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astonmartinii · 3 months ago

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other side of the moon - chapter three | formula one imagine

chapter three: home away from home

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

back in monaco for the first time after the crash, y/n reckons with ghosts from the past and the uncertain future.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO

despite the hefty price tag of the cat carrier, brando looks less than impressed. y/n continued to try and coax him in with a treat but the cat was suspicious to say the least.

“please get in the carrier brando,” she waved the treat in his face again, “we’re going to see max! you love max and you don’t mind kimi, yeah? remember them? we just have a short 16 hour drive because your lordship doesn’t like planes so can we please get in the carrier?”

brando bit into the treat and slowly made his way into the carrier looking sorry for himself. the biggest and final chore was now done with minimal guilt, she would take that. y/n wasn’t moving to monaco - no, she prided herself on being one of the only drivers to not make that jump, but she also didn’t exactly know when she was coming back.

there was less than a month until car launches and tests and max insisted on hosting some team-bonding sessions for her and kimi. it was probably just an excuse to see her before she is ‘tainted by mercedes’, but y/n found herself excited to see the dutchman again.

the suitcases were by the door and the plants had been watered, it was now or never. crossing the boundary of her front door, it dawned on y/n that her life was changing again. there wasn’t quite the excitement she had leading up to her first race in formula one, but she could feel the butterflies threatening to return.

the door clicked shut and the next phase started. in the lobby of her building, y/n approached the front desk.

“hi frank,” y/n said to the concierge, “i’m going away for a little while so could you keep all of my mail together for me?”

the older man smiled up at her. frank had been working at this building since y/n first moved in. he had tried to hide that he was a formula one fan but wasn’t quite successful. he had stuttered when she had turned up one evening, cap low on her head and oversized sunglasses despite the darkness.

“miss y/ln, would you like me to help you with your bags?”

y/n had frozen when frank said her name. frank had taken his hat off, trying to sort out the salt and pepper freckled hair on his head.

“i’m so sorry miss y/ln, that was unprofessional of me. as you now know, i am aware of who you are, i hope this does not make you uncomfortable. we will do anything you need to be comfortable here.”

y/n had also taken off her hat and looked frank in the eye. she deemed him sincere and allowed herself two minutes of respite from her burning anger. “no worries,” she looks down at his name tag, “frank. i would love some help, maybe on a better day i can sign something for you? other than these bags, i’d really love if this being my home was just something we keep between us.”

frank mock saluted and started grabbing bags.

“you won’t be gone forever will you, miss y/ln?” frank asked, pulling y/n back. the older man looked uncharacteristically worried.

“and miss our scintillating conversations? i would never! i assume you’ve heard i’ve taken the job with kimi? i’m going to do some ‘team-bonding’ with him in monaco and then i’ll be back”

frank took one of her suitcases, helping her to the garage.

“monaco you say? you wouldn’t be staying with the handsome dutchman by any chance,” frank said, raising an eyebrow in question.

“i might be?” y/n opened the door of her pink cadillac, “was it you who let him and kimi up without my permission, frank?”

“guilty as charged ma’am, but they were there with good purpose so i just had to”

frank continued loading the car with her suitcases, opening the back door and securing brando’s carrier in place.

“he also gave me a signed pair of race gloves, sorry!”

y/n exclaimed as she shut the door of the car. “i knew he was bribing you! but yes, i guess i am glad you let them up - for now.”

frank pulled y/n in for a hug. she let it linger before clearing her throat and pulling back.

“i know i’m just an old man, but it’s nice to see you excited about something again. you came to me three years ago a broken girl with a constant face like thunder,” frank pinched her cheek, “but here you are, ready to conquer the world again. i am proud of you. but don’t get too lost in your new role to not see what’s right in front of you.”

y/n was confused. frank continued, “the crash took a lot from you, but it did not make you unloveable. give people a chance.”

the older man stepped back and gave her a wave.

“make sure you make enough stops and get some sleep, it’s a long drive to monaco. say hi to max for me.”

frank turned and made his way back into the building. y/n sighed and climbed into her car. the pink cadillac was hardly subtle but she had banished all of her other cars to a different garage three years again so it would simply have to do.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, kimiantonelli and 11,304,788 others

yourusername: sixteen hour road trip ahead of us, i hope brando is ready to get real acquainted with taylor swift's discography

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user1: she’s so cute

user2: it’s the pink caddy!!!

user3: y/n is back in formula one and is driving the pink cadillac - never kill yourself

charles_leclerc: okay miss active on instagram

yourusername: had to come back and steal all the likes from you obviously

charles_leclerc: oh yes please remind me how you still have double the followers i do when you haven’t posted in three years?

yourusername: idk sounds like you have a skill issue to me

charles_leclerc: sixteen hours and you’re back on my stomping ground… watch it missy

yourusername: i will watch

yourusername: because i know you and you will grovel

charles_leclerc: maybe…

charles_leclerc: i’ve missed you, sue me!

yourusername: i just might!

charles_leclerc: wait-!

user4: all these reunions are making me sappy

user5: i’m stuck on the fact that y/n is driving all the way to monaco?

yourusername: brando doesn’t like flying 😕

user6: oh to be a high maintenance cat of a rich person

maxverstappen1: jimmy and sassy are eagerly awaiting your arrival

yourusername: awwww i’ve missed them

maxverstappen1: i was talking to brando…

yourusername: rightttttt

maxverstappen1: but i am eagerly awaiting your arrival

yourusername: as you should be

maxverstappen1: i stocked up on all your weird english biscuits and everything

yourusername: you’re too precious

user7: oh to have a bond like theirs

user8: i fear it’s a trauma bond

user9: it’s still cute!

kimiantonelli: can’t wait to get started miss y/ln

yourusername: please call me y/n kimi you’re making me feel so old

kimiantonelli: oki

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln what kind of pasta do you like

kimiantonelli: *y/n what kind of pasta do you like

olliebearman: you are such a failure omg

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the road was quiet, with taylor swift’s voice filling the silence. y/n had exhausted the conversation with brando, who was tuckered out in the backseat. by now the pair we deep into france, y/n had stopped being able to translate the road signs many miles ago.

the thought of returning to monaco was daunting. there would be ghosts around every corner and memories that y/n wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. y/n wasn’t even sure which drivers even lived in the principality any more - however, she knew that her former teammate did.

lando norris was a bit of an enigma in y/n’s life. there were early growing pains in their friendship? work relationship? but as the 2021 season rolled around, she thought they had finally been ironed out. the gap was slim, but lando had outscored her in 2020, so his ego was still intact and that made him a little more enjoyable to be around.

y/n wasn’t sure who or what had pushed lando over the edge of accepting her as a teammate and not just a mere annoyance, but january 2021 was night and day from her rookie season. y/n had a sneaking suspicion that lando had been subject of some heated PR meetings over the christmas break, but as long as she wasn’t in them, she didn’t really care.

suddenly there was a shift in the atmosphere. lando spoke to her outside of meetings, in between video takes and checked in over the breaks. suddenly lando knew the name of her friends, where she had gone on holiday and her favourite food. y/n didn’t think much of it at the time. but then came everything else.

july 2021.

y/n didn’t tend to spend long on social media, why open herself up to the opinions of stupid people just because they were loud? one morning, a sunny one in monaco, y/n received a flurry of texts from her trainer luca. ripped from her yoga session on max’s balcony, y/n checked her texts.

luca: is there other strenuous activities i need to be aware of?

luca: tiktok.com/userlandonorris/reposts

luca: if this is a thing, should jon and i coordinate training plans?

huh?

y/n clicked the link and was taken to lando’s tiktok page. she felt like an old woman trying to navigate the app but finally found the reposts. the first few she saw were edits of herself? and then a couple talking about “finally being understood by that person” and some other more charged in nature.

what the fuck. there wasn’t a normal day in this team it seemed. y/n pulled back the door and went to find max. the dutchman was tucked into bed, still sore from silverstone just two weeks earlier.

“have you seen this shit?” y/n said, shoving her phone in max’s face, “i mean what does this even mean? 69? i didn’t even know lando could count that high?”

“i think he’s referencing sex, y/n”

“i know he’s referencing sex idiot! why is he referencing having sex with me?!”

“i don’t know, you’re the dumbass who joined that team - he’s probably trying to like get you on side after the shit he pulled in austria and is doing it in classic dumbass lando fashion.”

austria had been eventful. both lando and y/n had somewhat slow starts to the season, with just one podium to their names by the time they pulled up to the red bull ring. the two papaya cars lined up fourth and fifth on the grid, with y/n managing to edge in front of her teammate, which meant the two were subjected to the word teamwork 72 times in a 45 minute meeting (y/n had counted).

when the lights went out, y/n got the jump on the ferrari of sainz ahead of her, wrestling her way past the spaniard and up into third. with cleaner air, max had already wrangled a healthy three second gap back to her and was hunting down lewis, so she focused on keeping the prancing horse behind her. as they approached the steep incline, carlos jerked out to the right and tried his luck up the inside. the spaniard was heavy on his brakes, burning up his tyres as he missed the apex and shunted his front wing into y/n’s front right tyre.

the contact didn’t manage to cause a puncture or any terminal body damage, but the push had made way for carlos, lando and charles to slide past her as she strained to keep her mclaren from going into the gravel trap.

“what the hell was that?” y/n asked down the radio, keeping her eyes focused on charles’ ferrari down the road. “do i have any damage?”

“no damage that we can see. hang back for a couple of laps, the ferraris are eating their tyres and will fall back to you.” jude, her usually cool race engineer, had a bite to his voice.

taking the corner as tight as she could y/n barked back, “surely he has to give that place back? he forced me off the track?!” y/n was practically vibrating, with anger or from the force on her tyres, she wasn’t sure yet. “just keep your head down, we’ll get back to you,” hugo replied.

the ferrari of charles was getting further and further down the road. “hugo their tyres aren’t falling off, can i hunt them down yet? what about this penalty?” it was like talking to a brick wall as the pit wall didn’t reply. y/n bit down the urge to swear up a storm and put her foot down with renewed vigour.

by the next lap y/n had managed to battle her way into charles’ drs and was priming her tyres for a late move further down the track. charles tried to cut off the slip stream and predict which side y/n might choose, but it wasn’t enough as the mclaren breezed past charles before they even hit the apex.

unbeknownst to y/n the silence from hugo was indicative of the larger argument happening on the pit wall. despite putting massive flatspots on his tyres, lando had yet to make his way past sainz’s ferrari. will, lando’s race engineer, was deep in discussion with him over the radio (which would’ve made quite entertaining viewing for y/n after the fact if it didn’t concern her so deeply).

“lando we are confident that sainz will get a penalty. y/n has cleared charles, we need you to back sainz into y/n so she can overtake. when she does we want you to give the position back.”

and if that wasn’t the sentence that summoned the shitstorm.

“why should i give the position back? i did nothing wrong?”

lando kept his foot down and increased the gap between himself and sainz. will’s voice rang out on the radio again,

“lando. sainz pushed y/n off track and you all gained positions, the right thing to do is to give the position back.”

that was a red flag to a raging lando. he let off a spiel that had made the post-race debrief and all media duties torture for the pair of them.

“carlos did nothing wrong and i did nothing wrong. y/n needs to learn we won’t just let her past like schumacher did. tell her to hurry up if she wants this position back, i won’t give her a podium just because she can’t defend.”

there was silence on the mclaren radio for a few moments. there was even silence on the broadcasts. no one quite knew what to say to that.

y/n had closed in on sainz, hundredths away from being in the spaniard’s drs range. her radio finally crackled back to life, “y/n you have full permission to use your tyres, we aim to pit soon. you are free to race with lando.”

excuse me? on one hand y/n was glad, there had been a couple awkward moments already this season where she had been told to hold position and not fight. however, that was her position, lost through no fault of her own?

“i am free to race? he should give me that position!”

“you are free to race. head down and clear sainz before we discuss again.”

this was bullshit. she knew it, hugo knew it, zak brown knew it, the broadcast team knew it and deep down lando knew it too. sainz was an easy pass for y/n in the end as she pipped him on the start finish straight. lando had a three second advantage which meant that y/n had some free air to cool down her tyres and get ready to fight her teammate. she would be clean but she was finishing on that podium whether he liked it or not.

within two laps y/n had completely dropped sainz and was breathing down the neck of lando. she was within his drs range as they rounded the final corner but before she could launch an attack lando swerved into the pit lane. that was an early stop? y/n quietly thought to herself that it seemed all too convenient that he was called into pit just as she was about to catch him… not that it really bothered her all too much, the over cut was more powerful at austria, so if she kept her good pace, she should come back out in front of her teammate.

many laps later and a late pit stop for y/n, the younger mclaren driver proudly picked up her second podium of the season. she hauled herself out of the car in parc ferme and immediately embraced max who had once again managed to win his quasi home race, catching lewis with ten laps to go.

once she had been weighed, y/n made her way to the interviews, glad to see it would be jenson conducting them - he always gave her nice questions.

“up first we have our third place finisher, the incomparable y/n y/ln! what a stint on those mediums, i thought for a second you were going to go all the way on them!” jenson said with a wide grin.

“thank you jenson! yeah… after the first lap i thought my race was pretty screwed… the fia took their time with carlos’ penalty so i had to regain my positions myself… but i think all in all it was a good race i’m glad to being going into my home race on the high of a podium and i’ll be looking to do even better there!”

jenson smiled at her but started to pick at his nails, a telltale sign he was going to have to ask a question he didn’t want to ask. “not to bring you down after a great race, but i must ask, what do you make of lando’s comments on the radio?”

y/n was puzzled, and her face showed that much. she started stuttering and shrugging. one of the production assistants behind jenson passed her a phone and pressed play. y/n held the phone up to her ear and felt the words rush over her.

oh. okay. y/n knew she needed to take a couple breaths before she responded or she would say something she would regret. people would probably forget about lando’s comments by next week but if she said something like that she’d be stuck with the brat label for the rest of her career.

“that’s disappointing for sure to hear. third and fourth is a good result for the team and it ended how it should’ve. we’ll discuss this with the team but for right now i’m going to celebrate my podium and drink some champagne!”

jenson gave her a nod to say she did well and beckoned over lewis. y/n walked back to the side of the podium pen and slid in next to max.

“who the fuck does he think he is saying that? i’m being serious, someones got to knock some sense into him,” max said under his breath, aware cameras were still on them.

“i know, it’s bullshit, but i doubt they’ll say anything severe to him.”

just as y/n was making peace with the fact there would be no severe consequences for lando, her and max turned to see the man himself in the media pen. intrigued, both listened in on his interview.

“it sounds bad on the radio, yes. but i stand by the message, maybe not the delivery. this is formula one and y/n needs to know that you can’t just bat your eyelashes and be let by.” lando’s PR handler cuts the interview there and drags him back towards the mclaren garage, barely concealing her anger on her face.

“well, well, well.”

max groaned from under the blanket he had wrapped over his head, snapping y/n out of it.

“yes he was a massive knob in austria, as per usual, but i don’t understand how implying he’s sleeping with me makes it any better? it makes it look so much worse!”

“can you stop bothering me about it i think you just retriggered my concussion.”

“i don’t think that’s a thing, max,” y/n said and then her phone chimed, “speak of the devil, he’s asked if we can go for some lunch to ‘discuss the season’ whatever the fuck that means”

“good leave me alone”

“we’re going to luigi’s do you want me to get you some carpaccio to go?”

“i actually take it back, i love you - yes.”

y/n refilled his water and got his painkillers from the kitchen before she slipped on her shoes and made her way out of the complex. this is what was confusing about lando. he was more than happy to berate her on the radio but then would set up meetings like this like nothing had happened. usually y/n could write it off as a heat of the moment thing - she had once called mick an ‘incompetent cunt with shit hair’ on the radio so she definitely understood it. but it never stopped there, media duties were the death of lando and y/n was interested to see how he aimed to worm his way out of this one.

luigi’s was surprisingly busy for a tuesday afternoon but y/n spotted lando easily with his big jumper in the july heat. lando didn’t stand up to greet her so y/n just sat down as soon as she got to the table.

“do you know what you want to order?” lando snapped the menu shut and looked over to her.

“i’m doing well lando, thanks for asking,” y/n muttered sarcastically, “i’m just going to get some of the salmon, it’s good here.”

the waiter turned up just as she put the menu down and y/n ordered the salmon, a juice and the carpaccio to go. lando had ordered some chicken salad and a water. once the waiter had left he hissed at y/n, “did you order that on purpose?”

“what?”

“the salmon.”

“are you allergic or?”

“no?”

“then what’s the big deal? i like salmon, it’s good for you.”

“i hate fish. everyone knows i hate fish. i invited you here to sort things out and you’re already starting with the mind games.”

y/n’s mouth fell open. he was actually being serious.

“you know not everything is about you right? salmon is in my meal plan and they cook it nicely here. i don’t think about you in everything i do.”

lando huffed, whispering a ‘that i’m sure of’ to himself. this was so childish, and y/n was very to let lando know that. “do you want to repeat yourself lando? or are you going to continue to be a child?”

lando was taken aback, “me being a child? says you! i wanted to talk this out after silverstone like we planned? you were going to come to see my family and everything. they were so excited to meet you, especially my sisters. but no, you let me, let us down!”

y/n actually laughed in disbelief. “i told you i was sorry about silverstone and i was, but max needed me and in that moment he was who i had to be with.”

“it’s always max, isn’t it?”

“he was airlifted to the hospital lando, i’m sure he would’ve preferred me hang out with your family than have to do that again.”

lando had started to rip apart the napkins, a sign he was desperately trying to regulate himself.

“you always choose him! you choose him then, you only stay at his when you’re in monaco - you’re even picking up food for him on our date!”

“our date? are you kidding me? i’m going to ignore that,” y/n took a sip of water,” and for max? i care about him deeply and he was in hospital after a very dangerous crash!”

“then why don’t you care about me? huh?” lando was getting choked up, “you’ve never been there for me when i’ve crashed?”

now y/n was even more confused. lando had wanted her to be there for him when he had crashed but also couldn’t stand to be around her longer than necessary until this season. this boy was such a headfuck.

“you fucking hated me last season lando. and the way you’re acting here and how you acted in austria don’t really tell me that you like me any more.”

lando huffed and crossed his arms like a child. y/n continued, “this is what i don’t get with you. you can’t stand me all last season, literally refusing to call me by my name, only calling me rookie and running from meetings as soon as you can but now, now! i need to be there for your every need. now you can repost dumb tiktoks and fuel rumours about us?”

“they told me we needed to look closer!”

“so you decided to tell the world we’re fucking?”

“i didn’t say that!”

“you basically did, i saw the reposts. and for your information i would never fuck you in a million years.”

“no, that’s for max only isn’t it?”

“what is you people’s fucking obsession with thinking i am sleeping with someone on the grid? is it that inconceivable that i might be able to exist around my fellow drivers without trying to sleep with them?”

“well you should stop acting like you are then!”

y/n stood up abruptly, scraping the chair across the floor. she hastily grabbed her stuff and slotted her sunglasses back.

“you can send me what i owe for the lunch, i don’t feel like sitting here and being berated because you can’t handle this season. you know who actually has something to be stressed about, the guy actually in the title battle, who is in bed still recovering from a crash. so goodbye lando, i’m going to go take care of my friend who actually cares about me and can talk to me without belittling me.”

she sweeped out of the restaurant, the waiter at the entrance saw her coming and passed her the carpaccio. the heat of monaco was sweltering but the drama between her and her teammate was heating up even more.

present.

y/n was still none the wiser about how she felt about lando, even all these years later. something inside of her wanted to reach out to him, reassure him that he was good enough, especially after how 2024 had panned out, but then the memories of their time together at mclaren come flooding back and she feels content with her silence.

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and charles leclerc (italics)

little birdy told me you’re back in monaco

by little birdy i mean your instagram post

omg have you considered a career switch to being a detective?

you’re mean

anyway!

cocktail night at mine tonight

i guess you can bring your losers too

yes that includes ollie before kimi asks

wow that’s a big assumption that i’m going to say yes

drinking on my dime? when have you ever said no?

you have a good point

i’ll be there at 8 - losers in tow

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“we get to go to a cocktail night at charles? oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

kimi squealed down the phone to y/n, “hold on let me tell ollie, we’ve got to get ready!”

y/n could hear him shuffling through their shared flat, “it doesn’t start for another like three hours kimi!”

the two boys had started excitedly discussing outfits and which cocktails are the ‘cool’ ones.

“we’ll swing by yours at 7:45, be ready we won’t wait.”

y/n hung up and turned to max smiling, they were so cute. the two of them had been curled up on the couch with the cats for the majority of the afternoon as y/n was catching up on sleep. the brit turned to max,

“oh i forgot to tell you,” max perked up, “guess who came to my apartment after the GQ thing?”

max shrugged, throwing a toy for jimmy.

“lewis.”

“hamilton?”

“yeah!”

max’s eyes sharpened, “why would he be at yours?”

“wouldn’t you know? you’re the one who gave him my address,” y/n replied, trying to make eye contact with max who was avoiding her gaze.

“yeah i thought he was going to send you like condolence flowers or something not show up unannounced?”

both of them had sat up at this point. brando was sat between them, looking between them confused.

“he showed up and complimented my dress. i asked him if he was sad he missed me at mercedes and he like proper leaned in and asked what i could possibly teach him? kissed my hand and left. it was weird.”

y/n laughed as she recounted the story but max wasn’t laughing.

“it’s funny max, you’re meant to laugh.”

max forces out a sarcastic laugh.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing. i just think it’s weird. food for thought.”

“don’t worry he won’t replace you. you’ll always be my favourite.”

max smiled at that. he piled on top of her, with brando squished in the middle.

“you’ll always stay at mine in monaco right? i’ll always be your best friend on the grid?”

“always,” y/n said, tucking one of max’s hairs behind his ear, “beside where else would i stay? in kimi and ollie’s bachelor pad? i’d rather die”

max let out a laugh and let his head fall on y/n’s chest, her hands immediately tangling in his hair.

“i’m sorry for that. i just love you and our bond, i get jealous that mr seven titles might steal you away.”

“away from you? they’d have to take me kicking and screaming. you’re the only one who had my address, you’re the only one i spoke to in the three years. don’t think i’ll ever not have you first.”

the cocktail party was nearing, but the pair were content to stay tangled on the couch, with a grumpy brando tucked in between them. outside of the apartment, the ghosts of monaco still lingered. maybe it was a good thing charles had a weird obsession with cocktails and his at home bar, y/n could use some liquid courage tonight.

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charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly and 2,304,667 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: it’s been three years and she still can’t mix drinks.

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user1: war is officially over

user2: i hope nothing bad happened between them but it is stuck in my mind that they didn’t talk in the three years

user3: i’m hoping she just flat out wasn’t speaking to anyone but max and charles did nothing bad

user4: his tribute post is still up which others can’t say so

kimiantonelli: i think her drinks are just right!

yourusername: i think we’re gonna work so well together

kimiantonelli: i think so toooooooooo

olliebearman: he’s just really drunk?

yourusername: so he’s not always like this?

olliebearman: loud? not really. but hanging off every word you say? yeah that’s pretty normal

user5: oh how i’ve missed my beautiful wife

user6: lando’s beautiful wife

user7: nuh uh george’s

user8: what about the guy who actually posted it

user9: i actually think you all should kill yourselves!

yourusername: i’m really not that bad you just have bad tolerance

charles_leclerc: i have measuring tools right there and you insist on doing the ‘y/n pour’

yourusername: does the ‘y/n pour’ get the party started or not?

pierregasly: yes because everyone is pissed by 9pm

yourusername: is that not the aim of a party

charles_leclerc: this is a sophisticated soiree - i even bought olives for this

yourusername: oh please

maxverstappen1: i think it would be funnier to watch everyone drunk stumbling around y/n

charles_leclerc: okay well we’d all be a bit more chill if you didn’t gatekeep her for three years

maxverstappen1: don’t care 😛

user10: max is the level of unbothered i need to be right now

user11: he’s on necks even in the off season

user12: so who else is to come?

user13: please please please let the brits be there i need my dose of y/nlando

user14: they're meant to be i swear

user15: oh my sweet summer child

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: enjoy my quick updates while you can i am back at my big girl job tomorrow :((((( but i will try to keep up with this pace where i can!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #charles leclerc #max verstappen #kimi antonelli #ollie bearman #lando norris

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thebarneschronicles · 3 months ago

Text

Closer To Home III

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Synopsis: Snowed in with Bucky Barnes, you find comfort in playful banter, lingering touches, and the quiet intimacy of a morning spent wrapped in each other. But beneath the teasing smiles and warmth of shared laughter, something deeper stirs—something neither of you are ready to name. When a visit to his empty apartment reveals just how much he still struggles to believe he deserves more, your carefully guarded feelings come crashing down. And as walls crumble, as confessions slip through the cracks, Bucky begins to understand: maybe, just maybe, he was always meant to find home in you.

Trigger Warnings: Smut (duh); A lot of dirty talk; Discussions of Hydra & their experiments; Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels.

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: I can’t tell you how much I love writing these two. This chapter has it all: smut, banter, angst, and a whole lot of feelings bubbling to the surface. Things are shifting between them, and I have a feeling neither of them are ready for what comes next… Let me know what you think—I love hearing your thoughts! B xx

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the soreness. It was everywhere—radiating from the stickiness still lingering between your thighs, stretching to your hips, and even tingling faintly in your shoulders. It wasn’t unpleasant, though; it was the kind of ache that came from being touched, held, and claimed in ways you hadn’t realized you craved. It was a reminder of how thoroughly Bucky had made you his.

The second thing you noticed was a dawning realization��this was going to be a problem. Not just the sex with Bucky Barnes, though that alone was a problem worth having. It was everything about him.

Sleeping with Bucky Barnes. Waking up with Bucky Barnes. Breathing the same air as Bucky Barnes.

It was as if your body and mind had conspired in perfect unison, conditioning you in a single night to crave him in a way that felt intoxicating. The realization hit you like a jolt —he wasn’t just someone you wanted. He was someone you needed. Somewhere along the way, he had slipped past your defenses, carved out a space in your heart so large it felt as if it had always been his to claim.

He’d stirred feelings in you that you couldn’t yet name, sensations so profound they defied words. But beyond the fire he lit in your veins, there was something far more disarming—he made you feel safe. Truly, deeply safe in a way you hadn’t ever felt with anyone.

With his arm draped over you and the steady, reassuring rhythm of his breathing beneath your cheek, your body had surrendered in a way it never had before. Tension melted from your muscles, your mind quieted, and you slept. Not just sleep—rest. The kind that seeped into your bones, filling the cracks of exhaustion.

The third thing you noticed was that Bucky was already awake. His hand traced slow, idle patterns on your back. His gaze was fixed on something on the ceiling, his expression unreadable in the soft, muted light filtering through your frost-dusted window.

Your legs were tangled with his beneath the sheets, your body half-sprawled over his chest. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep on him like this, but he didn’t seem to mind—if anything, the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the line of your spine told you he didn’t want you to move.

The chill in the room was undeniable, the frosty patterns snaking along the glass a stark reminder of the bitter cold outside. Yet none of it touched you. His warmth, it was overwhelming in a way that stole the breath from your lungs and left you dizzy. Every inch of you seemed to respond, like a live wire humming with his presence. Your thoughts, your senses, your very being seemed to narrow until all that remained was him—Bucky. He was all you could feel, all you could think about, all you could want.

You didn’t want to break the fragile peace of this moment. But the heaviness in your chest, the sheer weight of your feelings, made you sigh softly as you shifted, propping yourself up just enough to meet his gaze.

His eyes flicked down, catching yours, a faint, lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Morning, doll,” he murmured, voice low and scratchy, rough in a way that made your insides twist deliciously.

Your heart squeezed painfully at the sound, the sight of him. The depth of your feelings was already too much, inexplicable tears prickling at your eyes as you studied him.

“Shh,” you mumbled, pressing your fingers lightly to his lips. His stubble grazed your fingertips as you trailed them down, and you couldn’t resist scratching the roughness of his jaw. Leaning down, you nuzzled against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. You heard the way his breath caught at the touch, the subtle hitch that made a small, satisfied smile bloom on your lips. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again. “Let me just… watch you for a bit.”

“That’s creepy,” he said, laughing softly, the sound rumbling beneath you as his fingers found your waist and pinched playfully.

“It’s romantic,” you countered, wriggling against him with a huff. Your fingers wandered over his temple, brushing his hair back and smoothing your thumb over the arc of his brow. “You look so different in the morning.”

His brows furrowed, a small frown forming that made you grin. “Different how?”

“Don’t worry, Buck,” you said softly, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek, savoring the faint scratch of stubble. “You’re still just as handsome as when you’re trying to scare people off.”

That earned you a laugh, a real one, and you basked in the sound. It distracted him from the truth you weren’t ready to admit—that in this moment, he looked… almost at peace.

You weren’t sure if it was just this morning, or if it was something that happened often when he let himself stay still. But here, tangled in the sheets, with his body pressed to yours, he seemed lighter somehow. Like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him, like the ghosts of his past weren’t pressing into his shoulders. For once, it felt like he wasn’t fighting so hard to hold himself together. He was just here, fully present, almost entirely yours.

Reaching over him, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand to check the time. Barely 8 a.m. The storm that had been picking up since last night wasn’t letting up. The forecast confirmed it, showing a steady fall of snow predicted over the next few days. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as concern crept across your face.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, pulling you back down to rest fully against him. His hand brushed through your hair, tucking the strands behind your ear.

“The storm,” you said, turning the phone toward him. “It’s getting worse. Supposed to dump a few inches—everything’ll probably shut down for a bit.”

“A few inches, huh?” His lips twitched, and there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that immediately had you narrowing yours.

Your jaw dropped. “Did you just make a dick joke?”

Bucky smirked, his hand sliding to your hip. “What? You walked straight into that one, doll.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you huffed, pushing yourself upright to straddle him, tugging the sheets up to cover your bare chest. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I actually had it in you, darling.”

“Oh my god!” you burst out, laughing so hard you had to cover your mouth with your hand. “You have sex once and now you’re cracking dick jokes? What happened to my brooding soldier?”

“Maybe you fucked it out of me,” he replied, deadpan, though his eyes gleamed with pure amusement.

“Bucky!”

A dramatic groan escaped you as you buried your face in your hands, the warmth of Bucky’s body beneath you sending an undeniable thrill up your spine. His low chuckle rumbled through his chest, and you felt it everywhere, the sound curling around you like a vice. Even as you tried to maintain your composure, peeking at him through your fingers, you couldn’t help the smirk tugging at your lips.

“I think I liked you better when you were all grumpy and broody,” you teased, though the way your voice wavered with a poorly hidden laugh betrayed you. “Maybe you’ve been hanging around Sam too much.”

His reaction was immediate—his head dropped back to the pillow, a deep, exaggerated sigh escaping him. His jaw tightened, eyes rolling as though he’d just been betrayed in the worst way. “Please, don’t talk about Sam while you’re sitting naked on top of me.”

Your laughter bubbled up, full and unrestrained. You gave his shoulders a playful squeeze, feeling the tension there, the way he was trying—failing—not to react to the feel of your soft thighs against his hips, the way you hovered over his bare stomach.

“Did I just kill the mood?” you asked, mischief lacing your words as you pushed back and rolled your hips experimentally.

Bucky’s hands twitched at your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes dragged back to you, a dangerous glint flashing beneath the lazy sweep of his lashes.

“You did,” he admitted, but his voice had gone rougher, lower—betraying him completely.

“Mm.” You hummed, playful, challenging. “You sure?”

With deliberate slowness, you let the sheets fall away, leaving yourself bare under the soft light. His gaze followed the movement, his lips parting slightly as his eyes darkened, locked onto the bare curve of your breasts like he couldn’t decide whether to admire or devour.

His hands slid up your ribcage, strong and reverent, until they cupped your breasts with a kind of aching intent. He hadn’t looked away, hadn’t even blinked.

“Eyes up here, soldier,” you murmured, covering his hands with yours.

His gaze locked with yours, a flicker of defiance sparking in his blue eyes. “Can you blame me?” he rasped, his voice rougher now as his thumbs brushed against your skin.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, though the corner of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Hmm, I guess I’ll allow it. For now.”

“For now,” he echoed, a smirk tugging at his lips. His hands slid back down to your waist, his grip firm. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad about that Sam comment.”

“Really hard, huh?” you teased, leaning down just enough so your lips were a whisper away from his. “Careful, Buck. You’re starting to sound downright cheerful this morning. People might start to think you’re going soft.”

“Soft?” In one swift motion, Bucky sat up, his arms wrapping around your back to pull you flush against him. The sudden movement made you gasp as your hands flew to his shoulders for balance and he lined you up to where you could feel his cock, the length pressing against your bare folds with unrelenting, delicious pressure. “Nothing soft about me…”

The playful banter faded, replaced by an electric tension that filled the air between you. He tugged at the sheets until they pooled at your hips, and you felt the weight of his gaze as it slowly traveled down your body. His eyes caught on the faint marks he’d left on your skin the night before.

Every curve, every detail seemed to captivate him, and he finally settled where your bare cunt hovered just above him, his cock twitching in response.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky breathed. His hands, guided by yours, bracketed your hips with a tenderness that betrayed the hunger in his eyes.

“Yes, James?” you replied, your tone teasing but softened with affection as you shifted against him, just enough to feel the glide of his cock between your already wet slit.

“You gonna ride me?” His voice was thick with longing, but his gaze was steady, not demanding, just full of raw, unfiltered want.

You tilted your head, a playful smile curling at your lips. “Are you asking, or telling me?”

His thumbs traced slow, lazy circles on your skin, the weight of his gaze never leaving your face. “Don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he murmured, the words dripping with something more than just permission.

“And if I do?” you interrupted, voice barely a whisper as you leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

His hands slid up your sides, pulling you a fraction closer. “Then I can already tell it’ll be my favorite thing in the world…”

The heat in his voice made your pulse quicken. Brushing a soft kiss along his jaw, taking your time, you savored the closeness before you whispered, “Good answer, Sergeant Barnes.”

A groan escaped his lips when your hand slid between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. The sound sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, shifting your hips slowly, teasing his tip. His grip tightened instinctively, his cock twitching in response to the playful movement.

When you finally pressed down, sinking onto him, you both gasped. The sensitivity from the night before and the lingering haze of sleep made everything feel heightened, more intense. As you took him inch by inch, you searched for his eyes, only to find them closed, the look on his face completely blissed out.

There was no frown, no furrowed brow—just the soft, unguarded pleasure that made his features seem almost tender. It was the first time you’d seen him so completely relaxed, so free of the tension that usually weighed on him. The quiet vulnerability was almost as intoxicating as the physical connection between you, and you let the moment stretch, savoring every inch of the way he filled you.

“Can you lay back for me, baby?” you whispered, your voice thick with want, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his bottom lip before pulling back just enough to watch his reaction. "Please?"

His breath was uneven, his lips still parted from where you'd stolen his next words. You saw it—the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the way his fingers tightened against your skin like he needed the anchor, the way his thighs locked as if ready to push up, to meet you, to regain control. He wanted to guide this, to lead where the two of you went, to hold onto the illusion of dominance.

You shook your head slowly, smoothing your hands up the rigid planes of his chest, applying just the slightest pressure. "Let me," you coaxed, barely above a whisper. "Let me take care of you."

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His hands, strong and capable, held fast to your back, his fingers digging in like he wasn’t sure how to let go.

“Hey,” you soothed, cupping his jaw with both hands, your thumbs stroking the stubble-dusted skin. "Do you trust me?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "It’s not that, I—” He hesitated, his gaze flickering over your face like he was searching for something, anything to latch onto. “We can do it together."

The words hung between you, weighted with meaning and the unspoken fears of a man who had spent too much of his life being used, controlled, forced into submission. You weren’t asking for that. You would never ask for that.

“I want to do this for you," you said softly, shifting slightly in his lap, watching how his lashes fluttered when you did. Bucky blinked, then, slowly, he nodded.

Relief washed over you, warm and heady, as you urged him down, your hands pressing firmly against his chest until his back met the mattress. His fingers dragged down your spine before settling against your hips, a silent plea for something to hold onto.

You rolled forward deliberately, watching the way his body responded to you, how his jaw clenched and his stomach tensed, how his hands flexed against your thighs as if struggling with the instinct to take control. You knew it was difficult for him to relinquish power, to simply be and let you guide him, but you wanted to show him—prove to him—that with you, he could.

“How do you like it?” you murmured, leaning forward. You shifted your hips, adjusting the rhythm, the angle, teasing a reaction from him. "Tell me, baby."

Bucky swallowed hard, his grip tightening briefly before he forced himself to relax, hands falling idle at his sides. “Shit, doll, just like t-that,” he rasped, his voice rough with restraint.

Guiding his hands to your body, settling one at your hip, the other on the small of your back. “Hold onto me,” you whispered.

His fingers twitched, then slid lower, gripping the soft flesh of your ass, possessive, grounding. The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. He was holding on, just like you asked, but now you could feel it—the way he was fighting himself, the way he was trying to let go without completely losing himself.

“That’s it,” you praised, breath hitching as you rode him, slow, deliberate, making sure he felt every inch of your walls as you glided up and down, tip to base. "Don't let go. Hold onto me while I ride your pretty cock."

Bucky groaned, his hands digging into your flesh, the possessive touch making your own movements falter for a moment. He could break you if he wanted to. He could flip you over, take control, make you beg instead. But he didn't. “Look at me,” you pleaded, your voice thick. Your hands framed his face, trembling slightly as your fingers brushed the stubble along his jaw. “Come on, James. I need you to see this. Look at how good we are together… how perfect we fit.”

He resisted for a heartbeat, his lashes fluttering, before giving in to the pull of your voice. Slowly, his eyes opened, heavy-lidded and smoldering, the blue now darkened with need. Those eyes drank you in, devouring every curve, every sway of your body above him. He took in the way your skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat, the way you moved, as though his body had been carved to match yours.

“Fuck…” The word spilled from his lips like a prayer, barely more than a shuddered exhale. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath more ragged than the last. “I’ll… shit, I’ll cum if you keep this up. Can’t believe how well you take me.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, shaky but teasing, despite the heat pooling low in your belly. “Maybe that’s because I was made for you,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with intent.

The effect was immediate. His jaw tightened, his thighs flexed beneath you, and you felt him throb inside you, his reaction sending sparks through your own body. His hands tightened on your hips, guiding your movements now, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You like that, don’t you?” you teased again, though your voice wavered, betraying how much control you were starting to lose. “The thought of having my body made just for yours?”

Bucky groaned, low and guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows. The muscles in his neck strained, and the sound he made was somewhere between pain and pleasure. “Don’t say shit like that,” he ground out, his fingers sliding up to spread across your lower back. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

His hand trailed lower, his thumb brushing over your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp, your body jolting involuntarily. “James…” you whispered in warning, your voice breaking on the syllable, and your hand shot out to brace against the mattress beside his head, desperate for some semblance of balance.

“You hear that?” His voice was husky, his tone laced with awe and hunger as his thumb traced slow, devastating circles. “I can hear how wet you are for me. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat washing over you, your stomach tightening. But even as your body betrayed you, you shook your head stubbornly, refusing to let him win so easily. “S-Stop,” you stammered, though your resolve was already crumbling.

“I’m serious, James,” you protested, leaning forward until your chest brushed against his. The shift made him press impossibly deeper inside you, and the both of you let out simultaneous groans, your eyes rolling back rolled your eyes at the sensation. “This is for you,” you managed, though the words were barely audible over the sound of your erratic breathing.

“For us,” he corrected, his voice strained and rough.

Lips grazing the shell of his ear, each word trembling with intimacy and raw emotion, your voice softened, dropping to a tone meant only for him. “I want you to have whatever you need from me. Anything that makes you feel good. Do you understand?”

The silence between you stretched taut, broken only by the ragged pull of his breath. His hands, large and steady, now trembled slightly where they held you, as though he was warring with the weight of your words. And then, like a dam breaking, he gave in. His face buried itself in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing fevered, desperate kisses along your skin—, whispered agreements to surrender, to let go, to take what you offered so willingly.

Then, low and hoarse, his voice broke through the haze. “Can you—fuck—can you pick up the pace?” It was him, asking for what he wanted for once, and the need behind it made it feel like a plea. “Just like that,” he praised, his breath hitching as you moved faster, your body gliding up and down his shaft. “A bit quicker, good girl.”

The words hit you like a physical force, leaving you trembling. You obeyed instinctively, riding him harder, faster, and with more abandon, each movement drawing a new sound from his throat, each one unraveling you further.

“Keep going, love,” he urged, and your nails dug into his bicep, leaving crescents in his skin as your body burned hotter at the sound of the endearment. Love. That word. The way he said it, so casual yet so loaded, made your heart skip a beat. He needed to stop calling you that before you completely lost it.

“You’re so warm, so slick…” His voice was wrecked now, each word strung together. “Barely had any trouble taking me, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t hold the moan that escaped your lips, muffled only by your mouth finding his shoulder as pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. You felt him twitch inside you, and the knowledge of how close he was only drove you harder, desperate to tip him over the edge.

“Bucky, fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking as tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. The effort of holding back, of teetering so close to release without falling, was too much. “I need you to cum,” you cried, your voice raw with desperation.

If he didn’t—if you didn’t—you knew you’d lose yourself, unravel completely under the weight of this unbearable tension. You couldn’t bear the thought of him holding back, couldn’t stand another moment without the relief you both so desperately needed.

His hands gripped you tighter, his nails biting into your skin as his control finally snapped. His hips thrust up to meet yours, hard and deliberate, and his voice came out in a broken groan. “Keep going, don’t stop—please.”

The “please” broke you, shattered whatever thread of composure you’d been clinging to. You cried out, your body moving frantically now, chasing the release. When it finally came, when his body tensed and you felt the warmth of him spill inside you, you fell with him, a tangle of limbs and gasping breaths and whispered names.

For a moment, the world stilled. All that existed was the way he held you, his hands splayed wide across your back, anchoring you to him as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. His lips pressed soft, lazy kisses against your hair, his breathing still uneven.

“You must be a dream…” he murmured at last, his voice laced with awe, as though the thought had just escaped without permission. “I don’t even think I could create something as good as this…”

Your heart clenched at his confession, the weight of his words stealing the breath from your lungs. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you closed them tightly, desperate to keep your composure. The emotions crashing over you were too immense, too raw to be captured by words.

Instead, you leaned into him, pressing closer, letting the curve of your body against his speak for you. It was effortless, the way you fit together, like two halves of the same whole finally finding their place. His arms tightened around you in response, pulling you closer, as though he needed the connection as much as you did—maybe more.

The rhythmic sound of his breathing began to slow, each exhale softer than the last. You stayed there, suspended in the quiet, the world outside fading to nothing. Before the knot in your throat could fully unravel, before you could even whisper the words you felt so deeply, he was asleep. –

Bucky was still fast asleep when you slipped out of bed, his breathing deep and steady in the quiet of the room. Your legs ached in that delicious, lingering way that made you flush just thinking about the night before… and this morning. Your hair was a tangled mess, the kind only a long, hot shower could fix.

The water was scalding against your skin, steam curling around you in thick clouds. When you stepped out, you took your time applying moisturizer—something you did every morning, but today, you lingered a little longer, smoothing your hands over your skin with a care that felt indulgent. It wasn’t lost on you that you were paying extra attention, almost as if… as if you wanted to feel soft under his touch again.

God, you were in trouble.

By the time you finished drying your hair, the apartment was still blanketed in the rare hush of a snowstorm, the city outside subdued under layers of white. Even the usual hum of traffic and sirens seemed to have been swallowed up by, leaving you in an unusual sort of peace.

You met your own gaze in the fogged-up mirror, and for a moment, you barely recognized yourself. Your eyes were bright, cheeks still flushed from the heat of the shower—or maybe something else entirely—and there was a smile you couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard you tried. It was kind of ridiculous, how easily you had fallen into this thing with Bucky. How completely and utterly infatuated you’d become in such a short time.

But honestly, could you blame yourself? The man was… dreamy, for lack of a better word.

Shaking your head at your own reflection, you reached for the henley you’d stolen from the floor, the fabric soft and worn against your fingers. It still smelled like him and slipping it over your head felt like wrapping yourself in his warmth. You paired it with a fresh set of panties and some thick socks, padding out into the living room in search of something to fill the sudden hunger gnawing at you.

Somehow, you found yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients with more enthusiasm than you expected. Maybe it was the restless energy still buzzing in your veins from the morning’s activities. Maybe it was the cold, the way it made you crave something warm and hearty.

Or maybe—if you were being honest with yourself—it had everything to do with the man currently sleeping soundly in your bed, his presence lingering in every corner of the apartment, wrapping around you like an invisible thread.

The soft sizzle of eggs in the pan and the low hum of the kettle were the only sounds breaking the peaceful quiet. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee curled through the air. You smiled to yourself as you moved through the kitchen, arranging a spread that was far more elaborate than necessary—fluffy pancakes, perfectly crisp bacon, fresh fruit sliced with more care than anyone really needed.

Maybe it was the coziness of the morning, the lingering heat of the shower still clinging to your skin, or maybe it was the memory of last night—the way Bucky’s hands had explored, the way his lips had left traces of him all over you—that had you feeling so... content. Settled.

And that thought alone sent a flicker of unease through your chest.

Because contentment was dangerous. It was heavy with expectations and unspoken promises, and you weren’t entirely sure how much Bucky was willing to give you—how far he’d let you in before pushing you away. He’d given up control for a few minutes, but what if that was his line?

The thought of that conversation—the one where you'd have to define whatever this was—loomed over you like a dark cloud. Sooner or later, it would have to happen. And you weren’t looking forward to facing whatever truths might come out of it.

Your knife hesitated mid-slice through a ripe strawberry, lost in the swirl of your thoughts, when the soft creak of the bedroom door pulled you back to reality. You turned, and there he was.

Bucky stood in the doorway, shirtless, clad only in his dark briefs, his broad frame filling the space with an effortless kind of dominance. Sleep still clung to him in the tousle of his hair, the crease of the pillow on his cheek, and the soft squint of his eyes as he blinked at you.

“So that’s where my shirt’s gone,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep, rough in that way that sent a shiver down your spine.

A grin tugged at your lips as you grabbed a mug from the counter, pouring him a cup of coffee. “Do you mind?” you asked sheepishly, holding the mug out as he padded across the kitchen, slumping against the island with a lazy sort of grace. “I can give it back, I have plenty o—”

“You keep it,” Bucky interrupted, his lips curling faintly as he took the coffee from your hands. His eyes flickered over you, slow and appreciative, the oversized henley hanging off your frame in a way that had his jaw tightening just slightly. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he reached out, his vibranium arm wrapping around your waist with ease, tugging you closer until your front was flush against his. The coolness of his metal fingers pressed against the small of your back, holding you there, while his other hand brought the coffee to his lips for a sip.

You sighed, arms looping around his bare torso as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, you felt his grip tighten, his thumb stroking absentmindedly over your hip in a way that made your stomach flip.

“If you keep manhandling me like this,” you murmured against his skin, lips grazing his neck as you trailed soft kisses along his shoulder, “we’re never getting out of this apartment.”

Bucky hummed, a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest, and you felt his smirk against your hair.

“Exactly my plan, darling.”

You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest as you squeezed yourself closer, your cheek resting against the warmth of his skin. You let yourself admire him, tracing the strong lines of muscle beneath smooth skin, your fingers ghosting over the battle scars that told stories you’d never fully know. Each one was a reminder of the life he’d lived before you, the wars he’d fought—both the ones the world knew about and the ones you suspected still haunted him in the quiet moments.

God, he was so Bucky. It was almost too much—the way he filled the space around you, the way he was. The thought made your chest ache.

“As much as I’d love that,” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, your lips brushing against his collarbone, “we need to get you some clothes.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and mild offense. “Don’t you have enough to steal?”

“Not even close.” You grinned, and his head dipped slightly, shaking with a soft huff of laughter.

His blue eyes studied you, something lazy and dangerous behind them. “What do we need clothes for, exactly?”

“For you.” Your fingers splayed against his ribs, enjoying the way he tensed slightly beneath your touch. “To stay here. I can wash these for you,” you gestured vaguely to his current state of undress, “but I doubt you want to spend the whole week in jeans and a leather jacket.”

“A week?” His brows lifted, the tease obvious in his voice, making your heart stumble.

Before you could think of a clever response, he drained the last of his coffee, the mug settling onto the counter with a soft clink. Then his hands—one warm, one cool—cupped your cheeks, holding you in place. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, his touch featherlight but commanding all the same.

“Are you keeping me hostage, my love?”

The words hit you like a sucker punch, the unexpected weight of them stealing the air from your lungs. My love. It wasn’t the first time he’d used a pet name, but this one—this one was new. It felt different. It held weight. Promise.

Your lips parted on instinct, a small, sharp inhale betraying you. His gaze locked you in place, left you rooted to the spot, utterly helpless under the sheer gravity of him. Your eyes searched his, wide and pleading, silently begging him to kiss you. To put you out of your misery.

Bucky’s lips curled, just barely, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And he did—of course he did. Because he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, teasingly close but not enough.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured against your lips.

Your fingers curled into his sides. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours. Definitely yours.”

You closed the distance between you with a desperation that felt all-consuming, your lips crashing against his like an addict chasing their next fix—eager, hungry, completely and utterly lost in the way he tasted.

Your fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, nails biting softly into his skin as your nose bumped his in your search for more. “What are you doing to me?” you whined, voice breathless and aching, chasing his lips even as he tilted your head, guiding you deeper into him.

He let you have him, let you take your fill, and it was a long, dizzying minute before you could even think about pulling away. When you did, your forehead rested against his chin.

“What were you saying, doll?” Bucky murmured against your mouth, his grip firm at the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair in a way that made your knees weak.

“Clothes,” you managed to say, gulping down air and pushing lightly against his chest. “We need to get you clothes.”

His lips curved at the corners, and he didn’t loosen his hold. “For what?” he drawled, pulling you closer when you tried—half-heartedly—to create distance, his bare chest radiating warmth against your own.

“For you to stay here.” You bit your lip, trying to fight the way your body naturally leaned into him. “The city’s shutting down, Bucky. We’re all working from home for the next few days. There’ll be no missions.”

He hummed, the vibration of it rumbling against your skin, completely unconcerned. “Didn’t you get the text?” you added, hoping some logic would break through the haze clouding both your minds.

“Haven’t had time to look at my phone,” he confessed, his lips brushing along your jaw, down the sensitive column of your neck, each kiss melting your resolve a little more.

You groaned, tugging lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck, though there was no real force behind it—no real will to stop him. “Bucky, come on,” you pleaded, though your head lolled back of its own accord, giving him even more space to continue his assault.

“I made you food,” you gasped, trying to ground yourself.

“You did,” he murmured, his mouth moving lower, a smile evident in his voice.

“I made you coffee.”

“You did,” he echoed, his vibranium hand slipping under the hem of his stolen shirt, cool against the heat of your skin.

“I made you pancakes—” Your words cut off with a sharp gasp as his tongue flicked over the sensitive spot just below your jaw, and your toes curled against the cold kitchen floor. A shiver shot down your spine, leaving you trembling in his hold. “Fuck. Okay, okay, we need to stop.”

Bucky hummed again, nipping playfully at your skin, and you felt the smirk forming against your throat. “Do we, though?”

You groaned, half in frustration, half in bliss. “Yes,” you insisted, even as your hands betrayed you, gripping his biceps tightly. “Before the food gets cold.”

He sighed dramatically, finally pulling back enough to meet your eyes, his face so unfairly handsome it almost had you giving in all over again. “Fine,” he grumbled, but the mischief in his eyes told you this wasn’t over.

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest and trying—failing—not to smile. “Go put some pants on, Barnes.”

–

Breakfast passed with only minor interruptions—most of them your fault. You couldn’t resist stealing a kiss when a smudge of syrup clung to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, and he had grumbled something about “food theft” while pulling you into another kiss that tasted like maple and coffee. It was slow, sweet, and enough to make you forget the cold world outside for a moment.

But reality crept back in, and soon he was leaving you in the kitchen, disappearing into the bathroom with a parting kiss to your temple. The sound of the shower running filled the space, leaving you alone with your thoughts—the worst possible company, if you were being honest.

By the time he stepped out, fresh and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, you had already decided you weren’t going to let him face the snow alone.

“Stay here, doll,” he’d said, tugging on his jacket. “It’s freezing out.”

“I’m coming with you,” you shot back, folding your arms in defiance.

Bucky sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was preparing for a battle he knew he’d lose. “I’ll be quick.”

“No.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “You’re not coming with me,” Bucky said firmly as he pulled his jacket on, his tone brooking no argument. “It’s freezing out there, and the sidewalks are a mess. It’s not safe.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his stubbornness with your own. “if it’s safe for you, then it’s safe for me. You’re not facing that alone. Not a chance.”

“Doll—”

“I’m coming, and that’s final.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk to his place, a few blocks away, was brutal. Snow crunched underfoot as the two of you trudged through the white-covered streets, your gloved hand slipping into his halfway through the walk. He didn’t say anything, but his grip tightened around yours. When you finally reached his building, your breath came out in small clouds, your cheeks and nose tingling from the cold. You followed him up the stairs to his apartment, still catching your breath as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Stepping inside, you were struck by how little had changed since the first time you’d been there—a fleeting late-night visit to drop off mission files. The same barebones setup greeted you: a modest TV, a makeshift bed on the floor with neatly folded blankets, a stack of plates drying on the counter, a chair. The bedroom door was ajar, offering a glimpse of a near-empty space that seemed more like a glorified storage space than a place to rest. The place wasn’t just bare; it was lifeless.

Bucky dropped his keys onto the counter, glancing at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “There’s some drinks in the fridge if you want anything,” he murmured, his lips lingering against your skin for a second too long. “I’ll just grab some things.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your eyes sweeping across the barren room. The walls were empty, a pale expanse of nothingness, save for a few nicks and scratches that told stories no one had been invited to hear. The furniture—minimal and purely functional—felt more like it belonged in a holding cell than in someone’s home. A tangle of emotions tightened in your chest, a dull ache that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with him.

It wasn’t just the absence of warmth, the lack of personal touches, or the refusal to claim this space as his own that hurt. It was what all of it represented. Bucky didn’t think he deserved any of it—not the cozy clutter of a home, not the comfort of a safe space, not the smallest token of belonging… not the comfort of you. That unyielding part of him, buried so deep it seemed untouchable, still whispered lies born of decades of torment. Lies that told him he was unworthy, that he was irredeemable, that the horrors he endured were somehow his burden to bear forever.

You knew better. You’d read the files. You’d combed through the blood-soaked history of the Winter Soldier, every mission meticulously documented, every coup orchestrated, every life taken with cold precision. You’d seen the names of dictators he’d helped rise to power and the innocents whose lives were stolen in the process. But those files didn’t just tell the story of what he’d done; they told the story of what had been done to him.

You knew about the experiments, the torture, the relentless breaking and rebuilding of a man until there was nothing left but a weapon. You knew about the years he spent frozen, locked in an icy limbo while the world turned without him. His friends and family grew older, grieved him, moved on. He had been robbed not only of his agency but of his life—again and again, piece by piece, memory by memory.

And yet, standing here in this hollow space that he refused to call a home, you felt the weight of it all pressing on your chest. It wasn’t just the sadness of what he had endured but the injustice of what he continued to carry. It broke your heart in ways you couldn’t articulate, shattered it all over again every time you caught a glimpse of this man—so lost, so burdened—who couldn’t see the good you saw in him.

The sound escaped before you could stop it—a raw, choked sob that ripped free from your chest, surprising even you. It was as if all the care and grief and pain you had been holding inside had suddenly coalesced into that single, involuntary noise. Your throat felt impossibly tight, like those damned files had transformed into invisible fists, squeezing the air from your lungs. Grief welled up for the man Bucky could have been, for the life he might have lived if fate had been kinder, and it crushed you.

You clapped a trembling hand over your mouth, desperate to smother the sound, but it was too late. He was there, moving faster than you could compose yourself, his presence a solid, grounding warmth behind you. His hands hovered just above your shoulders, hesitant but close enough.

“What happened?” His voice was soft but taut, worry stretching every word thin.

You shook your head quickly, trying to pull yourself together as your free hand swiped at the fat tears trailing down your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice cracking. “Really, I’m okay. You should—go back to packing.” You managed a shaky, watery smile, blinking furiously against the torrent threatening to spill again. “Do you need help with anything?”

But then you saw his face. The worry etched into his features, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. It was too much.

Whatever fragile grip you’d managed to find shattered in an instant. Your face crumpled, your chest heaving with a heartbroken sob that tore through the room. Your hands shot up instinctively, covering your face as though you could hide the sheer weight of your emotions from him.

“No, no, no,” you stammered through the tears, shaking your head. This wasn’t his burden to bear. Not after everything he’d already endured. Not when the weight of his past was already crushing him. He didn’t need your pain, your hurt for him, added to his. He didn’t deserve that.

Bucky didn’t move away. He didn’t retreat to the safety of distance or let the awkwardness of your emotions push him back. Instead, he stepped closer, his hands finally landing on your shoulders, firm and grounding. “Hey,” he said softly, the word more of an anchor than a question. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head again, your fingers clutching your face as though you could physically hold yourself together. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to see this. I just—” Your voice broke, and you sucked in a shuddering breath.

“Why shouldn’t I see it?” He frowned, thumb brushing against the skin of your neck, the gesture so gentle it urged a new wave of tears, making you reach out to grip his jacket, the cold from the outside still lingering on the fabric. “Because you don’t need this,” you hiccupped, swallowing down another wracking sob. “You know I know... everything", your voice broke then and your hands tightened into fists, pulling him closer still. "I know what they did to you, everything, every time they broke you and built you up again, I know, and I-- it's not pity, I promise you it's not. I just... I l-- care. I care about you so much and you're so good, Bucky. I can't believe you've gone through all of that and you're still so good." He opened his mouth to respond, his lips twitching into a small, humorless smile. “Maybe I’m not,” he said, trying to laugh, trying to disarm you with that wry, self-deprecating edge you hated.

You practically climbed him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a grip so tight it would’ve choked any other man. But not him. Not your Bucky. “Don’t joke about this,” you pleaded, shaking your head against him, standing on your tiptoes and using every ounce of your strength and weight to pull him down toward you. Your lips pressed wet, frantic kisses to his temple, his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips, your tears soaking into his skin. “Don’t you dare joke about this.” His breath hitched, a tremor you felt more than saw, and his hands faltered as they lifted to your back. They hovered there, caught in a limbo of indecision, as though he couldn’t decide if it was best to hold you closer or push you away.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t need this—me falling apart on you. Not after everything you’ve carried, Bucky. More than anyone ever should. And now I’m here, breaking... and you shouldn’t have to deal with that, too.”

“Stop,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, a quiet strength anchoring you in a way only he could. His hands pressed to your back with gentle insistence, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge. “Kinda nice to have someone grieve for me, you know?” His lips quirked in the faintest, almost disbelieving curve—a smile too fragile to hold. “I’ve felt like it’s just been me. Alone. For so long. After Steve—” His voice broke, a hitch that was barely audible but cracked through the air between you. “After Steve, I didn’t think anyone would ever… care. Not like that. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my best friend. I love the guy. But I’ve always wondered if that’s the only kind of care I’d ever get from people. Like it’s more duty than choice.”

His confession twisted the knife of emotion deeper. A fresh wave of sobs welled up, breaking free as the raw vulnerability of his words settled into the hollow places inside you, making you ache for him in ways that felt almost unbearable.

“No,” you whispered fiercely, your head shaking against his. “It’s not duty. It’s not obligation. I care about you because of who you are, Bucky. Not who you were, not what you’ve been through, not because you need saving or because I feel sorry for you. It’s because you’re good. Whether you believe it or not, you are so good.”

His lips parted, an objection forming on his tongue, but you surged forward, pulling him into a kiss that silenced everything else. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate. It was a kiss that carried the weight of everything you couldn’t yet say aloud. Grief. Hope. Love. A promise that he wasn’t alone and never would be, not because someone felt they had to be there, but because they chose to.

He froze, stunned for a breathless moment, before surrendering. His hands slid down from your back to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He held you like you were the only steady thing in a world that kept tilting and shifting beneath his feet.

When you finally pulled back, tears streaked your cheeks, unchecked and raw, and his thumb brushed against your jawline, wiping them away. His eyes searched yours, filled with an unspoken vulnerability. “I…” he started, but the words died in his throat.

You wanted to ask him to tell you everything that churned behind those stormy blue eyes. You wanted to dive headfirst into the hurricane of his thoughts, to feel the raw chaos of the emotions he kept so carefully hidden. You longed to strip away the armor he wore, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between you but the fragile truth of him.

More than anything, you wanted to carve out a home in the spaces where others had turned away. You wanted to fill the voids they left behind, to prove that for you, there was no “something better.” There never could be. Because this—he—was everything.

Instead, for his sake—and maybe a little for yours—you forced a shaky laugh and tried to lighten the mood. “This is why you need a bed in here,” you joked weakly, your voice cracking under emotions you couldn’t quite suppress.

His lips twitched, and the faintest hint of a smile broke through the storm. “Because crying and having sex is a great idea?” His tone carried a teasing edge, but you could hear his quiet relief.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, hiccupping through your tears. “Have you never heard of tears of pleasure?”

His brow furrowed, the expression so unguarded and boyish that it tugged something deep inside you. “...No?”

“Guess you haven’t tried hard enough, then,” you quipped, your voice lighter but still trembling. Vulnerability lingered just beneath the surface, too close to keep hidden.

He shook his head, exhaling a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe you’re joking right now.”

He tilted your chin up with his thumbs then, fingers buried on the back of your hair and his lips found yours. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t careful. His hands slipped and framed your face as if he could hold all of you in his palms, as if he was trying to tell you what he couldn’t say. And when you clung to him, your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through his hair, it felt like trying to tether yourself to something real in a world that kept slipping away.

Then his hands slid to your thighs, gripping firmly, and before you knew it, he lifted you with an ease that made your head swim. Your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively and you felt his strength beneath your fingers.

“If I don’t joke,” you murmured against his lips, your voice trembling with your confession, “I’m gonna say a lot of things I shouldn’t.”

His steps faltered, and he paused, holding you there, his forehead brushing yours. “Like what?” he asked, a dangerous invitation.

“You don’t want to know,” you whispered, shaking your head. You kissed him again, feverish and desperate, trying to drown the words that threatened to spill out—the words that had been clawing at your throat for weeks. “Not yet. God, not yet.”

He resumed, carrying you toward the makeshift bed of blankets. He knelt with you, settling you down as gently as if you were made of glass. His eyes bore into yours, a storm of curiosity and hesitation swirling within them.

“But what if I do?” His voice was barely above a whisper. The steel blue pinned you in place, raw and searching, like he was trying to unearth the pieces of you you’d been holding tightly to your chest.

“Bucky, don’t,” you choked out as tears spilled anew. “I’m scared enough already. I’ve shown you too much—I’ve said way too much.” You let out a shaky laugh, more bitter than amused. “I’m terrified you’ll run out that door the second I look away. Don’t make me say it. Please don’t.”

His grip tightened, his forehead falling against yours as his weight settled between your legs, making you inhale sharply at the sensation. His breath ghosted against your lips, steady and grounding, as his voice came soft but resolute. “What do you need, then? Tell me, doll.”

“Just kiss me,” you pleaded, fingers dragging over the stubble on his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, eyes searching his like you couldn’t decide where to look, how to touch. “Keep my mouth shut, will you?” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist. “Do it until I forget my name.”

He let out a breath and you saw the glassiness in his eyes, your own emotion reflected on his as he turned to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “As long as you don’t forget mine,” his voice soft and reverent, as though the thought of you forgetting him was too much to bear. Leaning down until all of his weight was on yours, his tongue slipped into your mouth with a possessive stroke that sent heat pooling in your center.

“I could never,” you breathed, words mumbled, arching up when his hand found its way under your shirt to find soft, warm skin. “I could never forget you, James.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic

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sixeyesonathiel · 12 days ago

Text

love comes in small sizes

chapter two : sugar, spice and sass

pairing – ex situationship gojo x fem reader

summary : you and satoru have always been something—never labeled, never defined. from jujutsu high to stolen rooftop kisses, your dynamic is a mess of healing hands, half-confessions, and his infuriating habit of getting hurt just to keep your attention.

but when the weight of loss and pride tears you apart, you walk away—until fate (and a tiny, pink-backpack-wearing menace) drags you back into his orbit six years later.

tags –> canon divergence au, fluff, angst, humor, hurt/comfort, unlabeled relationship, grovelling satoru, secret child trope, reunions, miscommunications, second chances, happy ending for my own sanity, satoru is trying his best, reader is petty for a valid reason

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friday dawned peacefully.

the morning sun spills into the small of your apartment, draping the kitchen in soft gold. the air is thick with the scent of buttered toast and freshly brewed coffee, warm and familiar, settling into the quiet rhythm of your mornings. the television hums in the background, some children's show playing on low volume, but neither of you are paying much attention. it’s the kind of peaceful, ordinary morning that feels like a moment suspended in time, familiar enough to feel safe.

shia sits at the table, legs swinging beneath her in that carefree way only children manage. her kindergarten uniform is a soft baby pink, the fabric catching the light as she kicks her feet back and forth. a pair of blue barrettes hold back her bangs, the color popping against her pale hair like small accents on a delicate painting. her blue eyes, so much like his, sparkle with a mischievous gleam that only someone who’s learned how to play innocent can pull off. it’s so subtle, the way she glances up at you through her lashes, but you don’t notice it—how could you? your baby girl, with her soft cheeks and messy hair, is nothing but sweetness to you.

"mommy, you're so pretty today.” she announces, voice syrupy sweet, gaze wide and unblinking, like she’s telling the truth of the universe itself.

you snort, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “you say that every day.”

“because it’s true,” shia insists, taking another bite, her small fingers gripping the toast with the certainty of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. she doesn’t even look like she’s lying—she looks like your baby girl, all soft curls, round cheeks, and the sparkle of innocence that only you could see.

you don’t think too hard about it. spoiling someone with white hair and blue eyes has always come too easily. your hands move automatically, slicing fruit and arranging it carefully on her plate, the rhythm so familiar it’s almost second nature now. the motion tugs at something deep inside, a memory buried under years of routines and time, something warm that aches without making a sound.

the plate clinks against the table, just a little harder than usual. shia blinks up at you, a few crumbs clinging to her cheek. you gently brush them away with your thumb, smiling softly even as your jaw tightens. it’s a smile you force, though she would never know that—she’s too busy, too wrapped up in being your perfect little girl.

because you’ve been thinking about him again.

not in the way you used to—not with the longing that used to drown you when you were alone, or the ache that sat heavy in your chest. no, now it’s irritation, a sharp, gnawing feeling that rises up every time his stupid face pops into your head, uninvited. that ridiculous white hair. those infuriating blue eyes. how could he still have the nerve to take up space in your mind?

"mommy," shia says, her mouth full of jam as she takes another bite, "you're making your angry face."

you exhale slowly, the soft sound escaping through your nose. six years. six whole years of peace, and now one accidental run-in at the mall had him taking up residence in your head again, like he still had the right. like he mattered.

“i’m not angry,” you lie, smoothing a hand over her neatly combed hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers. you force the smile a little wider, hoping she doesn’t notice the tightness in your chest. “just thinking about how some people are allergic to common sense.”

shia nods solemnly, as if this is the most logical statement she’s ever heard, and goes back to demolishing her breakfast. her small hands press down on the toast like she’s preparing for battle, eyes focused and intent on the task. and as you watch her, you see nothing but your baby girl—the sweet, innocent little girl you’ve raised. your heart swells as she smiles at you, completely unaware that she might be the most dangerous little angel you’ve ever met.

you sip your coffee, feeling the heat seep through your hands, a comforting presence that contrasts the strange unease creeping into your chest. the hum of the television is still there, but it fades into the background, swallowed up by the soft clinking of dishes and the quiet rhythm of shia’s movements as she munches away at her toast.

it’s when you think of the calendar, of the fact that today is father's day, that the words slip out almost without thinking. “hey, baby,” you begin casually, voice light and carefree, “there’s no event at school today, right?”

shia freezes for just a fraction of a second, a brief flash of hesitation that you almost miss. then, as if nothing at all happened, she shakes her head with an exaggerated innocence. “nope! not at all! school is so boring today, mommy. just… learning! normal school things!”

you narrow your eyes slightly, just a hint of doubt bubbling up. there’s something in the way she said it, too quick, too eager. you lean forward a little, your gaze sharpening. “…you sure?”

shia’s response is immediate and overzealous, her voice practically bouncing with unearned certainty. “super sure!” she says, nodding rapidly as if her enthusiasm could make her words more believable. “sooooo sure! if there was something fun, i would totally tell you, mommy! pinky promise!” she stretches her little pinky toward you, her eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of sincerity she’s mastered.

you can’t help but smile, a soft chuckle escaping you as you hook your own pinky around hers. it’s so easy to fall for it, her childlike innocence radiating from her like sunshine. you don’t even hesitate as you link your fingers together, feeling that familiar warmth of trust flood you.

but then, a strange feeling stirs inside you, a small shift, like a pebble tossed into calm water. it’s not quite suspicion, more like a tiny, nagging doubt. a whisper at the back of your mind, one you push aside with a half-hearted shrug.

why would you doubt her?

shia had always been so honest with you, always so bright and open. there was never a reason to question her, never a reason to believe anything other than the truth she showed you with every smile. she was your sweet girl, after all. an unfiltered ray of light in your life.

but even as you smile down at her, that tiny flicker of doubt remains, like a shadow in the corner of your mind. you shake it off, focusing instead on the soft warmth of her hand in yours, the trust in her small, bright eyes. everything is fine. you’ve raised her right, after all.

the conversation lingers in the air like the faint hum of the television, but the doubt that still clings to you refuses to dissipate. you try to push it away, focusing on the moment, on your daughter’s wide, sparkling eyes, but something doesn’t sit right. your fingers trace the rim of your coffee mug absently, the warmth from the cup a small comfort that doesn’t quite reach the tight knot in your chest.

“hm,” you hum softly, still feeling like something is off. the words slip from your lips almost without thinking, your gaze still lingering on her small form as she picks at her toast. “it’s just weird. didn’t you always want to go to father’s day events before?”

shia, still as bright as ever, doesn’t seem phased. she tilts her head to the side, her eyes momentarily shifting toward the plate in front of her as she stuffs another piece of toast into her mouth. a classic distraction tactic. “hmmm?” she asks, her voice muffled by the food.

“i mean, i used to take you, right?” you continue, a slight furrow appearing on your brow as the pieces of the conversation begin to not quite fit together. “in nursery, in pre-kindergarten, even those little parties or circus for father’s day.”

shia hums, as though in deep thought, her small shoulders shrugging nonchalantly as if she’s far too mature to be caught up in those things anymore. “mommy,” she says seriously, her voice the perfect mix of innocence and childish gravitas, “that was baby me. i am grown-up now. very mature.”

you bite back a smile, amused despite the gnawing confusion. “oh, yeah? very mature?” you tease, your tone light, trying to keep the conversation playful, even as your mind churns with unanswered questions.

“yep!” shia nods vigorously, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “besides, i only liked those events ‘cause you came. i don’t need to go anymore!”

the memory of those events stirs within you, a clear image of shia so eager, so excited, even when she was too young to fully understand what father’s day was about. she used to love those events, always wanting to be a part of them, her little face lighting up with the thought of celebrating the day with you.

your thumb continues to circle the smooth rim of your coffee mug, your gaze drifting to your daughter once more. there’s a small shift in her posture, her usual bounce replaced with something a little more... still, as if she’s suddenly grown much older than she looks.

the nagging doubt presses on you again, that small whisper of unease that refuses to fade. but shia is too bright, too sweet, her every movement so convincing, so full of the carefree energy that used to make her unstoppable. her eyes shimmer with feigned sincerity, her little fingers gripping the edges of the table with an earnestness that makes you want to believe her.

maybe you're just overthinking it. after all, she’s your baby girl. she’s always been so open, so honest, so real with you. and in the end, you dismiss the doubt, telling yourself there's no reason to question her—she's just growing up, that's all.

with a soft sigh, you finish your coffee and stand up, stretching your arms as you watch shia finish her toast, her small hands gripping the edges of the plate with exaggerated care.

“alright, let’s go. i’ll drop you off.” you say, your voice gentle, as you reach for your keys.

shia freezes, her body stiffening for just a moment before she quickly forces a smile. “oh! no! you don’t have to, mommy! i can go by myself!” her words come out a little too fast, a little too rehearsed.

you raise an eyebrow, a silent question passing between you and her. "you never want to go alone."

she squirms in her seat, her legs swinging beneath her as she looks away, almost nervously. “i-it’s good to be independent! i am a responsible young lady!” shia puffs her chest out proudly, trying to look as grown-up as she can.

kneeling down in front of her, you fix her bangs and smooth out the uniform she’s wearing, the pink fabric soft under your fingers. “you’re acting weird today, baby.” you murmur, eyes narrowing as you study her.

shia bats her eyelashes exaggeratedly, her lips curling into an innocent smile. “i am always a delight.”

you squint at her, something in your gut telling you there's more to this than she's letting on. but with a small sigh, you shrug it off, deciding that maybe it's just one of those mornings.

the moment hangs in the air, and you wonder if you’ve been overthinking things all along. just as you start to let the doubt fade, shia suddenly wraps her little arms around you in a move so sweet it almost knocks the breath out of you.

”mommy,” she says, her voice dripping with sugary innocence.

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden affection. "what’s this for?"

“just 'cause!” she giggles, her charm cranked up to a level you’ve only seen in the movies, like she’s auditioning for a role in the most dramatic, heart-melting scene.

you feel your heart soften, that maternal instinct rising to the surface as you smile. “aw, my sweet girl.”

“the sweetest!” she agrees, voice as innocent as ever. but behind that sweetness, there’s a flicker of mischief, a glimmer of a plan you still can’t see.

before you can even respond, shia grabs her little bag, her tiny feet barely touching the floor as she runs toward the door. “bye, mommy! love you! have a great day!” she calls over her shoulder, her voice high-pitched with excitement.

you blink, watching her dash away, the sound of her footsteps growing fainter. you stand there for a moment, unsure of what just happened. “...okay, that was weird.”

with a sigh, you shake your head as if trying to clear the strange feeling building in your chest. you turn back to the apartment, the calm stillness of the morning settling around you again. but little do you know, the quiet peace you just experienced will be short-lived. you have no idea that your daughter, with her sweet smile and perfect little act, is currently plotting something far more devious—something involving the strongest sorcerer alive. and before you know it, your peaceful days will be a distant memory.

the sound of shia’s footsteps slowly fades into the distance, and you’re left standing in the quiet hallway, staring at the door as if it might open again any moment. the silence is heavier now, filling the space around you in a way it didn’t used to. it’s strange—once, you craved this quiet, the absence of noise, the stillness of being alone. now, it feels suffocating, like something you never really wanted to begin with.

you close your eyes for a moment and breathe out, trying to shake off the sudden weight that presses down on your chest. slowly, you turn away from the door and step back into the apartment. the air feels colder, the emptiness sharper. you’ve grown accustomed to this kind of solitude, but it doesn’t make it easier to bear. it never has.

time has a way of softening things, of eroding the edges of painful memories, making them easier to live with. you’ve learned to let go of the sharpest parts, the parts that cut the deepest. the past, now, feels distant—a faded scar, no longer throbbing, but still there, a reminder of everything you once had and everything you lost. it doesn’t sting like it did before, but the reminder of it lingers, just beneath the surface.

but there are some things time can’t dull. there are moments—fleeting, sharp—that still come crashing in like they did all those years ago. the memory of him, the way he was, the way you both were together, comes back with a sting, a lingering ache deep in your chest. it’s so stupid, how something so simple—something as unlabeled as your relationship with him back in high school—still has such a powerful hold on you.

you wonder, sometimes, if he ever thinks about those days too. or if he’s completely moved on, leaving everything behind like it was nothing more than a phase in his life. you wonder if he still remembers you the way you remember him—like a dream that once felt real, but is now so distant, so impossible to reach. you thought time might erase the hurt, that it would get easier to forget, but it never has.

six years. six long years of figuring things out on your own. it wasn’t like you had a plan—no blueprint, no clear direction. you didn’t land a high-paying corporate job like nanami or anything that gave you a sense of stability. instead, you found yourself working odd jobs, like convenience store shifts at night. sometimes you’d look at yourself in the mirror and wonder how you got here, how this was your life now. how, after everything, the only thing you could rely on was yourself.

and yet, despite all the hardship, despite the loneliness that crept in at night when you were most vulnerable, you kept moving forward. leaving him, leaving everything behind, had been a decision you made to protect your child. you had to do it—there was no other choice. you had to be strong for shiyana, even when your own heart felt so heavy. you couldn’t afford to be weak, not when she needed you more than anyone ever had.

it wasn’t easy, and it still isn’t. there were nights you cried until you couldn’t breathe, nights when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. but you built something, somehow. you found a way to survive in a world that wasn’t made for people like you—people who had been caught between two worlds, two lives. you built a life that was yours, even when everything felt like it was falling apart.

and standing in this apartment now, with the silence closing in around you, you realize something—something you didn’t understand back then. you did it without him. you made it without him, and you survived. and for the first time in a long time, it feels like peace—real peace, not just a fleeting moment, but something solid, something you earned.

it was impossible to forget him. not when you could see pieces of him every day in your daughter—his eyes, his bright, striking blue eyes. it was as if shiyana wore them as a reminder of him, and every time she looked at you with that innocent gaze, your heart would lurch. the resemblance was undeniable, and it hit you like a wave, drowning you in memories of a past you tried so hard to forget.

those moments were the hardest, when she was sleeping, her tiny hands curled into the blanket, her soft breaths rising and falling peacefully. in those quiet, still moments, when everything was calm and perfect, you would feel a tightness in your chest. it was like something was clawing up your throat, threatening to break free, and you'd have to swallow it back down, fighting against the sharp sting of it all.

but then, just as quickly, she would stir, her little voice calling out in that sweet, familiar way: ��mommy... cuddle...’ and all the ache, all the sharpness, would melt away. you’d pull her close, grounding yourself in the warmth of her small, soft body, and remind yourself that it didn’t matter. satoru was the past, his memory tied to old scars. this, here and now, was your present—your daughter, your life.

god, shia was such a good kid. she had her moments, of course, the occasional tantrum or the stubborn little streak that would flare up, but those were fleeting. the way she would always snuggle up to you at night, curling into your side, asking for bedtime stories, reaching for your hand in crowded places—it all made your heart swell. even now, at five years old, she still had those babyish tendencies that made you feel like time hadn’t passed at all, like she was still your baby.

your heart squeezes at the thought, that overwhelming tenderness you always feel when you look at her, because, in so many ways, she still was just a baby. and yet… she was becoming so independent. so determined. you smile softly, remembering how confidently she ran off this morning, insisting on going to school alone, like she was all grown up.

“she’s growing up,” you murmur to yourself, shaking your head fondly. “still my baby, though.” the words come out a little wistful, a little bittersweet, because even though you knew this day would come, it still stung to watch her step further away from you, inch by inch.

but what you don’t know—what you couldn’t possibly know—is that your sweet, innocent daughter just blackmailed a certain white-haired sorcerer. she had no idea what she was setting in motion, but gojo satoru was now unknowingly walking straight into a trap, one meticulously crafted by the very person who should have been his innocent joy.

your peaceful morning, the one you thought was just another quiet moment in your routine, was the calm before the storm. and you had no idea that, just around the corner, a category five disaster was waiting to unfold—one that would change everything.

satoru was not prepared for this.

sure, he’d spent the past few days trying to convince himself this wasn’t a big deal. just one day, he repeated to himself, trying to brush off the fact that he was about to spend it pretending to be a father to a little girl who had somehow blackmailed him into this ridiculous role. just one day. that’s what he told himself, yet it wasn’t working. not when this little girl just happened to be his child. not when his mind kept circling back to sunday, to seeing you again—standing there after so many years, a ghost of everything he had lost. not when this little girl just happened to be his child.

he had made no effort to cross the distance between the two of you, built his walls, convinced himself that he didn’t need to feel the weight of your absence. but now, he couldn’t escape it. the guilt, the regret. he’d been miserable, he knew that much. but it was his fault. the way he’d acted when suguru defected, when you’d told him you were leaving the jujutsu society. all the pride, the childishness—he hadn’t even tried to stop you. he let you go. no, scratch that. it was worse. he had pushed you away when you needed him the most.

now? now he had a daughter—his daughter—standing in front of him, and the weight of that truth left him reeling. he didn’t know her favorite color. didn’t know if she feared thunderstorms or begged for bedtime stories. hell, he didn’t even know her name. how was he supposed to bridge six years of absence in a single day? how can he even apologize for missing first steps, lost teeth, every scraped knee he never kissed better?

sure, he had experience with megumi—had taken legal guardianship of the reserved, utterly disinterested six-year-old barely a month after you left. back then, it had been simple: keep the zenin away, teach the kid to throw a punch, and ignore how they both flinched at raised voices. megumi had been all quiet glares and stubborn silence, a shadow satoru learned to navigate through trial and error.

but his daughter?

she was sunlight and chaos, all his worst traits polished into something terrifyingly vibrant. where megumi had been stoic, she was loud; where he’d been cautious, she charged ahead with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no. and satoru—the man who’d faced curses and gods without breaking a sweat—had no damn clue what to do with a five-year-old who looked at him like he was the one who needed parenting.

at least megumi never blackmailed him. probably because the kid had the emotional range of a brick at that age.

the irony burned. he’d raised a child who hated him (temporarily), but the one who should’ve been his from the start? he’d failed her and he can’t even defend himself by saying he did not know about your pregnancy because he brought this to himself.

his footsteps were slow as he neared the school gate. his palms felt clammy despite the summer heat, and the cool breeze barely brushed against his skin. he wasn’t sure if it was nerves, guilt, or something else entirely—probably all of it. but as the gate drew closer, he caught sight of her.

he spotted her right away. it was impossible to miss. even in a crowd of parents and children, she stood out. her posture—confident, like she owned the damn place—was unmistakable. little hands on her hips, chin lifted just enough to say, I’m in charge here. her uniform looked like it had been pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. her bangs barely moved with the wind. she looked like a tiny dictator, and it was both terrifying and incredibly endearing.

satoru stopped, watching her for a moment. she was waiting for him. of course she was. she planned this. the way she stood there, eyes narrowed slightly, her expression one of quiet authority—it was like she knew exactly how this was going to play out. it was the same look he’d seen reflected from people’s eyes each time they’re facing him, a thousand times.

his chest tightened a little at the thought. she really is mine, isn’t she?

the familiar tug of his heartstrings made him pause. she was small, but so sure of herself—so much like him. every movement she made, every little gesture, seemed to demand attention, to command the world around her. and yet, beneath it all, he knew—just from the way her small shoulders were set, the way her hands rested on her hips—that she wasn’t pretending to be something she wasn’t. she wasn’t just playing a role. she was real, and she was his.

he was about to play pretend father for a day, sure. but what really scared him was how much he wanted to do this right. how much he needed to get it right, even if he had no clue how.

satoru slows to a stop in front of her.

he doesn’t say anything at first—just stares. just looks. because, really, what the hell is he supposed to do with the tiny little person standing in front of him, hands on her hips, her small foot tapping against the pavement like she’s waiting for him to mess up? the sharp white of her hair catches in the light, silky and unruly all at once, just like his own, but softer—fluffier. her eyes, impossibly blue, lock onto him with something eerily familiar, assessing him with the same sharpness he’s seen in the mirror a thousand times before.

his chest aches. tightens. because her little shoe—tapping, tapping, tapping—follows the exact same rhythm his did every time yaga scolded him about responsibility.

“…yo,” he says. like an idiot.

she exhales through her nose, unimpressed. “took you long enough.”

her voice is sweet, but there’s a bite to it, her little foot picking up its rhythm again. impatient. confident. like she’s allowing him to be here but isn’t particularly impressed with his performance so far. she has my audacity, satoru thinks, almost dizzy at the realization.

he kneels down in front of her, resting his forearms against his thighs. he tries to match her energy, keep this light, keep himself from losing his mind over how much she looks like him. “geez, is this how you always treat your pretend daddy?” he teases, tilting his head with a grin. it’s weak, though—he knows it, and judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she does too.

but then—she blinks at him, tilting her head, studying him in a way that makes his throat dry. there’s something almost playful in her stare, like she’s already figured something out that he hasn’t. then, without hesitation—she smiles.

and it’s sweet. sickeningly so. soft and innocent, like she’s got no idea what she’s doing to him. “hi, daddy.”

satoru chokes on air.

oh. oh, that was evil.

it’s a miracle he doesn’t keel over right then and there. his lungs seize up, and he has to physically stop himself from reacting any further because damn, she just threw that out there with no warning, no hesitation, no mercy. it’s a simple greeting, a child’s word, but his body betrays him—his fingers twitch, his heart stumbles over itself, and something warm and terrifying blooms in his chest.

he clears his throat, scrambling for composure, pretending his entire worldview hasn’t just tilted off its axis. “well, uh,” he manages, voice cracking slightly, “what’s my dear daughter’s name?”

her expression shifts instantly. eyes narrowing, lips pursing just slightly. suspicious.

“you don’t know?” she repeats, her tone edging on scandalized. her tiny arms cross over her chest, her little nose scrunching up. “i thought you were friends with mommy.”

satoru swears he can hear his brain short-circuiting.

“she never told me!” he blurts, holding his hands up in defense. he’s not lying, technically, but his kid doesn’t look convinced. she only squints harder, as if searching his face for the truth.

the dramatics continue. she sighs, heavy and exaggerated, like she’s already exasperated with him, and it’s so damn familiar that his stomach twists itself into knots. her little shoulders lift as she takes a deep breath, and then, with the most princess-like tilt of her chin—

“shiyana.”

it hits him like a truck.

the name rolls around his mind, gets stuck somewhere in his throat, then echoes back tenfold. shiyana. it fits. it fits so well he almost wants to say it out loud just to make it real. his lips part, and without meaning to, he’s already testing how it would sound with his last name. shiyana gojo.

…oh. oh, it really fits.

his chest swells with something dangerous, something warm and insistent. something that tells him this is his kid, even if she doesn’t know it. even if she’s just playing pretend.

“huh,” he muses, tilting his head, “your mommy’s got good taste.”

shiyana preens.

her hands find her hips again, and she tips her chin up even higher, practically glowing with the compliment—not for herself, but for her mom. mommy’s girl through and through.

“she does.” shiyana says, nodding matter-of-factly.

satoru lets out a soft huff, watching her. she’s a diva, a miniature force of nature, all attitude and presence, but still so obviously a kid. still so small. and she looks like him—god, she looks so much like him, but her features are softer, more childlike, her face still round with baby fat.

she’s a perfect reflection of him, even at five years old. her confidence, her audacity, her entire existence—it’s all his.

and that’s terrifying.

satoru doesn’t get much time to process the weight of her name in his mouth, nor the way it tugs at something deep in his chest, because shiyana is already moving. her tiny fingers curl around his wrist, and before he can react, she’s dragging him forward with the unshakable confidence of a queen leading her knight into battle.

“come on, daddy,.” she huffs, as if she’s already tired of waiting on him.

he stumbles slightly, caught off guard, before falling into step behind her. her grip is firm, determined, and despite the fact that she barely reaches his thigh, she marches ahead like she owns the place. he lets her lead, lets her set the pace, and the moment they step past the school gates, the scene that greets them is… well.

it’s a mess.

the kindergarten courtyard is swarming with middle-aged dads, most of them stuffed into polos that are just a little too tight, their bellies straining against tucked-in waistbands. the air hums with the chaotic energy of children shrieking, laughing, weaving between slow-moving adults. someone’s dad is already sweating through his shirt. another one is awkwardly trying to corral a kid who has decided now is the perfect time to practice cartwheels.

satoru, in his casual outfit, his stupidly sharp jawline, and his stupidly tall frame, might as well be a supermodel dropped into a discount dads convention. he stands out immediately, a beacon of effortless cool against a sea of tired men.

and shia knows it.

“this is my daddy!” she announces, loud and proud, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

three nearby moms flinch so hard they spill their tea. a few other parents turn to stare. satoru barely gets a second to enjoy the attention before the swarm arrives.

five-year-olds close in like tiny, curious vultures.

“he’s so tall...” whispers a boy with a stubborn cowlick, staring up at satoru like he’s seeing a giant for the first time.

“he has white hair like shia-chan!” gasps a girl, clutching a glittery unicorn plush.

“i bet he’s really strong.” mutters a kid with ketchup on his shirt, squinting like he’s assessing a worthy opponent.

satoru preens, tilting his chin, adjusting his sunglasses just enough to flash a bit of his baby blues. he can already feel his ego inflating, already hear the perfect response forming—

“obviously i’m strong—”

"daddy," shia interrupts, voice flat, tiny fingers pinching his wrist with just enough force to make him wince. “stop bragging. it’s tacky.”

satoru gapes. for the first time in possibly his entire life, he is momentarily stunned into silence.

the other kids watch with wide eyes. the moms are pretending not to eavesdrop. satoru, a man who has faced death countless times, finds himself standing in the middle of a kindergarten courtyard, held in check by a five-year-old with his own eyes and an absurd amount of attitude.

and worst of all?

she’s right.

the teacher’s approach is precise, clipboard in hand, her polite smile just a little too sharp. she navigates through the sea of children and fathers in strained polos with the air of someone used to keeping chaos in check. when she stops in front of them, her gaze flicks from shia to satoru, assessing.

“ah, you must be shia’s father! her mother never mentioned you.”

satoru’s fingers twitch. he should’ve expected that, really. six years ago, he would’ve met a line like that with a grin and an obnoxious joke, something ridiculous enough to make the moment less heavy. now, he just scratches his cheek, the motion uncomfortably hesitant, like he’s standing in front of yaga again, about to be scolded. because of course you never mentioned him. “uh, yeah. i, uh—”

“mommy’s really busy,” shia interrupts, her voice light, her expression so open and guileless that it could convince even the most skeptical. she tilts her head just slightly, lashes fluttering as she continues, “she doesn’t talk about daddy a lot!”

the teacher’s gaze flickers between his guilty expression and shia’s wide-eyed innocence. satoru sees the exact moment she accepts it, the way her shoulders loosen, the way her polite smile shifts into something softer.

“…i see.” she says, nodding, no longer suspicious. she then excuses herself with a nod to greet other parents, leaving the two.

satoru almost laughs as soon as she left, his ego flaring up instantly. damn, she’s good. he opens his mouth, already gearing up to say something about how she definitely got that from him, but the second his hand reaches out to ruffle her hair—

slap.

shia bats his hand away like an annoying fly. she doesn’t even look at him when she does it, like she knows he’s about to embarrass himself. “daddy.” she says, with the same tone one might use to scold a misbehaving dog.

he blinks, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “what? i can’t be proud of you?”

shia sighs, clearly long-suffering at the ripe age of five. “yeah, well, you’re tacky when you’re proud.”

he wants to argue, but honestly? fair. she really just saved his ass. and she knows it. he grins. that’s my kid, alright.

the game booths line the edge of the courtyard, each one promising cheap plastic prizes that gleam under the afternoon sun. children weave through the crowd with determined faces, clutching plushies and keychains like war trophies, their victories hard-earned and well-fought. but shia? shia stands with her hands on her hips, surveying the battlefield with the sharp eye of a commander assessing the worth of her troops.

her gaze locks onto her target—the grand prize of the ring toss booth, a massive stuffed panda hanging triumphantly from the display rack, half her size and twice as important. she doesn’t just want it. she needs it.

“daddy, i want that one,” she declares, chin tilted up, her voice carrying the confidence of someone who has never considered the possibility of failure.

satoru follows her gaze, then grins. “easy.”

she watches as he steps up to the booth, a picture of effortless ease. the ring toss is simple, at least in theory—a wooden post stands a few feet away, waiting for a ring to land around it. the other dads have tried and failed, their rings clattering uselessly onto the floor. some have hit the post, some have gone embarrassingly wide, and one unfortunate man in a ‘#1 papa’ shirt is still rubbing his temples in frustration.

satoru doesn’t bother aiming. he just flicks his wrist lazily, like it’s not even worth his full effort.

the first ring lands perfectly, sliding onto the post without a sound.

the second bounces once—twice—then ricochets off the head of the salty dad from earlier, hitting him with an almost insulting level of precision.

the third? it loops around the post twice before settling in place, as if even gravity itself has decided to play along with his nonsense.

silence falls over the booth.

then—

“that’s not physically possible!” someone yells, voice cracking under the weight of pure disbelief.

children wail. a mother gasps. the dad satoru hit glares daggers at him, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp like he’s about to file a case against satoru.

satoru adjusts his sunglasses with an infuriating amount of ease, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “skill issue.”

shia exhales through her nose, unimpressed but begrudgingly satisfied. she steps forward as the booth attendant hesitates, looking between satoru and the rings as if debating whether he just witnessed sorcery. finally, the man sighs, reaches up, and unhooks the stuffed panda from the display.

shia takes it with the air of a queen accepting tribute, hugging it against her chest. her fingers sink into the plush fabric, and for the first time today, she allows herself to be pleased.

“good job, daddy.” she says, and this time, it doesn’t sound patronizing.

satoru practically beams. progress.

next up is the three-legged race.

shia eyes the competition as they line up—other father-child pairs, all tied together at the ankles, shifting anxiously as they brace for disaster. it’s a game of coordination, teamwork, and—above all—trust. none of which she and satoru particularly excel at.

except, satoru is a cheater.

shia doesn’t even bother pretending to run. she just folds her arms, lets her legs dangle, and resigns herself to the inevitable as satoru takes four long strides across the finish line, dragging her along effortlessly. behind them, chaos erupts—dads and kids trip over each other, some collapse in tangled heaps, and one particularly determined father tries to crawl across the dirt, his child clutching his back like a desperate jockey.

“cheater!” yells a red-faced man clutching his son like a fallen soldier.

shia, upside down and completely unbothered, blows him a raspberry.

satoru snickers, lifting his sunglasses just enough to wink. “cope.”

by the time they reach the final game, the dads are seething, the kids are in awe, and shia? shia is looking at him like he might actually be worth keeping around.

the pin the tail on the donkey booth looms ahead, the last test in his trial of fatherhood. the teacher hands him a blindfold, smiling sweetly, unaware of just how unfair this is about to be.

“no peeking,” she warns, her voice laced with gentle authority.

satoru ties the blindfold securely, the fabric pressing against his closed lids—but it doesn’t matter. six eyes, spatial awareness—he doesn’t need to see. he spins once, for dramatic effect, then steps forward with precise confidence and pins the tail dead center.

perfect placement. exact alignment. even the donkey looks smug.

a pregnant pause.

“that’s it.” snaps a dad with a dad-bod and a vengeance. “i’m getting the principal.”

shia’s eyes shine with something sharp, something victorious. she clutches her panda tighter, watching as her so-called pretend dad obliterates the competition without breaking a sweat.

she chose well.

shia glows with satisfaction as she collects her prizes, her little arms struggling to hold onto her spoils of war. the massive stuffed panda is already secured in a vice grip, but now she has an assortment of keychains, a plastic tiara, and—because satoru is an absolute menace—one of the losing dads’ dignity. she stands triumphant in the middle of the courtyard, chin lifted, basking in the aftermath of her ruthless campaign. the other children watch her with a mix of awe and terror, their fathers still nursing their wounded pride.

“we’re the best team,” she declares, her smirk nothing short of victorious.

satoru grins down at her, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “obviously.”

shia beams up at him, and something warm curls in his chest—something that has nothing to do with his usual self-satisfaction. for once, the praise isn’t coming from himself, isn’t coming from the blind adoration of others who only see his power. it’s coming from her, from the sharp little girl who had blackmailed him into this, and for some reason, that makes it feel like the most genuine victory he’s ever had.

(he has never felt this kind of pride in his entire life.)

as the event wraps up, shia tugs on his sleeve, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric. he looks down, still caught in the lingering glow of their success, and the weight of the word that comes next nearly knocks him off balance.

“daddy.”

he still isn’t used to it. it’s just pretend, just a game, but it sinks into his ribs like something real. he doesn’t know if he ever will be used to it.

“yeah?”

she pauses, eyes flicking up to his like she’s measuring him, weighing something in her mind. then, with all the gravitas of a seasoned judge passing a verdict, she nods.

“you’re kinda cool.”

satoru feels his ego inflate to dangerous levels. “kinda?” he echoes, hand over his chest like she’s mortally wounded him. “excuse me, princess, but i just single-handedly dominated every single game here. you mean ‘ridiculously, impossibly cool,’ right?”

shia sniffs, unimpressed. “eh. i might hire you again next year.”

he chokes on a laugh. “hire?”

she gives him a knowing look, tilting her head just slightly. “you work for me, don’t you?”

he squints down at her, expression torn between amusement and genuine concern for her future enemies. “you mean you might blackmail me again?”

“tomato, tomahto.”

he throws his head back, cackling. god, he adores this kid. he’s so down for this. “sounds like a deal to me, kiddo.”

except his amusement flickers slightly, because while he’s completely on board for round two of this chaos, there’s one tiny, insignificant problem.

the love of his life.

her mom.

aka, you.

aka, the person who might actually skin him alive if you found out he’s discovered shia’s existence and is associating with her behind your back.

satoru clears his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he has, in fact, not informed you about any of this yet. “uh, small thing though—your mom won’t, like, murder me, right?”

shia tilts her head, considering. then she shrugs. “hmm. you should probably start running now.”

his grin is a little nervous now. “i’ll take my chances.”

(he will absolutely take his chances. she’s worth it.)

victory suits his daughter so well he forgot about the guillotine hanging over his head.

she stands proudly, a perfect little diva surrounded by her hard-won prizes. the stuffed panda, the keychains, the plastic toys—they’re all hers now, each item a trophy of her unexpected conquest. she beams at each one, spinning them in her hands with a joy that’s almost infectious, and satoru can’t help but smile as he watches her.

there’s something that hits him deep, though. for the first time, he really sees her—the smallness of her, the way she holds herself with such confidence. he’s missed five years. five whole years. and he’s spent them wondering about her, wanting to know her, wanting to be a part of her life, and now, she’s here, standing in front of him with a pride that matches his own. he can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.

the event’s over, but that doesn’t mean his ‘dad’ duties are done. satoru would have been fine with it—happy, even—but the problem is, shia can’t go home yet. why? because you, her mom, still think it’s just another school day, completely unaware of what’s transpired. so here he is, strong and unflappable satoru gojo, now officially on babysitting duty.

he tries to suppress the laugh bubbling up inside him, unsure whether he should be jumping for joy or preparing for the inevitable wrath you’ll unleash when you find out. the only thing certain? this is going to be one interesting situation to explain later.

“alright, squirt,” satoru says, leaning back slightly with his hands tucked into his pockets. “what do ya wanna do?”

shia doesn’t look up immediately, too busy rearranging her prizes, but her voice cuts through the air like a knife.

“squirt?” she repeats, her tone laced with a judgment that only someone who’s spent years perfecting sass could manage.

“what? you’re tiny.” he says with a grin, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“you’re abnormally tall.” she shoots back, her gaze still narrowed as she sizes him up. her response is a punchline in itself, and satoru can’t help but chuckle.

tch. the sass. it’s so familiar. she totally got that from him.

he watches her for a moment longer, his chest full of a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. she’s not just some random kid to him anymore. she’s his daughter, and even if she only blackmailed him into being here, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s not going anywhere. but the looming thought of what might happen when you find out... well, he’ll cross that bridge when it comes. for now, he’s just glad to have this moment with her.

after all, things are about to get a whole lot more complicated when you find out what he’s been up to.

a/n : i felt like writing this chapter was boring probably because there is a minimum amount of crack and i just cant not write bullshit. just had to establish some stuff this chapter, it'll get asinine and silly again next chapters 🥰 this would've released much earlier but i kept dozing off while writing omg

tag list: @funicidals @coffeeluvr96 @wolywolymoley @ineednanami @luv3nti @nikilig @linaaeatsfamilies @nariminsstuff @cherryredkissez @lolightrealm @myahfig4 @kaged-kitty @s4ikooo1 @buni-bunnydoll @ssetsuka @mintcheery @starsyoongi @sorilyae @mashtura @enhasrii @kunisnaomi @susususukanana @seikamuzu @asahinasstuff @venusss-ss @satoruxsc @emochosoluvr @sleepykittyenergy @moncher-ire @byakuya61085 @ayumilk @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron-blog @balsalmic-vinegar @altgojo @esotericsorrow @44ina @jkslvsnella @reihimbo @flowerpot113 @kxgumi @emryb @yukinemaroop @nonamebbsblog @1uv4jiya @bibisaur @juujujs @kanekisheart @katsukiseyebrows @alygator77

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#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x female reader #reader insert #cross posted on ao3 #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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andvys · 18 days ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter eight

⭐︎ Dead-eyed. Dead weight.

Warnings: angst, angst, angst. hurt/comfort. sickness. mentions of death. post apocalypse au. grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Something happens that had none of you prepared and the fear of loss creeps up on your group... once again.

Word count: 8.5k

Author's note: Please read !! @hellfire--cult helps with allllll my chapters, we planned this story together, from start to finish. A lot of the things that happen here, are her ideas and I just write them. She not only brainstormed with me, she also writes with me and by that I mean, she writes a lot of scenes, like in the last chapter for example, there is a huge portion that was written by Roe, not by me. So please keep in mind that she is behind this story as well, don't forget her! Give her the love and the credit she deserves ♡

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

It started off with a sneeze the night before and a scratchy feeling in your throat before the nausea took over. It then progressed into a painful cough accompanied by a headache. You knew it would happen the moment uncomfortable shivers started running down your body but you tried to blame it on the cold weather, at first at least. You knew it wasn’t the cold. It was the rain you and Steve got caught in two nights ago.

Anxiety took over the second it dawned on you that a fever was rising up. You took some of the vitamin pills you found, hoping that they would help. They didn’t, of course.

You are freezing, shaking terribly even after putting on a thicker sweater under your leather jacket. Your nose is starting to feel stuffy causing your head to hurt even more. Your hands are cold and shivering. Your head pounds a little harder each time Nancy hits a bump on the road. So far, you were good at hiding the state you were in until now – until it really started kicking in and you put your hand to your head after a particular big bump on the road. A wince falls from your lips and Steve, who sits across from you with a book in his hand, instantly looks up at you, alarmed and worried when he notices the pained look on your face.

He lowers the book he is holding and places it on the bench he is sitting on. He furrows his eyebrows when he notices sweat coating your forehead and the trembling in your hand… the trembling in your whole body as his eyes scan you from head to toe.

“Sunshine?”

You don’t react. You place your palm against your forehead and lean back, clearing your throat before you break into a fit of coughs. Dry Coughs.

Oh no.

Steve gets up and nearly crashes to his knees as he crouches down before you. He places a comforting hand on your calf as he speaks your name softly, not noticing how the RV has slowed down and how Nancy and Eddie share worried looks.

“Are you okay?”

You sniffle quietly and push yourself up so you can straighten your back. You clear your sore throat and lick your lips that feel dryer than usual. You look down at him, noting the worry in his hazel eyes.

You open your mouth but don’t even manage to utter a word before he cuts you off.

“Don’t lie to me,” he warns as he glares into your eyes, making you cower back slightly.

Nancy rushes into the back the moment she parks the RV on the side of the road. There is a deep line between her eyebrows and a frown sinking into her features as she halts beside Steve. She reaches her hand out to you and touches your forehead with the back of her hand.

Steve looks up at her and sees the way her eyes widen.

“You are burning up!”

She already knew you weren’t feeling good, but she hoped that it was just a little cold and that it would pass in a few days after some rest, but instead, it got progressively worse over the past couple of hours.

“Oh shit,” Eddie mumbles, bringing his hand up to his face.

Steve and Nancy share a look, one filled with anxiety. And you don’t want that, you don’t want them to worry. You will be alright. You just need to rest.

“I’m–” cut off by another painful cough. You shut your eyes as you cover your mouth and turn in the other direction, not wanting to get them sick as well. You blink back the tears that make their way into your eyes and take a few deep breaths before you look back at them. “I-I’ll be okay, just feeling a little under the weather.”

“You’re not feeling under the weather, you are sick! Which isn’t a surprise at all considering you were running around in the cold fucking rain!” Nancy raises her voice as she glares at both you and Steve. “And we don’t have anything to treat you–”

“It’s just a cold, Nancy…” You reply weakly as you tug your jacket tighter around you. Sharing a look with Steve, you instantly look down again, not bearing to look into his eyes. “It’s gonna pass in a few days…”

It didn’t.

It didn’t pass.

It kept getting worse.

Worse and worse.

Two days later, your whole body was aching. Your muscles were sore and your throat was dry. Coughing hurt, and your head was pounding. You tried to hold yourself together, to keep your head high and your back straight, to pretend to be okay so they didn’t have to worry but when the weakness hit, your eyes turned glassy and your lips blue, they could see that you were getting worse and there was no hiding that anymore. You couldn’t even if you tried, not after this morning, not after you nearly collapsed trying to get a glass of water. Luckily, Eddie was there to catch you.

Eddie and Nancy were worried, that was obvious. You were unaware of the fear in Steve’s eyes though, even now as he crouches down before you, touching your forehead with the back of his hand.

He frowns deeply as he stares at you. Your blue lips are trembling, your eyes keep falling shut even when you try to keep them open. You are burning up and he knows that your fever is getting higher and higher. There is a light whistle in your throat as you keep taking deep breaths, struggling to do so.

The feeling in his chest is sickening. He feels the bile rising up in his throat, nausea sinking in more and more after coming back empty-handed from his run into the nearest town. The pharmacy was empty, completely wiped clean. He couldn’t even find painkillers.

It was the second pharmacy he tried his luck in.

He was gone for two hours, and your state got worse in the meantime.

Eddie is sitting on the bench, biting his fingernails as he stares at you. He’s not moving, he is just sitting there, watching you wide-eyed… like you had already left.

Nancy is pacing back and forth with the map in her hand. Her eyebrows are furrowed strongly, her blue eyes showing nothing but stress.

“Sunshine?” Steve whispers, brushing away the hair in your face. He winces at the hotness of your skin, he can’t imagine how bad you must be feeling right now. He moves his hands down to your blanket and brings it up higher, rubbing your arm over it.

“Hmm?” You open your eyes and squint them when your vision blurs, and he appears twice before you.

He places his hand on your forehead, cupping it.

“How bad are you feeling right now?”

You’re not in control of your body, it’s too weak. You can’t push yourself up and convince him that you are feeling fine, not even if you tried. You can imagine what you look like right now.

You clear your throat only to wince in pain at the soreness in you.

“I’m… still hanging on.” Your voice is hoarse. Barely. You are barely holding on. You’re in and out of sleep, your body is feeling weaker as the hours go by, and you are not sure how much longer you can go without medicine. “Still hanging on, Stevie.”

Your hand falls to his wrist, and he nearly flinches at the coldness of it. The sickness is spreading, claiming you entirely. It all happened too quickly. It happened in the blink of an eye.

Your touch is usually so warm, now it’s icy cold. The look in your eyes is always filled with happiness; now it’s… it’s pained yet empty. Your energy, usually so contagious, is now barely there, gone… dead.

The sickening realization begins to sink in the longer he looks at you.

You came into his life so suddenly. You came out of nowhere. You stepped into it and shone a bright light into his greying life. He was wilting, like all the flowers in this world, until you came along and gave him what he needed; the sun. Only recently did he begin to see the good in things, even out here in this wasteland. He was trying to see the good. He was trying to look forward to things. He was trying to live.

But now with you falling sick, he is already beginning to lose that part of himself once again.

Will he lose you suddenly too?

This is why he didn’t want to let you in.

He let you in just to lose you again.

He can’t let that happen, not again.

“Keep hanging on for me, okay?” He whispers, shaking you a little. There is desperation in his voice and also in his eyes.

Your mouth twitches, lips curling into a smile. You squeeze his wrist, even if weakly.

“Always.” You whisper.

Steve tries to smile, but it barely comes out as such.

“Promise?” He leans closer, missing the warmth of you.

You nod and hum softly.

“Promise, Stevie.”

He blinks a few times. The beating of his heart changes, becoming intense the longer he thinks about what will happen if he doesn’t find medicine in time. His chest starts to ache more and more.

He won’t bear it. He won’t.

“You will be okay,” he assures you, taking your hand into his own, he gives it a tight squeeze. “You hear me? I’m gonna get you some antibiotics and you will be okay again, sunshine.”

Your eyelashes flutter as you look into his hazel eyes. Even through your haze, you can now see the worry in them, the fear. The fear of having to bury someone else.

You take a deep breath and lick your lips. You rub your thumb against his knuckles, admiring the softness in his features.

“Is that… worry I see on your face, Cowboy?” You manage to ask, chuckling softly.

Eddie smiles behind Steve, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. He is worried, just as worried as Steve is.

“Get some more sleep, okay?” Steve whispers as he adjusts the pillow beneath your head.

Nancy takes another look at you. Not a single word falls from her lips, but her eyes say it all. She doesn’t want to lose another friend. She turns away and walks back to the driver's seat. She sits down and stares at the road with a blank look on her face. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to mend the fear that is building up in her.

She looks into the rearview mirror, watching how Steve refuses to leave your side, even after tucking you in already. His body is tense, she can see it in his back and his shoulders.

He cares about you. He is afraid to lose you – even if he won’t admit it out loud.

She looks down at the map in the passenger seat, she grabs it and unfolds it. She goes over the areas you have marked up as safe. Steve had already gone through two of those towns and he came back empty handed. There is another that hasn’t been checked out yet, about ten miles down the road.

She doubts that the pharmacy will be any different there.

What worries her is the areas that have been marked as unsafe – the red areas. The big towns and the cities that are crawling with infected. She has a hunch that that is where they can find the medicine that you need, that is where they will have some sort of luck but it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.

Even with her hunch, there is no guarantee that there will be any antibiotics or painkillers and even if, the chance to come back alive from a place crawling with the dead is zero to one.

She looks back at Steve once more, she knows that he will want to try, she knows that he will try.

But how will she let him, knowing that he will walk right into his death.

She can’t lose you. She can’t lose him either.

She can’t lose the both of you.

So she hopes, she really hopes that the next safest town is where luck will be on your side.

Eddie plops down in the passenger seat with a sigh. He turns to look at her, sharing the worry that is painted into her eyes. Nothing has to be said. They both feel the same thing. They both feel fear. They don’t want to experience another loss. They don’t want to feel the loss of you.

Eddie takes the map from Nancy’s hands. He squints his eyes as he looks down at it, at the next destination. Another small town.

Nancy can see the doubtful look on his face and the uncertainty in his eyes. She feels the same.

“It’s worth a try.” She whispers, shrugging as she starts the RV.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs as he sinks into his seat. “What if it turns out to be just like all the towns before though?”

She shrugs but she knows the answer to that. She knows where to look. But she isn’t ready for that. She looks into the rearview mirror one more time, watching as Steve settles into the seat closest to you. There is worry in his features but there is also something else now. Determination.

She breathes out shakily and holds the steering wheel tightly as she presses her foot onto the gas pedal.

“I don’t know.”

Just like Nancy had suspected, Steve and Eddie came back empty handed after yet another unsuccessful run into a town. Two days have passed since then and your condition only worsened.

She had tried her best to treat you with herbs, making you soup and tea. Keeping you warm with blankets and making sure that the RV wasn’t cold at any time. Though nothing was helping.

Steve’s state wasn’t great either. He slept less than usual, ate less and was mostly on his feet when not in the RV. He was searching and searching. But the longer he went without finding you the things that you need, the more he grew sick with worry but also with anger.

And it is showing now especially.

The anger has taken hold of him completely. Disbelief and pure rage lingers in his usual hazel eyes, now they are dark with fury.

Eddie stands beside Nancy, though he isn’t looking at the map spread on the hood of the RV or between them. He is busy looking down at the city before them. Red lightning curses over it, thunder rumbles in the sky and the earth beneath his feet shakes every few minutes. Chills run down his back. Red lightning is never a good sign. It means the affected city or town is infested with something, crawling with the dead.

It’s unsafe.

“We can’t go out there.” Nancy states, keeping her arms crossed. And it makes sense, it is stupid to go out there, dangerous.

She knows there is no point in arguing with him. But she can’t let him do this.

“This place is crawling with infected, with monsters and whatnot!” She snaps at him after a long moment of staring into his glaring eyes. “Look at it, Steve! Open your goddamn eyes!”

With his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, he glares at her.

“My eyes are open, Nance. Are yours?” He snaps back, feeling the anger rush through his veins. “I don’t care what this place is crawling with, I don’t care what’s out there. I care about what’s in there!” He almost yells as he points at the closed door of the RV. “She’s sick and she is not getting any better. She won’t get better. She is barely hanging on!”

Nancy clenches her jaw, faltering a little.

He is right.

You won’t get better, not without antibiotics. She is not a doctor and she doesn’t know for sure but given the fact that you got caught in the rain and spent all night stuck in a cold car, it has to be pneumonia. Your symptoms align with the sickness. And she remembers what Mike looked like when he had it a few years back, at least until he got the medicine that he needed.

“How much longer does she have, huh?” Steve throws his hands up. He feels grateful that it’s anger leading his emotions now and not something else.

Nancy turns away from him, closing her eyes, she pinches the bridge of her nose. Frustration bubbles up inside of her but also fear of what will happen in the next few days or even in the next few hours if you don’t get the help that you need.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie mumbles, putting his hands up. He shakes his head at Steve. “Don’t.”

Steve scoffs as he turns to face him now. “Don’t what? Don’t speak the truth? You know I’m right, Munson. You know we have no other choice but to make that run. You don’t wanna go with me? Fine. I get it. But I am going–”

“No, you are not!” Nancy points her finger at him as she turns back around. “You are not making that run! It’s a death sentence! What good will it do to go in there?” She asks, pointing into the direction of the city. “You are not coming back. How is that gonna change anything?”

Steve can’t believe what he is hearing, what he is seeing when he takes a look at Eddie. He looks uncertain, like he is agreeing with her.

Disappointment fills his heart as he looks at his friends.

“I survived Starcourt, I survived the upside down, I survived this world. What makes you think that I’m not capable of coming back alive from this?”

He doesn’t care how he will do it, if he will have to fight his way through monsters or a hoard of infected. He doesn’t care if he will have to look all day if it means saving you.

He feels responsible for what happened. He keeps telling himself that this could have been prevented. If he just set up camp like he planned to do, none of this would have happened.

Seeing you like this now pains him and it reminds him of why he didn’t want to let you in, in the first place. He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to like you. He didn’t want to have to worry again. The moment he started doing so, you were already tainted by his bad luck. You were already just another loss in his life. You were another temporary thing.

But he can’t let that happen. He can’t lose you. Not now.

They stay quiet. Both of them. It only fills him with an even deeper disappointment.

“I can’t believe you… You cared so much back in Hawkins. What happened to that?”

Eddie lifts his head, his eyebrows furrow in anger, his eyes flash with it too while Nancy looks down with a guilt ridden look on her face.

“I care, alright? I care but Nancy is right, this out there… is a death sentence! We are walking straight into it and we might not come back!”

“We can fucking try!” Steve yells, not caring about keeping his volume down any longer. “I will try, I don’t give a damn about what you will do but I’m trying–”

“Don’t fight…” Your weak voice cuts in and Steve’s head instantly snaps towards you. You’re standing leaned against the doorway to the RV. A thin blanket is wrapped around your shoulders. Your hair is hanging loosely down your shoulders, no sign of a braid there like usual. You look worse than before. Your skin is losing its color. Your eyes look dull. Your face looks thinner. You look even sicker out here in the daylight. And it makes his chest ache terribly. “Don’t fight because of me.”

You make your way down the steps on shaky and weak legs.

Eddie holds his hand up towards you and Nancy uncrosses her arms as she eyes you worriedly. Steve instantly takes a step forward, already holding his hands up just in case.

A cough breaks out of your mouth, causing your entire body to jolt in pain. You hold your hand up to your lips and clutch your stomach. Before you can even try to catch yourself, your knees buckle and you lose balance, nearing the ground as you fall.

“Whoa!” Steve mumbles loudly as he reaches his arms out to you, sweeping them under your armpits and catching you before the fall. He lifts you up and hugs you to his chest. “You’re supposed to be in bed.” He grumbles into your ear.

You sniffle, blinking away the tears that build up in your sensitive eyes. You can’t find it in yourself to fight him, to step away and stand on your own feet. You are weak. You hate it.

“I don’t want you to fight because of me.” You repeat in desperation, lifting your head and looking up at him with your glassy eyes.

This is why he didn’t want to care again.

This hurts.

The worry. The fear. The pain that takes over his heart from seeing you suffer.

Your body feels weak against him. Your eyes are so… lifeless. He can’t bear it. He can’t.

“Come on,” he whispers as he begins to lead you back into the RV. He wraps his arm around your waist and holds you tightly, helping you up the stairs. “Let’s get you back inside.”

You comply but not without looking back at Nancy and Eddie one more time. You part your lips, wanting to say something but no words come from your mouth when you see the way they look at you. Like they are worried, like they are sick with fear, like they are already grieving.

You blink.

Even through the haze in your mind, you realize the look on their faces. They care. They care because you mean something to them. Because you are not only their companion now but also a friend.

The tears that welled up in your eyes before were from physical pain, the ones now are emotional. For the first time in your life, you found people who see you as a friend. An actual friend. Not someone to use and toss away when you are no longer needed. They see you as their friend just like you see them too.

And of course you had to find them during the end of the world, getting closer and closer to them in the process, only to fall sick. It’s only a matter of time until you close your eyes for the last time. You can feel it. You can feel the sickness claiming you whole. You can feel death creeping up on you. This is just your luck.

Steve leads you back to your bed and helps you back down. He grabs your legs gently and puts them on the mattress carefully before he tucks you in, making sure the pillow is comfortable and soft beneath your head.

Even he started caring. Even he became your friend.

You look at his face, at his features that were always so covered in anger and defensiveness when you first met him. Now they are soft. His hazel eyes are filled with sadness and it doesn’t help your case at all.

A tear slips from your eyes and down your cheek. You try to lift your hand to wipe it away before he sees it but you are too slow.

His eyebrows knit together and he places his hand on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Did it get worse…? Are you–”

“I’m weighing you guys down,” you whisper, shakily. Your lips curl downwards as tears start falling freely. “Y-You were right. I am a nuisance. Now I am one.”

Anger bubbles up inside of him but also guilt for ever saying something like that about you.

He shakes his head, squeezing your shoulder softly as he brings his other hand up to your cheek, wiping away the tears.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he glares at you.

Your bottom lip wobbles and your chest heaves as you try to breathe. You clutch your blanket tightly.

“It’s the truth… You already slowed down because of me and made unnecessary runs–”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done it too.”

You would. Of course you would. You would do anything for them. For him.

You swallow and the scratchiness, the dryness in your throat makes you wince and causing more tears to build up in your eyes. You close them and try to take deep breaths.

Whatever he is saying, you know that you are right. You are weighing them down and they – he is taking unnecessary risks just to help you. You will never forgive yourself if something happens to him while he is trying to save you.

“Leave–” You pause when your voice cracks. You try to keep your composure, to keep breathing, to stop crying. You open your eyes again and look at him. “Leave me in the nearest house, I’ll be okay…”

Steve looks at you as though you had gone crazy. His eyes flash with disbelief as anger rushes through him. How dare you make him care only to give up so easily now?

“We are not doing that.” It’s not his voice that sounds through the RV, it’s Eddie’s. He is looking at you just like Steve is, though with less anger and with more sadness.

Steve is starting to breathe heavily as the seriousness of this whole situation sinks in more and more. His heart beats a little faster. Desperation clings to him.

“You have to… You are going off the main road for me,” you say with a heavy voice, looking between Eddie and Nancy, who now stands in the doorway too, shaking her head in disapproval.

Steve pushes himself up, getting back on his feet. He runs his fingers through his hair and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to think, to think of a solution.

Nancy pushes past him and kneels down before you. Her blue eyes are troubled, filled with emotions you can’t all read. She brings her hand up to your forehead, cupping it gently.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers.

Steve looks down at you as he paces around. He can read you so well. You, you are usually so hopeful. Filled with life and the will to live and fight your way through this world. You are now ready to give up, to find a place to die.

This is not what you want. This was never something that you wanted. This had always been something you were afraid of, you told him that before. You were afraid to die alone. You were afraid to lose your life before finding your way back home and seeing your family.

Now you are right where you never wanted to be.

“It does– My house, my address, it’s on my ID… so if you head there, tell my parents–”

“Shut up!” He yells, exploding. He can’t do this. He can’t listen to you talk like this. He can’t watch you giving up.

You flinch a little, staring wide eyed at him but with eyes still glassy like before. Nancy looks down while Eddie eyes him, scanning his face and the look in his eyes.

Steve clenches his jaw, pointing his finger at you as he breathes heavily.

“I– We are not leaving you!” He snaps at you, holding back his own tears. “Get that through that thick head of yours. We are not leaving you.”

He gives you another pointed look before he snatches the map out of Eddie’s hand and makes his way over to the driver’s seat, where neither Eddie nor Nancy can see him. He plops down and opens the map but his breathing is so heavy and his eyes burn so hotly that he can’t focus on it.

He leans back and closes his eyes, he swallows the lump in his throat. This moment reminds him of what he lost. This reminds him of what could have been if he just handled in time. This feels like he is living through it all once again and it kills him.

He made mistakes before. He won’t do them again. He won’t experience another loss. He won’t let anything take away from him again.

Never again.

It’s silent and peaceful. The RV has never been quieter than this. It’s dark inside, except for the small candle burning on the table he is sitting at. The fire outside where Nancy and Eddie sit around, isn’t large enough to shine through the windows. They had to keep it low to avoid unwanted attention from the city nearby. Monsters and infected probably don’t come out this far, but it’s always better to be safe.

He is staring at his backpack, at the nailed bat that has accompanied him for years now. He is tapping his finger against the counter, fighting an inner battle as his eyes flicker back and forth between you, his backpack and the red lightning in the distance.

He knows what he has to do.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

He leans his body in your direction, squinting his eyes as he looks at you, trying to see better in the darkness.

His heart leaps a little the longer he watches you. You aren’t moving. At all. Your chest isn’t rising up and down anymore. It looks like you stopped… breathing.

“No…” He whispers as he gets back on his feet, swallowing the growing nausea as he looks at your pale face. He feels like throwing up already, his heart is racing in his chest as he crouches down before you. He whispers your name, once… twice…

“Sunshine?” Steve whispers shakily as he brings his hand up to your face.

“Still here…” You manage to croak out. Your lashes flutter when you open your eyes as best as you can.

His head hangs low for a moment as his eyes close and he takes a deep breath. His hand moves down to your wrist and then to your hand, he holds it softly.

Thank god.

“I’m still here, Cowboy.” You whisper before your eyes fall shut again and sleep begins to lull you back in again.

Still. You are still here.

He knows what he has to do. He knows what he will do.

He tilts his head up again, watching how you take slow and weak breaths. But you are still here.

He is determined, desperate. He moves closer to you, running his fingers through your hair, he tucks it away and out of your face. He caresses your cheek, feeling his heart long, feeling it ache for something else entirely – though he pushes it aside… for now… or for always.

“You’re gonna be okay, Sunshine. I promise. You hear me?”

You only hum in response.

“Just hang on for me, okay? Hang on.” Steve whispers as he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it. A kiss you barely feel. A kiss you will forget.

He gets back up and puts his jacket on, no longer caring about Eddie’s and Nancy’s plans. Time is running out. Time that you don’t have. He won’t sit here and watch you wilt. He won’t sit here while you die. He won’t let that happen. Never again. So he grabs his backpack and Nancy’s rifle that she left inside the RV after swapping it for your gun.

He looks through the blinds on the window, making sure that neither of them will come in when he slips out but they seem to be in a deep conversation. They won’t notice.

Steve turns around to face you one more time. His soft eyes stay on you for a second. His heart pounds in his chest, his body fills with adrenaline at what he is about to do.

You will be okay. He will make sure of that.

He will fix this again.

“I’ll be back soon, Sunshine.” He promises and he prays to whatever is above to protect you, to make you hold on a little longer. He wishes he had something to keep you safe with.

Steve falters in his step when he remembers the hair tie around his wrist. He looks down at it, at the lilac colored hair tie that belonged to his best friend. It’s old. Back from the Family Video days. Robin always forgot to grab extra hair ties or clips and would then complain about her hair getting into her face and being unable to tie it back. At one point he bought a package of hair ties and would put one around his wrist until it needed to be used. The lilac one was her favorite.

He traces it before he takes it off his wrist. He tiptoes back to you and he picks up your wrist gently, placing the hair tie around it. He holds your wrist for a moment, tapping it softly.

He never believed in things like this, but maybe it’s a good idea to start now.

“Keep her safe for me,” he whispers to her.

Steve squeezes your hand reassuringly before he turns around and slips away from you and out of the RV.

The wood in the fire crackles, the wind blows through the trees around the place they set up camp in. The red lightning in the distance isn’t close enough to illuminate the sky above them but it keeps flashing in their peripheral vision.

Eddie is staring into the fire. He is quiet unlike usual.

Nancy doesn’t mind the silence but it feels odd not to hear his voice. She feels the tension radiating off him. She feels it herself.

A stack of books lies on the grass beside her feet. Books about herbs, about natural remedies for sicknesses. But everything she tried helping you with was to no avail. Not the eucalyptus teas nor the peppermint. You need antibiotics and fever reducers. Steve is right.

“I was thinking…” Eddie finally speaks up after hours of silence between them. Since they sat down to do night watch, they haven’t talked at all. Nancy was too immersed in reading the books beside her while Eddie had scanned the map over and over, and tried to come up with a plan.

Nancy looks up from the book, cocking her eyebrow in question.

He straightens in his seat, pressing his hands together as he leans forward, not looking away from the fire yet.

“I’m making the run into the city come morning,” he states, determined. “Those books won’t help,” he points at the ones she has read through already. “And we can’t rely on the smaller towns ahead of us.”

She opens her mouth to speak but Eddie holds his hand up at her and finally looks into her eyes.

“Small towns are usually safe, they’re not crawling with infected or monsters as much as big cities are. People like us, survivors go for places like these. They avoid that,” he mumbles, pointing his thumb into the direction where the city lies. “It’s crawling with fucking everything, so people won’t even try to get in there, which means we have the best chance at finding stuff there. Everything that she needs, antibiotics, pain killers, fever reducers.”

Nancy’s shoulders slump. Her eyebrows knit together as she looks at the RV.

He is right, just like Steve is.

He is right and she knows it's what needs to be done.

She nods slowly, closing the book in her hand, she throws it on the ground. Leaning back into her camping chair, she looks into the fire.

“Okay,” Nancy whispers, accepting the danger he is about to face. She is about to face. She won’t let you die.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, tilting his head down a little as his brown eyes scan her face.

She nods again and looks up at him.

“Yeah, but I’m going with you.”

He doesn’t protest. He works best with her.

“In and out, easy… right?” Eddie chuckles, though his heart skips a nervous beat.

Her lip twitches, curling into a small smile as she looks at the guy who became her closest friend. Her best friend.

“Easy.”

He takes a deep breath and nods to himself. He looks up at the sky.

“Sun is gonna rise soon,” he comments as he looks at the faint light behind the clouds.

“Yeah.”

He gets up with a sigh, “I’m gonna go tell Steve.”

“Alright.” Nancy gives him a tight lipped smile.

He turns around and starts making his way towards the stairs of the RV. He reaches his hand out to grab the handle. One step closer and he halts in his tracks when the sound of rustling makes him freeze.

A cold shudder runs down his spine when he turns back around. His eyes instantly lock with Nancy’s. Her blue eyes are troubled and she instantly pushes herself up, grabbing your gun from her belt.

“Whoa,” Eddie whispers, making his way back to her side after he grabs the axe he left on the ground.

“Could be an animal,” Nancy murmurs as she scans the area. She ignores the beating of her heart.

She parked the RV right next to a big forest, making sure that it was hidden behind trees and bushes, now it doesn’t seem to be the best idea as she looks around trying to spot the culprit who caused the noises.

Eddie squints his eyes, grabbing the handle of the axe tighter as he steps in front of her.

“It better be.” He mumbles nervously. He doesn’t want to get caught by an infected or a demo– something.

He feels his heart in his throat when he sees the figure descending out from behind the bushes, pushing its way out onto the field and in his and Nancy’s direction.

“Fuck…”

Nancy swallows. She clicks the safety off on the gun and brings it up a little, not aiming yet.

“Infected or Human?”

Eddie shrugs as he scans the way the figure carries themselves, the steps and the posture.

“What’s worse?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

Nancy lifts one shoulder as she straightens her back, ready to take the shot if needed.

“You do know that if we shoot, everything that might be around will get drawn in by the noise…”

“I know,” Nancy sighs, cursing inwardly for not looking for silencers before. “It’s not an infected… it’s–”

“Put the gun down, Nance.”

“Steve!?” Eddie and Nancy gasp in unison.

He speeds up his movements once Nancy holsters her gun again and Eddie drops the axe. They don’t even manage to take in the sight of him, to take in the state he is in. He brushes past them so quickly, heading into the RV like he can’t waste a single second to get to you. His backpack is clinking loudly. He throws open the door and rushes in.

Eddie’s confused face meets Nancy’s, they share a look before they follow him inside.

They both notice how fast and loudly he is breathing as he sets the rifle down, leaning it against the wall. He hurries into the back of the RV, throwing off his backpack carefully as he sets it down on the ground beside the bed you are lying in.

Steve drops to his knees before you, not even giving that moment to himself to breathe, to calm down. He spent hours feeling on edge, worrying about you, worrying about making it out alive. And he ran, he ran all the way from the city to here, not stopping for a second, not stopping to catch his breath or look back to make sure that nothing was following. He just needed to get to you. That’s all that mattered to him, he didn’t care about anything else.

He places his hand on your shoulder, shaking you softly.

“Sunshine?” He whispers as he brings his other hand up to your cheek, tapping it gently. “You with me?”

A grumble falls from your mouth. You shift on the bed as you wake up slowly. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink, opening your eyes after a few seconds.

Steve’s shoulders slump in relief, and he breathes out a loud sigh. He closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath before he opens his eyes again and gets into action. He grabs his backpack and zips it open, taking out the medicine he found inside of a hospital.

Nancy stares at him, watching as he takes out one bottle after another.

“What–”

“You went out there by yourself?” Eddie snaps at him.

And if you weren’t so weak and delirious, you would have been surprised at the anger in his tone and in his eyes.

Steve ignores them both. He ignores everything, even the injuries he came back with. He clenches his jaw. Taking out the antibiotics and the tylenol, he drops them on the bedside table before he gets up and makes his way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and wash his hands before giving you the medicine.

He doesn’t even spare them a look.

“Are you crazy, Steve?” Nancy asks, crossing her arms over her chest as she inspects the dirt on his face, the blood dripping from the fresh wound on his cheek and one over his eyebrow.

“You could have died, man!” Eddie throws his hands up, glaring at his friend who glares back at him.

“She could have fucking died!” Steve yells, throwing his finger into your direction. He blinks in anger as he makes his way back to you. A huff falls from his lips, angry at his friends still.

He is tired and exhausted from hiding and running all night, from having to crawl on the ground to stay hidden from monsters and infected. A few infected still managed to creep up on him, and two or three demobats caused the wounds on his face. But he is fine. He is fine now.

They both fall quiet behind him, watching how he tends to you.

He places the glass on the table and leans down, scooping his arm under your back, “c’mon, you need to get up for a second.”

You don’t protest, but you are weak, and you would not be able to get back up by yourself. You squint your eyes as you look at him. Your mind is still in a haze and everything is confusing to you at this moment but you see the dirt and the blood on his face. The messy hair and the exhausted look in his features.

“What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it now,” he whispers.

Steve grabs the antibiotics, taking out a pill. He places it into the palm of your hand, “here, take it.” He mumbles and reaches for the glass of water.

He helps you bring your hand up to your lips, you put the pill in your mouth and take a sip of the water he holds out to you, swallowing it. You repeat the motion when he hands you one of the painkillers.

He watches you carefully. Wiping away the drop of water that runs down your chin and tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly when you pull away from him, eyes dropping from the tiredness again.

Steve’s eyes soften when you try to smile at him, even now, even when you feel like absolute shit.

“Anytime, honey.” He promises. The nickname falling from his lips so naturally.

He helps you back down and tucks you in again, just like he did before, just like he did all the days leading up to this moment. His eyes fall on the hair tie. He leaves it there.

Nancy and Eddie look at each other, their anger fleeting away more and more. Relief filling them instead but also still fear… for him now too.

“There’s… I got a bunch of stuff,” Steve explains as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Nance, can you place an IV for her? I got one of those bags but I don’t know how–”

She nods, “yeah… yeah, of course. But your wounds need–”

“I’m fine. Just a cut…” He murmurs tiredly as he gets up, walking away and towards the couch.

Eddie huffs at his friend when he brushes past him. He can’t help but slap him over his head.

Steve flinches, squinting his eyes at him.

“For being a moron,” Eddie glares. “I would have gone with you, man.”

Steve shakes his head, scoffing softly as he plops down on the couch. He grunts in pain when he takes off his jacket, throwing it on the ground. His eyes start dropping suddenly as the tiredness hits fully.

“I was sneaky… stealthy like a ninja.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at the comment that reminds him of who he once used to be.

“Didn’t even have to kill a thing… and now… I will sit here and I will see if she…” he slurs, eyes falling shut slowly. He mumbles your name before he passes out completely.

Eddie stares at him for a moment, noticing the cut on his arm and the blood dripping down from the wound.

“Stealthy like a ninja my ass,” Eddie snorts. He takes his own jacket off and pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows, ready to tend to his wounds.

His muscles are sore, aching in every spot in his body but his arms and legs especially. The cut on his arm strains against his skin, making him wince in pain when he stretches both arms out. A grunt leaves his lips as he peaks his eyes open when the sunlight hits his face.

He draws back in confusion when he looks down at the sheets covering his body, at the big window next to the bed. There isn’t one behind the couch. This isn’t where he fell asleep last night.

Steve presses his palms against the sheets beneath him, he pushes himself up and turns his head. His eyes widen in surprise when he finds you next to him, sitting up and looking right at him. A weak smile gracing your lips.

It takes him a moment to move. The words get caught in his throat when his heart skips a beat. The golden light of the sun kisses your face so softly, bringing out all the specks of colors in your eyes and the undertone in your hair that frames your face so prettily right now. You rarely wear it open, it’s always in one or two braids. He likes it like this. A lot.

You look so much better than the night before. The circles under your eyes are still there but your face has taken on a little color again and you can sit up straight once more.

“Hey…” Your whisper pulls him out of his stupor. He blinks a few times before he finally pushes himself up, reaching his arm out to you, he notices the bandage around his bicep and he realizes that Eddie must have taken care of his wounds before he carried him over to the bed to sleep next to you.

Heat creeps up to his cheeks and he blushes a little.

“A-Are you okay?” He whispers, placing his hand on your back. “Shit… what time is it?” He looks down at his watch, needing to make sure that you get your dose of medicine every eight hours.

You take his hand, filling him with even more relief when he feels the warmth in it again.

“I’m better.”

Steve looks away from his wrist and back up at you. Hazel eyes shining with hope.

“Yeah?” He leans closer, keeping his hand on you.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and nod, blinking as your eyes grow sensitive.

“Mhmm.”

You woke up confused this morning. Your body felt sore, and your throat still ached but you felt better, so much better. You didn’t understand why at first, not until you noticed him lying next to you, facing you. You remembered then what had happened the night before. How he gave you the medicine, how dirty he was, how wounded he was.

He went out there for you. He went into the city to get you medicine, to save you.

Steve risked his life for you.

Steve who seemed so cold at first. Steve who didn’t want you around at first. Steve who you thought didn’t care about you.

No one ever did that for you. No one ever cared enough to even do the littlest thing for you.

But he went out there, knowing that he could have died trying to save you.

It tugs at your heartstrings to know that he cares about you enough to do this. It warms your chest. It makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe.

Steve creeps into your heart more and more every day and you can no longer lie to yourself or deny the feelings that grow for him.

You eye the mess on his head, the wild hair. The tiredness in his eyes. The wound he caught for you. You lift your hand up to his cheek, tracing his skin with your finger.

His lips curl upwards, his eyes flicker with something you can’t read.

You lean closer to him and close your eyes. You press your lips against his shoulder, giving it a soft peck.

“Thank you,” you whisper and look up at him.

Steve can see what flashes in your eyes. He knows what you are thinking, what you are feeling and it makes his heart ache.

He would do it again. Again and again.

No words leave his mouth but his actions speak louder. He wraps his arms around you and he pulls you into his embrace, hugging you softly.

You accept the hug instantly, grabbing his shirt, you press your cheek against his chest and let yourself fall into him and it doesn’t take you a minute, not even a second to understand why it feels so warm, why it feels so right.

This is more than just attraction.

This is more than what you thought it was.

And it scares you.

But you are not the only one scared, he is too. When he wraps his arms around you tighter and he presses his lips to the top of your head, he feels his heart warming in his chest when you curl into him.

Steve feels the urge to not let go, to keep you in his embrace, to keep you safe, to protect you.

But not like his other friends, no, he wants to protect you in a different way.

And that scares him too. Especially because he had never felt anything like this before. Never.

☀︎

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#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #stranger things

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cressidagrey · 5 months ago

Text

Holy Ground - Chapter 2

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Azriel’s shadows liked to spoil his mate rotten.

Not that Azriel could find anything wrong with that.

She deserved more for putting up with him.

More than new tea from the Dawn Court and her favourite chocolate covered, wafer thin cookies from a small bakery near the Sidra…more than the occasional embroidery thread they snuck her…More than whatever animal he went to go hunt, to cover his bed in even more furs just for her.

He nearly had enough Sable furs to have a blanket made for her for Winter Solstice…

Azriel also had half a mind to go sneak in her office later that day.

Just as a treat for not killing either of his brothers. For being civil.

Rhys had come over for sparring, unnannounced.

Azriel had hoped to have some peace and quiet today, but it seemed like Rhys had other plans.

Currently Cassian and Rhys were wrestling with less sense than they had had when they were just kids, and Azriel was cleaning his weapons, watching from the sidelines.

Azriel couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of his brothers roughhousing. It was typical of them to turn a simple sparring session into some kind of ridiculous competition. He focused on sharpening his knives, trying to ignore their antics.

"You know, we could also actually train properly," he called out, his tone dry. "Instead of wrestling like a bunch of children."

Cassian looked up from his grappling with Rhys, grinning. "Oh, come on Az. Don't be such a stick in the mud. Loosen up, have a little fun for once."

Azriel's expression remained impassive. "I'm perfectly capable of having fun, Cassian. But I prefer to do so without rolling around in the dirt like a wild animal."

Rhysand chuckled, standing up and clapping Cassian on the back. "It's good to let loose every now and then, Az. You should try it sometime. It might make your brooding sessions a little less depressing."

Azriel just grunted in response, not willing to engage in a verbal sparring match with Rhys. He continued to clean his weapons, hoping that the training session would end soon so he could escape his brothers' teasing.

“When did you even come home yesterday?” Cassian asked him.

Azriel looked up from his work, his expression neutral. "Around 11," he said simply.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Rhys pointed out. “You were missed.”

He highly doubted that.

And maybe he had made that mission in Dawn just a little while longer, so that he knew that dinner would be over and when he came home, he wouldn’t need to be alone.

Azriel just shrugged. "I was busy," he said, offering no further explanation. He knew his brothers were just trying to rile him up, and he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

*Are you still pissed of at me?* Rhys asked him mentally with a sigh. *I get it. But you don’t need to avoid everybody else, just because…*

*I’m not avoiding anyone,* Azriel replied, his mental voice tight. *I’m simply choosing to spend my time how I see fit.*

“I was busy,” he repeated aloud.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "You're always busy, Az. You know, there's such thing as taking a break once in a while. Spending time with your family."

Or he could spent time with his mate. He could spent time with his mate, who let him brush her hair and even braid it …who pressed kisses to his horrible scarred hands and smiled at him.

If it was a choice between Irena or a family dinner where he didn’t want to stay longer than an hour or two, because he was still too fucking pissed off at Rhys…the choice was easy.

“Or is there a special somebody?” Cassian teased him.

Azriel glowered at him. "It’s none of your business." He went back to working on his weapons, his expression tense.

*You can’t keep panting after Elain for the rest of your life,* Rhys said mentally. *Look, I know I didn’t…I am sorry. But she’s happy with Lucien and…*

*Don’t worry, I’ll go to a pleasure hall and pay for it if I want to fuck somebody,* Azriel shot back viciously.

Or his own hand would suffice. More than suffice, especially if…especially if Irena had let him kiss her the evening before…sometimes he waited until she disappeared into her room, and he buried his face in the pillows that smelled like her, fisted his cock and rutted like an untried boy for seconds before he came all over himself.

It was still better than any other sex he ever had had before.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at him. "It sounds like you need to get laid," he said, chuckling. "Maybe that'll help with your bad mood."

Azriel shot him a glare. "Mind your own business, Cassian. My love life is none of your concern."

Rhysand gave him a sympathetic look. *We just want you to be happy, Az. You deserve happiness.*

“Ohhh, touchy,” Cassian said with a snort.

Azriel just gritted his teeth, his temper rising. "Cassian, if you don’t shut your mouth right now, I swear to the Mother, I’ll shut it for you."

Cassian just grinned at him. "Come on, Az. I’m just teasing you. Lighten up."

Azriel's grip on his weapons tightened. "I don't like your teasing, Cassian. And I certainly don't appreciate you making assumptions about my personal life.”

Mostly he just wanted his brothers to leave him the hell alone.

And then...then before he could say another thing...he felt the shaking.

And then the sound came. An eardrum shattering explosion, the very foundation of the House of Wind shaking. It was terrifying him.

Irena was down there in her office. Nesta was in there.

He was moving before he was even thinking.

*Merrill's office, Master!* the shadows screeched.

Azriel was already running.

Cassian hot on his heels, so was Rhys.

Azriel was faster, heaving shadows around his limbs as he rocketed down the spiral stairs of the House of Wind.

Level Two, Straight to the right. Clearly...Clearly the epicenter of the blast. Of the explosion…of whatever had happened.

He pushed as hard as he could, legs burning as he hurtled down the hallway to Merrill's office.

He wasn't the only one. "Merrill!" He could hear Gwyn's shrill voice screaming, coming to a stop in a hallway of what had once been Merrill's office but now was just...

It was a mass of wood and rubble.

He barely slowed down, scrambling into action. Gwyn was already digging through it, so where Nesta and Emerie. Cassian landed behind him, immediately moving some of the debris.

His shadows swarmed as he and the others quickly dug at the rubble. Looking, desperately looking.

He moved another piece of rubble out of the way...a piece of blue cloths. The same blue cloth that he knew covered Irena's body, the scent of poppies clinging to her...Without a thought, he grasped and then dragged, a hoarse shout that was her, that was her...

He felt as if he were choking, as if he were drowning as he dragged out her body. Bloody, bruised, broken but still...still there was a faint flicker, a faint, thready heartbeat.

His heartbeat pounding in his ears, he tried to pick up on her heart. There was barely a flicker. Too fast, too faint, she was barely holding on. Barely hanging by a thread.

There was blood pooling on her abdomen, dying the blue dress she wore bright scarlet red, He put pressure on that wound immediately, leaning on her with nearly all his weight, his fingers slick with blood. "Damn it, stay with me, love," he demanded sharply.

Azriel felt like he could barely breath. Like he was falling, tumbling down as he tried to will her to stay with him. Stay. Stay. Stay. Please stay. Stay...

Rhys was there suddenly, checking her pulse. "Breathing is erratic. She's in shock," he told Azriel with a grimace. "Mor is getting Madja..."

"Az..." her voice was so weak, but he turned to see dark brown eyes watching him, brows furrowing.

"Just keep breathing, Love," he told her, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

He could barely hear what was going on around him. It was as if he were in a bubble, a world of just himself and her and the desperate beat of her heart under his fingers.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

"There is nothing you need to apologise for her, Irena," he promised her sharply. "Absolutely nothing."

Irena's eyes drifted shut. Azriel felt like something was dying inside him as her heartbeat fluttered against his fingertips. His world was collapsing, shattering into pieces as her breath stuttered.

"Stay. Just stay..." he was barely aware of what he was saying, his eyes frantically searching hers. She had to stay. He would do anything to keep her here. Anything.

"I am still owing you that flight," he told her. She hadn't let him take her flying yet. They had snuck away in the library...in the rooftop garden...in her office. But he had never gotten to take her flying. He had never gotten to take her out into Velaris. They had never had a date at a fancy restaurant, had never gone to see the symphony. There were thousands of things that he hadn't yet gotten to do with his mate, because they had all the time in the world.

Irena just stared at him, her eyes pleading, as her heartbeat slowed, fluttering weaker and weaker. Azriel felt a sharp pain in his chest as fear clawed at his spine. "Just hold on a little longer, love," he whispered. "Please."

And then there Madja. Thank the cauldron. There she was.

Azriel could barely manage to let go of her, his mind consumed with the singular thought of Irena's laboured, erratic heartbeat as he moved back. Madja immediately set to work.

He lunged for her head, lunged to pull it on his lap, to touch her with blood slick fingertips, her normally rosy red lips pale, her skin even whiter than usual.

"Hurts," she whispered, as Madja set to work, barking orders.

"I know, I know, love," he whispered, touching her cheek with his fingertips as Madja got to work.

His eyes searched hers as he murmured those words over and over, as if he could somehow hold her in this world through sheer force of will alone.

"We haven't had enough time," he whispered desperately, leaning his forehead against hers.

She was slipping away. He could feel it. Feel her slipping, feel her heartbeat slow. Feel the thread that tethered her to this world fray, fray, fray...

No. He couldn't lose her. Would not let her leave him. He had waited far too long for her. Far, far too long to let her slip through his fingers.

"Stay with me," he pleaded. "Please stay with me."

But her eyes were slipping shut, her head lolling to the side. He gently patted her cheek, trying to urge her back to consciousness, but he didn't think he was even really aware of what he was doing, where he was. The world had boiled down to a desperate litany, in his head. Stay...stay...please...don't you dare...

“I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight,” he told her fiercely.

He needed her to know that he would be there to be furious with her if she dared to die, that she couldn't die. Couldn't. That she had to stay. Had to keep fighting. There were too many things ahead of them...a wedding to plan, children to have, years and years of life to live.

“Az,” she breathed his name, her eyes not even open anymore.

“Open your eyes, Irena,” he demanded. “Look at me, love,”

Her eyes finally fluttered open at his command. It was barely more than a slither of brown, but he latched onto it, taking it for what it was. A chance. A moment to get through to her.

He wasn't sure what he was saying, but the words spilled forth from him, a litany, a desperate prayer. "Please," he breathed, "don't go...don't you dare..."

He was dimly aware that the others had gathered, but he didn't dare look away. Didn't dare look away from her as he cradled her head, trying to pour all of his prayers into those words. All of his hope and desperation.

"You can't go." A statement. An order. An absolute certainty in his voice. "I will not let you go."

He wouldn't. Would never, ever let her go. Would drag her back from the Cauldron's grasp with bloodied and broken hands if thats what had to be.

She didn't speak. Didn't need to. He could read her answer in her eyes, the determination in those brown eyes as she tried so, so hard to stay.

It was as if she were holding on for him, because he had asked her to. Because it was him there with her. Like she would fight until her last breath because he told her too. He didn't deserve this beautiful creature, who was willing to fight for him, willing to live for him.

It was something primal, something desperate, something fierce as he whispered those words over and over, like a prayer. "Fight. Fight. Fight."

And she listened. She did. He could feel her hold on, just barely grasp hold of that tether that kept her in this world. Just barely keep her eyes open.

Just look at him.

And she did, those dark eyes unfocused but open, staring up at him, watching him. Trying so, so hard. It nearly made his heart stop in the most terrible way that she was struggling for him.

And he was so proud of her. Of the way she was fighting like she was. Of the way she was grasping, hanging on to life like she was.

The seconds stretched too thin, feeling like eternities and only the slightest of moments. But her eyes were open, if only barely. She hadn't given up. Hadn't let go.

He was dimly aware of the others, Gwyn hovering with a worried expression, Madja murmuring quiet instructions to the others, Rhys kneeling not far away. But he barely glanced at them, barely dared to take his eyes off Irena.

He was certain that if he looked away, if he let this tenuous thread sever, that she would die. That as long as he kept her here, she wouldn't slip, wouldn't let go.

He had one hand on her cheek, her skin still clammy and pale, as her eyes slipped open and shut. But everytime, they would find his face. His eyes, like he was the only thing tethering her to the world. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her barely holding on, only that last sliver of determination keeping her here.

"Please," he pleaded, whispering those words like a prayer, like he would be praying to a vengeful god. Those moments felt like eternities, stretching on and on with only his desperate whispers. "Please..."

The world felt so still, so silent as if the world was holding its breath. Azriel's eyes locked on Irena, silently begging her, asking her to please, please...

Live, live live... he whispered those words over and over, a desperate plea to the Mother, the Cauldron, to anyone who would listen. To Irena, the only person in the entire world who truly mattered in that moment.

Her eyes were growing glassy, slipping closed only to jerk open again. Stay he demanded. Keep looking at me. Please.

She tried. Mother, she tried. Her eyes drifted to him, the smallest hint of life, of a spark there in those dark brown eyes.

He hardly dared to breathe, hardly dared to move. Afraid that any wrong move could tip her over the edge, could pull her into that chasm of non-existence that she was desperately clinging too.

He felt something pricking at his eyes, felt something in his chest cracking, breaking at the sheer intensity of emotions thrumming through him. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her like this, so pale, barely holding on, barely conscious...

“Alright,” Madja said quietly. “Good girl. You were so very brave.”

"Will...will she be alright?" He asked, voice hoarse.

He didn't let his eyes drift from Irena's face, her half lidded eyes staring at him. It filled him with such an intense pang of relief and fear at the same time. Relief, because she was alive...and fear, because they had been so close to losing her.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Madja warned. "But she'll make it. She lost a lot of blood. It will take some time to get her vitals stable again."

He felt like he could breathe for the first time. It was almost dizzying, the sheer, intense relief that flooded through him. Irena was here. Irena would live. It filled his veins with an almost drug like euphoria, that made him light headed, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

He barely managed to keep that feeling in, the pure euphoria from showing as he smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. "Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes finally dragging away from Irena's face to look at Madja. "Just...thank you."

He looked back at Irena, taking in her face. Alive. Still alive. Still here with him, not gone. The tension seeped from his shoulders, a strange sort of exhaustion taking over. As if all the adrenaline that had fueled him, the fear, was slowly draining out of him like water.

“Merrill,” Irena whispered, her voice near silent.

Azriel felt his fingers brush her cheek, just the gentlest touch as he tried to keep it together. It had been too close. Too, too close. He couldn't stop the overwhelming feelings flowing through him of elation and fear as he looked down at her as he looked down at her, alive. Alive and breathing and whispering soft words. "Shhh," he whispered softly. "Save your strength. Don't strain yourself."

He looked up finding Cassians gaze who just shook his head. Merrill was dead.

Azriel couldn't quite process that information, not in that moment. His eyes were still drawn to Irena, still unable to take his eyes off of her for more than a moment. His fingers brushed her cheek again, just the faintest touch as he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. "Rest," he instructed softly. "I'll be right there.” He promised.

“Being here to her room,” Madja said quietly.

“My room,” he corrected.

The priestesses dormitory was locked from males. If he even tried to get in there it would’ve end well for him. And he wouldn’t leave her side.

“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply.

“Gwyn,” Rhys said quietly.Azriel didn't even acknowledge Gwyn's words, didn't have the energy. All he could focus on was the way Irena's eyes had drifted shut, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She would be alright. She was going to be alright. She was alive. Right now, in that moment, thats all that mattered.

“Az, how long have the two of you…” Cassian asked hesitantly.

Azriel just shrugged, his hand resting on Irena's hair, smoothing back from her face. “Two years. She’s my mate,” he said flatly as he gathered her up.

“Mate,” she rasped. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he agreed softly.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #Holy Ground

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redflagshipwriter · 9 months ago

Text

Fast Car Chapter Two (of four)

masterpost

Was this guy for real? Jason nearly decided not to get in out of suspicion. Danny was one of the very few loose ends in his crime yesterday. He sort of figured that eventually Batman would find the driver he’d used to get a duffle bag of heads to the police station. He stalled. It had seemed like an acceptable risk, since he hadn’t shown the guy his face. The only information that the police should have been able to get was where he’d left and that he’d used one of his victim’s phones to call for a ride.

And yet Danny was waiting patiently at the curb for the Red Hood to get in. Wasn’t he scared?

He had been all over the news yesterday. Danny had to know.

‘Either he’s dumb as a box or he is one of the chillest people I’ve ever even heard of.’

Morbid curiosity got him into the car. Danny locked the door as soon as the door was shut– but it was clearly routine. He’d done that yesterday, right. Jason waited a moment before he remembered that Danny wasn’t going to pull out until he had his seatbelt on. He let out a laugh and buckled up. It was pretty cute, actually.

Now that he wasn’t so distracted, maybe he could make small talk. Danny pulled them out into the sparse early morning traffic with an expression of determined focus.

Jason cleared his throat. “You moved to Gotham recently?” he started with. Danny didn’t have the local speaking pattern.

Danny nodded. “For school,” he shared easily. “I’m in the sciences program at Gotham U’s south campus.”

…So he wasn’t the world’s biggest dummy. Jason sat there and contemplated how catastrophically chill a body would have to be to chit chat with a man who had killed like 20 people yesterday that he knew of. Why wasn’t Danny scared? What was his damage?

‘There’s something really wrong with him,’ Jason thought, with no small bit of admiration. Way too late he commented, “That’s cool, man.”

“Thanks.” Danny seemed unbothered by his long delay in conversation. “You know, I had to go to that same police station this morning.”

Jason tensed. Was Danny making some kind of threat?

“They got a whole shitton of muffins and six quiches delivered,” Danny went on. He appeared to feel no sense of danger in the car.

‘Is he… Did he decide to inform on the police to me?’ Jason’s eye twitched. ‘I already knew that I’d have ruined their whole month but… This is kinda satisfying to hear, actually.’ He made a listening sound to prompt Danny to continue. He couldn't lie; he was intrigued.

“Yeah, they looked like total shit.” Danny was so blithe about it that it became surreal and hilarious. “Exhausted. But that’s not my business.” He crinkled up his nose. “Do you know what they tipped me for that?” He didn’t wait for Jason to go on. “Two dollars.” He made a big gesture with his left hand that took it off the steering wheel despite the fact they were mid turn. “That’s ridiculous! I drove halfway across town, waited for the place to open, carried an absurd amount up those stairs, and for two dollars.” He blew a disrespectful raspberry.

“Fuck the police,” Jason said sympathetically.

Aight. He saw how it was. He mentally tabulated what was in his wallet and allocated a cool thirty dollars to Danny as a tip. For an informant, that was as cheap as bagged rice. Helluva value. He leaned back in the seat and it squeaked under his weight. “How’s Gotham been treating you?”

“Fine, fine,” Danny said absently. He switched lanes a little too abruptly. “Not that different from home, honestly. I don’t know why people are so dramatic about it.” He floored it to squeak through a yellow light.

Jason had the dawning suspicion that Danny had been on his best driving behavior yesterday. But- “Where is home?” It was more morbid curiosity. He kind of regretted that he was nearly to his stop.

“Amity Park. Illinois.”

Jason winced. “My condolences.”

Danny laughed, high and sort of eerie now that Jason was really listening to it. It sent an electric zing up his spine. “That’s what they always say.” He seemed to find it really funny. Way funnier than it should have been.

‘...What are the odds that this guy is one of the weird mutants they make in Amity?’ Jason resisted the urge to ask prying questions. Talia had told him to stay the fuck out of that area so that she didn’t have to rescue him from a government black site. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t have the luxury of the time to go and investigate every cute boy with a nice laugh who wanted to be an informant to the Red Hood.

It was with extreme regret that Jason recognized his stop coming up. He let out a sigh. The voice scramblers in his hood turned it to static. He watched the curb approach with disappointment. Danny made to pull in next to a dark shop. Jason glanced into the windows and caught the reflection of the last person he wanted to see.

“Batmobile.” He sat up straight, alarmed. It was parked out of sight in an alley. Shit. Shit, of course Batman had tracked back the delivery driver that had brought him to the police building. Fuck. How was he going to get away on foot-

Danny jerked back into the street and hit the pedal to the floor. The engine made a scream of machine fear but holy hell did it accelerate. Jason yelled too and grabbed onto the door handle. He aimed wide eyes at Danny, uncomprehending.

“Fuck Batman!” Danny yelled out his open window, and they were off.

Holy shit. Holy shit!

The batmobile turned on, the normally silent engine’s purr rearing up to a threatening growl as Bruce veered out onto the street in pursuit.

Danny took them down an alley and Jason sharply readjusted his assessment of Danny’s intelligence. “We can’t fit!” He yelled, trying to pull the brake. If they had to stop in the alley it was all over, Batman would block them off.

Danny slapped his hand away and barreled-

Jason blinked as they raced down the impossibly narrow alleyway. He bit his lip. He looked at the car again, recalculating.

No. No, it definitely didn’t fit. He leaned a little away from the window, extremely uncomfortable. He looked at just the right time to see the passenger mirror collide with a dumpster and slide through undeterred.

Ah. Alright, then. He made a “Fair enough” face and turned around to see that the batmobile was lifting up and doing some weird transformers bullshit to fit down the alleyway. They were gaining ground from Batman. “Sorry I tried to touch the controls,” Jason said, a bit late. He glanced down and realized that his hand stung where Danny had slapped it. He pulled it to his chest and rubbed at it, frowning slightly.

“No worries,” Danny said tersely. He hit the breaks and raked the wheel car to make a fucking pinpoint turn without slowing. Just like that, they were out of Batman’s direct line of sight. A solid inch of the inside of the car overlapped with a folding chair outside someone’s home.

Jason eyed Danny judgmentally.

“Wow, that was a close fit,” Danny said, extremely unconvincing. “We are lucky, huh.” He aimed the car at a wall and somehow ramped up.

‘I think I might be sick.’

Jason decided that the best thing for him to do right now was to close his eyes and say nothing at all. If Danny wanted plausible deniability for his mutant powers, that was whatever.

‘How did Batman know where I was going?’ He worked through the problem. ‘Did he hack Danny’s account? If not, someone sold me out.’

Just like that, Jason had a list of people to visit for the day. “D’you think you could drop me off at C street instead?” He felt the uncomfortable swooping sensation in his stomach that indicated they’d made some kind of move that should not exist off of a rollercoaster.

“Yeah, of course, sorry about this.” Danny sounded a little breathless. “Ah- don’t look.” He cackled.

…’He’s dodging Batman for his benefit, not mine,’ the penny dropped. Jason laughed out loud and then leaned forward to hold his head in his hands. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Danny was the perfect man. They drove for a while in silence before Jason managed to collect himself. “No worries,” he said through tears. “Hey, no sweat if it’s no, but can I get your number?”

Danny paused.

Oh, fuck. Jason cringed. “I'll leave mine and you can call me if you ever need me,” he corrected hastily. “No pressure.” He scribbled it on the back of a loose receipt in Danny's cupholder and left it, mortified but also glad he shot his shot.

#red fast car #dead on main #dp x dc #dc x dp

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lightseoul · 5 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 3 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 4.0k (i know)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), much cussing, some adult themes (again, no smut y'all), bkg and reader go through one stage of grief: bargaining, the plot thickens!

a/n. wrote all this in one day—i couldn't put the doc down until i finished it. this chapter is jam-packed and has lots going on, but we're only at the beginning. i hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it!

links. masterlist, ao3

“…Though I trust you’ll understand if we set some—” he pauses, and you’re 99% sure it’s for dramatic effect, “—precautionary measures in place?”

“Waddya have in mind?” asks Bakugou, his rough tone laced with unmistakable skepticism.

“Well, for starters…”

Their leader glances back at the bionic woman. “Sayaka, are they ready?”

Sayaka nods. “Ready for installation, Masaki-san.”

You scramble to take a mental note of their names—as well as try to ignore the fact that the robotic girl sounds like a robot, too—as you watch Masaki gesture to the escort from earlier who’s standing at the sides and in the shadows.

He emerges into the dim lights with a wide stride, but to your surprise, another leg steps forward right beside him. Your eyes trail up until they land on the other person, widening in confusion because they look just like a carbon copy of the intimidating escort—tall, ginger head, pale skin—only it’s a girl.

There’s no mistaking it.

They’re twins.

Twin bodyguards. In a quirk supremacist group.

You fight the urge to let out a dry laugh.

But apparently, neither of the two finds the situation funny, because they’re nothing but serious as they approach Masaki and bow politely, before heading to Sayaka and taking what looks like tiny…metal pieces?

You don’t get the opportunity to wonder about what those were, though, because, in the blink of an eye, the twins are already stalking straight toward you and Bakugou, glaring daggers.

“Those are bugs,” Masaki explains just as the twins arrive right in front of you, with the guy from earlier towering over Bakugou and the female staring you down a few inches away from your face, decidedly a little too close for comfort. You barely manage to stop yourself from gulping and looking away.

“They’ll be tracking your speech and movements 24/7. And don’t worry, they’re waterproof.”

You sense Bakugou’s about to spit some smart-ass comment, judging by the way he puffs up like he tends to do when he’s about to drop a curse-riddled quip, but he doesn’t get the chance to deliver the blow because the twins are on you in an instant.

You accidentally let out a yelp as the woman grabs the hem of your tank top so roughly you think it’s gonna tear, before she stuffs her right hand up. Mortified, you struggle against her hold, but her left has a death grip on you.

“Relax,” she seethes, obviously very much already done with you. “I’m just installing it.”

At her words, you manually will yourself to calm down, and it quickly dawns on you that she’s not touching you violently or inappropriately. You tamp down a shiver as her cold fingers come into contact with the center of your chest, right at the dip of your bra and between your breasts, feeling the surface before sticking something that you promptly identify as the tracker.

And as she retracts her hand and steps away from you, right at the same time as her twin like they’re wired for synchrony, you reflect on how it’s so light that you barely feel an added weight to your body. It’s circular, too, and you debate for a second whether or not to peer down at your chest to see what it really looks like, before ultimately deciding against it.

You can do that later, in the privacy of the (hopefully not downstairs) bathroom.

If such a concept even exists.

“Thanks, you two,” comes Masaki’s gentle voice, before shifting to regard you and Bakugou. “You can get to know your designated guards later on, but for now, let’s continue.”

As if on cue, the twins take a further step back before eventually returning to their dark corner.

“What we just affixed on your chests are special devices, again, designed to monitor any sound you make as well as your specific locations. They’re not your ordinarily engineered trackers—they’re Sayaka’s thanks to her quirk—which also allows her to directly receive the feedback and project it for others to see and hear.”

Ah.

You don’t know how that works exactly, but you bet the expensive ass perfume that you got for your birthday last year—the very one you wear for special occasions like now—that it’s got something to do with her robotic parts.

“Does everyone in your group get one, too?” questions Bakugou, who’s now looking a bit miffed. You’re sure he didn’t enjoy getting felt up by a stranger who he just called someone’s little lackey.

“Only the new members,” Sayaka answers succinctly, her voice sounding like it’s filtered with autotune.

But especially you two, you finish for her in your head. And really, you can’t blame them. Taking in a pro-hero, let alone Japan’s #2, is a huge gamble, and Bakugou quite literally can make or break their whole plan to attack. This level of precaution is not at all uncalled for. You’d even go so far as to say it’s not enough.

Bakugou must be thinking the same thing, too, because he doesn’t offer a follow-up question.

Masaki takes your silence as a sign for him to go on.

“Of course, that’s only the first layer of protection.”

Shit.

You hope you didn’t just think that into existence.

The plain-looking leader puts on that prudent smile of his, before turning to look at the old man. “Kouki-san here has a very handy quirk. Teleportation,” he glances at Bakugou, “A sought-after power in the hero world, isn’t it?”

Bakugou shrugs, although you’re guessing the answer is yes and that he’s just too stubborn to admit it.

Figures.

“Well, he’s gone and mastered his quirk, and has since been indispensable to our organization. Essentially—” Masaki huffs, like he’s preparing for the bomb he’s about to drop, “—the very moment you even hint at betraying us, we’re gone,” he snaps his fingers, “Just like that. And you won’t be able to trace us.”

“Really?” drawls Bakugou. “You’ll abandon this cushy, not at all seedy ass headquarters of yours?”

“This is only one of many, Dynamight,” Masaki responds, seemingly unbothered by Bakugou’s taunt. “And this is actually not our headquarters.”

He picks up his glass of alcohol and lightly twirls it around in his hand. “I also trust that you’re aware of what a distinguished group such as ours entails? Naturally, we need to have somewhere safe where we can conduct all our activities under the radar.”

“As you can imagine, it’s not just us five. We have many, many members who share the same principles, and this club can’t possibly be large enough to host all of us.”

“Where are you going with this?” Bakugou demands.

“What I’m saying is that we have a separate place as our headquarters, a place much bigger than this. And—” he cocks his head toward Kouki, “—we get there via teleportation.”

“Obviously,” sneers Bakugou, “Otherwise that’d be a huge waste of the old man’s quirk, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s only one of the reasons. You see, it’s also so that you won’t know where it is located,” Masaki pauses once again, which you decide in a split second is warranted because of what he’s going to say next.

“And for that to work, we’re also going to have to lock you inside.”

Your breath hitches. Bakugou bristles.

“The fu—”

“We’re going to have to make you stay with us—” the plain-looking man interjects with a slightly louder voice, “—at least until the day of the attack, as we cannot risk you two being seen constantly going in and out of this club every night.”

You’re about to contribute to the conversation for the very first time but Bakugou beats you to it. “Fucking stay in? Isn’t that gonna cause even more suspicion?”

“It wouldn’t if you both come up with a good excuse to disappear,” Kouki retorts with a smidge of attitude. He eyes Bakugou with a raised brow, “Wouldn’t now be a great time to have a top-secret ‘mission’ overseas? And I’m sure your friend here can whip something up.”

You brush off the annoyance that shoots through you at the dismissive mention. Instead, you finally bring yourself to speak up. “I thought you just said we’ll be stuffed in a secret hideout?”

“Ah,” Masaki sounds out, “You are, but this is our gateway, so to speak. You go here to get teleported to the headquarters, and from there, get teleported back here to return to the outside world. We won’t hesitate to teleport away from both places the second we have to, but that doesn’t mean our HQ is easily disposable to us, hence all these measures.”

“All this to say,” he furthers, his timid tone juxtaposing the threatening words you’re sure he’s about to utter, “You two better think twice about betraying us.”

There it is.

He smiles again. “Do either of you have any questions?”

Beside you, Bakugou mutters to himself for a second, before clearing his throat. “You’re yapping on and on about what you’ll do if we betray you and shit. Ain’t that such a warm welcome for your new members?”

—A rhetorical question, because he doesn’t let anyone get a word in. Instead, he presses on.

“But what if we don’t? What’s in it for us?”

“You get to live out your ideals, boy,” comes the old geezer’s snappy reply.

Bakugou snorts, and you’re sure it’s not because he found the guy hilarious.

“That’s a shitty deal on our end, don’t ya think so?” the pro-hero shifts his weight on his other foot. “How ‘bout this, you guarantee protection for my…friend here, and we’re even.”

You hold your breath.

Looking past the way he just so awkwardly referred to you as his friend, that segue just now wasn’t exactly the smoothest.

Still, you have no choice but to roll with it. So, with much conviction, you morph your face into that of shyness—one that you hope is charming enough to win their graces.

“Just her?” asks Masaki, placid as ever.

“I can get by,” comes Bakugou’s confident response.

Once again ignoring the mildly degrading remark, you ready yourself to use your quirk. You closely examine the leader’s features as they transform into an expression of contemplation, even as he turns to the other two and engages them in quiet conversation.

You and Bakugou stand there for a few moments, waiting, before Masaki finally turns again.

And all that preparing to utilize your quirk goes out of the dilapidated windows once you catch a glimpse of his face.

“I guess that’s settled, then.”

Called it.

Masaki then raises an eyebrow at the two of you. “Any more concerns?” he smiles to himself, “Heartwarming requests?”

Neither of you says anything.

“None?” he asks again, before patting his thighs in a gesture of finality. “Well, then, I believe it’s time for you to see your new home! Kouki-san?”

At the mention, the old man slowly gets up from where he made himself very comfortable on the couch, and walks leisurely towards you, planting himself in front of and between you and Bakugou.

“Hang tight,” Kouki smirks, reaching out for both of your hands, and you’re just about registering how eerily cool his are when the ground that was perfectly carpeted and steady just a second ago suddenly collapses from beneath you.

A violent wave of nausea instantly hits you as the room completely vanishes before you, replaced by pitch-black darkness in a second. You scramble for purchase—tightening your grip on the person responsible for whatever the fuck this is—as the noise instantaneously gets sucked in a vacuum, leaving you in full silence. Your legs are jelly as you stumble on your feet, and you’re convinced you’re going to fall to your death down to the abyss below you when—just as fast as the lounge disappeared—a warmly lit hallway materializes in front of you.

But it’s too late, you’re already out of balance and lurching forward—inch by excruciating inch—right until you feel a hand grab your forearm and you’re unceremoniously yanked back into an upright position.

You whip to look at Bakugou as you wobble on your feet, and he’s staring at you with such alarm that makes you feel so…vulnerable. He retracts his left hand a beat later when you eventually steady yourself, his serious and unrelenting gaze fixated on you before shifting to study the place you just got teleported to.

You follow suit, eyeing the hallway as you place the hand Kouki was holding into your pocket to warm it up.

Similar to the club and the room you were just in, the area is barely illuminated, but it’s bright enough for you to make out the dark wooden doors that line both sides. You’re right in the middle of the hallway, and at one of the ends you think are staircases leading both to a lower and an upper level, while at the other end is another door.

If these lead to what you think they lead…

Then, damn.

They weren’t kidding about lodging.

From the corner of your eye, you see the old man look at you and follow your line of vision, shifting to study the aforementioned door at the end of this hallway.

“That’s your room,” he offers curtly, like this job of chaperoning you to your place of residence for who knows how many days is beneath him.

Room, you parrot in your head.

Room singular.

“Well?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his impatience when neither you nor Bakugou makes a move. “Aren’t you going to check it out?”

You hesitate, glancing at Bakugou to find him frowning at Kouki, before turning to look at you.

“We don’t have all day, you two,” Kouki adds on with a sigh at the same time you raise your eyebrows ever so minutely at the pro-hero, as if asking for confirmation. “Go on, I’ll wait here.”

It only takes a small nod from Bakugou to pull you out of the paralysis, and the minute that he does, you’re already moving to the spot beside him, matching his pace as you trudge towards the door.

As inconspicuously as you can, you check the corners of the room along the wall facing you for cameras, only to find none.

And so you do it.

With your backs turned against the Teleportation master, you finally let your emotions show on your face.

You also chance a peek at Bakugou, only to find him already eyeing you with the very same expression you’re sure is written all over your features.

The one that says you’re fucked.

You don’t get to dwell or comment on the shared sentiment, though, mainly because they’ll hear every word you say, but also because you arrive in front of the door. Bakugou looks at the knob and then at you warily, and you can only nod in encouragement.

That seems to be enough of a push for him, because he reaches for and turns the handle, pushing past the entryway so you can walk in from behind him.

Now, the first thing that registers after you startle at the door closing is the fact that the room is small. Tiny, even. There’s another door at the back, which you think leads to the comfort room.

But that’s pretty much it.

That, and there’s only one bed.

To your credit, though, you’re able to refrain from gasping in horror at the sight of it, which you can chalk up to the next thing that you see—a couch.

It doesn’t seem like it’s foldable or can be converted into a larger bunk, but it’ll have to do. It’s brown and hopefully real leather this time, and is crammed right next to the bed. You remind yourself that they were only expecting Bakugou, and so you can’t really complain and that you’ll have to make do with sleeping on the couch for the next n days.

Aside from all those, though, the room is relatively bare.

Well, apart from the cameras with the blinking red light at the upper, four corners of it.

But you don’t get to wordlessly warn him about it, let alone come to terms with the fact that they’re deadass going to be watching your every single move, because something seizes your wrist, spinning you around, leaving you face to face with Bakugou.

You’re too preoccupied with the sudden motion and the fact that you’re just a breadth’s width away from each other to notice the darkened look in his eyes.

Which, in hindsight, you should’ve noticed.

If you wanted any chance at bracing yourself for what he’s going to do next.

“Wha—”

You yelp—cutting yourself off—when Bakugou, the Bakugou Katsuki—Japan’s #2 Pro-hero, Vogue Japan’s Hottest Bachelor of the Year, and the dickhead who used to be your biggest, fattest crush—grabs at your neck and smashes his lips against yours.

You involuntarily jerk away from him, but his free hand shoots up to roughly clutch your hip just as his grip on your neck tightens, pinning you in place and right against him.

And you don’t know how the fuck it happens, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t know at this point, and frankly, you don’t want to know, because coupled with his scalding hold on your body, it causes you to do the unthinkable.

You moan.

And again, you don’t even get the opportunity to feel the utter humiliation, because just as quickly as he pounced on you, Bakugou pulls away, but not before scowling at the cameras as if he just noticed them—which you doubt—then taking your hand, dragging you out of the door and into the hallway.

The old man glances at you. “Are you don—”

“Take us the fuck back now,” Bakugou spits as he pulls you right beside him.

At that, Kouki’s eyebrows furrow. “You ought to know better than to speak to an elderly like that.”

But the man who just fucking kissed you apparently can’t give a single flying fuck, because he retorts without missing a beat. “Take us back now.”

That must’ve been the final straw, because Kouki’s face finally morphs into the scowl that you think he’s been trying to suppress this entire time, but to your surprise, he moves closer to the two of you and once again, reaches for your hands.

You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but what you do know is that Bakugou’s onto something here, because he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt just now without any reason, which means the last thing you should do is resist.

And so you take Kouki’s hand, just as Bakugou snags the other, and when you do, the floor gives out from underneath you.

You’re still overcome with a sense of dizziness as your surroundings shift and the noise dissipates around you, but as you find the lounge slowly appearing before your eyes, you find that it’s not as bad the second time.

Bakugou’s still holding your hand when you arrive at the second floor of the club, right back where you stood from a while ago.

Sayaka is the first one to notice you, most likely thanks to her quirk and the goddamn device stuck to your chest, but it’s Masaki who speaks up when he catches wind of your arrival.

He puts down the deck of cards you think he’s just been shuffling before shifting to look at you. “Back so soon?”

Kouki turns around to face him, “Bakugou demanded to—”

“Why the fuck are there cameras in our room?”

Offended, the old man whips around again to glower at Bakugou, seemingly ready to unleash the sermon of the century. “Young man—”

“Turn them the fuck off,” the pro-hero interjects, “And the mics, too.”

Bakugou hesitates, as if unsure of how to properly say the next few words. He glances at you, expression inexplicable, before turning back to face them. “…At least at night.”

Silence.

“Oooh, I see where this is going,” comes Masaki’s reaction a moment later, a knowing smile creeping on his face. You feel yourself flame. “You weren’t being clear with us earlier, Bakugou. You didn’t say you brought your girlfriend.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary to point out,” comes Bakugou’s terse reply.

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter either way. The surveillance is for our safety, which comes above everything else, even the privacy of our esteemed members.”

“You promised you’d protect her at all costs,” Bakugou counters. “Protecting her modesty from the perverts you call your surveillance people is part of that.”

Now, you’re not a hundred percent certain, but you’re pretty sure he just shot the cyborg a look at the latter half of the sentence, which you think would’ve been a noble gesture—if it weren’t for the fact that it’s not just her, judging by the sheer number of cameras in this room alone.

Your attention drifts back to Masaki, however, when he heaves a sigh, leaning against the couch with a tired expression on his face. “Tell me, then, Dynamight. How do you propose we make sure you don’t brew something behind our backs off surveillance?”

“I can turn off the bugs,” Sayaka pipes up before Bakugou can answer, her mechanical voice drifting across the room. “They emit a blue light at their circumference that shuts down when I turn the device off.”

“As for the cameras…” she drones on, “The blinking red light should be gone when they’re offline.”

“That shit won’t do,” Bakugou declares decisively, not even letting the suggestion simmer. “There’s no knowing for sure that they’re actually off and aren’t just hacked to seem like they are.”

“The cameras should also face down. And—” he huffs, “—We get to remove the tracker.”

A chorus of protests erupts from the group—particularly from Sayaka and Kouki—but even the twins who are still stationed at the sides. Masaki, in contrast, only sits in silence as he studies the pro-hero, but there’s no missing the uneasiness decorating his features.

“It’s only at night,” Bakugou reasons, voice now a bit louder to be heard amidst the sea of complaints. “You can set up guards around the perimeters of our room. We’ll surrender them at the door before entering, and we can’t go out beyond the doorway until they’re attached again.”

And when no one says anything, Bakugou pushes. “How does that sound?”

You chance a glance at Masaki, who does not seem to be getting anywhere near convinced.

Bakugou must be noticing it, too, because he squeezes your hand so imperceptibly that you almost miss it.

But you don’t, and quite honestly, you could have and be okay with having done so, because you were on it, anyway.

You quickly scan the room.

One, two, three, four, five.

Five.

You can do five.

And so with the most innocent tone you can muster, you speak up.

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

All five whip to look at you, and the second that they do, you pull—swiftly and in succession—eyes jumping from Sayaka to Kouki to Masaki to the male twin and then to the girl.

Your gaze darts back to the leader right after to make sure you got him, but his remarkably serene countenance is enough to tell you that you’ve successfully done it.

You did it.

You just won Bakugou and you the window of time to discuss the mission in the privacy of your own room.

And Bakugou must be seeing the palpable shift in their demeanors because he squeezes your hand once more, only this time you think it’s in gratitude.

You feel a surge of pride swell in your chest.

Let the games begin.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3 @certaindreampost @3ve88 @tsumuus @4acoffee @anonymity-222 @lousypotatoes @homeless-clown @sk8wh33l | @matchat3a @harryzcherry @h0nestly-though @cc1306 @gold24fish @bakukags @zennypiee @wannabewolf @kameko-ko @lovra974 @arc6021 @kooromin @surprisemodafakas @ilovedenk-i @st4ntwic3 @j1tterbugaboo @call-memissbrightside @arael-asuka @bakugosgothhoe | @js-favnanadoongi @stxrrielle @panikk-attackkk @lotusstarr @ordola @simpforeveryone @typsichryle @arsonfrogger

#buzzing with excitement!!!#bkg didn't just do THAT #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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startaegi · 3 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 002 . . .

in which namgyu breaks the heart of his childhood sweetheart and tries to piece it back together again while fighting death.

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You floated through the next week like a ghost. You worked your usual shifts, took overtime for a few colleagues, barely spoke a word to anyone minus the patients you had to attend to and slept through the rest of the hours. You never saw the strange man again but you pondered a lot about that unusual night. The numbers on the card burned a hole in your pocket, every day becoming more tempting to dial.

It was like some form of twisted fate had heard your inner battle. You exited work with a phone flooded with messages and unanswered calls, all from the same number you had been avoiding. You sighed a little too loudly catching the attention of a passerby who didn't attempt to hide his scowl, you bowed an unamused expression on your face and quickly made your way towards the subway station. Your tired eyes read the messages over and over again.

You said Monday.

Don't give me the same shitty excuses.

Bring the money to the usual place or it won't just be pretty boy losing a kidney. Midnight, tonight.

You couldn't stand to look at it any longer, walking onto the train platform you tucked the phone into your backpack as far from your hands as possible. You took a seat, watching a train pull into the station. The doors opened and what looked to be college students exited, kitted in halloween costumes. It suddenly dawned on you that today was October 31st. Somewhere deep within you feel jealous. You’re here barely able to keep your head above the crashing waves, all your problems piling one on top of the other, ready to take you out any second. Your debts worry you most, you know the messages don't come lightly, they would happily take a body part or two just to cover what you owe. There was no way for you to get that kind of money so soon.

You groaned, forcing yourself from your racing mind to look at the notice board, your train was arriving in 8 minutes. You rested your head against the cold tiled wall, teeth nervously ripping at the skin inside your lips. A bad habit you were trying to break. Your fingers scraped against the card in your left pocket, you felt the grooves of the numbers carved into the back. Would it really be so bad? You could go and at least try, if you don’t win then you can just leave and give the loan sharks a kidney and maybe a lung too for all the interest they've added on top. You laughed out loud. You were going insane.

A few minutes until your train. There really was no other option. You pulled out your phone, dialling the eight digits and pressing call. It rang for a second then abruptly went through.

"Do you wish to participate in the game?" A voice on the other end questioned.

"Yes"

The male voice replied in an instant, "Seoul Tower, 11:30pm" You heard the faint rumble of your train approaching as the call ended.

Hushed whispers awakened you from your slumber. You reluctantly opened your eyes, they felt heavier than usual as did your limbs, as if they had been removed and reattached - and no longer belonged to you. You moved your pounding head to the side, rows of beds piled high greeted you. You slowly sat up in confusion. Your memory felt hazy, none of the pieces from the night before fitting together. You remembered leaving your apartment and getting into an unknown car, thinking now that probably wasn't the best of ideas but there was nothing after that. You took notice of the countless people making their way to the centre of the room - so bright and big it was blinding you, eyes squinting to see.

All of the people were dressed similarly. In matching green tracksuits, numbers stitched to their chest. You kicked away the thin blanket only now noticing you were no longer in your work scrubs. Like everyone else you were in a tracksuit that didn't belong to you, the numbers 382 rested against your chest. You should have felt some sort of panic at being kidnapped, like the woman beside you who was currently scanning the place in shock but instead your worries were on Namgyu. Even in the worst situation you were only scared for him. When the loan sharks arrived at the meeting place at midnight and hadn't found you there, ransacked your apartment and harassed your neighbours, it was him they would look for instead. They'd make good on their promise and probably kill him in the process. Your heart raced in fear thinking about it.

Commotion from the centre of the room pulled you from your darkening thoughts. Eight figures entered: all of them in red suits and black masks. You could vaguely remember one of them being the driver the night before.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," The masked man in the middle said, voice echoing across the room. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days, those who win all six games receive a handsome cash prize"

"Excuse me," a woman called out from across the room. You were too far to see properly, but you could faintly make out a face descending the stairs. “You said I'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me, so how can I believe you?" she asked the masked guards.

She was right, you thought. But right now you would do anything to get some extra cash in your pockets, so if it meant being kidnapped, then so be it.

"I apologise, please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game's security"

Another woman called, this time from somewhere at the front, "What's with the mask then? Is your face also a secret?"

"Yeah! Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?" A man cried out in agreement.

"Even the dealers don't cover their faces in those places" The same woman replied.

You watched as a hundred heads nodded in agreement.

The guards don't falter at the countless voices hurling questions at them, instead the centre one replied, "To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality it is our policy not to reveal the identities of staff." He paused. "Please understand"

The same thing goes on for minutes, different voices from all over the room calling out, sometimes ridiculous, questions. Your head flies up at the mention of a familiar name, "Player 333, Lee Myunggi"

You found him in the crowd, only seeing the back of his head and the number 333 on his back. He looked up at the screen as it changed to a clip of him playing ddakji.

Just as a hand raised to slap him, the masked guard spoke up again, "Age 30, used to run a YouTube channel called MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called Dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappear"

You always told yourself if you somehow bumped into the man who was one of the leading factors in your relationship ending, you would hit him and never stop. But now looking at him he was getting everything he deserved, his debt was big enough karma.

The guard continued naming off names, all of them in similar or more debt than you. Your questions had finally been answered, only after everyone had been shamed for their piling money worries. The prize amount was 45.6 billion. You couldn't fathom ever having that kind of money, what could you even spend it on; other than the obvious. Everyone around you seemed to be feeling the same, shocked whispers filled the room.

The masked guard - the centre one with the square, said loud and clear, no emotion in his voice, "If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form. Those who do not wish to participate please speak up now, we will always give u the chance to leave the games"

PLAYER CONSENT FORM.

1. A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit.

2. A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.

3. The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie players will vote again.

4. If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally.

SIGNATURE________.

You quickly signed the paper, no hesitation in your decision. You bowed your head at the guard, turning to leave the overflowing line. You noticed MG Coin, now known as Myunggi, signing where you once were. You walked back to the bed, eyes still on him. He turned, a little smile on his face that slowly dropped as two figures approached him.

Namgyu stood beside a purple haired boy. The number 124 attached to his chest. His hair was longer than it had been six months ago but his face was exactly as you remembered. No part of you was surprised to see him here. If money was involved, more than likely Namgyu also was. You felt stupid for worrying about him. All of your sympathy leaving at the sight of his smile, the same one you longed to forget.

You moved closer to hear their conversation but far enough away that they wouldn't notice. The purple haired one, player 230, spoke up, "You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin" He waved his hands in front of his face while speaking. "I was subscribed to your channel and I lost a shitload of money, asshole"

"So did I," Namgyu agreed, both boys staring Myunggi down. "Money and my fiancée" He added, side-eying 230 for a reaction but he gave none.

You laughed, hand quickly covering your mouth at the stares from beside you. He had the audacity to act as if he wasn't also to blame, as if your relationship wasn't already broken long before.

"You've got the wrong person" Myunggi defended, moving to pass through them.

Player 230 stopped him with a hand on his chest, knocking him back a little, "I watched your content all day, every day. Now I see you in my dreams, motherfucker" He swore. He rested a hand against Namgyu's shoulder who looked at him awkwardly. "Was your name Namsu?" 230 asked.

"It's Namgyu from Club Pentagon" He replied. You felt your heart drop at the mention of the nightclub. It was a place of nightmares.

"Right," 230 replied, waving him off. Myunggi looked to the side, uncomfortableness written all over his face. You sat still as his eyes met yours but he quickly turned again. "Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Namgyu here because we share the same pain" He finished.

The purple-haired boy turned to walk away and just as you thought it was over Namgyu spoke up again, "I thought the sons of bitches who made that coin fled to the Philippines with the money. So why are you here? Did they cut you loose?" He asked.

"What do you want from me?" Myunggi questioned.

Player 230 rushed forward, his hand grabbing the back of Myunggi's neck, gasps erupted in the room. "What do you think? Give me my money" 230 seethed.

The grip on his hair was strong as Myunggi fought back, "Did I force you to buy that coin?" He broke free, questioning both of them.

"You told us to bet it all, you fucker." 230's voice was angry. "You swore it'd shoot up! You said we'd be fucking idiots if we didn't buy it" His voice grew louder.

Myunggi took in a deep breath, repeating like he had been rehearsing his entire life, "You are responsible for the final decision on your investment, didn't you hear me say that at the end?" He paused. "You said you watched every day"

You in a way knew he was right. He didn't force Namgyu to waste your joint savings on a coin that only broke you apart, Namgyu had done that on his own accord. But you needed somewhere to place that blame and Myunggi happened to be that person.

Player 230 grasped Myunggi's zip-up, fist raised at his face. "You asshole" He bit through clenched teeth.

Namgyu attempted to break the two apart, "Hey calm down" He repeated. "People are watching, you don't wanna be on the news"

The three eventually broke apart, Namgyu following his new friend like a lost puppy. Myunggi watched the pair, you could sense a little fear and embarrassment on his face.

With them finally gone it only gave you room to think about Namgyu again. You were going to finish these games without bumping into him, as hard as it would be in such a small confinement, you didn't need to open old wounds. You would win that money, pay your debts and never have to face him again.

previous next masterlist playlist

notes . . . warnings for future chapters include child abuse, drugs, alcohol, death, toxic relationships & all the usual squid game stuff. will add them before the chapter they're included

taglist . . . let me know if you wanna be added!

#namgyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #player 124 x reader #player 124 #nam gyu #squid game x fem reader #squid game x reader #namgyu x fem reader #｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ favourite crime

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simplygojo · 1 month ago

Text

Friend-Of-A-Friend ── Chapter One

author's note ⸺ Hello all! This is a teaser chapter for a series I've been cooking up, just wanting to put it out here while I work on a few requests. :) pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader summary ⸺ You met Gojo in university through your roommate, and while the two of you became the closest of friends, his other best friend, Suguru Geto, was always just a mutual acquaintance. After graduation, life pulled you all in different directions, with only the occasional reunion keeping you connected. But when Geto unexpectedly reaches out asking to catch up, your mind can't help but wander... content ⸺ platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, modern au, reader uses female pronouns, this is an 18+ series - mdni divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

series masterlist ୨୧ simplygojo masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

You met Satoru Gojo because he briefly dated your roommate. Three weeks, to be exact.

It wasn’t a particularly serious relationship—Gojo wasn’t exactly the “serious relationship” type back then—but somehow, when it ended, he didn’t just disappear from your life like most fleeting university romances did.

Instead, he stuck around, not as someone’s boyfriend but as a chaotic, ever-present force in your friend group.

He was simply too much fun to let go, and despite his ex moving on, Gojo embedded himself in your daily routine as if he had always belonged there.

The two of you clicked almost instantly.

Perhaps it was his boundless energy, the way he could make even the most mundane of tasks feel like an adventure. Or maybe it was because you, unlike many others, had no problem challenging him, calling him out when he was being insufferable—which was often.

Either way, within a matter of months, you and Gojo were practically inseparable.

Your late nights turned into study sessions that lasted until dawn.

Over time, those sessions gained a third member: Suguru Geto, Gojo’s quieter, more composed friend. Compared to you and Gojo, anyone would seem reserved, but Geto had an air of serenity that balanced out Gojo’s manic energy.

He wasn’t just one of Gojo’s best friends; he became an integral part of your routine.

While Gojo would get distracted and try to rope you into some absurd conversation about the merits of sunglasses indoors, Geto would be the one actually ensuring the group got any work done.

He was thoughtful in small ways—like bringing you both coffee before an early lecture (though Gojo always insisted on lemonade because, in his own words, “coffee is for old people”).

You liked Geto. He was nice. But you never really got to know him beyond the surface. He was there, a presence woven into the fabric of your university life, but you never considered him more than a friend-of-a-friend.

Then, university ended.

You landed your first real corporate job in the city, trading the carefree nature of student life for morning commutes and office politics.

Gojo, despite his initial complaints about you ‘leaving him behind,’ ended up securing a job in HR somewhere in the rural south—how he managed that, you’d never know. The details remained murky—he provided no real explanation, only a steady stream of texts detailing his ongoing struggles with adulthood.

And of course, every now and then, the three of you—Gojo, Geto, and you—would reunite for drinks or sushi, laughing about your university days as if they weren’t already slipping into nostalgia.

But despite the occasional meetups, your dynamic with Geto remained unchanged.

You were friendly, sure, but you were just mutual friends.

Every conversation was held in Gojo’s orbit, every interaction buffered by his larger-than-life presence. You had never hung out with Geto alone, or even had a conversation. There was simply no reason to.

That’s why the message caught you off guard.

It was late, the soft glow of your phone illuminated your darkened bedroom. A new message popped up, not from Gojo, but from Geto.

Geto: Hey, are you still working in the city?

You blinked at the screen.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you and Geto had texted one-on-one. Maybe a few years ago? Maybe never? And yet, here he was, reaching out.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, heart beating just a little faster than it should.

You: …Yeah. Why?

Geto: If I remember correctly…I just started working in your area.

Your brows furrowed as you reread his message. Geto? Working in the city? That was unexpected.

You had always assumed he’d followed a path similar to Gojo’s—something a little off the beaten track, something unconventional.

To be honest, if you thought about it, you didn’t really know where Geto went after you all graduated.

'He could have been in the city the whole time and you wouldn't have known.'

You: Oh, that's nice! It’s a pretty good area—what are you doing?

The three little dots appeared, then vanished. After a few moments, they appeared again.

Geto: Doing some accounting for a Nonprofit. Community outreach stuff. It’s pretty decent.

That sounded about right. You could picture it—Geto, with that steady, composed demeanor, seamlessly fitting into a role like that. He’d always had a way of making people feel heard, like whatever they were saying actually mattered. It made sense.

You: That does sound decent. Way more noble than my corporate grind, lol.

You expected that to be the end of it. A polite exchange, nothing more. But then—

*Geto Liked Your Message* Geto: You free this week? Would be nice to catch up. :)

The casual phrasing didn’t match the unfamiliar weight in your chest.

Your stomach twisted in something that wasn’t quite nerves, wasn’t quite excitement either. You stared at the screen, rereading the words, trying to remember a time Geto had ever asked to see you alone.

He hadn’t. Not once.

It wasn’t like you had anything against Geto. Quite the opposite, actually. If you were being honest, you had always thought he was attractive. How could you not?

Even back in university, when you spent most of your time sparring with Gojo over nonsense, you had still noticed Geto.

He was the kind of person who didn’t need to be loud to command attention.

While Gojo filled a room with sheer force of personality, Geto had an effortless gravity to him—sharp eyes that always seemed like they knew something you didn’t, an easy smirk that hinted at amusement even when he barely spoke.

And he was—annoyingly—good at everything. Studying? He aced it. Debating? He never raised his voice, but somehow, he always won.

He was the only one who could rein Gojo in with just a single look, a quiet “Satoru” spoken in that low, measured tone of his.

You had noticed all of it.

But noticing him wasn’t the same as knowing him.

And when it came down to it, Geto had never really been your friend—and you don’t mean that in a rude way.

He had been Gojo’s best friend. A presence you had gotten used to that was conditional to Gojo’s presence, but not one you had ever gotten close to.

So why now?

You: Yeah, I think I could be..

You paused before sending the next message.

You: Should I invite Gojo?

There were a few minutes of hesitation before his reply came through.

Geto: He isn’t in the city, might as well not force him to commute.

You stared at his response, reading between the lines.

He wasn’t saying no outright. But it also wasn’t a yes. And for some reason, that felt significant.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a dozen different responses flitting through your mind. You could leave it there, let the conversation fizzle out naturally. It wasn’t like you and Geto had ever been close—this was already unusual enough.

But instead, you found yourself typing back faster than you expected

You: Fair point. Where are you thinking?

His reply came quicker this time.

Geto: I know a place. I’ll send you the details later this week.

Simple. Straightforward. Like this was just a casual meetup between old acquaintances. Like it wasn’t strange that, after all these years, he was reaching out to you specifically.

You exhaled, setting your phone down on the nightstand and staring up at the ceiling. The city buzzed softly outside your window, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

But as you turned off your phone and settled into bed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, Geto was stepping out of Gojo’s shadow.

And he was looking directly at you.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The soft light of early morning filtered through the blinds, the city streets already bustling with their usual noise.

The sound of your alarm dragging you from sleep felt abrupt, too sudden, as though your body wasn’t quite ready to let go of the peaceful weight of the night.

You groaned, stretching and blinking into the darkness of your bedroom. Another day of emails, meetings, and the familiar grind of corporate life—the rat race, if you will.

The message Geto had sent you last night flashed in your mind.."You free this week? Would be nice to catch up. :)"

You could almost hear his calm, measured tone in your head. The quiet rhythm of his speech that always made you feel like whatever he was saying was worth listening to.

You stared at the screen for a long moment before closing the app and tossing the phone back down.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything special today. You had a million things to think about—your morning routine, that proposal you needed to finish, the quarterly meeting you’d been dreading for weeks.

Yet, for some reason, his message had settled into your mind like a loose thread that wouldn’t stop unraveling.

You dragged yourself out of bed, pulling your work clothes from the closet with the same practiced motions you had done a thousand times before. But today, as you stood in front of the mirror, brushing your hair and debating whether or not to wear something a little more polished than usual, you caught yourself.

You hadn’t done this in ages. You hadn’t even thought about what you’d wear in advance, or how you’d look.

‘Get a grip,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It’s not like he works in your building—or that I even care what he thinks…’

Geto hadn’t reached out in years, and yet now, here he was, pulling you from your routine with nothing more than a few words on a screen.

You exhaled and ran a hand through your hair, pushing any butterflies back down into your stomach, because as all the finance bros say..the grind never stops.

As you gathered your things for the day—grabbing your coffee, slipping on your coat—you found yourself checking your phone again, more out of habit than anything else.

No new messages.

You shook your head as you pulled open your apartment door, stepping into the cold, gray morning. The bustling sounds of the city greeted you, but your mind kept drifting back to Geto.

The way he’d worded his invitation. The odd shift in his tone.

You told yourself you’d just focus on work today, push this all to the back of your mind. But it didn’t quite feel like you could.

You walked to the subway, lost in thought, wondering if maybe you were reading too much into it.

You had always assumed that, between the two of them, you and Geto would always just… be friends of Gojo. An afterthought.

‘I’m sure he just wants to catch up, it has been a while…and I guess we did spend a lot of time studying together’

But as the subway doors slid shut and you pressed your earphones in, blocking out the noise around you, one thought lingered in your mind like an unanswered question.

Why now?

a/n: hi all, this is a new series I am thinking of continuing...please let me know if you liked it!! I'd love to ehar your thoughts <3 ty for reading

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mariasont · 1 year ago

Note

Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him.

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe.

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else.

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze.

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food.

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again.

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned.

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love."

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity.

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body.

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked.

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago.

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x you #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfic

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simping-overload · 1 year ago

Text

ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ᴅᴇᴇʀ - ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʜᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ

a/n: showing my love for my favorite Greek God of all time, Hermes<3 this is a multichapter fanfic.

trigger warnings: animal hunting so animal death. Religious themes and practices

synopsis: You never thought helping out a lost hobo would end up with you in the loving embrace of a god.

『read on ao3』

『prev chapter ⟺ next chapter』

disclaimer: hermes is based on his BOZ, EPIC, and canon mythology. I don't really know how ancient greece actually was or how hunting works so take this with a grain of salt! It is just fanfiction :)

You come from a village that has been long-term worshippers of the goddess, Artemis. Each year, the village holds a festival, Laphria¹. With this festival, of course, comes activities, the most important being the hunt. Where 3 main selected participants, who were allowed to bring at the maximum two others along the hunt with them, they were to hunt down a large stag, whoever was to bring back the largest wins.

The reward would entail being given a large sum of money and being allowed to worship the goddess to the fullest extent, which means you'd get to say your prayers before everyone, including the high elders.

This year, you were finally chosen for the hunt, much to the joy of your family and friends. You were their best hunter and tracker, able to find an animal with ease regardless of how little the evidence that has been left behind.

After passing a familial trail—hunting a snow hare in the middle of snowstorm— you were gifted a beautiful pup who you named Winston². The two of you were jointed at the hip. There wasn't a place you'd go without him. This included the hunt.

You decided to bring two of your beloved friends along, Damian and Agnes. You set off at dawn, racing into the trees on the back of your horses, Winston running ahead as the scout.

Agnes and Damian were chattering away behind you as you looked over the map. You wanted to try and plan out all paths you could safely use.

"So...do you think if I win this, it would get Corinna at the very least interested in me?" Damian questions, fiddling with the horses' reins. He had a crush on Corinna ever since they were teens, spending most of his time trying to impress her— which failed considering he always made a fool of himself.

Agnes, bless her, rolling her eyes as she listens to Damian rant, just as the millions times before. She's been friends with him since they were babies. Both of their mothers were the best of friends, so it makes sense they were too.

You didn't come into the picture until you were about 7 or so, moving here to take care of your grandmother after she got sick.

You met Agnes when your mother invited hers over, and then her mother invited Damian's over. You all were just placed in front of each other and expected you all to click automatically. Thankfully, you did, and you've been friends ever since.

"Probably, but you need to remember Nikolaos is in this competition too, I know he's been desperate to get her hand as well." She pauses as her horse jumps over a fallen tree. She looks back at Damian with a blank stare and continues. "And also this could've been avoided if you just grew a pair of balls and confessed."

"I can't just do that— I need to get her attention first. Maybe we'll find that white stag the elders ramble about." Damian giggles as he pictures Corinna leaping into his arms and saying yes to his proposal. He was such a lovesick fool.

"Or maybe she's already interested and is waiting for you to confess. I've heard its custom in her family for the woman to wait for the man to ask, no matter how long it takes." You chime in, not looking up from your map.

"Wait wh—" Damian is cut off when a large gray wolf jumps from out of the trees, holding a white hare in its mouth.

Your horse, startled, bucks you off its back, sending you to the forest floor. You're now eye level with the wolf, noticing how its eyes are an unnatural golden color.

You and the wolf stared each other down for a moment before it huffed and leaps back into the trees. Agnes drops down from her horse and rushes to your side, while Damian goes off to fetch your horse.

You snapped out of your daze when you felt something wet touched your cheek. It was Winston, licking at you and whining in concern.

You pat his head to calm him, and you lean on Agnes for support as you stand. She brushes the dirt and leaves off your back.

"Hey, you okay?" She questions, her freckled face is laced with concern.

You feel fine, a little sore, but nothing you hadn't been through before. There was something about that wolf that just stuck with you, "Yeah, I'm fine. That wolf, though... its eyes were like pure gold."

"Maybe it's one of Lady Artemis' wolves? It wouldn't be the first time she's watched over the hunts." She suggests, steppingaway from you once you've steady yourself. Damian comes back with your now calm horse, handing you the reins.

"I suppose? Though I never heard of a wolf having pure gold eyes before... Anyway, Winston, did you see anything?

Winston barks in reply, his tail wagging before he runs off. You mount your horse and begin to follow him. You motion the other two to do the same.

Winston leads you to what looks to be a temple, one that seems to have been neglected for years. Nature has taken over, vines have trickled up and wrapped themselves around the columns, and grass and flowers grow from the cracks of the floor. The usual pure white of the marble has faded into a off white tan color with a thin layer of moss across the surface.

"Let's make sure the area is safe for us to set up camp here. Agnes, check out the back of the temple, and Damian, you'll start with the outer perimeter. I'll start with the inside. Regroup to the front once you're sure no one else has been here."

Agnes nods, and Damian gives an alright in response before going back into the forest. You dismount your horse, tying it to a loose fence post. You make your way up the cracked stone steps and into the temple.

The rays of sun lit the inside of the temple, illuminating the illustrations that line the walls and ceilings. Going off of the winged shoes on the god that was illustrated, this was a temple of Hermes. You wonder if there was ever a village that was here before yours that were worshippers of him.

Your search around the temple came up empty, with no human activity. Only animals and plants seemed to have been inside. You leave the temple in time to see with Damian and Anges coming back.

"There doesn't look like there's anyone for miles, only animals. I saw the cutest fox kits." Anges says.

"Same here, though I wasn't blessed with seeing any cute aniamls today." Damian pouts, dismounting his horse, kneeling down next to Winston to ruffle his fur, "Expect for this bugger." Winston barks and licks the man's hand.

You chuckle, "Looks like it's safe to set up camp here, we'll need to find something to eat, so I'll try and find something for us. You two just set up camp and remember to use the horn if anything happens."

They give you mock salutes in response before they begin to take the supplies off the horses and into the temple. You mount yours and whistle for Winston to follow as you trot off into the woods.

It doesn't take you long to hunt something down. After finding some boar tracks, Winston leads the rest of the way to the creature. Upon finding it, you ready your bow, steadying yourself on the moving horse as you focus your aim on the boar.

You suck in a breath, drawing back your arrow and whispering a short prayer to Artemis as you relase. The arrow pierces through the side of the boar, straight to the heart, quick and painless.

Suddenly, you hear a loud scream, and off in the distance, you can see someone running towards you with what looks like a... deer? Chasing after them. Winston stands alert, ears perked, and focused on the person getting closer to you. You hold your reins tight while Winston moves in front of the horse.

The person turned out to be Nikolaos. You spot his signature ginger hair showing from under his hood before he trips over a log and face plants in front of you. He doesn't try to exchange pleasantries as he scrambles up to keep running.

The deer came soon after, gracefully hopping over the log. It glanced at you for a meer moment, giving you enough time to see its golden eyes. The same color from the wolf.

You hop down off your horse, making your way to the boar.

You are for sure this time that it wasn't Artemis. Maybe some other god?

You wrap the boars legs tight with string as you bring it back to your horse, settling it on the rear. Positioned so it won't slip off, you mount your horse once more before going back the direction you came.

As you make your way back. Your mind wanders back to Hermes. It could be him. After all, he's one of the more playful gods known for his pranks and tricks. You'll have to make an offering to him for letting you sleep in the temple, regardless if it's abandoned or not, and so he doesn't prey on your friends like he did Nikolaos.

By the time you made it to camp, it was dusk. Agnes greets you outside, taking the horse reins from you. You take the boar off of the horse, taking off to the side as you make quick work of the animal, cutting off the hide and chopping the pieces of meat you need. You leave whatever is left for Winston and the other forest creatures to feast.

Damian is quick to start cooking. Thankfully, his mother was kind enough to pack spices so your group wouldn't have to suffer tasteless food.

Until the sky went dark, you spent the rest of your time eating and talking. Damian nearly choked on his food when he heard you recant the experience in the woods earlier. He says he wishes he could've seen the look on that bastards face when he was running away. Agnes jokes that Nikolaos probably looked like a scared chicken. Which admittedly, he did, come to think of it, his screams sounded like the human equivalent of one.

As the night went on, it got quiet, Damian was the first to sleep, and Agnes was next. Winston is sprawled out in between them, snoring away. Before you rest, you bring a plate of food and burning incense to the altar.

You whisper, "Please, Hermes. The God of speed and travel grant us permission to make sanctions in your temple. If you disapprove, we will be out as the sun rises. Take this food as a thank you for allowing us to sleep here for the night." You pause. "Also... please refrain from chasing us as a deer or anything else for that matter. While it was funny what you did to Nikolaos, I would rather not soil my pants." You chuckle, placing the food onto the alter and the incense in a dusty holder.

You go back to your original resting place, leaning against the pillar. You feel a soft and comfortable breeze flow through the temple. The sounds of the trees rustling soothe you into a nice slumber.

Still in deer form, Hermes walks through the woods, no set destination just allowing the fates to choose where he will end up. Faintly, he can hear someone whisper a prayer.

"Please, Hermes. The God of speed and travel grant us permission to make sanctions in your temple. If you disapprove, we will be out as the sun rises..."

It was not often that he received prayers, especially not in his sisters park of Greece. He lets the prayer pull him towards the location.

Switching to his human form, he approaches the temple. It was one of his firsts. A gift to him by his father. While unkept, it still stood strong.

He sniffs the air, a familiar smell, boar. Not only did he get a prayer, but he got an offering, too? Just what he needed after chasing the mortals.

He giggles as he makes his way inside, involuntary waking up Winston, who was silenced a quick shush and a pat to the head.

Hermes looks around at the mortals who sleep before him. Wondering who said the prayer, his eyes land on you. Still leaned against the pillar, head thrown back against it. Your hand is tightly wrapped around a dagger. Ready to strike if need be.

He studied your face for a moment, his hand twitched with the desire to trace over your features. You were very attractive for a mortal, and judging from the faint golden aura he could see emitting from you, you're the one who prayed.

He steps away with a grin, making his way to the alter. He picks the plate up, nearly drooling on the food. As much as he'd love to take his time eating, he's a glutton. In seconds, the plate is empty. He holds back a burp as he makes his way back out of the temple, glancing at you as he makes his way out.

Well, he's going to have some fun on this vacation.

#hermes #hermes x reader #greek mythology #greek mythology x reader #boz hermes x reader #boz x reader #blood of zeus #blood of zeus x reader #epic the musical #epic hermes #epic hermes x reader #god x human #god x mortal #fanfiction #greek god x reader #greek gods #greek god #greek gods x reader

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kunareads · 23 days ago

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if i believe you | chapter four

draw me after you

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 3.4k

content: i ended up splitting this chapter because i think this amount of fluff needs room to breathe (and reader deserves good things and happy feelings). please enjoy because next chapter will not be nearly as happy and soft as this!

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

your garden feels wild in the evening. leaves spill over a stone pathway as vines climb the trellises, threading through gaps like they want to swallow them whole.

you’re in the grass, legs folded beneath you, hands resting in your lap. satoru found you out here not too long ago and sat across from you, his back pressed against the trunk of a tree, limbs sprawled out and occupying as much space as possible.

“what’s your favorite time of day?” he asks, breaking the quiet.

you glance at him, hesitant, but his expression is expectant. “late at night.”

he quirks a brow in amusement. “didn’t take you for a troublemaker.”

you shake your head lightly. “i just like when everything’s quiet.”

there’s a pause, and then he says, “your turn,” with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i asked you a question, now you get to ask me one.”

you hesitate. you certainly have questions, but you’re not sure they fit in this conversation. so you go with the safest one you can find.

“your favorite time of day?”

“sunrise.”

that surprises you. “why?”

he shrugs, still playing with the earth. “feels like i have the whole world to myself.”

you try to picture him that way—alone at dawn, the world still sleeping. maybe it suits him. an hour or two at peace before anyone can demand anything of him.

“i think we’re opposites, then,” you say. “you like the start of things, i like the end.”

his expression softens. “guess that just means we have the whole day covered.”

you smile at that, and the conversation drifts from there. favorite snacks. the worst places you’ve slept. things you could live without forever, and the things you never want to lose.

you don’t know when it happens, but you stop measuring your words. the hesitation is still there, but it’s smaller.

“what’s something you’ve always wanted to try?” he asks.

“travel. i’ve never been anywhere.”

his brows furrow. “not even once?”

“never.”

he hums, thoughtful. “well, we have to change that.”

you glance at him, trying to gauge if he’s joking. but he’s watching you with that same softness, the words hovering like he’s offered you an invitation you’re not sure you can reach for.

“maybe.” your voice is quieter now. “what about you?” you ask.

“scuba diving.”

the response is so immediate and so unexpected that you can’t help but smile. “you don’t seem like a scuba diver.”

he grins, feigning offense. “i can’t be adventurous?”

“i think you might be enough trouble on land.”

his laugh spills out, rich and unrestrained, making your own smile widen.

the conversation shifts again, like neither of you want to linger on anything that requires too much thought. you find yourself telling him about your family. descriptions come slowly, like you’re not even sure what you’re trying to say.

your father, strict but steadfast. a leader in the only way he knew how. discipline over affection, standards over kindness. his love was earned.

your mother, obedient and devoted. loving in the way she was taught to be. her affection was careful, measured—delivered only when you met expectations and rationed to avoid spoiling you.

their approval was the closest thing to love you’ve ever really felt, and you became very good at earning it. good at keeping yourself small and quiet, at doing what you were told, at following rules so well they’d never have to doubt you.

you don’t realize how much you’re saying until you realize how much satoru is listening. it’s almost unnerving, the way he just lets you speak without steering the conversation where he wants it to go. like he’s content to let you lead, to study your words.

“i miss it, sometimes,” you admit quietly. the words feel like they’ll shatter if you say them too loud.

he doesn’t respond right away, but you can feel his attention locked onto you.

“and the parts you don’t miss?”

you go silent.

you’ve never considered it before. never even thought to split your memories into good and bad, wanted and unwanted. you don’t have an answer because you’ve never looked for one.

satoru doesn’t press. he just watches, waiting to see if you’ll find the words or if you still need time to understand it.

“i don’t think i could’ve survived in your house.” he shifts, stretching his arms behind his head. “i used to get in trouble all the time.”

“not surprising,” you reply.

he grins. “i would skip classes with my friends. sneak off, cause way too much destruction on missions—oh, and pissing off the old guys in charge. that was my specialty.”

“sounds irresponsible.”

“that was the point.”

you think he sounds kind of sad. the way he talks about it, all reckless charm and nostalgia, feels unfinished—like he’s trying not to remember something he didn’t mean to miss.

you unfold your legs, stretching them out in front of you. the air is cooling now, and you listen to the sound of the trees, let it fill the silence where words go. satoru’s gaze slides over you, something almost careful in the way he’s watching. like he’s trying to take you in without crowding you.

you swallow. “do you… miss them? your friends?”

the question feels fragile. out of place. he considers you for a moment, and you can’t tell if you’ve overstepped. but he lifts his brows like you’ve just asked him something fascinating. he’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either.

“yeah. sometimes.” the answer is casual, but there’s rawness there. “one of them still works at the school. maybe you can meet her sometime.”

it’s quiet for a while. he shifts, his leg resting near yours. “what about you?” he asks. “what’s something you miss?”

he’s watching you now, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you feel like the truth is the only acceptable answer.

“i—” your sentence falters as you sort through the increasingly tangled mess in your head. “i miss… feeling sure of myself.”

it feels wrong when you say it. wrong but true, scraping against something raw, bleeding from some unidentified wound.

“i always knew what was expected of me,” you continue. “i knew what i was supposed to be. even if it wasn’t… easy, it made sense.”

“and now?” it’s quiet, not demanding. an invitation to admit something you’ve been trying not to acknowledge. it makes you want to keep talking.

“now…” you draw in a slow breath. “now i don’t know if i’m doing anything right.”

he’s silent for a moment. not because he doesn’t care, but because the admission hits something in him that he can’t understand.

it feels wrong to him that you’re questioning yourself at all. like you’ve been taught to doubt yourself so deeply that the smallest gesture of ease feels like rebellion. it makes him want to fix it, somehow.

“i think you’re doing fine,” he says eventually. the words are so casual, but they leave a warmth in your chest. “more than fine, actually.”

it’s not the kind of reassurance you’re used to. you glance at him, something small and shy curling in your chest. it’s not a compliment, not really. it’s just the way he says it. like a simple, sudden truth.

the coolness of the night settles in as the sky darkens. you feel more aware of the ground beneath you, the roughness of the grass, the warmth that radiates off of satoru.

“what was your favorite part of being a kid?” he asks, his voice lightening again, a lifeline out of the heaviness.

it feels safe, easier than his other questions. your fingers trace absent shapes against your lap, the motion soothing. “being outside. my mother kept a garden, and i would help her sometimes. picking herbs, planting new seeds.”

“your mother taught you to garden?” he asks.

“sort of.” you pause, the memory slipping free. “she taught me to do things properly. but i liked the parts where she wasn’t paying attention. when i could just do everything how i wanted.” it feels like too much, like you’re giving away something intimate. you look away, eyes falling to the tangled mess of greenery. “it was different, the way she did things. her garden was perfect.”

satoru follows your gaze, picking a dandelion near your foot. “and this?” he gestures to the wilderness surrounding you. “this is you doing things how you want?”

“i think so.”

his smile is soft. “good.”

something relaxes in your chest. “what about you?” you ask, trying to pull the attention away from yourself. “what was your favorite part of being a kid?”

he pauses. “getting away with murder. figuratively. mostly.”

you snort before you can stop yourself. the sound bubbles out of you like a hiccup, breaking the quiet in a way that feels almost obscene.

his laugh follows yours, pleased and unrestrained, proud of himself for bringing that out of you. “what? it was fun.”

“i’m sure.” you can’t keep the amusement of your voice. something about him, so shameless and unapologetic, makes your own hesitation feel ridiculous. he grins, and for a moment, there’s nothing between you but the hum of the garden.

but then he says, “you do that a lot,” almost to himself. you wonder if he meant to say it out loud.

“do what?” you ask, already feeling your shoulders stiffen.

“wait before you speak.” his fingers play idly with the dandelion he picked earlier. “like you’re checking to see if you’re allowed to answer.”

the words don’t hit particularly hard, but they find something tender. something you didn’t know was there until he pressed against it. “i…” you stop. inhale. “i didn’t realize i was doing that.”

“lemme guess.” his voice is low, playful, but not fully. “a lady doesn’t interrupt?”

your lips press together, your gaze falling to your hands. the truth feels too obvious. of course he’s right. he usually is, and maybe you’re starting to think it’s a little irritating.

“it’s polite,” you say finally, the words small. brittle.

“yeah?” his voice is soft, the usual teasing smoothed out. “bet i’d give your mother a heart attack.”

the laugh escapes before you can swallow it down. you’re not sure what it says about you, that you’re laughing at something like this. maybe that’s why it feels like something worth hiding, but you can’t.

and satoru’s grin is immediate. broad and satisfied, like he’s won something. like he’s going to keep winning.

he’s proud of himself for making you laugh, you realize. and that’s… comforting? confusing?

you shake your head, but you don’t correct him. because maybe she would hate him. and for the first time ever, you don’t care. it sits in your chest, unfamiliar, like something you shouldn’t touch but reach for anyway.

+++

satoru is the one who suggested snacks, but not because he was hungry. he just wasn’t ready for the closeness to end.

the air outside had felt light, easy. something about you letting your guard down, even a little, made him want to keep the moment going. so he led you inside, playing it off with a careless grin and a lazy stretch of his arms.

“wait here,” he’d said, flashing you a smile before wandering off toward the kitchen. “be back in a second.”

the fact that you didn’t immediately make some polite excuse to leave didn’t go unnoticed. so he gathered whatever snacks he could find, anticipation growing in his chest. he felt like a teenager with a crush.

now, he finds you in the small sitting area off the main hall—a cozy, quiet space that feels far removed from the rest of the house. a low table with cushions around it, the soft glow of lanterns painting the room in amber.

you look less guarded than usual, like something from before still hasn’t settled back into place. it’s something he’d like to see more of.

“i think the staff have been moving things around to mess with me,” he says as he slides down next to you, a tray of fruit and cookies in one hand. “they can’t outsmart me though.”

he’s rewarded with the faintest twitch of your lips.

he sets the tray in front of you and leans back, watching you reach for a piece of fruit with more hesitance than he’d like.

he’s talking just to keep you there, rambling about the kitchen staff and their obsession with organizing things to the point of madness. you respond, sometimes with words, sometimes with a hum of acknowledgement. but you’re not withdrawing.

he bites into a cookie he doesn’t even want, pretending not to notice the way you move, the way your gaze keeps flickering toward him. it’s only when he shifts to make himself more comfortable that his fingers brush yours on the cushions. a light touch, nothing worth noticing—except that you both do.

the words between you taper off until the quiet feels charged. he notices the way you look at him, how your gaze lingers a little too long before you look away, then back again. like you’re searching for something you can’t quite find.

you’re closer now than you were a moment ago. he’s sure of it.

“didn’t think you’d actually wait for me,” he says. it’s meant to sound playful, but it comes out too soft.

you blink, the faintest hint of confusion flitting across your expression. “you told me to.”

“yeah, but—” he pauses, his finger tracing a line over yours on the cushion. “you could’ve just said you were tired and called it a night.”

your eyes lower, like you’re deciding what to say to that. or if you’re supposed to say anything at all.

“maybe i wasn’t ready to say goodnight.”

the words are so quiet he almost thinks he imagined them. but the way you say it, soft and uncertain, makes something in his chest unwind. his gaze fixes on you now with something he’s not sure he wants to name. something that feels tender and reckless and good.

you’re looking at him like you’re waiting for him to do something. maybe you don’t even realize it, but he certainly does.

he leans in, just enough to see if you’ll flinch, if you’ll draw back into the shell you’ve been living in since your wedding. but you don’t. if anything—if his eyes don’t deceive him—you shift a little closer.

“you know,” his voice comes out lower than he intended. “you’re really bad at pretending you’re not looking at me.”

your face immediately heats up. you don’t deny it. he grins, but it feels more like an admission than a joke. “it’s okay. i’m looking at you, too.”

there’s something so simple about the statement. so stupidly honest. it’s like he’s daring himself to say what he’s been circling around for days.

“you gonna let me kiss you, angel?”

it’s only half-serious. satoru expects you to tense up, to blink at him with that same guarded look you always have when he teases you.

but you’re looking at him without a hint of protest.

“yeah?” he whispers.

you nod. just barely, but it’s enough. he leans in before his stomach can do another somersault.

it’s nothing. a brush of his mouth against yours, enough to test the waters, to feel the warmth of your lips before he pulls back to gauge your reaction. your eyes are wide, but your shoulders are relaxed, your breathing steady, even if it’s a little too careful.

he lingers there, trying to make sense of what you’re feeling—and what he’s feeling. he’s more intentional about this than he’s ever been about anything.

but there’s nothing in your expression that tells him you’re afraid, so he leans in again.

it’s deeper this time. still careful, but not hesitant. his lips press more firmly against yours, his head tilting slightly to see how much you’re willing to give. to see if you’ll give him more.

his hand moves on instinct, fingers lifting to cradle your jaw. the touch is gentle, the pressure light, like he’s scared you’ll break if he moves too quickly.

you don’t break. you let him kiss you, mirroring his movements as best you can. like you’re learning what it feels like to want something. realization settles.

this isn’t pressure. it’s not something you have to endure. it’s something you’re allowed to explore.

he pulls back, but only just. he’s close enough to see the way your lips part, like you’re trying to find the right words and coming up empty. you’re looking at him like you’re not sure what happened.

and then your hand moves.

it feels like a second-guess even as you’re doing it, your hand as shaky as your breath. your fingers brush against his jaw and settle on his cheek, the contact so light that it’s almost not there.

he looks at you with fascination, his gaze dropping to your mouth. and then, slowly, your thumb traces over his bottom lip. just once—more curious than anything.

something inside him stutters. for once, you’re asking him for something.

you’re the one who leans in this time.

your mouth presses against his, clumsy but sure. you kiss him with the kind of caution that makes him want to ruin you, just to see what you’d look like with that gentleness stripped away.

but he stays soft, pliant. lets you take what you want, even if you’re not sure what that is.

without meaning to, you notice things. the way his hand feels against your face, the small, idle circles he traces over your skin, the slight part of his lips. he’s careful and patient and it makes you want to thank him. your chest feels tight, your heartbeat skipping. you’re not sure what you’re supposed to feel right now, but you know you don’t want this to end.

the feel of your mouth against his is something satoru knows he won’t be able to forget. he’s already dreading the fact that he doesn’t know when you’ll let him do this again.

he deepens the kiss, just slightly. not aggressive, not demanding. it’s just… more. his fingers move up from your jaw and into your hair, the touch soothing you.

you realize with startling clarity that you want him. that you want him to keep kissing you. and it knocks the air out of you, because wanting something isn’t something you should to do. want feels like an admission of need.

when he breaks the kiss, his lips don’t go far. they trail to the corner of your mouth, tracing a path over your cheek, then lower, grazing along the line of your jaw.

it’s… too much. but not how you’d expected. not in a way that feels wrong, not in a way that hurts. it’s warm, real, and your chest feels like it’s going to collapse.

it’s not until his lips brush against the spot just beneath your jaw, where your pulse flutters a little too fast, that you gasp. it’s small, but it feels raw and unfamiliar. like something stolen from a part of you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

he feels it before you do. the way your shoulders go rigid, as if your own reaction is something you need to hide.

then you pull away.

he doesn’t chase you. just watches as you blink, like you’re trying to wake yourself up from a dream you didn’t mean to fall into. your eyes are wide, your breathing shallow, but you’re not scared. you’re just… startled.

he’s bracing for your apology, for you to retreat into reservation. he’s about to say something—anything to break the tension that’s suddenly wrapped itself around you—when you smile.

small at first, a hint of warmth, something shy. then wider, brighter. like you’re trying to convince yourself that this is real and not imagined. it feels like something he’s not supposed to see.

“okay?” he asks.

you shake your head, exhaling like you can’t believe yourself. “that was nice.”

he watches you a moment longer, his lips twitching. the way you’re looking at him makes him feel like he’s finally done something important.

“yeah?”

you nod, hugging your knees. your cheeks are flushed, your hands trembling slightly. but you look happy.

he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. and then he grins, something easy and genuine spilling across his face. “guess i did something right, then.”

you laugh, and the sound is real.

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