side.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps cut you off. Your heart leapt into your throat as Gojo’s voice carried through the room, light and teasing.

“Nanami! Still lingering, are we?”

Kento’s expression didn’t falter, his demeanor as calm and collected as ever. “Just finishing a conversation,” he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Gojo. 

Gojo’s eyes slid to you, his smirk widening. “And what are you two chatting about? It must be fascinating if it’s keeping Nanami from his usual brooding.” He then shifted to face Nanami, giving you just enough time to slip the flash drive into the chest covering part of your dress, pretending that you were adjusting the fabric. It was so smooth that you would’ve thought you had been a spy in your past life. 

“Just getting to know each other,” Nanami said lightly. “It seems we’ll be seeing a lot of the same faces moving forward.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than was comfortable. “Well, don’t let Nanami bore you too much,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “He’s not exactly the life of the party.”

Kento gave a faint nod, stepping back slightly. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, his tone polite but detached. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with Gojo. Your pulse hammered in your ears as you forced yourself to stand still, to stay calm, even as you felt the weight of the flash drive hidden against your skin. 

As you walked toward the grand doors with Gojo beside you, the evening’s events swirled in your mind. The weight of the flash drive hidden against your skin pressed heavily with every step, the enormity of its contents threatening to overwhelm you. You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your breathing steady, though your heart was still pounding in your ears.

The corridor leading out of the grand hall was crowded with officers and guests, their conversations blending into a low hum as they slowly dispersed. You maneuvered through the throng, your heels clicking against the polished marble, Gojo’s casual gait beside you a stark contrast to your careful steps.

But then, in a moment of distraction, your foot landed squarely on someone else’s. 

The man, an officer, his uniform immaculate and adorned with medals, let out a sharp hiss of pain, his head whipping around to glare at you. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot, the scent of wine lingering in the air around him. “You little —” he growled, and before you could apologize or step back, his hand swung out.

The slap was fast, hard, and merciless. It struck you across the cheek with enough force to send you stumbling, your heels skidding against the smooth floor. You hit the ground, the cold marble biting against your palms and knees as pain blossomed across your face, hot and stinging. “Watch where you’re going,” the officer snapped, his voice sharp and filled with venom. “And remember your place. You’re here by their mercy, not because you belong.” The words cut deeper than the slap, but you refused to let him see the hurt. You clenched your teeth, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You wanted to scream at him, to lash out, but you knew better. You knew that any defiance would only make things worse. You gritted your teeth, your head spinning as you struggled to push yourself up, the sting in your cheek radiating with every movement. 

The room had gone quiet, the low hum of conversation silenced as all eyes turned toward the commotion. You could feel their stares, their judgment, the weight of their disdain pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

But then, before you could fully rise, a shadow loomed over you.

Satoru Gojo.

He stepped between you and the officer, his expression shifting in an instant from lazy amusement to something colder, sharper, and far more dangerous. His hand reached out, and for a moment, you thought he was going to help you up. Instead, he grabbed the officer by the front of his uniform, his grip deceptively casual as he pulled the man close. “I’m sorry,” Gojo said, his tone light but dripping with malice. “I must have missed the part where you thought it was acceptable to lay a hand on her.”

The officer swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “My apologies, sir,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he extended a hand to you, his gaze meeting yours. There was something in his eyes—something cold, calculated, but also… protective. It made your stomach twist, your emotions tangling in confusion. 

You hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. His grip was strong, and he pulled you to your feet effortlessly. You winced as you stood, the side of your face still throbbing from the impact, but you forced yourself to stand tall, refusing to let your fear or pain show. Gojo’s attention shifted back to the officer, his smile returning, though it was more of a smirk—dangerous and mocking. “You should go,” he said, his voice almost bored. “Before I decide you need a reminder of your place.”

The officer nodded quickly, stepping back, his eyes avoiding yours as he turned and hurried away. The guests who had witnessed the scene began to disperse, their murmurs filling the silence as they quickly turned their attention elsewhere, as though eager to pretend nothing had happened.

Gojo’s hand lingered on your arm, his touch just light enough to seem casual, but firm enough to keep you steady. He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “They forget sometimes,” he said, his gaze drifting to where the officer had disappeared. “That some people are… off-limits.”

You forced a smile, nodding. “I’ll be more careful.”

He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on your face, on the mark that was already forming where you’d been struck. And then, as if deciding that the moment had passed, he turned, gesturing for you to follow.

“Come on,” he said, his tone casual once more. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

— 

Back in your room, you were quick to rid yourself of the dress. Your cheek throbbed where the officer’s hand had struck, the sting radiating through your jaw and down your neck. You moved to the small washbasin near the corner, splashing cold water on your face and watching as it dripped into the porcelain below.

The bruise was already beginning to form, faint but unmistakable, a reminder of your place in this fractured world. You stared at your reflection in the rising water for a long moment, the events of the evening swirling in your mind—the tension at the dinner, Kento’s warning, the weight of the flash drive hidden beneath a floorboard near the bed that you had found a few days ago when you were reading your file. 

You changed into the simple clothes that had been left for you—a soft cotton shirt and loose pants—before sinking down onto the edge of the bed. The silence of your room felt heavy, pressing down on you as you tried to process everything that had happened, everything that was yet to come. You let out a slow breath, your body aching, your mind spinning with thoughts of the rebellion and what might come next. But your thoughts wouldn’t quiet, replaying the events of the dinner, the officer’s strike, the way Gojo had looked at you—cold, calculating, but almost… protective. It made no sense. Nothing about him made sense. 

There was a soft knock at the door.

Your heart skipped a beat, fear and adrenaline rushing through you as you sat up. Before you could respond, the door opened, and Satoru Gojo stepped inside.

He moved with the same easy grace he always had, his gaze finding yours immediately. His expression was softer now, his eyes lacking the usual sharpness that made you feel like he was peeling away your layers. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you, his mouth set in a line that was neither a smile nor a frown.

“You’re supposed to knock,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your words carrying more exhaustion than actual reprimand.

He chuckled softly, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the room. “I did knock,” he said, his tone light. “You just didn’t answer.” He approached slowly, his gaze flickering to your cheek. He winced slightly, his smile fading as he took in the dark bruise that marred your skin. He moved closer, standing at the edge of your bed, his voice lowering. “Let me see.” You hesitated, your breath catching in your throat, but you nodded, turning your head slightly to give him a better view. He knelt beside the bed, his eyes narrowing as he studied the bruise, his expression softening in a way you weren’t used to.

“That bastard really got you, didn’t he?” he murmured, his fingers hovering near your cheek but not quite touching. There was something in his voice—something that almost sounded like regret. 

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “It’s not the worst thing that’s happened,” you said quietly.

Gojo’s gaze flicked up to yours, and for a moment, you saw something behind his eyes, something vulnerable, something almost kind. It was disarming, this glimpse of him that didn’t match the man you knew, the man who had been your captor, your tormentor.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The words hung between you, and you found yourself wanting to believe him, wanting to see the sincerity in his eyes as real, as something that you could trust. For a brief, dangerous moment, you thought about the flash drive hidden beneath the floorboards. You thought about telling him — about sharing the weight of what you carried, about letting him in, trusting that maybe he would help you.

Your lips parted, your heart pounding, but then you remembered.

Don’t trust anyone. Yui’s words echoed in your mind, a stark reminder of the reality you lived in. The people in this place, Gojo included, played their own games, had their own agendas. Gojo was powerful, dangerous, and whatever kindness he showed you, it was only a part of the larger web of manipulation and control that bound you to this place.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head slightly, pushing the thought away. You couldn’t afford to trust him. Not now. Not ever. 

“It’s fine,” you said, your voice steady, the mask slipping back into place. “I’ll be fine.”

Gojo studied you for a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if he could see the thoughts you were hiding, the things you weren’t saying. Then, slowly, he nodded, his gaze softening. He lingered for a moment, as if there was something else he wanted to say, but then he turned, moving toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, glancing back at you, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long before he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and you were alone again. The silence settled around you, the tension in your chest slowly easing as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed your hand to the floorboards, feeling the weight of the flash drive beneath it, the dangerous secret that could change everything.

—

The quiet crackle of the fire was the first thing you noticed when you stirred in the middle of the night. The room, bathed in a soft, flickering orange glow, felt warmer than it had before. You sat up slowly, your mind foggy with sleep, and saw Hana crouched by the fireplace, her back to you. She was stoking the flames, her movements efficient and quiet, as though she didn’t want to disturb you. You watched her for a moment, your heart slowing as you took in the scene. Snow was falling outside, visible through the frosted edges of the tall window. The flakes drifted lazily, blanketing the estate grounds in a pale, cold stillness. It was almost beautiful, in a way that made your chest ache.

Hana didn’t speak as she adjusted the fire, and when she was satisfied with her work, she stood, brushing the soot from her hands. She glanced at you briefly, her expression unreadable, before turning and leaving the room without a word. The door clicked softly shut behind her, and you were alone again.

You stared at the fire, its warmth reaching out toward you, chasing away the lingering chill in the room. The flames danced and flickered, alive and untamed, and something about them drew you in. You slipped out of bed, your bare feet making no sound as you moved toward the fireplace.

Your file sat on the nearby table, where you’d left it earlier. The neat stack of papers, bound together so methodically, was a record of everything you used to be. Every accomplishment, every failure, every detail of the person you had been before this nightmare began. It had been given to you like a weapon, a reminder of the life that had been stripped from you and the role you were now expected to play. You picked it up, your fingers brushing over the cover.

The fire crackled again, louder this time, and you looked at it, the flames reflecting in your eyes. Slowly, you moved closer, the file clutched tightly in your hands. You knelt by the fire, staring at the flames as they danced, alive and hungry. You opened the file, flipping through the pages one last time. The words blurred together, meaningless now, each line a ghost of a life you no longer recognized.

With trembling hands, you fed the first page into the fire. The flames caught it instantly, devouring it with a hiss, and you watched as the paper curled and blackened, the words disappearing into ash. One by one, you fed the pages to the fire, each one a small act of defiance, a quiet rebellion against the weight of the past.

When the last page was gone, you sat back, your hands empty, your chest heaving with the weight of what you’d done. The fire burned brighter now, the warmth spreading through the room, and you felt… lighter. Freer.

The snow continued to fall outside, the world beyond your window blanketed in white. You stared into the flames, the heat warming your skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe. You weren’t the person in that file anymore. You didn’t know who you were, not yet. But you knew one thing for certain: You were still alive. And as long as you were alive, you still had the power to change things.

The woman in that file was dead. 

You were what remains. 

[crimsononiarataki]

"Just the fact that you're tryin' to help me with that is enough for me, Myyrin. Not many people would be willin' to help me due to... well what I am,"

He was glad that she wasn't afraid of him, they'd fought side by side against the group of Kairagi who had thought of her as an easy target. He'd dealt with that group a lot, sometimes just to get their aggression out, the Oni lived near where they 'haunted', but not because of that. It just happened to be where he'd found an old Oni cabin that he wanted to fix up, so he bought the land and the cabin itself to do so. The garden he had beside it was smaller than the one back at the Gang's place, but it was still very useful to him.

Her willingness to aid him with the antihistamine, and her giving her word to give him any information she found about his clan was appreciated. Especially if she came out to learn that very few humans in Inazuma wanted him to reclaim his past. They seemed content merely having him going around not knowing where he came from. There were a few descendants of the humans that his kind had lived among before dying off that were trying to see if they could find anything, too. After all, their families had lived around the Crimson Oni of the Arataki Clan.

"I can come up with a cipher that only I can decipher. Somethin' unique to myself that nobody else will be able to figure out. While whatever it written down will make sense, there'll be somethin' I do that makes it different than normal notes."

Clearly he was thinking hard about how to go about doing something that could help him, maybe using Ishine Script mixed with newer Inazuman would be the best best. Ishine itself had survived on an island that had out of whack ley lines. If it could survive such a calamity then it could survive being written in some notebooks by him. He'd likely number the lines differently too, or use symbols to represent which needed to be deciphered, and which didn't. Shinobu would be the only other one possibly able to decipher anything, especially if he came up missing at some point. She'd be able to follow the notes, and signs that he left behind to find him.

"The only other one who'll understand anythin' I may leave behind in the off chance I come up missin' at any point, would be Shinobu. I trust her with my life. She'd know that if she found a certain symbol that I was in danger, and to get the aid a friend promised me."

Of course, if he was captured while being under the watch of the Shuumatsuban, they'd go and inform Ayato, who would then contact Shinobu to get him the help he needed. She'd likely try to get Heizou, maybe even Sara to help as well, because he was an Inazuman Native, and the last of his kind. He was protected due to that status, but some of the humans wanted to hurt him, or even try to kill him. He'd never done anything to anyone that threatened him but he was very aware that not everyone would like him that much. Which was fine. Perhaps once he learned of his heritage and his past, they'd change their tune.

"I have a few people I can contact, one of 'em I don't like really involvin' in anythin' but I know she'll be willin' to help without askin' for some sort of payment."

He was speaking of the Guuji, while they were friends, he avoided being alone around her for the most part because she liked to be mean to him simply to be mean. They didn't really hang out anymore due to him being and staying busy, and her not really leaving the Shrine. She knew his parents but hadn't told him their names because she was, in her own way, trying to see if he could recall their names without her help. He knew there was something there but he wasn't sure what.

"I have various symbols I use already, Shniobu is aware of 'em, I also know Ishine Script, which is a very old variant of what's now common Inazuman. It's archaic, but I can understand each symbol."

He understood what she meant, leave a trail only he and those he trusted implicitly could follow. Something that only those closest to him could decipher should anything happen to him. He'd not let anything happen but that was beside the point, something could still happen that was outside of his control after all.

"I could teach ya Ishine Script too, that way if you're here, ya can help should somethin' happen to me."

Myyrin smirked slightly, her tone light and teasing as she leaned back. “Don’t thank me just yet, big guy. I haven’t found anything useful, and who knows if I even will. All I’ve got for now is working on that potion to help with your bean allergies. If I get that right, then you can start showering me with gratitude.” Her teasing tone was underscored with genuine affection, though, as if to remind him that his hopes weren’t entirely misplaced.

As she watched him speak about his desire to know more, she couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself. For someone with so much lost, Itto still managed to be brimming with hope and determination. It was a contrast to her own cynical practicality.

“Writing it all down is a good idea,” she said, her voice softening a bit. “But don’t make it too obvious. Use something that only you—or someone who truly understands you—would recognize. Maybe a code, or symbols tied to you, if you can figure those out. The ley lines…” she hesitated, eyes narrowing as if contemplating the enormity of her own words. “The ley lines are powerful, but they’re also vulnerable. If someone tampers with them, memories, history, even written records tied to them can be altered. You wouldn’t want all this work erased, would you?”

She paused, crossing her arms and staring off into the distance for a moment. “Just think of it as an extra precaution. Write your story in a way that protects it—not just from others but from time itself. That way, no matter what happens, a part of you, of your clan, will survive.” Myyrin gave him a knowing look, one that was both cautious and protective. "It’s better to leave behind a trail that only you can follow, somethin’ personal. Don’t rely on anything that can be rewritten or changed by someone else, especially if you’re already uncertain of your past."

She took a slow breath and sat back, her expression softening again. "You never know who might be watchin' or who might want to tamper with what you’re trying to uncover. Best to be prepared."

[rayllumoon]

"i love you"

"it means i trust her — unconditionally"

[ineed-to-sleep]

So I've had this wip sitting in my folders for months now and decided to ressurect it to satiate the urge to draw these two again