#WHY DO I KEEP HAVING TO FIELD THESE ACCUSATIONS

[dhmis-autism]

ngl, when I read ur posts I do hear Duck's voice. You do remind me of him /pos <3

CMON MAN

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

some things are worth it

a/n: so, because i haven’t been able to stop thinking about this guy, especially in this au (literally had multiple dreams about him this past week) i rewatched the longest ride for the yeehaw vibes and this fantasy popped into my head.

summary: “oh, yes you do,” you tilted your head, “you flirt with me all the time, I know you do, I’m not some sheltered little virgin, I know what it looks like when someone likes me!” you felt the truck roll to a stop as you spoke.��

warnings: farmhand!tyler owens x farmer’s daughter!reader, smut, farmer au, bull rider!tyler, takes place before the previous fic in this au, secret relationship, bull riding (except i'm a suropean who has no idea what she's talking about, so apologies for the errors), love confession, secret relationship, kissing, clothed sex, car sex, size kink, manhandling, dry humping, dirty talk, handjob, fingering, thighjob, pussyjob, just the tip, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, why do i keep writing for this dude in the middle of the night?

word count: 4238

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Hey,” Tyler cast you a glance as you came bouncing towards where he still worked, tinkering with the tractor that had quit halfway down one of the farm’s golden fields. 

“Hello,” you blinked down at him. A rusty toolbox was planted in the wheat by his kneeling form as he fiddled away at the machinery.

“You need help with something?” he kept on twisting a bolt. 

“Oh, no,” a shy giggle bubbled out of you, “my mom just sent me down here to invite you to stay for dinner tonight. She made a pie for dessert and everything, or well, we did, I helped… it’s rhubarb, if that can help sway you.”

“Rhubarb, eh?” he puffed out a short chuckle. 

“Yeah…”

Briefly glancing back over his shoulder at you and the way your flowy dress caught on the wind, he uttered, “I’d love to, Y/n, but–, uhm… I can’t tonight.”

“Right,” you exhaled, a nod swiftly accompanying your words, “you already have plans, of course…”

“Tell your mamma I’m sorry,” he tried to soften the blow, “next time, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you breathed, and as he returned his attention back to the machine, surely assuming that you’d bid him adieu and saunter back towards the main house, you instead shifted to lean against the tractor, “so… what are you doing tonight?”

Briefly glancing up at you, a soft smirk appeared on his lips as he purred, “you’re awfully nosy.” 

“Just tell me what your plans are,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Bull riding,” he informed you, “I ride on occasion, tonight being one of those times.”

Sucking in a breath, you uttered, “of course you do…”

Halting his tinkering with a chuckle, he pressed, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, you just got adrenalin junky written all over you, so it checks out,” you gestured towards him and he let out a small laugh, retroactively confirming your accusation. As he shifted to look for a different tool, you opened your mouth once more and asked, “can I come?”

“Come what?” his concentrated gaze didn’t meet yours. 

“See you ride.”

Tyler’s eyes then snapped up to find yours, “you wanna come see me ride?” hesitation suddenly washed over his usually confident features, “uhm… I’m not sure your daddy would like that.”

“What? Me being around a bunch of rowdy and probably drunk strangers or going somewhere to see you?”

A warm chuckle then rumbled in his chest as a gentle shake found his head, “you’re trouble…”

“Is that a no?” you tilted your head in hope. 

“No…” he slowly exhaled and met your eye once more, “no it is not.”

You cheered for him at first when his name was announced and you caught a glimpse of him behind the fence, he even found your eyes in the crowd a moment as you clapped in anticipation. But then when it actually began, you stopped breathing entirely. It didn’t matter that he only had to stay on the beast for a few seconds, your heart still wouldn’t start beating again even after his boots were back on the ground and a proud grin stretched his lips. The petrified expression plastered on your features didn’t fade even when he found you afterwards and offered you a ride back home.

“You okay?” his deep timbre ripped you out of your stormy thoughts. 

Twisting your neck to blink over at him behind the wheel of his truck, you hummed, “huh?”

“You’re not usually this quiet,” he pointed out. 

“Oh… I’m just tired, I guess…” you lied, averting your gaze before you then heard yourself utter, “hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he held his eyes on the road. 

“How is it that you haven’t been hurt yet doing all of that?”

“Oh no, I have,” a soft chuckle bubbled out of the daredevil, “just not hard enough to stop me from getting back up.” 

A murmur then escaped your lips, just beneath your breath, “either that or you’re just too determined for your own good…”

“Maybe,” he cast you a glance and smirked slightly at the embarrassment that washed over your features at the realisation that he’d heard you, “but then again, determination isn’t always a bad quality to have.”

“It is if it could get you killed.” 

“Oh, how unromantic of you,” he puffed, “I could think of a handful of ways dying would be worth whatever goal you were going for,” his eyes momentarily flickered back to you in the passenger seat beside him. 

Holding his gaze a second before he redirected it back upon the dark road, you felt goosebumps tingle your flesh. 

“Hey Tyler?” you breathed, unsure if you were able to stop the words about to flow out your mouth. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever actually gonna do anything?” your vulnerable question was barely audible. 

Not yet catching onto your subtext, he inquired, “about what?” 

Staring over at him, you uttered, “me.”

His eyes immediately fluttered back to find yours, gazing back at you a second before it faltered, “I–… I don’t know what you mean...”

“Oh, yes you do,” you tilted your head, “you flirt with me all the time, I know you do, I’m not some sheltered little virgin, I know what it looks like when someone likes me!” you felt the truck roll to a stop as you spoke. 

His firm grip stayed on the wheel long after the car had halted.

“Y/n, I–…” he tried, though gave up in a soft sigh. 

As he refused to meet your stare, you felt your stomach begin to flip.

“Oh…” you then breathed, blinking down at your hands as they fiddled with the fabric of the sundress that you wore, “unless I apparently don’t, I–… you know what? Forget it, I’m sorry,” your eyes squeezed shut at the mortification, “let’s just go back to the farm and pretend I didn’t say anything…”

Though his grip didn’t shift away from the wheel, didn’t drift down to twist the key and restart the engine. Instead, to your surprise, you saw him in your periphery twist towards you before you felt his hands come up to cup the sides of your face and pluck it out of hiding. 

Pulling you towards him, he then pressed his lips to your own, rendering you reeling to claw your way out of the stunned pit his bold actions had cast you into. 

As one of your palms slowly floated up to rest against the back of one of his, a soft sigh flowed from your form as you melted into his warmth. 

However, before you sank in and lost yourself completely, you felt him withdraw, though still remained close, letting his nose ghost against your own as he exhaled, “this is a really bad idea… we shouldn’t… I can’t afford to lose my job.” 

“Why would you think you’d lose it?” your fingers curled around the back of his hand in a plea to keep his touch glued to your heated cheek. 

“Have you met your father?” he scoffed softly, “I should be grateful if he only fires me and doesn’t outright kill me.” 

“He wouldn’t do that.” 

“You sure about that?” Tyler half-joked before slowly retracting even further. 

Blinking back at him, your lips still tingled from his kiss as you quietly said, “…I thought you were the one who just insisted that some things are worth dying for… I guess you just have to decide whether or not I could be worth that kind of risk…” 

A gentle chuckle then bubbled out of him as he gazed back at you in amazement, “you sound like a fair maiden 500 years ago,” twisting his fingers and tangling them in your own.  

Puffing out a laugh of your own, you defended, “well you started it!” before you felt one of his palms slide to the nape of your neck and tug you back in for another kiss. His lips felt like fire, though the slow smouldering kind that licked you up and ignited your entire soul, “if you don’t think it’s worth it,” you breathlessly uttered against his kiss, “then you should probably stop kissing me like that…” 

As a gentle smirk tugged at his mouth, he answered you not in the form of words, but instead drifted his hands down your frame and scooped you closer, plucking you up and lifting you into his lap, wasting no time at all to claim your lips again.

It didn’t take long after you settled above him, the wheel of the truck poking the lower part of your spine, that the slow peck evolved into something more, something else. Something that had muffled whines crawling up from the depth of your lungs and vibrating against his tongue as yours desperately danced against his own. Something that had you rolling your hips and grinding down against the hardness poking your panties so perfectly beneath the billowy fabric of your dress, the material of which had begun to ride up as Tyler’s wild touch began to wander over the curves of your frame. 

Panting into his mouth, your head started to lull slightly as you rocked down against him, the sensation being nearly too much to stand in the way it was both overwhelming yet also not at all enough. Nevertheless, if he gave you the chance, you’d surely be able to cum just like this if he let you, if he told you to desperately rut against him like some animal in heat, then you would, because that was just the effect he seemed to have on you. He was always able to turn your brain off with but a glance and nearly cause you to faint if he ever flashed you a dazzling smile. 

To say you had it bad was the understatement of the century, but evidently, and thankfully, you weren’t alone in the predicament. 

Snaking a hand down in the non-existent space between your frames, you found the bulky buckle of his belt and began to undo it. 

“Please,” you panted, your tone sounding downright pathetic, “I wanna–, can I touch you?”

And before you could fumble to do it, Tyler didn’t hesitate to undo his jeans and seize your hand, stuffing it into his pants and guiding your fingers to engulf his girth, squeezing them lightly around himself for but a moment before his touch then faded and he left you to your own devices.

“Oh, fuck–,” he growled, his hot breath fanning against your skin, “just like that.”

His cock throbbed in your palm as he kissed you once again and let his wide hands raked down to your ass, kneading your softness as he groaned against your lips.

But he didn’t let your zealous touch stretch out for that long before you heard him crack the door directly to his left open. His grip on your bottom locked securely as he got out of the truck, effortlessly carrying you with him as he made his way around towards the back.

His hold on you stayed fast as he flipped open the bed of the truck and plopped you down on the ledge. A soft giggle bubbled out of you, even as your hands came up to cup his jaw and he slotted himself in between your parted thighs. 

“Shit…” he exhaled as his gaze fluttered down to spot the damp spot decorating your underwear, neatly on show as your sundress had ridden up even further. Your legs dangled slightly off the edge as his touch then reached down to trace the mark of desperation, your bottom lip swiftly getting trapped betwixt your teeth as he rubbed you through the soaked cotton, “guess you really do have a thing for me, sweetheart,” his teasing touch traced your core as the sodden fabric clung to you, “I mean, not that I didn’t already have my suspensions…” 

“You knew?”

“You’re not exactly subtle when it comes to these things,” he chuckled before letting his fingers dip into your waistband, “it’s cute,” he smiled as your eyes fluttered when his digits swept through your folds, scooping back up to your puffy pearl as it buzzed beneath his caress, “I always enjoyed all the random little reasons you came up with just to have an excuse to talk to me.”

“Okay, I know they weren’t always that smooth,” an embarrassed heat sparked in your cheeks, “but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it is.”

“Oh, I know,” he stated casually, grinning at the way your eyes suddenly grew, “what? Did you really think I just happened to always have some work in the barn whenever you went for a ride?” one of his long fingers then eased into you, causing your mouth to fall open in a silent gasp. 

“Wait, seriously?”

“And the time I needed your help learning the system in the tool shed?” another one of his digits found its way inside of your cunt, rendering you a panting mess in his grasp as he leisurely pumped his fingers in and out, stretching you till your pussy sang out for him, “I already knew where everything was.”

The reply that was ready on your tongue swiftly fizzled out and became a forgotten relic as his touch then dissipated and instead floated down to where his jeans were already half undone. Tugging it the rest of the way open, he then stuffed his hand inside and freed his cock. Like a moth to a flame, your eyes couldn’t help but stare, yearning as you watched his cock throb in his tight fist. 

“O-oh, fuck…” the curse flowed out your lungs as your gaze stayed glued, nearly drooling as he suddenly hooked his grasp behind one of your legs and yanked you closer, causing you to tumble back onto your forearms as he manoeuvred your core that much closer to him. Hooking his fingers in the material of your panties, he slid them down your legs and, to your amazement, stuffed them into his pocket. As he then began to tap the hefty weight of his length down against your puffy petals, causing glossy strings of your desire to cling onto him and keep you ethereally attached, your eyes snapped back up to find his and the same whimper left your body once again, “oh, f-fuck…”

Trailing the bulbous tip through your wetness, he teasingly nudged the head against your swollen clit fiercely enough to make your whole frame twitch beneath him. 

“God… you feel so good…” he groaned, staring down at how his fat cock slid through and parted your glistening folds.

“Uh, Tyler–,” you begged hazily, your little hole winking every time he denied it any attention, “p-please–”

“What is it, baby?” he cooed smugly, “you want me to fuck you?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded foggily, your gaze flickering back down to watch his teasing. 

“You wanna know what my cock feels like inside your pretty little pussy, huh?” his touch then dented your thighs, pressing both of your legs together, enclosing them around his girth and resting your ankles atop one of his broad shoulders. 

“P-please–”

“Is it all you’ve been thinking about?” the softness of your thighs interlocked around him lend him to snap his hips against yours and freely fuck your folds, the underside of him sliding against the seem of your cunt, “what’s been occupying that brilliant brain of yours?” he smirked and you couldn’t help but rock back against his efforts, “because it’s all I’ve been thinking about… how warm you must feel around me, how tight, how fucking wet, how–, fuck!” he then moaned as the way you’d needily tilted your hips up towards him lend his length to accidentally catch your leaking hole and sink in just the slightest bit till he halted his movements.

A shuttering gasp escaped you as well at the sensation as he’d nearly caused tears to roll down your cheeks from how badly you wanted him. 

As he caught your eye, his grip digging into your legs in order to hold on to his last strand of self-control, you panted up at him just as he was about to pull back out, “don’t stop.”

Staring down at you, absorbing your every reaction, he slid the tip back out, but so painstakingly slow that it caused your eyes to roll in your skull. 

“But what if I did though? What if I just stopped, right here, right now? Just drove you back to the farm and left you a needy little puddle just like this?”

“No, don’t stop! Don’t–, I–…” your walls clung around his girth, “please just keep going, it can just be the tip, I just–, don’t stop…”

When just the memory of him kissed your entrance, he gently sank back in and stuffed the bulbous head inside your cunt, “you sure you just want the tip?” he slowly found a pattern, fucking you with just the essence of him, “you sure you don’t wanna feel me so deep inside of you that you won’t be able to walk afterwards? That you’ll still be able to feel what we did for days and days?”

Blinking up at him, your legs trembling against his chest, you breathed, “I–…” till your dizzy head began to rock in a nod. 

“Yeah?” he cocked his head and flashed you a smug smile, “then beg for it.”

“Please fuck me–”

“What was that?”

“F-fuck me–”

“What, like I am right now?” he rolled his hips to just shyly plug you up. 

“No, fuck me for real,” your words felt not your own as they desperately flowed out of you, “fuck me exactly like you’ve been dreaming of since we first met, since you first–, ah!” all of the air was then forced out of your lungs as he slammed the remainder of himself all the way inside, stretching you wide of him and letting the tip, the very part of him that had been driving you mad, kiss the deepest part of you and cause your eyes to flutter shut. 

Your knees bent and crumbled down to curl up beside your chest as he meticulously slid halfway out, only to jam his dick back inside. 

He was practically growling above you, sinful grunts rhythmically flowing from his lips at every one of his frantic thrusts.

“Oh my god,” you cried beneath him as your cunt swiftly began to flutter around him, “you f-feel so–, so–, g-good!”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked and then perceptively asked, “are you gonna cum?” leaning down over you as he kept up his efforts. 

You tried to offer him an answer, but in the blissful abyss he’d cast you down in, you could only nod and squeeze your eyes further shut. 

“Then look at me, baby,” you sensed his fingers curl around your cheek, his reach dipping into your hairline, “be a good girl and look at me when you cum around my cock,” and when you managed to force your hazy eyes to blink back open, he stared back down at you as your cunt clenched down around him so fiercely that you nearly forced his girth out entirely, “there you go, fuck…”

But as your high began to melt away into sensitivity, the blonde farmhand didn’t slow his efforts in the slightest, moaning above you as he also was too close to cum to simply stop.

“Tyler, it’s too–,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking on either side of his frame as the creamy aftermath of your orgasm created a ring around the base of his cock and aided his erratic efforts, lending the entirety of his length to plunge back into you with such ease, even as your walls quaked and squeezed tightly around him. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he uttered hazily, “fucking take it, fucking–,��ahh!” his hips then shuttered as he tumbled over the edge and pumped you full of his hot load. 

When Tyler one day had an errand to run, some thingy he had to pick up at a neighbouring farm, you hadn’t really paid attention to that part, you had kinda just stopped listening after the discovery that you would get to tag along simply because the neighbour knew you better than him. 

So, once you were both waiting on the ground for the farmer to return with the item, just a curious look to make the time pass by morphed into the pair of you full-on wandering around and being more nosy than what was good for you. 

Though the snooping halted once you pushed open the door to the westernmost barn and discovered a DIY contraption that tickled Tyler’s nostalgia. 

It was a tin barrel, strung up with ropes and tied to a few beams, though he still had to open his mouth for you to fully understand how it was a homemade training tool for when you first began learning how to ride a bull.

By then, some of the fear you’d felt the night you had watched him ride had overflowed and spilt out, which surely also was the reason behind why he suddenly insisted on you hopping on and letting him try to teach the terror out of you. 

“So, like that?” you asked, one of your hands hovering above the one you clutched around the makeshift loop tied around the uppermost quadrant of the barrel you straddled. 

“Almost, you’re only allowed to hold on with the one hand,” he pointed out and you swiftly adjusted, raising your left hand up high just as you remembered he’d done, “yeah, there you go.”

“So, just eight seconds like this?” your thighs squeezed around the drum as Tyler gently tugged on one of the ropes, only making you sway slightly. 

“Yeah,” he nodded as you glanced over at him, “and then there are other things that can get you more points, like how well you hold your balance and if you’re able to control the bull or not, those kinds of things.” 

He then caught you off guard by pulling on the rope a little rougher and offering you a much harsher and more realistic buck of the barrel, though, to your shock, you reacted to it surprisingly well, clenching your thighs and tightening your grip. 

“Atta girl,” he grinned at the startled chuckle that bubbled out of you, “see? It’s not so scary. You’re a natural.”

“Or maybe you’re just going easy on me…” you pointed out, reflecting on how the love you’d had for riding horses since a very young age surely kicked in and aided you in this skill as well. 

“You’re doing great,” he stated, his stare staying glued to how your body and hips swayed borderline sensually to the rhythm he kept up, “relax, give in to the movements more.” 

“How?”

“Just–…” he sucked in a breath, “pretend that you’re on something else…” a sly smirk then spread across his features before he uttered, “pretend that it’s me you’re riding.”

You then promptly felt heat begin to rise in your cheeks, as it became impossible to keep up your concentration on the task at hand and swiftly heard yourself shriek, “oh my god, Tyler Owens!”

Letting go of the rope, he stepped closer to you and enjoyed your flustered visage, “or better yet, maybe I should just let you hop on and teach you that way,” he let his palm slide up your leg as he came to stand beside you. 

“You’re ridiculous!” you laughed.

Snaking his hands around your waist, he then effortlessly lifted you back down onto the ground and uttered, “you love it.”

As you felt his breath fan across your features, your giggle got caught in your throat and faded away as you gazed back at him. 

“Yeah, I think I might…” you then whispered before he crashed his lips against yours. 

His boots then began to shuffle as yours did as well, letting him shift you till your spine collided with the gate to one of the empty stalls in the dusty barn. Pushing you up against it as he ravenously kissed you, one of his wide palms then swooped up from his fast hold on your waist to caress the soft peak of your boob through the thin layer of your tanktop. 

A breathy moan couldn’t help but slip up from your lungs when his kisses then faded from your lips and began to dance down the side of your neck. 

“Okay, easy there, tiger,” you caught his head in your hands as his sloppy pecks fluttered against your rapid pulse, “we can’t do anything here.”

“Oh yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow as he peeked up at you, “is that a dare?”

“No,” you chuckled, then reminded him of your neighbour, “he’ll be back any second.”

A groan then seeped through his grin before he pushed himself off of you, “fine…” yet still held his burly arms stretched out and fast on either side of you, supporting his weight against the half wall behind you and doing his very best to stop himself from diving back in.

But then you slowly let yourself float back into his space, “hey,” and tilted your chin to catch his gaze, “I said not here, not that we shouldn’t give it a try…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble

[pathologicalreid]

an ode to a conversation stuck in your throat | s.r.

in which Spencer tries to talk you out of taking a job across the country

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: miscommunication (sigh), very cheesy, brief mention of wine, defining the relationship, insecure spencer, easily confused reader, chemist!reader word count: 1.04k a/n: if i could go a week without writing a dwg song fic that would be crazy. also surprise it's chemist!reader again.

"Thanks for stopping so I could change,” you say to Spencer, leading the way into your apartment and locking the door behind you. “I’m sure lab dress code and David Rossi dress code are miles apart,” you continue, hanging your backpack on the wall.

Spencer hums in response, “You’d look great in anything you wear.”

Your face warms at the compliment, “You’re sweet. You can just wait out here, I shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes,” you gesture to the living room, smiling at him before heading off to your room.

Nervously, you pull off your lab-safe attire and discard all of it into the laundry hamper before putting on the dress you’d chosen for dinner tonight. It’s not overly fancy, but you hope his team will like it. You hope his team will like you.

Looking at yourself in your dresser mirror, you reconsider your choice of shoes, switching from a pair of kitten heels to flats before walking out the door, “Hey, Spence, is Rossi’s patio heated, or should I bring a sweater for when the sun goes down?” You stop in your tracks when you find Spencer, still in the entryway, looking at the color-coded whiteboard calendar you keep by your front door, “What’s up?”

His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his slacks, and he looks upset. What’s worse is you think he might be upset with you. “What’s this dinner you have planned next Friday?”

You feel like a child who���s been caught doing something they shouldn’t be, draping the proposed sweater over the back of a kitchen stool and crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “It’s a work dinner,” you answer nervously.

“With?” Spencer asks, but he’s not pushy about it, there’s something desperate in his tone.

Pursing your lips, you look at the purple writing on the calendar, “The chair of Biochemistry and Molecular Genetics at Northwestern, and a representative from the college's dean. They’re offering me a job with a private lab and my own team of researchers… so they’re taking me out to dinner.”

Spencer’s face fell, “They’re offering you a job in Chicago?”

“Well, that’s where Northwestern is. Evanston, if you want to get technical about it,” you respond, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He looks at you dumbfoundedly, “I don’t want to get technical about it. When were you going to tell me that you’re taking a job in Chicago?” It almost seems like he’s afraid.

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity, you’ve been seeing each other for a month, and you’ve never known Spencer to jump to conclusions. “I’m not,” you tell him, keeping your tone void of any accusation, “They’re just taking me to dinner.”

Spencer sighs, “But they’re offering you a job. In a different state. In a different timezone.”

Admittedly, he was beginning to sound a bit ridiculous to you, “Don’t you field offers from colleges all the time? They want you to teach or tell you to become Spencer Reid, PhD, PhD, PhD, PhD, or whatever?” 

His eyes follow you as you move to sit down at the kitchen counter, “It never gets as far as dinner.”

“I’m not taking the job,” you tell him simply, shrugging your shoulders demurely.

Spencer falters at that, knitting his brows together as he tries to piece together the answers you’re willingly giving him, “If you’re not taking the job then why are you going to dinner with them?”

Hiding a small smile, you give him the truth, “They pick up the tab. I go to a lot of these and I get good food out of the deal. These people love to schmooze but I’ve never been offered anything that I would be inclined to accept.” This specific job seemed perfect on the surface, but they weren’t willing to let you choose what to research. That was non-negotiable for you.

“I could schmooze you,” he insists, “You don’t need other people to schmooze you.”

You giggle at him, waving him over to you so you can look him in the eyes when you tell him, “I go for free food and good wine. No other reason.” Your smile was gentle, but inside your heart was pounding. He was scared I was going to leave, you think to yourself.

He sighs, “Will you… will you tell me in the future when you get these dinner offers?” His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll think he’s asking too much of you.

Nodding, you reach out and take one of his hands in yours, “I can, but I didn’t think were at the ‘I’m being courted by another workplace, and I wanted to let you know’ stage yet. That’s kind of a girlfriend thing,” you explain.  

Spencer frowns, “Aren’t you?”

Tilting your head to the side, you look at him curiously, “Aren’t I what?”

“My girlfriend,” he clarifies.

Your eyes go wide, “Oh! I didn’t think so, I thought you had to ask yet.” Although you’re far from a relationship expert, you’d had to ask your PhD advisee what to wear before your first date with Spencer.

The panicked look on his face returns, “I’ve been telling people you’re my girlfriend. Should I not have been doing that?”

Shaking your head, you beam up at him, “I don’t mind. I just thought you had to ask about that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, “I’ve never really done this before.”

The two of you sit in an awkward silence for a moment before you decide to speak up again, “So, just so we’re on the same page. I’m not moving to Chicago.”

Spencer frowns again, and you have to hold yourself back from using your thumb to smooth out the crease on his forehead, “Will you?”

Confused, you lean your head back, “Move to Chicago?”

“Be my girlfriend,” he amends quickly.

You nod, “I would love to.”  

“And just so we’re on the same page,” he ducks his head down, so close to a kiss that it makes you feel dizzy, “I like to think I’m the only one who can really court you.”

Laughing, you lean forward and peck his lips, “I would be insulted if you didn’t think that.”

[tqlepatiia]

words we can’t take back | b. barnes

masterlist | pt.2

summary: after a mission gone wrong, bucky lashes out, leaving y/n hurt by his harsh words. now drowning in guilt, bucky must find a way to apologize before it’s too late, but y/n isn’t ready to forgive so easily. can he fix what’s been broken?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, emotional distress, heartbreak, toxic relationship dynamics, arguments, mention of mental health struggles, potential triggers related to emotional abuse, strong language, and feelings of inadequacy.

word count: 5.9k

The mission had been a disaster from the start. Tension crackled in the air, the kind that always seemed to precede trouble. Bucky Barnes felt it in his bones, a tightness that grew with every wrong turn. It had been a simple extraction, but when they walked into a trap, chaos erupted. The sounds of gunfire ricocheted around him, the explosions reverberating through his chest like a war drum, drowning out his thoughts. But when he glanced at you—his partner, his anchor—something twisted in his gut.

In the aftermath, the wreckage of what had gone wrong stretched before him. Bodies lay scattered, their lifeless forms stark against the smoky haze, and the acrid scent of burning metal stung his nostrils. You stood there, bruises marring your skin, and your eyes, once sharp and defiant, now dulled by exhaustion. Bucky had seen too much, been through too much, and the anger inside him simmered, ready to boil over. How could this have gone so wrong?

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice a harsh whip in the stillness. His jaw was clenched, and his glare could’ve burned holes into you. “You almost got yourself fucking killed, you know that?”

Your breath caught, heart sinking at the venom in his tone. “I was doing my job, Bucky. I thought you had my back.”

“Had your back?” He stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle taut with pent-up fury. The adrenaline from the fight morphed into something more destructive. “You’re a goddamn liability! You keep throwing yourself into danger like you can’t be hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?”

The words hit you like a punch, each one a jagged edge cutting deeper than the last. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you, suffocating. “I didn’t ask for a babysitter,” you shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. “Maybe I’m the one who should be questioning if you’re fit to be my partner!”

Bucky’s expression hardened, eyes narrowing like a predator’s. This isn’t just about the mission, he thought, grappling with the frustration of watching you walk into danger. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have to worry about saving your ass all the damn time. If I wanted to deal with this shit, I’d find someone who actually knew how to handle themselves. I’m sick of dragging you through every godforsaken fight!”

Every accusation felt like a dagger, twisting in the wound he had just opened. You could see the pain and anger simmering in his eyes, but it was all directed at you. “You think I wanted this? I’m not the one who fucked up in the field! I thought we were a team!”

His laugh was bitter, devoid of humor, echoing against the wreckage around you. “Team? That’s a joke. You don’t get to call it a team when I’m the one stuck cleaning up your shit. I’m done with it. You’re not my equal; you’re just a goddamn burden.”

The air grew thick with tension, and you fought back tears, the tremor in your hands betraying you. “Maybe I should just leave, then,” you said, voice trembling but defiant. “If I’m such a problem, why don’t you find someone who doesn’t drag you down?”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned away, trying to keep your composure, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back—a mix of anger and something softer, more vulnerable, that he refused to acknowledge. His heart pounded as the realization hit him: I pushed her away when she needed me the most. What the hell was I thinking?

As you walked away, the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, suffocating. Each step felt like a fracture in your heart, the distance growing more unbearable with every inch. Bucky stood there, feeling the echoes of his harshness fill the void where your connection once thrived. The realization settled in, and he knew this wasn’t over. How the hell do I fix this?

But as the dust settled around him, all he could feel was emptiness, a tidal wave of regret crashing over him, leaving him alone in the aftermath of his own making.

Days blurred together into an indistinguishable mess. The tension between you and Bucky hung thick in the air, suffocating, wrapping around him like a vice grip. He paced the empty halls of the compound, the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold metal floors mirrored the chaos in his mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, a relentless reminder of the moment that played on a loop in his head—the hurt in your eyes when his careless words had cut deep.

Memories flooded back: your laughter in the training room, the way you encouraged him during his darkest moments. He had crossed a line he never intended to, letting his anger spew out like poison, each word a dagger aimed straight at your heart. Guilt clawed at him, a beast gnawing at his insides, turning his stomach into knots. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, it felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of regret settling like a stone in his chest.

The silence of the compound was palpable, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. He’d find you in the training room, pouring every ounce of your energy into your workout, the fierce determination radiating off you like a fire. Your tear-streaked face haunted him, a ghost he couldn’t shake. You weren’t just a teammate; you were everything to him. The thought of losing you felt like ice water dousing his heart, leaving him gasping for air, desperate to rewind time.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam said one day, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, the faint scent of sweat and metal mingling in the air. “You good, or are you just gonna sulk like an old man all day?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky shot back, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, his eyes averted. He could feel Sam’s scrutinizing gaze piercing through his façade.

“Seriously, man, you think I can't see through that? There’s a damn storm brewing in that head of yours,” Sam pressed, his tone a mix of concern and teasing familiarity. “You gotta talk to her. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s like watching a damn dog chase its own tail—ain’t gonna end well, and I’m not about to sit here and watch you make a mess of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the weight of his guilt felt like chains wrapped tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. What the hell could he even say? The fear of facing you loomed larger than any mission he’d ever tackled—a monster lurking in the shadows, making him feel weak and exposed. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening, as he fought against the rising tide of anxiety.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to scream. He remembered how you had stood by him, even when the nightmares clawed at him in the night. You deserved better than his careless words, better than the pain he had caused. The metallic scent of sweat mixed with the lingering aroma of stale coffee filled the air, reminding him of the countless nights spent together, talking and laughing. Those memories felt like a beacon, drawing him closer to the confrontation he dreaded yet craved.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the wall, each step toward you heavy with uncertainty. His heart raced as he imagined your reaction—would you forgive him? The thought of laying his broken heart bare to you, the one person who meant everything, filled him with dread and hope.

As he approached, the distance between you felt like a chasm. He was ready to confront the mess he’d made, but the fear of your disappointment loomed over him like a dark cloud. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with a faint smile, knowing his friend was finally stepping up to make things right.

It was time to face the music, to turn back the clock on the mistakes he had made. The symbol of his guilt—the small, worn-out dog tag you had given him before a particularly tough mission—burned in his pocket, a constant reminder of the bond he desperately wanted to restore.

In that moment, he knew he had to find the courage to bridge the gap between them, to reclaim what was lost before it slipped through his fingers forever.

After what felt like a damn eternity, Bucky finally gathered the guts to knock on your door. Each knock echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you two. He stood there, heart pounding, fists clenched, feeling the weight of guilt that had settled in his chest like lead. Memories flooded his mind—your laughter during training sessions, quiet moments together in the compound, and the way your smile had once lit up even the darkest days. It all felt so far away now, a reminder of how easily he could lose it.

“Go away,” you called, your voice muffled but laced with hurt.

“Y/N,” he pleaded, desperation creeping into his tone. “I need to talk. Just… let me in, alright?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite grasp.

Silence hung in the air like a noose, heavy and suffocating. Each second stretched into an eternity, amplifying the tension until, finally, the door creaked open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your face—red and puffy from tears, eyes shadowed with pain. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you said coldly, arms crossed defensively, trying to shield yourself from the storm he had caused.

“I know. I messed up,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “And I can’t—” He faltered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I can’t take back what I said. I was scared, and I lashed out. You mean too damn much to me for that. Just… let me explain.”

You stepped back, letting him in but hesitating, your anger and hurt crackling in the air like static electricity. Bucky could feel the tension radiating off you, could see how you trembled with barely contained rage. The faint hum of the compound’s machinery buzzed in the background, underscoring the silence between you.

“Bucky, you can’t just waltz in here and throw around apologies like they’re candy. It’s not that fucking simple,” you said, your voice shaking as emotions boiled over. “Do you even get what your words did to me? They cut deeper than you can imagine.”

The memories of your last argument flashed in his mind—how he had yelled, how his words had sliced through the fragile trust you had built. He could still hear your voice trembling, see the hurt in your eyes. It haunted him.

“I know it’s not,” he said, voice rising as frustration bubbled to the surface. “But you have to understand—I never meant to hurt you. I was scared as hell of losing you. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I took it out on you. I thought I could keep you safe, but I fucking failed, and I can’t live with that.” He avoided your gaze, staring at the floor, ashamed of the turmoil he had caused.

You turned your gaze away, fury igniting. “You think being scared gives you the right to hurt me? Those words stick with you. They don’t just disappear because you suddenly want to make things right. You shattered something in me, Bucky, and you expect me to just let it go?” The air was thick with the weight of your words, each one a dagger aimed at his heart.

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. “I’m not gonna pretend this doesn’t matter. I want to make things right. You’re not just some partner in this crazy shit; you’re everything to me. I’m so damn sorry, Y/N.”

A heavy silence fell between you, thick with unprocessed emotions. Tears glistened in your eyes, anger mixed with pain as you struggled to hold back the flood. Bucky could see your fingers trembling, as if you were fighting against the urge to reach out for him, to seek comfort from the very person who had hurt you.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? Do you think that’s enough? You can’t just toss around ‘I’m sorry’ and act like everything’s fine! Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the person you love turn on you like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the truth of your feelings hit him like a freight train. It shattered him, the realization crashing down harder than any blow he’d ever taken. “I didn’t mean to fuckin’ hurt you like that. I—”

“Didn’t mean to?” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “But you did! You meant every single word when you said I wasn’t enough! It’s like a poison, Bucky! Every time I look in the mirror, I see your words haunting me!”

“Y/N…” he pleaded, stepping closer, but you backed away, shaking your head fiercely. The space between you felt like an insurmountable chasm, filled with hurt and distrust.

“No! You don’t get to touch me. Not after what you said. I don’t want your pity. I want my trust back! I want to feel safe with you again, but how the hell can I when you’ve torn me apart like this?” The pain in your voice twisted like a knife in his gut.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he begged, desperation bleeding through his words. “I can give you space. I’ll listen—just don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you.” He reached out, almost instinctively, but stopped short, respecting your boundary. The small bracelet you used to wear, the one he had given you, lay forgotten on the table—its absence felt like a symbol of the trust now shattered between you.

“Maybe… maybe I need time,” you finally said, voice soft but resolute, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how to treat me with the love and respect I deserve. I can’t be your punching bag.”

“Take all the time you need,” he replied, his heart sinking deeper. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just… I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears of a future without you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the moment hanging heavily between you. Bucky turned to leave, each step dragging him down like a lead weight. The distant sounds of the compound faded as he walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to scream, to punch the walls, to erase the hurt, but he knew he had to be patient. You needed time, and he would wait, even if it felt like forever.

As he walked away, the door closing behind him, Bucky felt a hollow ache settle in his chest—a deep emptiness that screamed for your forgiveness, for your presence. But he also knew he deserved the pain, the anguish he had caused. The only thing that mattered now was making things right, even if it took an eternity.

Days turned into weeks, and Bucky kept his distance, lurking on the edges of your life like a goddamn ghost. He was always there, a shadow in the background, never truly present, waiting for the moment you’d find it in yourself to forgive him. It was a tormenting cycle for him, hanging around the periphery of your world, the weight of his own mistakes bearing down like an anchor. He often caught himself recalling the laughter you once shared, memories of late-night talks and quiet moments that now felt like a distant dream. Those memories twisted in his gut as he watched you from afar, stealing glances during training, his gaze lingering near the kitchen where you used to share coffee and laughter, searching for a connection that felt like it was slipping through his fingers. But every time he made a move, the pain in your eyes sent him retreating, a constant reminder of the hurt he’d caused and the love that now felt so fragile.

One evening, the hum of the common room enveloped you, filled with the clatter of dishes and faint laughter from the team, but all you could focus on was the ache in your heart. You were scrolling through your phone, desperately trying to distract yourself when Bucky appeared in the doorway, hesitant and guarded. Your heart clenched at the sight of him—a mix of longing and sorrow flooding you, drowning out the world around you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, as if he was still wrestling with the demons of his past.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice flat, a careful mask of strength concealing the turmoil inside. You wanted to scream, to let him know how much his presence hurt, but part of you still craved the warmth he brought.

“Can we talk?” His words hung in the air like a fragile lifeline, one you weren’t sure you could grab onto.

You nodded, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. “Make it quick,” you shot back, your tone sharper than intended, trying to keep the emotions at bay.

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours with a desperation that twisted your gut. “I need to say it again—for everything. I know it doesn’t mean much after the shit I pulled, but I swear I’m trying to fix this. I’m really working on myself.” As he spoke, he clenched his fists, fingers digging into his palms, a physical manifestation of the guilt that gnawed at him. “I just… I can’t keep running from this. I need you to know that.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the pressure of his words weighing down on you. “I’m trying to work through it, Bucky. But I can’t pretend everything’s fine just because you say you’re sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, frustration cracking his calm facade. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to meet your gaze. “But you need to understand how damn much you mean to me. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t let that happen.”

Your heart ached at his confession, but anger flared within you. “You hurt me, Bucky. You can’t just wipe that away with a few nice words.”

“I know, I know! I’m fucking sorry, alright?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. “I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I lashed out. But you’ve gotta see how much I regret it, damn it!”

“Scared?” you spat, bitterness thick in your voice. “You don’t get to use your fear as an excuse for the pain you caused me!”

“Then what the hell do you want from me?” His voice rose, desperation lacing every word. “You’re acting like I’m a goddamn ghost! I’m right here, trying to fix this!”

“Because I need to protect myself!” you yelled back, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Every time I try to forgive you, you mess it up again! I can’t trust you when you keep hurting me!”

The silence that followed felt like a chasm between you, both of you breathing heavily, emotions spiraling out of control. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words crushing him. He thought of the little trinket you gave him once, a small metal star—a reminder of a bond that felt irreparably broken.

“I fucking hate this,” he admitted, his voice cracking, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix this. You mean everything to me, and it feels like I’m losing you more and more every damn day.” His gaze flickered to the floor, and for a moment, he was just a man haunted by his past, the soldier who had lost so much.

Your heart shattered at the sight of him, raw vulnerability spilling out. “You don’t get to say that after everything. You’ve made me feel worthless, like my feelings don’t matter. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you!” he cried, frustration and anguish battling within him. “I never asked for this! I just… sometimes I don’t know how to be better, okay?” He clenched his jaw, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Then you need to figure it out!” you screamed, your voice trembling with pain. “I can’t keep waiting for you to get it right while I’m left feeling broken!”

As your words hung in the air, the truth of your reality crashed over you both. The love you once shared felt suffocated by the shadows of anger and disappointment. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, hearts beating in sync but desperately out of tune.

Bucky stood there, shattered, eyes glistening with unshed tears, as you turned away, the battle within you raging. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unprocessed emotions, and for the first time, the thought of walking away felt more appealing than the pain of staying. But just as you took a step, a sliver of hope flickered in your chest—a feeling that perhaps this confrontation could lead to a path forward.

“Y/N…” he started, voice thick with heartbreak, but his words got lost in the chasm of hurt between you, leaving only a haunting silence in their wake. Yet somewhere deep within, the possibility of healing lingered, waiting for the courage to break through.

Weeks dragged on in the compound, each day feeling like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The faint hum of machinery surrounded you, a constant reminder of the tension in the air. Despite Bucky’s promises to change, shadows of his past returned, casting a gloom that enveloped you both. Memories of laughter and shared moments felt like distant echoes now, buried under the weight of unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. You tiptoed around him, hyper-aware that every little thing could set off alarms in your mind.

The moment of impact came like a bullet, unexpected and cruel. During a mission briefing, Bucky’s voice cut through the air like glass shattering.

“Why the hell can’t you just focus?” he snapped, eyes ablaze with fury that had nothing to do with you, yet somehow landed squarely on your chest. The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and metal, making it hard to breathe. “You’re not some damn rookie! You should know better than this by now!”

“Bucky, I—”

“Just shut the hell up!” he roared, the words echoing off the walls, raw and menacing. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the storm inside. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be!”

Each word felt like a blow, carving deeper into your heart. This wasn’t a new dance; it was an exhausting routine, and the suffocating weight of your shared history felt more unbearable than ever. You remembered the moments when he had opened up, how he had let you in, but they felt like faint memories now. “Maybe you should take a good, hard look in the mirror,” you shot back, your voice shaky with a mix of hurt and anger. “I’m not the one with the issue here.”

He glared at you, frustration boiling over, muscles tense, jaw clenched tight. You could see the flicker of his inner turmoil, the fear of losing you clawing at his composure. “You keep pulling this shit! It’s like you can’t see past your own damn feelings! Just focus on the mission for once!”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not your damn punching bag, Bucky,” you said, voice breaking under the weight of raw emotion. “You can’t keep exploding at me and expect me to take it like it’s nothing. I’m sick of this!”

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about the mission instead of whining about your feelings, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” His words cut deeper than you thought possible, and you recoiled as if slapped. You remembered the way he used to care, how he used to fight for every person he loved, and it stung even more to see him like this.

“I care, Bucky!” you cried, tears spilling over as you fought to hold it together. “But it’s hard to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly worried about when you’ll blow up at me next! You say you’re trying, but nothing changes! It feels like I don’t even matter to you anymore!”

For a moment, his expression shifted, a flicker of regret flashing across his face, but the damage was done. “You think this is easy for me?” he shouted, voice raw and desperate, filled with unfiltered anguish. “I’m trying to be better, but you keep dragging me back into this shit!” You could see the pain behind his bravado, the memories of his past haunting him, and it broke your heart.

“Don’t act like I’m the fucking problem!” you yelled, heart racing as reality crashed down around you. “I’m not the one who can’t confront his demons! You push me away and then blame me for not being there when you do!”

Pain flickered in Bucky’s eyes, the cracks in his stoic facade deepening. “You’re right,” he admitted, voice shaking, the weight of his confession crushing him. “I don’t know how to deal with this… how to deal with you. I’m scared shitless of losing you, and honestly, I don’t know if I can fix it.” The vulnerability in his voice was a fragile thread, hanging in the air, and you felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“Then maybe you need to sort your shit out,” you replied, heart breaking as you watched his despair unfold. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out while I’m left feeling shattered.” You recalled the shared moments, the promises made, and the weight of them felt unbearable now.

Silence fell, thick with the unsaid and unresolved. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, love suffocating under the weight of his rage and your hurt. Bucky’s shoulders sagged as he stepped back, the chasm between you widening, feeling more insurmountable than ever.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, anguish spilling over. “It’s killing me.” The vulnerability hung heavy between you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

His breath hitched, and he looked like he might reach for you, but the distance remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of everything that felt lost. Yet, beneath it all, a small part of you held onto the hope that one day, you could navigate the darkness together.

The clash felt inevitable, like a storm building for days, ready to break over the fragile space between you and Bucky. The tension in the air was suffocating, each breath heavy with unspoken anger and hurt. You stood in the middle of the training room, fists clenched, trying to hold yourself together. Across from you, Bucky stood rigid, muscles taut, his hands balled into fists. The weights he had been using moments earlier now lay forgotten on the floor, a sharp reminder of the growing chasm between you.

The silence was unbearable. Then, without warning, Bucky's voice cut through the room like a blade. “Can you just—stop fucking around? You think this is a game?” His voice cracked, but his anger was palpable, radiating from him in waves as he hurled the weights down with a force that rattled through the room, the echo reverberating like a punch to the gut.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of his words hitting you just as hard. “Maybe if you’d stop yelling for one second, you’d see I’m trying!” Your voice shook, barely holding steady under the pressure. You were trembling, the knot of frustration and hurt in your chest threatening to unravel completely.

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, you’re not trying hard enough!” he snapped, his fists tightening at his sides, knuckles white. His voice—usually so steady—was strained now, as though he was fighting to keep control. The anger in his tone felt like a punch, but you could see the tremble in his hands, the way his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

The sting of his words twisted in your chest. You could feel the pressure building in your throat, choking you with the weight of unspoken feelings. “I’m trying, Bucky. But it’s never enough for you, is it?” you said, the words tasting bitter in your mouth, laced with all the exhaustion you’d tried to suppress.

His face contorted in anger, but for a brief second, you saw something deeper flicker in his eyes—something haunted. You recognized that look. It was the same one he wore when he woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat, guilt seeping from every pore. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by his fury. “Get your shit together,” he snapped, voice low and intense. “I’m not your babysitter. You really think I can hold your hand through every goddamn thing?” His voice wavered, but he squared his shoulders, hiding the vulnerability underneath. “You want to survive? Toughen the hell up or get out of my way.”

“Then maybe you should just go!” The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and jagged, cutting through the tension. You hated how sharp your voice sounded, like a part of you was shattering with every syllable.

For a split second, his expression faltered—just long enough for you to see the crack in his defenses, the fear creeping in behind the anger. But the moment passed, and his face hardened once more, the distance between you widening.

“Enough is enough, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired of forgiving you just so you can hurt me again.” Each word felt like a physical wound, reopening scars you thought had healed.

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides, but his fists remained clenched. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, turning his gaze away as though refusing to face the weight of your words. “I'm pushing you because you damn well need to be better. I can't afford to lose you.”

There it was. The fear he refused to name. He was terrified of losing you, but he couldn’t say it. Not out loud. So instead, he buried it under anger, under demands that pushed you further away.

“You twist everything, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to be there for you, to understand you—but I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I can’t be the person you take everything out on.”

His jaw tightened, but his hands trembled at his sides. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter now, almost broken. “I’m trying to protect you. I just… I don’t know how to do this without pushing people away. I’m not good at this shit.”

“And what do you think you’re doing right now?” you asked, your heart aching. “You’re pushing me away, and I’m too tired to hold on.”

The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the weight of unsaid things. Bucky’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The echo of the weights hitting the ground earlier still rang in your ears, a haunting reminder of how quickly things had spiraled.

You took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the room settle into your bones, as if the air itself was colder now, heavier. “I feel invisible, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your confession. “Like I’m just a shadow, someone to absorb your anger when things get too hard. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came. His shoulders slumped slightly, a tiny surrender in the face of your pain.

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and desperate now. “Y/N, don’t do this,” His voice cracked, but his body was still tense, like he was holding something back—something he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. “You don’t need to make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t want to walk away, Bucky. But I have to, for my own sanity,” you said, stepping back as if putting physical distance between you would somehow make it easier.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air between you, unsure. “Damn it,” he rasped. “I’m trying, okay? I need you to believe me.”

“It’s too late for that,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so raw. His hand dropped, and the space between you felt like a canyon now, too wide to cross.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. He clenched his fists again, nails biting into his palms. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes dimmed with the realization that he had pushed you too far.

The room felt too quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of your words. You could feel the memory of every touch, every smile, every moment of laughter between you two slipping away like sand through your fingers. There was a photo—one he had kept tucked away in his jacket—of the two of you on a day when everything had felt perfect. He had carried it with him, a reminder of what he was trying to protect. But now, it felt like just another symbol of something irreparable.

“I loved you,” you whispered, stepping back one final time, tears blurring your vision as you turned toward the door. “But I deserve better.”

“Y/N!” His voice broke, desperate, as he took a step toward you, hand outstretched. His body was trembling now, fear etched into every line of his face. “Don’t fucking walk away from me! I can change. I swear, I can be better for you!”

You hesitated, your back to him, feeling the weight of his plea. For a moment, you almost turned back. Almost. But the words he had said still hung heavy in the air between you. And you knew—deep down—that you couldn’t survive this cycle anymore.

As you walked away, the echo of his voice followed you, the pain lacing each syllable a reminder of what could have been. But you didn’t stop. The silence after you left was deafening, and it swallowed Bucky whole, leaving him alone with his regrets, the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him like a physical force.

He watched the door close behind you, his heart sinking with the realization that he had lost you. And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 CHIVALRY FELL ON ITS SWORD

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: history always repeats itself. dazai is captured, you're facing enemies on all fronts, and it's only a matter of time before you hit your breaking point. you can't let things turn out the same way they did two years ago. you can't—you'll do whatever it takes.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday my peeps, i hope your week has been good. ive been looking forward to this chapter for sooooo long so i hope you enjoy ;) unfortunately, there will be no wykyk update this week (i mean it this time), i've fallen behind in civzai and really need to focus on it. reblogs and comments greatly appreciated as always!! ENJOY!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. depictions of psychological torture (commit by reader), both reader and dazai are wildly unstable, mori is a bit of a cunt LOL, a bit of legal proceedings in the beginning but i didn't want to deep dive into japanese court proceedings so i just based it mostly off us court proceedings, but again, not entirely accurate because i'm not in that field and didn't feel like doing intense research.

ANOTHER THING TO NOTE: our lovely reader IS A MAFIA EXECUTIVE !! as a port mafia executive, she does port mafia things, this will become very apparent in thIS chapter and the rest of the upcoming chapters. it might be a bit jarring to read but it is something to keep in mind. additionally, she is FLAWED. i wanted to add this warning just to give you all a bit of a heads up.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

“... Your Honor, I have to object to counsel’s petition for bail, the defendant…”

“... If I may, Your Honor, we don’t even know how this footage was obtained and the prosecution has not acknowledged any of our requests to ensure that this is reliable. For all we know, this footage is edited or illegally obtained. It would be a disgrace to our justice system if we were to keep the defendant detained with no bail…”

“... not only a flight risk, but we’re risking witness and evidence tampering. Respectfully, this isn’t an unarmed robbery the defendant is being accused of, Your Honor, this woman is a threat to public safety, she’s being charged with connection to the most dangerous criminal organization in the Eastern Hemisphere, and not just as any ordinary member, but as an executive. I have to insist-”

“Your Honor, the defendant shouldn’t have even been brought into custody considering all current evidence might not be admissible. And the prosecution cannot sit here making baseless claims of risk when the only supporting evidence is inadmissible. I don’t even understand why I have to sit here and argue this.”

“Counsel seems to think-”

“Enough. Order. I’ll sustain the ob-”

“Your Honor… I don’t mean to interrupt but you may want to see this before…”

“What is it, Hasegawa-san?”

“... I see, very well. The defense’s petition for bail is granted. Bail will be set at one hundred and fifty million yen, bond at thirty million yen. The next hearing will be set for two weeks out, I trust that gives the prosecution enough time to prove the legitimacy of the evidence…”

“Don’t look at any of the cameras.”

“No shit,” you mutter as your attorney, Tachibana, leads you from the courthouse to where a car is waiting to pick you up. 

There are so many flashing lights and microphones in your face that you can hardly see a few steps in front of you. So many people talking that each question melds into the next. You couldn’t entertain the media even if you wanted to with them all talking over each other to shout at you. Your head hurts and the bright lights aren’t helping—you grimace as you turn your head to the side but you’re only met with another face full of cameras and microphones.

“Back up,” a familiar voice booms and at once, the tension in your body dissipates as Iceman shoulders his way through the crowd toward you. The man sneers at a paparazzo who tries to cut him off and all but knocks him out of the way to reach forward and grab your wrist, yanking you toward him.

He ushers Tachibana forward and keeps you tucked under his arm as he guides the two of you to the black car. It’s only when you’re inside and the door is shut behind you, that you can finally relax, but it’s only for a split second before Albatross is bursting into laughter in the front seat before you’ve even sat down yourself.

“You look ugly as hell in a prison uniform,” he wheezes, having the audacity to point at you as he turns around to look at you. “God, I never thought this day would come. Someone take a fucking picture.”

“Fuck off,” you snap at him, which only makes him laugh harder.

“The entire world has pictures at this point,” Doc says dryly, looking over you once and frowning at the bruises on your wrists where the cuffs had been tightened too much. He clicks his tongue as he runs his finger across them as you pass by him before sighing, “They really waited as long as they legally could for your arraignment, didn’t they?” 

 Two whole days. You haven’t eaten because you had to watch the prison guard spit in your food before passing it over to you—evidently, his brother was killed by the Port Mafia and he decided to take that out on you, which was nice. So as if you weren’t dealing with enough bullshit, you haven’t properly slept or eaten in two days.

More than that, you’ve had no confirmation concerning Dazai’s status in two days. 

That alone has left you with no appetite and no desire to sleep anyway. You’ve been restless trying to figure what to do if Klaus wasn’t able to get Dazai away from the Guild. That is, restless, and increasingly more violent and angry. You’ve never been someone prone to choose violence as the answer, but you think the only thing that will satisfy you now is the entire organization eviscerated. Not only have they gotten you thrown in prison, but they have Dazai.

You finally take a seat next to Chuuya. He’s stuffed in the back corner of the limo so that no unsavory eyes could catch sight of him when Iceman ushered you and Tachibana into the car. As soon as you take a seat next to him, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and squeezes your bicep. You almost want to collapse into him—you’re so tired and hungry and just so mentally and physically drained that all you want to do is sleep, but you know you can’t, not until you have Dazai back.

Just as you’re about to look up at Klaus and ask him how things went, Piano Man speaks up, addressing Tachibana. “How are things looking?”

The man grimaces. “Not good. They could hold her liable for all of the crimes attributed to the Port Mafia if the jury finds the footage as proof of her affiliation,” Tachibana says. “The last time they had a Yakuza boss on trial, they had him sentenced to death and he was only being held vicariously liable for one murder and three assaults. They have her down for six and all of the other crimes they’ve been gathering as evidence against the Port Mafia just in case they were given an opportunity like this. If-”

“Why are we talking about a jury trial?” you ask tightly, giving Tachibana a cool look from the corner of your eye. “Get the charges dropped.”

A frustrated expression crosses Tachibana’s face. “But-”

“No buts, do your goddamn job and get this dismissed,” you tell him before turning your attention to Klaus. “What’s the situation with the journalists?” 

Klaus looks mighty proud of himself as he raises his chin. “They’re dead. Do you want to hear how I did it? It was quite ingenious if I do say so myself.”

He looks excited to tell you, eyes gleaming and smiling wide, so even though you should just drill him for information about Ui and Dazai, you decide to entertain him and nod. 

“Tell me,” you say, hoping at least hearing that those irritating pests got what they deserved is enough to ease the seemingly insatiable bloodlust the past few days has caused you before you get back to headquarters and have to deal with Ace.

Klaus is clearly trying to hold back a laugh as he prepares to tell you. From the way Atsushi looks a bit green next to him, you know whatever he’s about to tell you is going to be gross.

“They’re called the Ivory Eagle, right?” he says rhetorically, blue eyes dancing as he stares directly at you, waiting for you to nod again. When you do, he continues, “You see, when I was back in Europe with the Pale Flame, we learned a lot about ancient torture and execution methods. Nabakov had the trafficked ability users fight in rings, y’know, gladiator style—the winner of the fight would pick a method to punish the loser with in front of everyone. The vikings had a ritual execution method called the blood eagle, so I thought it would be funny ‘cause y’know, the name? Ivory Eagle, blood eagle? They can keep their theme even in death!” 

“I should not be hearing this,” Tachibana sighs, covering his ears and closing his eyes.

You snort. “May they soar to greater heights,” you mock their slogan and Klaus lets out a loud bark of laughter, bouncing in his seat in excitement.

“I knew you would get it, I’m so funny.” he laughs, nudging Atsushi hard, but the weretiger only looks like he’s about to start crying, so Klaus looks back at you, teeth glimmering as he smiles widely.

“What happened with Ui?” you ask, glancing down to see Chuuya passing you a bottle of water. You give him a grateful look before redirecting your attention back to your subordinates. “And where’s Akutagawa?” 

“That ugly journalist confirmed they worked with the Guild to get the footage from your boyfriend,” Klaus says, and even though you knew this, it still makes you feel sick. “... I went by his apartment. It was totally trashed, there was blood on the sidewalk. I’ve spent the past two days trying to hunt down the Guild but I can’t find them anywhere. I was planning on going to the Armed Detective Agency later today to get that one detective to tell me where they are. Figured they wouldn’t be opposed to helping considering they’re getting the shit end of the stick with the Guild too, I heard two of them were trapped for days in an interdimensional space before they were able to get them out.”

“Akutagawa and Kyouka-chan are out doing rounds around the city. Kyouka-chan found one of the lower-ranked Guild members wandering around the city, she’s hoping that she’ll lead her back to their base,” Atsushi adds, answering your second question.

You let out a heavy sigh, looking down at your lap. Apartment trashed. Blood. The water you had just sipped threatens to come back up, you feel Chuuya squeeze your bicep again to try to comfort you, but you don’t care for comfort, you only want Dazai. You want him back in your apartment, back in your arms, you want him safe, you want him.

You want him.

“We’ll get him,” Chuuya promises like he can hear your thoughts. You suppose it’s probably written all over your face. “I’ll do whatever it takes, okay? I won’t let the fucking Guild take him from you.”

He’s spent two days with them. God knows what they’ve done to him to try to get information about you—the thought makes your skin crawl, your chest weighs with guilt. You brought him into this life knowing this risk and you still couldn’t protect him. You need to do something, you need to-

“Chuuya,” you say quietly, “can I borrow your phone?” 

Chuuya’s brows furrow but he nods, passing his phone over to you. You ignore the way your fingers tremble as you type in a familiar number and press the phone to your ear, you wait a few anxious seconds for the person on the other line to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Leo,” you breathe out. “Are you still in New York?”

“You’re okay,” Leo Tolstoy sighs, the relief in his voice palpable. “I saw the news. I figured they wouldn’t be able to keep you locked up long. I’m still here, yeah, I have a flight to Tokyo in an hour. I just had to finish up-”

“Cancel it,” you say immediately, fingers digging into the thin pants you’re wearing. “I need to call in a favor.”

“Hit me with it,” he tells you. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Good, you think, lips curving up as you tell Tolstoy your plan. 

There’s only one way to force Fitzgerald into giving you Dazai back, and you’re willing to go to any lengths to do it.

“You’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice notes just as Dazai starts stirring awake. “Good.”

He’s been in and out of consciousness for two days now—awake for a few hours, asleep for double that. He almost wishes that the blow to the head had killed him, because each time he wakes up, he’s questioned sharply about you and he’s tired of it. The first two days of captivity, when Dazai was awake, he spent most of his time staring at the ceiling, your words ringing through his head and your twisted expression plain as day. He’s recounted every word of his conversation with you before he fled, he’s noted every place where he messed up and could have done something different to avoid this, he’s felt so numb that he would almost prefer pain and he’s felt so much regret that it did physically pain him.

Now, he’s just irritated. 

Irritated and tired and hungry and most of all, he misses you. Misses you so much that you’re the only thing he can think of clearly. Misses you so much that it makes him sick. Misses you so much that he’s started casting up prayers to gods he doesn’t believe him because he just wants the chance to see your face again.

Thus far, he’s been able to evade answering any questions, but he has a feeling it’s only a matter of time before they start taking more extreme measures to get the information out of him, and Dazai has never been one to deal well with pain. He doubts he’ll be able to get away with lying to throw them off trail for long.

“Nope,” he says tiredly, rolling over onto his side to turn his back on the man. “Still sleeping, unfortunately.”

Dazai doesn’t know who this one is. 

He’s gotten used to the other two over the past forty-eight hours—the redhead is called Mark Twain, a high-ranking member of the Guild whose preferred form of torture is casual conversation. It’s predictable and Dazai, naturally, doesn’t fall for it, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. He comes into the cell with food and water that Dazai refuses to touch and talks to Dazai from the moment he wakes up to the moment he passes back out. He asks about you and the Port Mafia without actually asking about you and the Port Mafia, talks about his own woman back home and bitches about his work with the Guild, seeing if Dazai will chime in with his own commentary and grievances.

Dazai doesn’t, of course—there’s not much he can say about the Port Mafia anyway, the things you’d talked about with him are irrelevant at this point, and Dazai certainly is not going to tell Twain anything about you. He knows that the Guild must be looking for information on your ability and Dazai will be damned if he lets anything about it slip. The most he’ll make is snide comments, hoping to piss Twain off enough to leave, but then he has to deal with the other man, James, who is far less pleasant to deal with. Dazai can hardly stand the sight of him and he isn’t sure if it’s because 1) he’s just unappealing to look at, 2) his head injury, or 3) he still has a grudge over the head injury. 

He thinks maybe it might be all of the above. 

Regardless, the voice of the new arrival is neither Twain’s nor James’s, which means he has a new yet equally undesired visitor. Dazai, naturally, is wary of the unknown. He’d overheard Twain and James talking about Francis getting involved and he remembers that you mentioned the leader of the Guild’s name is Francis Fitzgerald. He has a distinct suspicion that this must be him and Dazai’s only thought is that this definitely doesn’t bode well for him.

“Mister Dazai, please, you need not make this difficult on yourself,” Fitzgerald sighs. “We already have all of the information we need anyway. We want to help you.”

What.

Dazai’s cautious now as he sits up to face Fitzgerald, mind racing as he tries to figure out what exactly he means by ‘we have all of the information we need.’ Dazai has been so careful not to let anything slip—even when he was half delirious from his head wound, he bit his tongue. He didn’t utter a single thing until he was certain that his brain was functioning well enough for him to carefully choose each word he spoke. 

There’s no way that they managed to get anything from what he’d said.

The blonde man sitting on the opposite side of the room is dressed in a fancy suit and wears a watch that probably costs more than anything Dazai has ever owned in his life. He looks unusually earnest as he leans forward, elbows on his knees as observes Dazai. Dazai thinks that he’s decently good at reading people, and he can’t find a hint of deception in Fitzgerald’s face, which leaves Dazai feeling distinctly unnerved, unable to predict what’s about to happen to him.

“I find that hard to believe when your subordinate bashed my head in two days ago,” Dazai replies, keeping his voice light but watching Fitzgerald carefully. 

“My friend, Henry, is quite excitable,” Fitzgerald sighs, faux-remorse dripping from his tone. “I apologize for him, I was very clear that you weren’t to be injured.”

That doesn’t really help Dazai at all. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to press Fitzgerald and figure out what he learned from Dazai. Luckily, he doesn’t have to say much at all because Fitzgerald takes it upon himself to continue talking.

“There were some pieces of information I kept to myself during our endeavor here in Yokohama,” Fitzgerald says. “There are too many… rats scuttering around the sewers. It’s hard to tell who’s listening at any given time. Everyone has their own agendas, and there’s just some information that’s too valuable to risk falling into anyone’s hands but your own. Even supposed allies’.”

Rats. Allies. Agendas. Dazai’s mind races as he notes it all down to tell you as soon as you get him out of here. He doesn’t respond to Fitzgerald’s words, waiting for him to make the mistake of continuing his little monologue so he can have more information to report back to you. From what he’s able to piece together, there’s more than just Fitzgerald and the Guild at work here, but you haven’t mentioned any other organizations besides them, which makes him antsy because if you don’t know that this is multiple organizations working together against the Port Mafia… 

You could be in danger.

“I was already made aware of her ability,” Fitzgerald says, watching Dazai for a reaction. He’s careful not to give one, but his words make Dazai’s skin crawl. You’d said that your ability was the most well-guarded secret in the Port Mafia. That only the upper echelon was aware of it. 

So how?

The traitor.

Dazai’s throat swells and it’s much harder to keep his distressed emotions off of his face when he remembers the tip-off that Professor Ui had received about a situation happening at the ports on Shinko, remembers that he alluded to someone within the Port Mafia’s inner circle being the informant, remembers that in his meltdown, he never even told you.

Shit.

“Henry, he is also an ability user,” Fitzgerald continues. Dazai is grateful that he seemingly doesn’t notice his increasing panic. “What Maisie Knew, an ability that notifies him when somebody around him is lying. My intention in bringing you here was not to interrogate you, but to find out if you knew the extent of the manipulation happening around you.”

Dazai blinks slowly, letting the words process through his head. An ability that notifies him when somebody around him is lying… but would that even work on Dazai? You tried to use your ability on him with and without touch and it didn’t affect him, so this one shouldn’t either. And if he wasn’t notifying him when Dazai was lying about knowing nothing about your ability… 

“Henry told me that you were telling the truth when they asked you about your knowledge of her ability,” Fitzgerald says, and Dazai almost hates the pity thinly veiled behind the man’s eyes. He doesn’t like anyone thinking that he doesn’t know something about you, but he lets this slide because it might just work in his favor. “Her ability is a form of mental manipulation. She influences the emotions of people around her to trust and adore her. What you felt for that girl was nothing more than what she wanted you to feel—she’s spent months shaping your mind to make you believe you care for her so that in a situation like this, you would choose to protect her even at the cost of your own life.”

The surprise that shifts across Dazai’s face is genuine—not because of the revelation of your ability like Fitzgerald believes—but because Fitzgerald does know your ability, and he knows it in an alarming amount of detail. He wishes he had some way of contacting you now, but he needs to focus now on figuring out how he’s going to play this.

They didn’t kidnap him to interrogate him. They kidnapped him to try to make him willingly turn against you by revealing all of your ‘manipulations’ in an effort to rattle you into making a mistake. A decent plan, honestly, and if Dazai were anyone but Dazai, it might’ve worked… but Dazai is Dazai—he’s never been affected by your ability, or Fitzgerald’s subordinate’s, or any ability for that matter, and he would rather die than turn against you.

But… would it be better to make Fitzgerald think that he has turned against you? It would be safer for him, surely. If the man thought Dazai was swayed to his side, he might even have a chance to escape… but it could also throw you off if Fitzgerald tells you, and Dazai isn’t sure if he wants to risk that considering there’s apparently other allies of the Guild that you don’t know about. You would see through it eventually, but in those few moments that you didn’t…

Any mistake now could be fatal. 

“She’s in federal custody right now,” Fitzgerald says. 

Dazai almost feels dizzy, hands falling from his lap to the bed to dig his nails into the sheets to steady himself. He knew this—he knew it in his heart when Twain mentioned the flash drive and pointed out the sirens but Dazai had still had hope that you managed to evade arrest, that you wouldn’t have been dragged down by his mistakes.

Fitzgerald is still talking and Dazai knows that he should be listening, but instead his mind racing, thoughts so quick and jumbled that he can hardly get them straight. If you’re in federal custody right now, the last thing you needed was to get out and hear news of Dazai turning against you. You’d be worn thin, stressed, alone. You don’t think clearly when you’re under a ton of stress, especially when people you love are at risk. You try to, but when it gets too much, you shut down like you did at the beach house and you can’t shut down with the Guild at your door and god knows what other enemies lurking in the shadow, preparing to strike.

If you’re in federal custody, then the chances that you’ll see through this is even lower because you’ll already not be thinking clearly. There’s a much higher chance that you don’t see through it, that you think the Guild tortured him until his mind broke and he turned against you. And considering your past with Nakahara Chuuya and his lover, it might be the only logical conclusion your brain comes to.

He can’t risk it. It’ll put you in danger—he’s done enough of that lately, but this time, your life really would be on the line.

Instead, he’ll put his on it. 

“No,” Dazai says suddenly, cutting Fitzgerald off mid sentence. The blonde looks at him curiously waiting for him to continue. “No. I don’t believe you—about her, about using her ability on me. I don’t believe any of it. Get out.”

Dazai doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to pretend to be blind with love—maybe he can convince Fitzgerald that he’s still under the effects of your ability, that might buy him a few days, but it won’t last forever. He doubts that the Guild will kill him if they want him to turn against you to batter you down, and they want him to do it willingly, so they’ll probably spend a few more days trying to convince him before they resort to making him turn on you through force. 

You just need to get to him before that happens.

Fitzgerald doesn’t look surprised by Dazai’s words, but he does look disappointed. He braces himself for the man to press the issue, but to Dazai’s relief, Fitzgerald stands to leave. Dazai needs time to think, time to formulate how exactly is the best way to go about this to buy as much time as possible.

“I figured that would be the case, months under an ability like that takes more than a few days of separation to be free of,” Fitzgerald tells him before he leaves. “Think on it, you could be very useful to our cause… and we could be useful to you too. I’ll be back for an answer.”

“Don’t come back anytime soon,” Dazai replies snidely as the door closes, pulling the blanket tighter around him and resting his head against the wall.

As soon as the door is closed, a heavy feeling settles over his chest and Dazai feels so alone that it makes him sick. He’s become so used to your presence in his life that every moment without you feels like his chest is being hollowed out. The room he’s in is cold and uncomfortable compared to the warmth of your apartment. He wants to be curled up in your bed, surrounded by your scent, wants to be watching some lame movie or forcing you to watch him play an even lamer video game. 

He misses you desperately, and his nails bite into the fabric of the blankets as he tries to ground himself, losing himself in the thoughts of you, praying that you come for him soon.

“Ah! Our resident convict has finally decided to grace us with her presence.”

“Oh, Ace, it’s impressive, truly, how everyday you manage to become more stupid than the last. You must not have any brain cells left in that empty skull of yours… You’re not much unlike a protozoa honestly, ” Piano Man sighs whimsically. When Ace’s face twists in confusion, Piano Man gives him a sweet smile. “That’s a single-celled organism. Basic biology, I fear, thank you for proving my point so quickly.”

“She hasn’t been convicted, you dumb fuck,” Chuuya snaps. “And you sound way too pleased over the matter, should probably choose your tone more carefully considering it was you and your subordinate who got her arrested. Sounds a bit like, I don’t know, treason. Did you betray the Port Mafia, Ace?” 

Wow, you think, they came in hotter than you expected.

You don’t even bother to address Ace as you make your way to your place at Mori’s right side, taking a seat in the chair left empty for you. You don’t look at him until you’ve taken your seat, but even then he gives you no cues, violet eyes watching you listlessly as he waits for you to say something.

Once the circular table is fully seated, your gaze finally flits to Ace.

“Go on,” you say. “Answer Chuuya’s question.”

Ace’s face twists at your words. “That’s a ridiculous accusation,” he says, raising his chin. “That-”

“Is it?” you interrupt coolly. “You pride yourself on the use of your collars and their ability to control your subordinates. Either your collars are not quite as effective as you’ve so ardently claimed them to be or you’ve betrayed the Port Mafia. Which is it, Ace? Both will have consequences, naturally, one will just be more… final than the other.”

Unless there’s some otherworldly interference, Ace is going to die today.

He’s the reason you were arrested. His subordinates are notoriously fearful of him and his ability to kill them with just a passing thought once he has the collar around their necks. The chance of one of them acting on their own to try to kill you is slim to none. And you know that he knows you know he did it just from the amusement thinly veiled behind the outraged expression on his face.

He’s too smug.

Something’s not right.

“Unfortunately, it seems as if my efforts to deter disobedience have gone ineffective concerning one of my subordinates.” Ace waves his hand, lavender eyes meeting yours pointedly as he speaks his next words: “No need to fret, I’ve dealt with him accordingly.”

That… was not anticipated. You’re careful not to react to his words, gauging the reactions of the others in the room trying to figure out if this was something they all talked about while you were being held by the government, but Piano Man and Chuuya look just as appalled, even Kouyou hides her pursed lips behind her fan as she gives Mori a careful look.

Mori does not look surprised as the rest of his executives.

What did you do?

Chuuya is the first to speak, voice low, “You’ve what?”

“A betrayal of this magnitude is not something for an executive to handle alone,” Piano Man says, the airy tone of his long gone as he stares at Ace. “Especially the executive in charge of said traitor. You acted out of line—this should’ve been brought in front of us all before any action was taken.”

“Out of line?” Ace’s voice becomes more mocking now, clearly enjoying knowing something that Piano Man doesn’t after the snide comment. “Not at all, I acted on orders of the Boss.”

At once, the conference room goes quiet. You see Chuuya and Piano Man turn to look at Mori for the corner of your eye, but you keep your gaze trained on Ace instead and he keeps his on yours. He looks entirely too pleased with himself, eyes cool and taunting, the corner of his lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.

“It’s true.”

Mori offers no explanation—he doesn’t need to, he’s the Boss, but you know there’s something else going on here. He never liked Ace, spoke poorly of the man’s easily bought loyalties and undue arrogance. Only gave him the executive position for financial purposes after the Dragon’s Head Conflict left Yokohama in shambles. Let him stay because his arrogance makes him easily manipulated but always keeps him at arm’s length, ready to cut off at the first whiff of betrayal.

And now he’s what? Scheming with the man he’s despised for years against you? Is it punishment for everything that has happened with the two Yakuza syndicates and the Guild? Punishment for Dazai? 

You can’t understand it, you can’t.

You look at Mori from the corner of your eye, blood running hot and only barely able to keep the fury off of your face.

What are you planning?

Mori’s lips curve up as if he can hear your thoughts, eyes flickering with amusement as he looks at you.

You’ll find out, little hime.

“What is Tachibana-kun’s opinion on the indictment?” Mori asks instead, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands over the table as he looks at you.

“He’s going to get the charges dropped,” you reply flatly, nails biting into the slacks you’d changed into before coming to the meeting, suddenly feeling far too cornered as you realize you have enemies around every corner—even within your own home. “This will be over within two weeks.”

“Hm.” Mori sounds more entertained than anything as he tilts his head to the side and studies you. “And the Guild? How do you plan to handle them, little hime? More importantly, that boy you’d been silly enough to allow the information that led to your imprisonment… I trust he’ll be properly handled?”

Putting you on blast in front of all of the executives… Kouyou is watching you carefully, Chuuya is stiff, Piano Man tense, and Ace, of course, is mildly amused. You feel like a circus monkey performing for the lot of them and you know it’s exactly what Mori wanted.

You’re sure not to let your irritation slip onto your face as you smile thinly and reply with: “The Guild will be taken care of by the end of the week. I fear that the boy is not the issue in this situation, Ace would be more suited to answer any questions regarding my imprisonment. Isn’t that right?” 

Ace’s smile tightens. “Not at all,” he says coldly. “What are you implying?”

“That it was your subordinate that had dealings with the Guild, of course,” you say with a sweet smile. “What else would I be implying?” 

“Right.”

“I mean, I do trust that you managed to get information out of him before killing him, right? We’ve all been trained to do that,” you add, raising your eyebrows and tilting your head to the side. “You did get the information, didn’t you?”

“I would like to know how you plan to handle the Guild considering you’ve failed spectacularly up to this point,” Mori intervenes, preventing you from questioning Ace about the ‘subordinate’ that ‘betrayed the Port Mafia’. 

You give him a heavy side-eye, wondering what game he’s playing and why he’s protecting Ace of all people—he must have some plan in the works that involves the man, but what? What could he possibly be using Ace for that’s so important that it makes the cost of keeping a rat in his inner circle trivial? You’ve always struggled to understand the way Mori’s mind works, but never more than now.

You decide to be plain with your accusations now. You’re tired of playing coy; although you’re stuck in limbo now as you wait for Tolstoy to come through with the favor you’ve asked of him, you still feel like you could be doing more productive things to try to figure out how you’ll actually approach Fitzgerald to get Dazai back. 

“I don’t feel comfortable divulging that information in this setting,” you say simply, watching as Kouyou’s eyes widen just a bit, Chuuya and Piano Man share a look, and Ace stiffens as he prepares for a scathing comment, but a motion from Mori has them settling down. “Regardless, I think there are more important issues to discuss. Namely, the setbacks we now have to deal with on the political front because of my indictment. I can reach out to the politicians that I’m close enough with that the accusations won’t sway them, but I worry that we might’ve lost a lot of key swing votes in the upcoming bill going through the Diet.”

“We can’t let that bill pass,” Chuuya says tightly. 

Kouyou sighs airly as she fans her face. “I can reach out to my connections,” she offers. “I assume Lippmann will have significant influence as well. Between the two of us, we can hopefully compensate for the losses. Do you think the indictment will prevent you from ever returning to handle political affairs?”

You purse your lips. “I doubt I’ll be back at any government events anytime soon, but I’ll be able to get work done from behind the scenes. It’ll be harder, but not impossible.”

Kouyou hums as she nods, glancing back at Mori. “If this is all, I had a prior commitment with our friends in Tokyo… It would be best for me to not miss it considering the circumstances.”

“I also have business to handle,” you say, gaze cutting back to Mori. “If necessary, I can meet with you later to tell you about how I plan to handle the Guild.”

“It’s not necessary,” Mori says lightly. “You’re dismissed, I promised Elise-chan tea time anyway. I expect results this time, little hime… Successful ones.”

Your lips tighten. “Of course,” you reply tensely. “I hope by the time of our next meeting, the rat infestation will be handled. I’ve seen a few too many since I’ve been back at headquarters today, it’s unsightly.”

Ace bristles and looks to Mori like a child seeking their parents’ support. How ironic, you think bitterly, but you don’t give anyone time to respond to your words as you rise to your feet and leave the room, intent on getting back to your apartment as quickly as possible. You don’t even wait for Chuuya or Piano Man as you get into the elevator and press the button to close the doors as quickly as possible.

Your gaze is pinned on the cityscape as the elevator begins to go down to the first floor. The sun has crossed its point in the peak of the sky—it’s still midday, it’s been sixty-six hours since you were taken into custody, likely just as long as Dazai’s been captured by the Guild

Sixty-six hours.

The Guild is not an organization that usually stoops to torture. Of all of the organizations in the world’s shadows, the Guild is probably the one closest to the light—they take advantage of it by forcing its members into the public spotlight. It’s why they’ve done so well in Yokohama so far; they’ve used their political presence to force countries into giving them diplomatic immunity, essentially making them untouchable. 

You’re sure they have some degree of blood on their hands, everyone in this world does, but torturing a civilian of a foreign country would be a bold move—if it got out, and you would make sure it did, it would ruin their station… But then again, would they even care?

Fitzgerald was so desperate to get his hands on Atsushi for whatever reason—the bounty and now this… There might not be any length he wouldn’t be willing to go to in order to get his hands on the boy. And Dazai… he wouldn’t give up the information, you know it in your heart. You wish that he would if only so he could protect himself, you’d be able to pivot and readjust your plans, but he won’t, especially not after his spiels about being a burden and wanting to help.

What an idiot, you think desperately, ignoring the way your eyes suddenly sting as you make your way out of the main headquarters to head over to your own building. You’re not even fully processing everything that’s happening around you—you ignore the subordinates that greet you, don’t even hear Albatross calling your name, and when you get to your building, you don’t even notice the doorman sitting at the desk in your building. 

It’s not until you get back up to your apartment that you’re finally able to break down.

Physically and mentally drained from two days in custody and now Mori’s schemes, it only takes the sight of Dazai’s sweater tossed on the back of your couch and his backpack lying haphazardly on the ground next to it for you to crumble. You don’t even make it to the couch—your knees give in as soon as your fingers brush the soft material of his sweater. You hit the ground hard, back pressed to the back of the couch as you pull the sweater down to your knees and you cry.

It still smells like him—well, a mixture of you and him since he’s started using your bath soaps—and you miss him so bad that it makes your chest cave in. You muffle the ragged gasp you take in with the sweater and curl in on yourself; you miss him, you miss him so bad that it’s painful, so bad that regret weighs on you like the burden of the sky, so bad that you think you might die. You’ve felt pain like this before when Itou died, but Itou’s death had not been entirely in your control, not like how this was. 

You let this happen. The moment you let him into your life, you damned him.

You’ve been teetering on the edge of collapse for days, only sheer willpower and the thin shred of pride you had left prevented you from falling apart during your time in prison, but now there’s nothing left to keep you together. Any remaining willpower was obliterated the moment you walked into your apartment and saw his sweater and backpack exactly where he left them before fleeing because of your words; any remaining pride was destroyed by Mori and his schemes refusing you at least some semblance of justice for your own imprisonment. 

Now alone, faced with only the consequences of your own decisions as company, you’re forced to acknowledge the bitter truth: you may never see Dazai again.

You may have gotten him killed.

He may already be dead—spent his last moments alone and in pain, wondering if you were ever going to show up.

You try to convince yourself that Fitzgerald won’t kill him before trying to use him as a bargaining chip over you, but the thoughts are only shallow consolations because you can’t push away the image that’s been haunting you since the day you met him. His body cold and rotting after having been abandoned in one of the dumping grounds the underworld uses as a mass grave, forgotten and nameless, left for the rate to devour. You knew this would happen from the beginning, but you still allowed it.

You’ve never prayed before. 

You’ve long believed that if there was a god out there, it was a cruel one who took delight in suffering because what other god would allow people to suffer the way you have? 

What god would allow an eight year old girl to sit amongst corpses for hours only to be saved by a man who would drag her down a path so dark that her blood would rot black and her soul would be so far beyond salvation before she was even old enough to attend secondary school? 

What god would show someone love only to rip it away before his very eyes in the most brutal way possible? 

What god would dangle the ‘what ifs’ right in front of your face just to taunt you knowing that the moment you let yourself indulge them, you would be reminded exactly why they should’ve remained ‘what ifs’?

You’ve never prayed before, but now, you find yourself crying to any that might listen to you because you don’t know what else to do. There’s no guarantee that your plan will work and you can’t give Fitzgerald what he wants, you can’t. So instead, you cry, you beg, you plead, you bargain. You don’t know what divine being might be out there, but for the first time in your life, you hope that there is one, because you’ve never saved a single person in your life. You got Itou killed, you got Chuuya’s lover killed, countless men on the warfront who were banking on your ability fix their minds, at this point, you’re sure that even the loss of your family and village was somehow blood on your hands—everywhere you’ve been, ruin and death have followed you, and this will be no different.

You won’t be able to save him, just like you’ve never been able to save anyone else before. Your only hope lies in the hands of the very beings that have designed this moment and every other misfortune of yours before this. It’s a sick joke, you think, but still, you pray. You cry, and beg, and plead, and bargain. You ask them to bring him back to you, you tell them that he’s good and that he never belonged in this life; you promise that if they bring him back to you, you’ll do what you should’ve done from the very beginning. 

You swear it.

You don’t know how long you stay on your floor with his sweater pressed to your chest—could have been minutes or hours, you don’t even hear the elevator arriving at your floor, don’t notice someone is in the room with you until you feel fingers brush your shoulder. You stiffen and futilely try to dry your eyes, lifting your gaze to figure out who had entered your apartment without calling up first. There’s only a handful of people it might be and-

And for just a split second, you think that it might be Dazai.

It’s not, of course, your eyes meet the familiar ones of Klaus’s, the expression he wears is full of guilt, regretful, and just as your lips part to ask him what he wants, he whispers: “I’m sorry I couldn’t find him. I really did try.”

You’ve only seen Klaus cry twice before. Once, two weeks after you took him in when he realized he was finally free of the fighting rings he’d been forced to compete in since his ability manifested. And a second time after he failed his first mission, tossed back into a memory that had him curling on the ground begging you not to send him back. Now, he doesn’t cry, but his throat spasms and his eyes shine with unshed tears. 

“I know you did, Klaus,” you say, voice too raspy for your liking

“... I left him alive,” Klaus tells you after a few moments. Before you can ask what he’s talking about, he continues, “Ui. I thought you might want to be the one to deal with him.”

At once, any exhaustion that might’ve been plaguing you disappears, the ice that spreads through your veins promises only one thing.

“Bring me to him.”

“It has been two days since little miss princess was released from prison, how’s that make you feel?” 

Dazai stares blankly at Twain, who looks far too pleased as he tilts his chair back and watches him for a reaction. Dazai wishes that he was closer so that he could kick the chair back and watch him go sprawling, but even if he was closer, his body feels rooted to the bed he’s sitting on. Dazai has alway had a quick brain, but now it’s slow as Twain’s words echo through his head on repeat and he starts to understand the implications of them, unable to accept them as truth.

“Guess she doesn’t care about you as much as ya thought she did.” Twain shrugs like it's all some big joke, grin crooked. “Hasn’t even bothered to reach out to ask us about you. Port Mafia’s been active too, guess she just has more important things to deal with than some kid she played around with for a few months. Francis seems more bothered by it than I thought he would. I think he really thought she’d really fight for you—for your sake.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, gaze sliding from Twain to stare at the wall in front of him. It’s been a long four days in Guild custody. He’s hardly had a moment to himself, and he’s been careful to keep up the act of the lovesick fool who refuses to see things as they ‘are,’ but he’s tired and lonely and he misses you. It’s all wearing him out. 

He can keep up the act—if it means protecting you, he could do this forever—he’s put on masks and fronts for people his whole life, this is nothing compared to all of that… it’s just that it’s harder when he’s had a taste of life with someone who he doesn’t need to put up masks for. It’s harder when he wants nothing more than to just be back in your apartment, basking in your presence. It makes him dizzy with longing and it makes him careless. 

And… he thinks Twain’s words are hitting him a lot harder than they should be. 

“I’m not all too surprised though,” Twain continues absently, waving his hands around. “You’re not anything special, and I heard her boy Tolstoy’s back in town. She doesn’t need you to entertain her anymore now that he’s around.”

For a second, Dazai can see the dams cracking. All of the pent up emotions that have been building the past few days batter the splintering walls holding them back, and Dazai can only barely bring himself to try to reinforce them because now’s not the time for this. But every time he manages to fortify one section of the crumbling dam, another starts to collapse. 

It can’t be true. It can’t be—Dazai knows this, in his heart, he knows it—what you had with him… it was special. It was. (Wasn’t it?) The way you looked at him, no one could look at someone that way and not mean it. No one could speak the words you did and not mean them. There must be something else going on, you must be planning something—you’re not going to rush headfirst into a trap, not when it could end with Dazai’s life in danger and especially not with your past with the Serpent’s Tongue, but…

… but Twain’s mention of Tolstoy rattles Dazai badly. You’ve talked about Tolstoy before to him, and it was always with a certain fondness that made Dazai uneasy, and for a second, Dazai thinks it might be possible that you could just be cutting your losses with him and moving on. Because Twain is right, Dazai is nothing special, and it’s not like the two of you ended off on a good note before his capture—you were mad at him, he was cruel to you, he blamed you for all of this even though he forced it onto you. 

Dazai wouldn’t even really be able to blame you for not coming for him after that; for months, he’s been forcing your hand but when he felt backed into a corner, he threw it all in your face. 

Not even to mention that it might not even be as simple as you coming to save Dazai—there were other factors at play too, the Port Mafia being the biggest. You’re an executive, you can’t just throw everything away to come rescue him when he got himself into this situation after you explicitly warned him that this would happen. 

If you had to choose between him and the Mafia… could he really be certain that you would choose him in that scenario? He wants to say yes, he does, but the word feels weighted and bitter on his tongue, like he knows it’s not quite so cut and dry.

Realistically, you might not come for him. Even if Twain is wrong and it’s not a matter of whether you care about him enough to come for him, there are too many variables that could prevent you from coming for him… but Twain might not be wrong. 

“Mark,” Fitzgerald’s familiar voice chides as the man steps into the room Dazai is staying in. He doesn’t even hear the sigh and comment that Twain lets out before leaving because he’s too lost in his own thoughts.

Dazai has never felt so entirely out of control of a situation like this before—he’s always been so careful and meticulous in his interactions with people and his surroundings because he likes being able to predict how people will act around him, it makes it easier for him to figure out how he should act. He’s even had a good hold on himself, learned how to school his emotions and convert ones he doesn’t like into ones that are easier for him to manage. But everything about this has just been so impossible for him to get a handle on, he’s tried in every way that he could, but the realization of the fact that you might not be coming for him is sending him over the edge 

“I wanted to break the news to you myself,” Fitzgerald says and Dazai feels bitter and angry about the sympathy in his voice, wants to spit at him. He doesn’t need anyone’s pity, much less his, but he only finds himself staring listlessly at the man instead. “I waited a few days to see if she would reach out, but she never did… I’m afraid I can’t keep waiting anymore, I need to move on with the next stage of my plan.”

This is it, Dazai thinks distantly—now is when they’ll finally switch from persuasion to force. He thought he would have a bit longer to figure out how he would proceed and now he can’t even get himself thinking straight to try to figure out how to evade this. His thoughts are scattered and distant and so many different and unfamiliar emotions are battering him from every angle; he can hardly pay attention as the man across from him speaks. 

“I want you to cooperate willingly,” the Guild leader continues, but his words are going in one ear out the other. “... don’t have to worry about them targeting you for betrayal. We have enough resources to shield you from the Port Mafia. Additionally-”

“No,” Dazai says quietly—the refusal slips out before he can even process it.

Fitzgerald pauses. “No?” 

“No,” he reiterates, voice more strained, the words tumbling from his lips. “No, I don’t need your protection. I’m not going to cooperate. I won’t betray her—not for anyone, but especially not you. She’ll come. I know it.”

Something changes in Fitzgerald’s expression at Dazai’s words; it becomes twisted for just a second, but then it softens, his lips curl up into a faint smile. One that’s almost fond, but Dazai can’t understand why for the life of him. 

“I see, so even knowing all of this and realizing that she might not be coming for you, you still choose to stand at her side,” he murmurs. He doesn’t try to persuade Dazai like he thought he would. “There are not many who are able to see the worst of someone and still make that choice… I’ve only met one other… You remind me much of her.”

“She chooses me too,” Dazai says. He thinks, for a second, that he’s only saying it to scare Fitzgerald into realizing that you’ll come for him, but as soon as the words leave his lips, he knows that it’s true. That he believes it. He believes you’ll choose him, he believes you’ll come for him no matter what the cost might be. Even after everything that happened the other day, even knowing that you’ve been free for days and haven’t made any moves to rescue him yet, his faith in you hasn’t wavered. “She’ll come for me, and you’ll regret this.”

Fitzgerald exhales as he rises to his feet, gaze lingering on Dazai for just a moment before he tells him, “For your sake, I hope your faith is not misplaced.”

“The human psyche is unbearably fragile. It’s one of the first conclusions I came to during my studies,” you say absently, sitting back in your chair. “I don’t have a combative ability. I can’t control any elemental force and I don’t have a superhuman body. I can’t summon entities to fight on my behalf and I certainly can’t shapeshift. Chuuya spent a lot of time studying physics to fine tune his power, my path laid in psychology. You see, my ability isn’t flashy or showy like many others, but it is an ability nonetheless, and even the weakest abilities can become dangerous in the right hands.”

Ui Koutarou stares up at you from the corner that he’s curled up in, his pupils are blown wide and his skin is pale and sweaty. You don’t know if he’s looking through you or at you, but you suppose it doesn’t matter.

“Usually, conditioning a human mind to have automatic responses to particular stimuli can take months, but I’ve learned to utilize my ability in a way that can speed up that process from months to days,” you explain, watching carefully as you flick the lighter in your hands. “You’ve realized that, of course, I’ve spent the past two days here rewiring your brain to react to things the way I want it to. You can’t control the way your heart starts racing when you see this flame, right? I can see the way your breath is short, your pupils dilated. You don’t have any reason to be scared of it, it’s harmless, but you’re still terrified. Why?” 

He doesn’t answer, of course, you didn’t say the word, but when you rise to your feet and take a step forward, he scrambles back impossibly further, shrinking into the corner. Your lips curve up as you flick the lighter off and take a seat, watching the way he immediately begins to relax again. 

“My ability isn’t mind control, I fear if it was, my life would be much more simple,” you sigh, looking up at the ceiling momentarily before lowering your gaze back down to him. “I can induce emotions and states in the human brain—the weak-minded naturally are much easier than the strong-willed, but I can make both bend to my will, it’s just a matter of how much effort I’m willing to put into it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you observe him and then pull a pen from your pocket, tossing it in his general direction. You can see the way his chest visibly stutters at the sight of it, breath ceasing, and then he darts to the opposite side of the room. In his desperate flee, his foot brushes the pen and you smile lightly as you activate your ability, watching the way he immediately hits the ground, screaming his throat raw as he curls into a ball. After deactivating your ability, you wait a few seconds for him to calm down before continuing. 

“The human psyche is fragile, but the brain is very malleable. As soon as it recognizes that a certain action will always bear a negative consequence, it will adapt and do everything it can to prevent you from taking that action to avoid the negative consequences.” You lean forward, looking down at him. “It’s recognized now to associate fear with a flame and a pen. You can’t control the way that the sight of either of these two objects make you react—it’s reflexive because your brain has already taken the necessary steps to ensure that you don’t get close enough to either to trigger the consequence that comes along with touching it.”

The flame is a necessary step. It’s easier to force the brain to associate fear with something that is inherently dangerous, and you needed to see how long it might take for you to move on to something that’s not inherently dangerous. It took three hours of conditioning to make his brain adapt enough to have reflexive responses to the sight of fire.

Then you moved onto a pen, because you thought it was ironic for a journalist to fear the same thing he uses to complete his job. That took six hours. 

“When you stayed away from the two objects, I rewarded you,” you explain with a thin smile. “It must’ve been so relieving… all of the pleasant emotions you felt after nearly five days of being locked up here. Happiness, hope, gratitude. I’m sure it was confusing too, because you didn’t know why you felt that way but you were so quick to bask in them that it didn’t matter.”

Ui continues to watch you, so you continue speaking. You think you’re talking more to yourself than to him, you don’t even know if he’s capable of processing your words at this point, but you need to keep yourself busy while you wait.

“When you touched the objects, I punished you,” you continue. “Guilt, sadness, but my favorite is fear. It’s the easiest emotion to induce in someone, it’s not one that I have to actively keep applied because the human mind spirals once it has a taste of it. They call it the mind killer.”

The last sentence tastes bitter on your tongue. It reminds you of Dazai.

“I did the same thing with your ability to speak… Speaking is a voluntary action, it’s a bit different than conditioning reflexive responses, but it still worked. Now, you can’t speak until I say the word, right?”

He doesn’t respond. You didn’t say the word.

“Speak.”

“Yes,” he rasps, voice wet and shaky. “You’re right.”

“I even made sure that no one else could trigger it. I brought Klaus in here and had him order you to speak. Every time you listened to his order, I punished you. Every time you listened to mine, I rewarded you. Do you remember that?”

He doesn’t respond. You didn’t say the word.

“Speak.”

“I remember,” he replies. “I remember.”

“Dazai Osamu was captured by the Guild because you worked alongside them to have me arrested. Isn’t that right?”

He doesn’t respond. You didn’t say the word.

Your voice is colder this time as you say: “Speak.”

“I didn’t mean for him to get kidnapped.” He has the nerve to sound like he’s about to cry. “None of my students, I didn’t mean for it-”

“That’s not what I asked. Speak.”

“Yes,” he chokes out. “Yes, he got kidnapped because of me.”

“That’s right,” you agree, “and he might die because of you too. Was it worth it?”

He doesn’t respond. You didn’t say the word.

“Speak.”

“No,” he whispers. “No, it wasn’t worth it.”

“I know,” you say, more to yourself than him. “But I suppose we’ve all done things that had consequences that weren’t worth it.”

You sigh, glancing to the side to see a figure waiting outside the cell. Chuuya’s face is twisted in displeasure, an unreadable look in his eyes as he stares at you.

“If it were up to me, I would let you live,” you admit. “A journalist too scared to ever pick up the pen again… the man trying to bring down the Port Mafia little more than a puppet for one of its executives… an ironic fate, possibly one worse than death.” 

You rise to your feet and walk to the door of the cell, leaving the room. Before you leave, you look over your shoulder and say:

“Luckily, your fate is not up to me.”

You leave the cell and close the door behind you, looking up to meet Chuuya’s familiar eyes, cool and disapproving.

“Don’t you think you might be going too far?” he asks quietly.

“Says the man who leveled an entire ward,” you reply coldly and he winces at the reminder. “I don’t want to hear anything from you about ‘too far’. If anything, I haven’t gone far enough.”

Chuuya sighs, but he doesn’t press the matter. 

“You should get some rest,” he finally says. “You’ve pretty much been up for two days straight, and I know you didn’t sleep while locked up.”

You click your tongue and look away. “I slept yesterday.”

“For an hour and a half,” Chuuya replies dryly. “Torturing the fuckin’ journalist isn’t going to bring Dazai back-”

“No, but it makes me feel better,” you interrupt, gaze sharpening. 

“Does it?”

“It does, in fact,” you say, giving him a thin smile, “more than you could ever believe.”

Chuuya lets out another sigh, this one heavier than the last. “I’m worried about you,” he says, voice tight. “I-”

“I don’t care, Chuuya,” you say, watching as Chuuya’s face twists in frustration. “I don’t need your concern. I need Osamu back and until he is-”

“This isn’t going to bring him back, you-”

“I don’t care!” You don’t even realize you’ve raised your voice, don’t even register your own movements as your hands dart out to shove Chuuya back hard. He only stumbles a few steps, but he gives you a pointed look. Suddenly, you want to cry again and your voice wobbles as you repeat, “I don’t care.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Torturing Ui Koutarou isn’t going to do anything to help Dazai. The man is useless, gave information to the Guild that he shouldn’t have, but has no idea their whereabouts or even who he spoke to. And it’s not making you feel better like you claim it is, the sick bit of glee you may feel watching the journalist-turned-husk dissipates quickly whenever the thought of Dazai crosses your mind.

The Guild hasn’t even reached out to you.

You don’t know if it’s a good sign or a bad sign—probably a bad one. If they were trying to use him as leverage over you and the Port Mafia, then they would’ve done that by now. They could be waiting for you to reach out, it would give them the advantage in negotiations, but you can’t reach out before you have something to negotiate with. 

But the longer you wait… they’ll use it against Dazai. They’ll tell him you don’t care to come after him. They’ll tell him you’ve been out of prison for two days, yet you haven’t bothered to reach out to the Guild to get him back. They’ll make him feel worthless and Dazai already has such a poor perception of himself that you fear he’ll believe it, but you can’t do anything yet.

Not yet, but soon. 

Soon.

“The Diet postponed the military bill,” Chuuya says, changing the subject. Your gaze snaps back over to him. “Ane-san just got word from one of her friends in the House of Councillors. They pushed it two weeks out.”

You grimace instantly, shaking your head. “They want to see what happens with the indictment. If it gets dropped or goes to trial. If it goes to trial, we’ll lose more swing votes.”

“I asked Piano Man if he could talk to Tachibana, see what’s going on with getting the charges dropped, I know you have a lot on you right now, but I figured you’d want to know this,” Chuuya murmurs apologetically, squeezing your wrist.

Dazai is gone. The Guild is at your doorstep. There are countless indictments that you’re not sure are going to get dropped. The military bill is still looming over you. God, it’s never ending. You’re so tired.

“I’m glad you told me,” you finally tell him, but your voice is strained. “I’ll figure something out about the bill if the worst case scenario happens.”

Chuuya’s lips part like he’s about to speak, but he pauses suddenly, eyes flickering behind you. A dreadful feeling suddenly hangs over you as you turn around to face none other than Mori—the man never comes to the torture rooms himself so you know he must be looking for someone and that someone is very likely you.

Chuuya takes off his hat and lowers his head. You usually would follow suit but you don’t this time, keeping your chin high as you stare at Mori. His lips only curve up in response to your lack of respect, much to your displeasure.

“Chuuya-kun, may I?” Mori hums, doesn’t have to specify what he wants because Chuuya knows, nodding and excusing himself so Mori can speak to you alone.

His eyes slide away from you to the cell that holds Ui Koutarou. You watch as he looks between the pen on the ground and the way the man is as far away from it as possible. He tilts his head to the side in amusement, lifting his fingers to the chest pocket of his lab coat, pulling out the pen he always has stashed in there before tossing it at him. Ui is unable to dodge it fast enough, doesn’t realize what’s happening until too late.

The moment the pen touches his body, you activate your ability, watching him let out another blood curdling scream before focusing your attention back on Mori, who looks oddly pleased by what he’s found.

“Two days of work?” he questions.

“A little over.”

“How impressive,” he murmurs—for the first time, he says it without the mocking lilt that usually accompanies it and your throat swells, eyes flickering away from him to the wall. 

You know that he’s probably only saying it to try to ease your anger at him, but you can’t help the way it makes you feel after years of trying to get him to say those very words to you and mean them.

“Did you know?” you finally ask him, voice too hoarse for your liking.

“Did I know what?” Mori asks, raising his eyebrows to look down at you with sharp eyes that tell you he knows exactly what you’re asking but isn’t going to make this easy for you.

“Did you know that Ace was setting me up? Was it punishment?” Your nails dig deep into your palms as you wait for a response, so much so that you can feel the blood trickling between your fingers. “Did you?” 

“Of course not, I would never risk our political position so recklessly. Especially with the military bill in the Diet,” Mori scoffs, looking away for a moment before glancing back down at you. “Nor would I risk you so recklessly. You should know that by now, little hime.”

You avert your gaze, shaking your head. He’s only saying this to appease you, you know it, you don’t know why you’re still falling for it. 

“I don’t know anything that goes on in your mind,” you bite back, grateful that your voice is steadier than how you feel. “Why isn’t he being punished then? He betrayed the Port Mafia.”

“I still have something I need him to do,” Mori replies easily, lips curving up into a smile that unsettles you. “... Don’t fret, my dear, when the time comes, you can be the one to handle his execution.”

You click your tongue sharply. “It better be soon.”

You can only define the smile on his face as sinister, and you almost regret your words when he replies, “It will be,” because you don’t know what exactly he has planned for him to be smiling like that.

Before you can interrogate him on what the hell he’s even talking about, Klaus comes stumbling down the steps with wide eyes and an excited expression on his face. He pauses when he sees Mori, gaze darting between the two of you.

“I’ll speak to you later, little hime,” Mori says dismissively—you wonder what he came down here for, he wouldn’t have come to speak to you without some sort of agenda and you don’t know what he would have achieved from this conversation beyond unnerving you. “... Keep up the good work.”

Your throat tightens as he turns to leave, gliding past Klaus who awkwardly lowers his head in respect as he walks by. As soon as he’s out of sight, Klaus turns to you, lips spreading in a toothy smile. 

“Tolstoy is here.”

Your eyes widen instantly. “Take me to him.”

You thought he would be a bit longer. Your chest is tight with anticipation as you follow Klaus to another level in the main headquarters. You were expecting to have to wait at least another day or two for him to complete the favor you asked for him and another thirteen hours for him to fly from New York City to Yokohama. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised, Tolstoy has always exceeded your expectations, but still… you hadn’t dared hope.

The man is leaning outside the door Klaus leads you to, lips curved up in a familiar smile, blue eyes glittering playfully as soon as he catches sight of you.  

“Princess,” he greets, holding his hand out for you to place yours in. You roll your eyes fondly as the blonde lifts your hand to his lips to ghost a kiss against your knuckles. He winks at you. “She’s all yours.”

You thank him quietly before pushing open the door to enter the conference room in front of you. The woman waiting inside is prim and elegant, wearing a long dress with jewels decorating her neck and wrists. Her expression is cool and closed off at first glance, but you can see the glassiness of her eyes and the way her thin fingers tremble in her lap.

You give the woman a soft smile as you approach, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in yours. You make sure your expression is gentle and genuine as you look up at her, watching as your ability instantly goes to work when her fingers stop trembling and her own expression softens as she looks down at you.

“Hi, Zelda,” you greet, voice sweet and honeyed. “You don’t need to be scared. I’m a friend.”

When Zelda Fitzgerald lets out a soft breath of relief, the tenseness in her shoulders easing, you know that she’s made the fatal mistake of believing you and your smile becomes a bit more authentic. 

Finally, you can make your move. 

“Come, let’s go somewhere more comfortable. We have a lot to talk about.”

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 -

PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Odd things started happening.

You unlocked the door to your shop, and you could hear a pin drop. And that’s just it. It was quiet. Something so small, so simple. But you noticed it immediately. The hinges of the door had been oiled. You opened and closed the door so many times… you probably looked quite mad to onlookers. You gasped when inside the shop you noticed another repair. The window. The one you had boarded up, fixed good as new. Instead of relief, a wave of worry was beginning to wash over you. Was this a joke? Was Milo doing this just to let winter take it all away? Or giving you a taste of what you could have if you surrendered to his advances.

The thought began to cross your mind recently. The days were beginning to grow longer, and the sun grew more stifling. Spring was melting into summer. You and your mother were beginning to find proof of pests and varmints making a feast out of the fields. When you had your sisters and your mother was stronger, winter wasn’t such a frightening thought.

tap tap tap. You looked around the shop. A mouse? Tap tap tap.

You looked to the window, and there he was.

”We keep meeting each other like this.” His voice muffled through the glass. “You’re a lot more bold without your friends around.” You retorted. His smile faltered, “I’m a coward.”

You laughed. This orc hunter? Cowardly?

”Here.” He held something up into the window. A lumpy burlap rucksack. “It’s Turmeric. But… for growing. In the dirt.”

You walked over and opened the window. “Why?” You were cautious, you didn’t trust “gifts” from men anymore. He tossed the bag on your counter, “Those golden eggs you gave me, the boys said they were just like home… thank you.” His gaze was so piercing, you felt your face grow hot. “How much for these?” You tore your eyes away from him towards the burlap bag.

“Nothing. Just keep making them, and I’ll tell everyone to come here and keep buying them!” He seemed absolutely giddy. “This orc must really love pickled eggs.” you thought to yourself.

“I see Milo around here pretty often.”

”You’ve been watching?” His face got very red at your reply. “Well regardless,” He didn’t deny your accusation, “He seems real sweet on you.”

”He can go fuck himself.” You hissed. Khargaad’s eyes widened. “I refuse to give him what he wants and I think it’s nearly driven him mad.” He looked at you expectantly, like he was hanging onto your every word. You paused before you went on with your rant, “How do you know him?” You realized you should know if the two were chummy before cursing Milo’s name.

“When you hunt big game, you end up meeting the people with enough money to pay you to hunt said game. But we are not friends, if that’s what you’re getting at.” You sighed in relief. “Hey,” you said changing the subject, “come in here and pick something out. On the house. I really appreciate these.” You patted the burlap sack. He grinned and shimmied his way through the doorway. You hadn’t had the chance to fully appreciate his size. He had to crouch to fit beneath the low ceiling, but you guessed he must be 7 feet tall standing fully upright. And his arms, oh his arms. Big and thick like two tree branches. You were staring. You didn’t realize it before you caught his eye and yanked yourself back behind the counter, counting your coins.

He quietly pondered over all of the jars of pickled vegetables. “What’s in this?” You heard him ask. You didn’t bother looking up from your coins, “It’s written on the label.”

”Are you kidding?” His voice lacked any light-hearted tone. You glanced up from your counting. He looked at you, then at the label, then back at you again. “Don’t you remember? What those two said when you mentioned the recipe?”

“That you were illiterate?”

”No, they said I couldn’t read, y/n.” Was he yanking your chain right now? That’s what you just- “OH… oh. I thought… they were kidding.” The words eked past your lips. The poor orc had a pained look of embarrassment on his face. Before he could even conjure up of an answer, the words tumbled out your mouth like a turned over bushel of apples.

“I’ll teach you!”

He peered over at you, his cheeks were very flushed. “No one has ever tried to teach me before.” You smiled very sweetly at him, “And I have never grown turmeric in my garden before. But here you are. And here I am.” It only took him one and a half strides to meet you at the counter across the room. “What can I give you in return?” It almost sounded like he was pleading.

You chuckled, “It’s a gift, Khargaad.” He was so close now that you could smell the smokey leather scent coming off of him. You probably should have been embarrassed to take such a noticeably large inhale of it. But it was too lovely for you to care. You couldn’t have known his own sensitive scent receptors were going haywire this close to you.

“I should go now. Thank you. I’ll be back.” He said shortly. He left so quickly he forgot his jar of pickled vegetables.

~

He had to leave. Had to. You smelled so sweet. He felt awful. Thinking like that. About you.

He found himself in the forest, back pressed up against a tree. So much blood had rushed to the orc’s cock it was becoming painful. He winced, palming himself over the strained trousers. He frantically pulled at the strings of his waistband, the fabric pooling down around his thighs. “Ah!” Gods, the noises that were coming out of his mouth were sinful.

He ran a hand down the trail of hair leading to his cock. “O- oh. F-fuck.” He wrap one hand around the base, already fucking himself in and out of his fist. He won’t last long. Not with the memory of your scent still fresh in his mind. He would bet his right hand that you taste just as sweet.

It felt so wrong, but Gods when you walked into that town square wearing that dress. He knew you had used the spice he gave you. And on that day, it was wrapped so pretty against your body. Around your waist. Around your breasts. The briskness of the spring morning making your nipples poke through the gauzy fabric.

He didn’t last long, his hot milky cum dribbled over his fingers. He couldn’t do this again. It was an insult to you. It was filthy. You were kind. You were generous.

From this day forward, he was determined to court you. Properly.

~

The sky was purple and orange in twilight. The street was uncharacteristically vacant that evening, but you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t think to watch the front door. And you certainly didn’t hear the person who had quite silently slipped through the entrance.

You screamed. You really screamed, when you felt an arm snake around your waist. But there wasn’t anybody around to hear you. “You’re going to die, y/n.” It was Milo and he was very drunk. The scent on his breath stung your nose. “You and your mother are going to die come winter. You can’t work fast enough to protect the rats from your fields. Not with two women. You’re mother can hardly walk anymore can she?”

His grip was digging into your waist, “And when winter comes, I won’t let anybody in this entire fucking town help you. I swear it, y/n.”

Milo was not an honorable man, but you knew this was one oath he intended on keeping. “Don’t do something stupid, Milo. Let’s be reasonable,” You seethed through your biting teeth, “There’s so many girls in this town, Milo. So many girls who are more rich, more beautiful, better family names-“ He brought his other hand to your neck and squeezed just a little bit.

”Do you know what people say? About a rich man who can’t even get the hand of a simple farm girl?”

“I can’t help your bruised ego-“ He squeezed your air pipes even tighter, making you choke on your words. “The Gods have blessed me, y/n. This morning I woke up, and I-“

”Hey.” A very gruff voice came from behind the two of you. Milo released you immediately, leaving a red ring around your neck. You knew that voice.

”You should go from here Milo.” Khargaad didn’t brandish a weapon. To kill a man he only needed his bare hands, after all. Milo trembled, hells even you trembled too. Milo threw his hands in the air light heartedly, “Lover’s quarrel-“

”Wrong. Leave. Don’t come back here.” Khargaad uncrossed his massive arms, taking a step to the side. Milo, the coward he was, stormed out the open door. Not before spitting on Khargaad’s boots. The orc didn’t stop him, stepping between you and the doorway. His eyes stayed trained on Milo as he stormed down the street.

You massaged your aching neck, the orc had a troubled look on his face, “Are you okay?” You weren’t. Of course you weren’t. You brushed him off, “I thought you were going to kill him.” He crossed his arms again, “I considered it. Trust me, I did. But what would you do after that? The son of the richest man in town. Killed by an orc. In your presence, in your shop after hours.” He was right. But there was a part of you who would’ve risked it all just to see Milo snuffed out.

Khargaad cleared his throat, “What was he talking about? With you and your mother? And the Farm?”

Shit.

Me: I’m gonna write something beautiful and meaningful :)

Also Me: Orc man experiences post-nut clarity in the forest >:)

As always: Hugs and smooches to everyone who asked for part 3 ❤️

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123

[divineei]

TOOTM  one. to keep a promise

! ko kyungjun x fem!reader

a/n. this shit took so long omfg. whoever said writing was easy can suck my nonexistent left nutsack.

"i don't get why this is even a discussion."

"oh, cmon! you don't think the conflict around it is interesting?"

"whether its interesting or not doesn't matter because this shouldn't be an existing argument. if your partner or someone you love commits a murder and there's serious evidence pointing back to them, how could you just act like it's not even there?"

"dude, you're missing the point entirely. the question is not about what you would do in that situation, it's about what you should believe."

"that's so stupid. the only factor you should need is evidence. it doesn't matter if the accused is a long time friend, your partner, or even your child. sure, your judgment on their character is still relevant, but if their fingerprints were found at the crime scene there's just no way you can objectively ignore their culpability. at that point, you should either believe your partner is guilty or at best remain undecided."

"in that case, would you say that following the evidence is morally required?"

"absolutely."

"you don't think there might be other ethical factors to consider?"

"for example?"

"even though the evidence is strong, there's still a chance they might not be guilty. imagine how it would feel like to be innocent and have no one believe you, not even your own partner! by not supporting them you run the risk of seriously hurting them on a crucial time of need. and consider what this lack of trust would do to your relationship. could you really go on after seriously suspecting–and believing–they're a murderer?"

"are you saying you'd rather ignore the crimes of your partner, even when the truth is staring you in the face, just for the sake of love?"

outside of the ethical dilemma resonating through yoon yn's headphones, the girl shifted around on her seat. her limbs felt numb from remaining unmoving for so long and, even though the only companion by her side was her bag, the compact space paid no mercy on her back. 

after finding a comfortable position she set her eyes on the view outside the window. sunlight hued over the fields of grass and the occasional farm, making the rural landscape imitate a painting in motion shaped by the most gentle brush strokes. the scene felt so engrossingly peaceful, she could almost feel the gale caressing her features despite the glass separating her from the world. 

yn couldn't help but thank the scene–and the long lasting battery of her headphones–for giving her something to focus on, seeing as the ride to the resort her class was directed towards had resulted to be such an otherwise tiresome one. 

"YES!"

an obnoxious voice popped yn's bubble in spite of the maximum volume she'd set for her podcast. distracted by the sound she turned to glance at the very back of the bus, where the students grouped up at the last row of leathered seats frowned in unison at heo yool–who mocked them with the cheekiest grin one could imagine. judging by their sullen looks, yn figured the citizens had lost yet another round of mafia, a game they'd been playing for who knows how long.

she recalled when her classmates had urged her to join the game the moment she stepped into the bus, which she declined, prioritizing her tranquility over the headache she knew they'd give her, yet promising she'd join in the next time. 

after figuring out the source of that ruckus yn set her focus back on her podcast, purposely missing the eyes of the guy she'd been avoiding to the best of her abilities for days now.

just a few rows behind her, kyung jun's eyes never left yn as she disappeared between the sea of heads flooding the bus, and his scheme of intentionally leaving the space by his side unoccupied for her came to mind, especially remembering how his grand plan backfired when that fucking basketball-star-wannabe gave up his seat for her.

that annoying prick just couldn't get the memmo, couldn't he? to him, hyun ho had always been a nuisance; a pest that treaded on yn's heels at every chance he got–even when she used to hang onto the feared delinquent's arm.

"they're so loud," kyung jun muttered. he'd been trying to settle down the bittersweet echoes of his mind since the start of that damned school trip, in vain, since the blaring voices behind him made the flare that was his temper even harder to quell than any of those memories.

luckily, he needn't lift a single finger to make the commotion stop, and he was able to get some peace of mind thanks to his lackeys acting as spokesmen for his aggravation. 

on the other side of the large vehicle, kim so mi sneakily took pictures of the class president. 

"hey look, isn't he gorgeous?" the vice president called, showing what was sure to be one of her new favorite pictures to her friends seated behind: park ji soo, cha yoo joon and park woo ram. "doesn't this belong in a magazine? how can he look so gorgeous?" so mi repeated with a dreamy sigh, looking at her screen.

"i will tell jun hee tomorrow that you took a photo of him," woo ram threatened with a playful smile.

"oh yeah? what if i tell yn about all the videos you have?" so mi replied, pointing at the camera that always hanged around the guy's neck. 

"please do, maybe i'll finally seduce her."

"oh my god," exclaimed yoo joon, "you are so delusional."

"why?" he lifted one of his hands in response to the very serious offense.

"dude, you barely talk to her."

"woo ram, you have the same chances of getting with yn as me and yoo joon of breaking up." ji soo stated.

the guy in mention glanced at his girlfriend, seemingly unaware of the joke. "that's zero, right?" question to which ji soo only rolled her eyes.

"i don't care what you say," woo ram brushed off. "i know she's the love of my life."

"ko kyung jun!" called out so mi.

like a tiny animal trying to save itself from a threatening predator, woo ram jumped to the empty seat by his side, hiding from the vandal's peripheral as much as possible while the rest of his companions laughed.

"fuck, kim so mi!" he cried out, "you trying to get me killed?"

"relax, he's not even looking," revealed the vice president with a cheeky smile.

as if they'd rehearsed it, the four students turned around to catch ko kyung jun's eyes still set on yoon yn, and by the looks of it, he didn't have any plans to cease his staring.

"not seeing them together is kinda weird," yoo joon pointed out.

"does anyone know why they broke up?" so mi asked to her peers, who all looked at each other expecting an answer none of them had.

"whatever," dismissed ji soo, "yn is better off without him anyway."

"yeah, she's been around us a lot more since then." agreed so mi.

"i bet kyung jun barely let her talk to us."

"right? he looks like the controlling type."

"i would never treat her like that." acknowledged woo ram, making his way back into the conversation only to get beaten back down by the three others.

the time inside the bus seemed to work differently than the rest of the world. minutes and hours mixed up in a disorienting spectacle that at least seemed to follow the sun setting over the horizon. 

when they finally arrived to the resort, the only source of light were the numerous lamps adorning the streets and the inviting shine of the building before them.

with the bus door finally opened, the students of class 2-3 thronged the exit with overwhelming excitement. the trip had been longer that the teacher had promised and everyone was ready to get comfortable on their temporary rooms. of course, that included yn, who unfortunately had to wait for the rest of her classmates to take their suitcases out of the loaded trunk since her luggage ended up dropping to the back during the ride.

after everyone collected their belongings, the girl was able to retrieve her case at last. it was somewhat heavy but the tiny wheels at the bottom made it easier for her to slide the valise out of the bus' compartment. taking out the retractable handle, yn rolled her suitcase for at most six steps before someone else got ahold of it.

"what are you doing?" she questioned, but the guy simply walked away while pulling her luggage along and up the stairs.

"kyung jun." 

at the sound of his name, he stopped. walking towards him, yn stood right between the entrance and the suitcase-stealer. 

"what do you think? i'm helping you."

"i can do it myself." yn chided, staring him down harshly.

kyung jun had received many looks like that one throughout his life. from parents, teachers, students... they were all identical, ranging from disappointment to resentment and back. he was used to it. it was his day to day, how could he not be? yet he never imagined the same eyes that used to watch him with so much endearment would scrutinize him so cruelly. 

"you used to love when i carried your stuff." he reminded her, scanning yn's face for a spec of something–anything–he hoped could save him from the pain her gaze struck him with.

the girl let out an exasperated sigh. why couldn't he leave her be? why was it that, no matter how much she wanted to distance herself, he always found a way to squeeze back into her life? 

yn grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled. she wanted to leave, to get away from his side and free herself of his piercing eyes. unfortunately his strength surpassed hers, and she was forced to stay as he kept his grip.

"can you let go?" 

"yn," he asked but the girl just focused on the luggage he kept hostage. "can we talk?"

"about what?" she sneered, speaking with as much disdain her troubled feelings allowed.

"you know what." 

once again, she sighed. his antics were so infuriating; always pushing down the barrier she tried to put between the two. 

"not now."

"then when?" he instantly snapped back, then took a deep breath to stop his grating tone. "you always say that but then you ignore me for days."

"look, i don't have time for this." for the second time, she attempted to retrieve her case. "i promised i'd help with the preparations for the class picture, so–"

"oh, c'mon," and still, he pulled back. "since when do you care about this school-spirit-bullshit?"

he was right, yn never involved herself with whatever activities the school came up with. time and time again, they'd skipped so many classes as to not get involved with all those school projects they both deemed as meaningless, deciding to spend their mornings strolling around parks and nearby shopping districts instead. but that wasn't an option anymore, and yn needed some way to blurr the images that kept torturing her with the agonizing nostalgia of a broken relationship.

"promise me we'll talk. tonight." 

"sure," for the third time, she attempted to take back her luggage. but his answer was the same.

"no, yn. promise me."

with every fiber of her being, yn summoned the last shreds of her patience and met his gaze. his eyes held her captive, beseeching her in silence to unravel the troubles he was willing to share with no one but her, and the hypnotic pull of his gaze weakened her willpower to resist.

"i promise." she reluctantly gave in.

as kyung jun finally released the carry-on, yn didn't even bat an eye before snatching it up and walking away. however, as she made her way into the resort center, she couldn't help but feel frustrated with herself for falling for his tricks. all the effort she had put into avoiding him seemed to have gone down the drain so quickly, leaving her feeling defeated.

not wanting kyung jun to catch up to her, yn rushed inside the building. 

warm lights illuminated the vast entrance, composed by a lounge area with leathered sofas that accentuated the beige walls with brighter colors and a water dispenser conveniently placed next to the cushioned seats. at the center, a beautiful statue engulfed by faint blue lighting towered over everything below. the perfectly crafted marble giant was impossible to miss, looking like a still guardian watching over the resort's grounds. yet that didn't stop yn from overlooking the sign with the qr code needed for the resort's wifi and facility app.

following the arrows pointing out the way towards the elevator, yn got in and pressed the button labeled dormitories. the heavy doors slid and shut before the steel cage trembled, signaling its vertical movement. suddenly, the girl felt the air tighten inside her chest, twisting her lungs in a way that seemed to strangle them. oxygen got caught up in her throat as images of cables snapping and an imminent fall to her death plagued her mind. in, out, in, out. yn's breath increased as rapidly as tidal waves when the lights malfunctioned and in between flickers, she saw a dark figure out of the corner of her eye. 

the moment she snapped her head back to take a look, a faint bell announced the door sliding open. taking in the air as steadily as she could, yn grabbed her suitcase and escaped the cage of death. frightened and disoriented, she questioned if what just concurred has been a quick fever dream or reality. and if it wasn't, why did her mind torture her like that? as far as she knew, never in her life had she experienced something that'd cause this crippling fear of high spaces. so why...?

she shook her head and brushed off the uncanny feeling, dismissing it as a consequence from the tiresome trip and forcing herself to focus on finding the room she shared with ahn na hee and kim so mi, who'd invited her with overwhelming coercion. compared to the elevator ride, figuring out her way to her dormitory was a piece of cake. the girl left her stuff in an empty corner and took the stairs down towards the gymnasium. there, instead of getting scolded by the teacher like she expected, what greeted her was a plethora of different activities performed by her classmates. 

in the middle of the room, a group of students flawlessly danced to the rhythm of the songs reverberating from a large speaker, followed by lee joo young and choi mi na silently fighting for the spotlight, and being interrupted by ko kyung jun, who apparently had nothing better to do than to mess with their practice by turning off the music while his two loyal followers, shin seung bin and kim jin ha, played a very dedicated match of ping-pong.

on opposite corners of the gym, jin da bum, choi joo won, lee yoon seo and oh jung won were consecutively separated in two pairs, all conversing with their respective best friends. up on the second floor, cha yoo joon and park ji soo, who never seemed to stay away from each other, watched from above. on the stage, band members im eun chan, nam yeon woo and baek eun ha dabbled with their instruments to make sure everything was perfectly in tune. lastly, jang hyun ho and kim dong hyun busied themselves by organizing all the sport equipment laying around.

"yoon yn!" called kim jun hee from a large set of tables surrounded by the other members of the student council which, of course, included kim so mi and her friend ahn na hee.

with no sight of their teacher around yn walked stress-free to said table, although not before catching park woo ram pointing his camera right at her, which made the guy hastily turning to film someone else. 

"you're here," the class president stated. "we thought you got lost or something."

"sorry, i got caught up with something." yn replied. she didn't really care about these preparations, but she did promise to help, and yn wasn't the type to use that word lightly.

"yeah! i was going to text you but we've been so busy preparing everything." so mi ranted, sprinkling salt into the wound.

"i can see that," yn commented, deciding to ignore so mi's backhanded scolding.

"what happened, though? did you really get lost?" na hee asked. 

"no, i got stopped by kyung jun."

"oh, right. he was a bit late too now that I think about it."

"is that jackass bothering you again?" hyun ho, who'd come closer to the table just as yn approached, joined in and put a hand on her shoulder.

"no," yes. "everything's fine."

truth be told, yn would rather drop dead than having to deal with kyung jun. however, she knew that telling her classmates about it wouldn't lead to a positive outcome. after all, the only person who had the courage to confront the delinquent was hyun ho, and, given their history, yn was certain his involvement would only make matters worse.

in another area of the bustling gym, the noticeable trio of vandals were causing a ruckus in the corner. as they tossed a basketball back and forth, jin ha hurled the ball at kyung jun, who was too busy gawking at yn's arrival to notice. the ball smacked him right in the chest–a painful reminder of how his focus seemed to always follow after her. 

"shit, my bad!" jin ha exclaimed.

their leader squatted to grab the ball at his feet and got back up only for his gaze to fix back towards the girl who constantly distracted him and, of-fucking-course, hyun ho standing right next to her, as always. the sight made his blood boil and his knuckles turn white as he clenched the basketball in his hands, while his rapid heartbeats deafened any coherent thought telling him to settle down.

seeing this, jin ha and seung bin looked at each other before the latter sighed and came closer to his friend. throwing one arm around his shoulders, he spoke:

"why don't we go outside, man? get your head out the gutter."

"yeah," kyung jun agreed, seeing seung bin was clearly trying his best to support him. perhaps he was right, some air would probably do him good right now. "let's go." was the last thing he said before disappearing through the gymnasium's exit, just in time to miss the teacher entering from the other side.

after informing the class presidents about a problem regarding the other bus full of students set to accompany them on this field trip, he left, clearly in a panic because of the unexpected turn of events.

in the meantime, most of class 2-3 remained in the gymnasium. no more than a few minutes went by before the dancing group, who now were fixing their hair and makeup while sitting on the floor, called yn over. ever since they found out about her break up, the girls had been offered her to go out again and again, an opportunity they took to invite her to join their club with not-so-subtle comments. 

"oh yn, you should hang out with us more!" were the kind of utterances she always received from the class' cheerleaders.

mi na had insisted on brushing yn's hair. taking the empty stop in front of her classmate, she felt the bristles effortlessly flowing through the roots of her hair to its ends. the conversation was an amicable one. the girls often taking their time to butter up yn and saying how cool it'd be to have her in their club–until the self proclaimed hairdresser decided to dive into something she'd been curious about.

"hey yn."

"yeah?" she answered, eyes closed while enjoying the soothing sensation of the hairbrush.

"why did you and kyung jun brake up?"

mi na found herself at a loss for words when she faced the disapproving and critical stares of the entire group. why would you ask that? their glares yelled in silence, making her feel like she just made a terrible mistake.

"that's between him and i, mi na." yn abruptly ended the change of topic.

why did they break up? that's a question she'd been asked countless times ever since her classmates took note of their separation. a query yn remembered avoiding like a plague, long before this trip. only this time, a strange, guttural discomfort buried into every corner of her brain as she noticed a spec of something missing, unable to put together if the same evasion came as a reflex or because she couldn't answer it herself.

"right," mi na's shame, reinforced by the brutal glares of the other girls, took over her face as her cheeks flushed. "sorry."

luckily for her, just as her face morphed into a cherry tomato, a painful ringing roared through the speakers before the absence of light engulfed the high schoolers in deep darkness.

"c'mon! what is this?" one said.

"what's going on?" asked another.

"hey, turn the lights on!" resonated a voice from above.

a loud clang similar to a metal pipe hitting a hard surface echoed over the four walls, followed by the piercing shrieks of several people. helping themselves with the flashlights provided by their phones, the students revealed a white figure in the middle of the room.

"quit joking around." before any more screeches could be heard, hyun ho launched a basketball to the sheeted ghost, making it fall to the ground just as pathetically as your average cartoon villain.

with the precision of a well-rehearsed act, the room was suddenly lit up, revealing the mischievous culprit behind the childish prank. and lo and behold, it was none other than heo yool.

the collection of complaints from everybody present synced in a perfect expression of annoyance and the occasional insult. 

"guys, listen carefully." the class clown™ gathered his classmates' attention as he stood from the ground. "i've heard that, a long time ago, a high school girl killed herself here," he explained, playing the role of a surprisingly talented storyteller. "so there's a few things you should never do: don't look at the mirror and turn around at midnight. and if someone grabs your ankle when you're sleeping, don't look down. if you break these rules," he turned to the group of dancers. "a ghost will pop up!" dashing towards them with the form of a rogish halloween scare actor, he was met with the frightened squeals of the girls.

yn, whose interest in the paranormal had never been deep enough to scare her, grabbed mi na's hairbrush and hurled it towards heo yool. an action that encouraged the rest of the class to throw everything they had at hand, along with some despicable remarks and the teasing laugh of the insufferable rascal.

defeated by heo yool's stunts, the students decided they've had enough as one by one they exited the gym. 

"are you coming, yn?" so mi asked.

the girl nodded before answering, "i'll be there in a minute. i want to get some water first."

at the entrance, so mi and yn parted ways. she approached the water dispenser and took one of the cardboard cups provided by the machine. ever since the lights of the gymnasium had turned off, the girl noticed an unusual taste in her mouth that reminded her of her frightening fever dream at the elevator. she felt it at the back of her neck: something eerily creeping behind her at every given moment. was it possible that heo yool's story actually got under her skin? trying to brush off the uncanny sensation, yn took a sip from the refreshment in her hand.

"yn!" 

the call startled her, making the water get caught up in her throat. she coughed and patted her own chest as the liquid scraped its way down her larynx, like a tiny bug trying to escape a spider's web. once able to compose herself, yn glanced towards the voice.

"im so sorry!" joo won panicked in a stutter, "i didn't mean to do that, are you ok?"

"im fine." she wiped the water from her lips with her long sleeve. 

joo won and his companion standing behind, da bum, stared at her in silence.

"do you want anything or...?" 

a simultaneous no and a yes echoed trough the entrance, followed by a confused frown from the girl and whatever silent conversation the two guys were displaying with their eyes. 

"do you think maybe you could," joo won took his sweet time to mutter his next words, as if scared. "talk with kyung jun?"

"excuse me?"

what the fuck...? did kyung jun put them up to this?

"we just, well," the spokesman of the duo halted. "we gave some money to his friends a few days ago and we just don't want to bother them."

oh.

"so you bother me?" 

"no, no!" da bum spoke promptly and grabbed his friend's arm, pulling him along as he took a few steps to leave. "it's ok, yn. we won't bother you."

joo won released himself from da bum's grasp and walked towards yn. "please," he pleaded, holding one of her hands tightly with both of his. "he'll listen to you."

right as her heart started beating with enough sympathy to care for their situation, the front door opened. seung bin, jin ha and kyung jun walked into the building, the latter playing around with a basketball.

the three delinquents would've kept their saunter if it weren't for yn's presence, which made the group's top dog stop in his tracks. his companions did the same and all stared at the situation unfolding right in front of them. kyung jun's eyes stayed on the hands holding yn and after noticing his threatening glare, joo won leaped away from her.

"what's going on?" asked the fearful leader.

"you owe them money?" yn countered, her eyes flickering between the trio.

"what?" the blonde one laughed, brushing off the accusation. 

"they do!" joo won blamed, but instantly went back to his helpless self when met with the bullies' threatening scowls. "please, i just need it for my tuition."

the firm glare of the girl pierced through the tough act of the tamer vandal, making him drop his facade as he approached the feeble boy, closed fist in the air.

"fuck, man! we're on retreat, why are you asking us for money now?"

"yeah," seung bin joined in, defending his friend. "what are you, a loan shark? we told you we'd give you interests. give us some time, dipshit!"

kyung jun, who'd only taken the role of observer until that moment, put down the basketball he held and intervened to slap both of his lackeys' heads. "did you do sports betting again? huh?"

like scolded puppies, seung bin and jin ha faced the floor as they stepped aside.

"da bum," he called, and the guy lifted his head to stare at the bully. "did you lend them money too?"

"huh?" as kyung jun stalked closer, da bum's heart raced faster with every step. his eyes frantically scanned the room, desperately seeking any distraction from the intimidating figure slowly closing in on him. "yes. but i can wait for my money. there's no rush." with a lump in his throat, da bum braced himself for whatever was coming next.

"how much?" kyung jun's open hand grabbed the side of da bum's face, forcing the terrified boy to look right at him. "ill pay you back."

"you will?" da bum stuttered.

"of course," his grin turned into something sinister, which allowed only da bum to see because of their proximity. "in return play basketball with me, yeah?"

he faintly smacked his victim's face twice before coming up to yn. "everything's alright here, yn. see? no need for this." kyung jun reached out to hold her hand but she pulled away before any contact could be made. 

was she really so revolted by him she wouldn't even let him touch her? accepting his defeat, kyung jun hid his hands inside his jacket's pockets. 

"right," yn looked at da bum and joo won, who were currently being pushed around by the other two, before turning back to kyung jun. "in that case, i'll get going." 

"you're not coming with me?" just as yn started to walk away, his words pulled her back in.

"i'd rather not."

"are you sure?"

with a swift nod, kyung jun signaled seung bin and jin ha to go ahead and, bringing along the poor students they were about to torment, they disappeared down the hallway.

they were left alone, just like kyung jun liked it. only them, with nothing and no one around to interrupt their precious time together.

not a single second did he stop looking into her fiery eyes, which only seemed to hold a hostility that antagonized his own devoted regard.

"it's almost midnight."

both held each other's gaze, which kyung jun took as an invitation to step towards the girl. he stopped right in front of her and, unfortunately, yn's heart betrayed her mind as she internally screamed for it to cease its raising beats. 

kyung jun's hands raised to yn's face, completely forgetting her previous rejection. for a second, he thought of apologizing, since she'd made it clear time and time again how much she now despised his presence. but how could he apologize for something he was barely conscious of? he couldn't help himself, not when she was merely inches away, not with her. maybe if he insisted–if he didn't give up–she'd finally understand why staying apart was never the world's plan. 

"you promised me. remember?"

his hands were close. so close he could feel his fingertips grace her cheeks, a touch so minuscule, yet enough to make his skin crawl with anticipation. 

he was too close. 

yn stepped back just as she felt the fleeting spark. she would be dammed if she ever allowed him to touch her again, in more ways than one. or at least that's what she told herself as she fell right into another one of his tricks. kyung jun knew her well; too well for her liking. and with such measly words she found herself helplessly cornered by her own self-discipline and morals.

fucking bastard.

up in the vast dormitory area of the resort center, different groups of people were each caught up in their own conversations, without a single care in the world or the impending sinister feeling hanging over their heads like an invisible wrecking ball about to crash and destroy every single thing they ever cared for.

in her room, lee yoon seo was finally able to lose herself in her novel when her phone pinged. slightly annoyed by the distraction she took a closer look to her home screen, which displayed an app in process of downloading.

"i told you i didn't need this." she showed the screen to her roommate.

"it wasn't me." jung won answered, just as astounded.

our perspective changes and now we observe a group of various students, all gathered in one room. the class couple, the cheerleaders and members of the student council all sharing snacks and stories between them in perfect harmony until a knock interrupted. 

"come in!" allowed the vice president.

"hey guys," the door opened, reavealing hyun ho accompanied by his best friend, dong hyun, who stayed on the hallway behind him. "has anyone seen yn?"

"how come you don't know? you're always following her." mocked woo ram before taking a handful of chips from one of the various bags scattered around the room.

"you're one to talk." ji soo muttered, which provoked woo ram to throw a scrambled napkin her way.

"i'm serious." hyun ho replied, "i've tried texting her but this wifi doesn't even work."

"she told me she was going to get some water, isn't she downstairs?" just as so mi finished her sentence, one by one every phone in the room chimed.

notifications spread throughout the resort like a 14th century pandemic, resonating around every room as if imitating the never ending bells that announced the beginning of the end.

back in the gymnasium, joo won stood shaking below the basketball hoop with his friend by his side, eyes shut tight as neither dared watch the nearing hit from the ball.

"joo won, stay right there." kyung jun sneered as he prepared himself to throw. he looked up, targeting the net as he bent his knees, faked a jump, and sent the ball right into the boy's stomach.

joo won kneeled in pain, groaning and grasping his abdomen with both hands in his best attempt to soothe the aching sensation puncturing his body.

yn watched the situation unfold as she sat on the rubber gym flooring, otherwise cold if it weren't for seung bin's zip-up laid out below her. it had been kyung jun who'd instructed the blondie to give up his hoodie, since yn declined on taking his own. not a single word was heard from the girl ever since stepping into the gym as the trio took turns tormenting their two victims, until now.

"i didn't come here for this, kyung jun."

almost ten minutes had passed and she was still waiting for kyung jun to approach her and start the conversation he so adamantly pushed onto her.

"c'mon yn, let me give it one more shot."

he must've lost his fucking mind, thinking he had her wrapped around his finger to waste her time in such a way. fed up, yn got up and snatched the basketball out of his hands before throwing it away. it rolled towards jin ha, who immediately picked it up to quite the sound of the bouncing that only seemed to raise the tension of the ex-lovers' quarrel.

yn opened her mouth to give kyung jun an ultimatum, a last opportunity out of her remaining patience, when a sudden ding emitted out of her skirt's pocket. she would've payed no mind to it if it weren't for the other five identical sounds that propagated right after.

each person in the room took out their phones and faced their screens, which displayed a virtual envelope eagerly waiting to be opened. 

TAP TO VIEW YOU ROLE, read the text below.

"wasn't this the resort's app?" asked jin ha, to nobody in particular.

resort's app? 

she never knew about any app.

"mafia?" seung bin laughed from his spot at the floor and showed his screen. "what's this about?"

"what the fuck is this?" kyung jun mumbled with a frown, clearly confused.

yn brought one hand to the back of her neck as the abnormal sensation from minutes ago reappeared. goosebumps started breaking out throughout her skin and every cell on her body seemed to tremble uncontrollably while she stared at the little black mirror on her hand. which, as she would soon find out, reflected the last version of herself with any shred of purity.

🏷️ @flaneurpastel - @jwijii - @watamotee33

© to @divineei on tumblr; do not repost or steal

[moonlight-joy]

A New Bond

Fandom: Yellowstone

Summary: In a moment of playful connection with Tate Dutton, the arrival of Monica highlights the delicate dynamics of love, loss, and shared responsibilities, as you navigate the fragile balance of offering stability without overstepping the bonds of family.

Pairing: Reader/Kayce Dutton

The sound of laughter echoed through the open fields of Yellowstone Ranch as you sat on the porch with Tate Dutton, a stack of toy trucks between you. The boy’s face was lit up with pure joy, his laughter infectious as he rolled a bright red truck across the wooden boards.

“You’re getting pretty good at this,” you teased, nudging a small ramp toward him. “You think you can make the jump?”

“Of course I can!” Tate exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He positioned his truck at the top of the ramp, letting it fly down with a triumphant cheer as it landed perfectly on the other side. “Did you see that? I told you I could do it!”

You clapped, feigning amazement. “Alright, I’m impressed. You’ve got skills, kid.”

Tate beamed, his smile so wide it seemed to brighten the already warm afternoon. Spending time with him had become a regular thing since Kayce and Monica had split. The boy had gravitated toward you, finding comfort in your presence, and you had happily stepped into the role of his confidant and playmate.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kayce leaning against the railing nearby, watching the two of you with a faint smile. He didn’t say anything, just nodded in your direction before heading back toward the barn. It was a quiet acknowledgment, one you’d come to appreciate over time.

But then another figure stepped into view—Monica. She had driven up in her SUV, her gaze immediately landing on you and Tate. Her expression was unreadable at first, but as she got closer, you could see the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of something like hurt in her eyes.

“Tate!” she called, her voice cutting through the playful atmosphere.

Tate’s head whipped around, his excitement faltering for a moment before he smiled. “Mom!” he shouted, getting up and running toward her.

Monica crouched down to hug him, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as she looked him over. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m playing,” Tate said, his voice filled with innocent enthusiasm. “We were making the trucks jump. It was so cool!”

Monica glanced over his shoulder at you, her expression hard to read. There was no hostility, but there was something guarded in her gaze, something almost hesitant. She straightened up, her hand resting protectively on Tate’s shoulder.

“Looks like you’ve been having fun,” she said, her tone polite but clipped.

“We’ve been having a blast,” you replied, keeping your voice light and friendly. “Tate’s got some serious driving skills.”

Monica’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked down at Tate. “Why don’t you go grab your bag from the truck, sweetie? We need to head out.”

Tate hesitated, glancing back at you. “But I was gonna show—”

“Go on, Tate,” Monica said gently but firmly.

The boy nodded reluctantly and ran off, leaving the two of you alone. Monica crossed her arms, her gaze meeting yours. For a moment, the silence was heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken words.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” Monica said finally, her voice quiet but pointed.

“Tate’s a great kid,” you said simply. “He seems to enjoy hanging out here.”

Monica’s eyes flicked toward the barn, where Kayce was still working. “I’m sure he does.”

There was no accusation in her tone, but you could sense the tension, the unspoken fear that maybe Tate’s bond with you was filling a space she felt was slipping from her grasp.

“Monica,” you said gently, stepping closer. “I’m not trying to replace you. I would never try to come between you and Tate.”

Her eyes snapped back to yours, and for a moment, you thought she might say something sharp. But instead, she let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I know,” she said finally, her voice softer. “I just... it’s hard seeing him so happy somewhere else when things between me and Kayce have been so... hard.”

You nodded, understanding the pain behind her words. “He loves you. That hasn’t changed. And it never will.”

Monica’s lips curved into a small, sad smile. “He talks about you a lot, you know. How much fun you are, how much you listen to him.”

“Tate’s been through a lot,” you said. “He needs stability, people he can trust. I’m just trying to be someone he can count on.”

Monica studied you for a long moment before nodding slowly. “He’s lucky to have you,” she said quietly. “But don’t let him forget where home is.”

You smiled gently. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tate came bounding back toward the two of you, his bag slung over his shoulder and his face lit up with excitement. “Can I come back tomorrow?” he asked, looking between you and Monica.

“We’ll see,” Monica said, brushing a hand over his hair. She glanced at you one last time before turning toward the truck. “Come on, Tate. Let’s get going.”

As they drove off, you stood on the porch, watching until their car disappeared down the road. The sound of boots behind you made you turn, and you found Kayce standing there, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you said, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Just doing what I can.”

Kayce nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned back toward the barn. And as you watched him go, you couldn’t help but feel the complicated weight of it all—the ties that bound you, Tate, Monica, and Kayce together, and the delicate balance you were all trying to find.

Please support my work with like and comment

[themilfsland]

Shut your mouth, Wanda.

Pairing(s): Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

A/n: inspired by the best line from the movie "kill your darlings". - I hope y'all know what I'm talking about but if not just roll to the end of this post 😉. It's basically a dialogue.

Nat: why can't she just follow the plan??

Natasha irritated shouted entering the Avengers compound with Steve trying to follow her steps. Wanda and Bruce walking in silence behind them.

Steve: calm down, Nat. She's a kid and is still learning.

Nat: yeah? but it's time for her to know her place in the field, she can't keep putting other inoccent lives in dangerous.

Wanda: heeeey, instead of what you're accusing me, I saved those inoccent lives! - she says getting close to Natasha with a defiant look.

Nat: but still didn't follow the plan!!! Everything was under control there, Bruce was right behind and got the sign! Why didn't you stay on the ship as we told you?

Bruce: guys, that's alright. We did accomplished the mission and no injured. Wanda didn't stick with the plan, ok, but she did a great job after all.

Nat: are you defending her??? - she looked in disbelief.

Tony: What is the reason of all these shouting going on here? - he said leaving the elevator and analyzing the scene - oh these two again...

Steve: yeah and you lost the best act of this aggressive show - chucking a bit he continued - they literally argued during the entire time on the ship.

Tony: what Rhodey usually says? Hmm ohh this will end up as enemies to lovers, I guess..

Nat: not this bullshit again... besides I have some dignity, okay?

Wanda was furious. She just can't stan with this inoccent role Natasha always play in front of people. She was fucking tired of all this ignorant treating. It was unfair and she was done with that so all the anger came out.

Wanda: you talk like a hero, but you fuck me and still don't treat me well in from of the group. How does that work?

Nat: shut your mouth, Wanda!

Wanda: I thought you liked wide open.

Bruce and Steve: woow what is that?? - they said together in surprise.

Tony: oh my god, I KNEW IT!!!!

Nat: go to your room, Maximoff. - she just gave a cold glance to Wanda.

Bruce: guys...what's happening?

It was Natasha who was furious. Not closing her eye contact with the younger, She raised her eyebrow challenging Wanda's next choice.

Nat: now.

Her accent make the word even sharper.

Wanda huffed and turned heading towards the hallway. The tension could be felt by everyone there till Tony broke the silence.

Tony: It will be a long night...

Natasha rolled her eyes and decided to not wasted any more of her energy but she knew she had to put her ego aside and talk with Wanda. The best thing she could do now was, at least, pretend to follow the kid, so as she did.

Steve: come on, Bruce. Let's have some snack. - tapping on his shoulder. - Ohh, Nat, Take easy on her. - he mocked.

Natasha showed her middle finger and didn't look back.

--------

Yep, that's what I'm talking about 🫠

video credits: elizabettholsenfc on instagram.

[yuukiiqwq]

An Eternity Without You: Gojo Satoru x Reader

What are the words you would use to describe a God? Beautiful, powerful, strong? The answer is lonely. To be burdened with everyone's dreams and wishes. To be the strongest without anyone to lean on.

Tags/Warnings: God!Gojo, Human!Reader, Angst, Hurt/little comfort, Death (non-detailed), Short One-Shot ˚✧˚. 1.2k words˚✧˚.

Author's note: This is my first time ever writing a fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy it! The idea was there, but my execution could have been so much better– I'll do my best to get better at writing! 🩵 (≧ヘ≦　)

Never make promises you can't keep. Especially with a God because if you break it....

"Aren't you lonely?" Was the first thing you ever said to him.

He remembers it like it was yesterday. You, a human, worried about a God? Who did you think you were to worried about a God? He should have cut you down where you stood but instead he decided to indulge you.

"Lonely?" He tilts his head slightly to the side. "What makes you think I'm lonely?"

You look him straight in the eye and answered, "Because you are a God."

He stares at you in silence, confused on what you meant.

"Because you are the strongest," you continued. "You are the strongest...so everyone burdens you with their hopes and dream. You have no one to turn to because you are the strongest. You're always alone with no one by your side, so aren't you lonely?"

He shut down your response by saying– "I am the strongest so it's my duty. I think this conversation is done. Now tell me your wish."

You replied with only a smile on your face.

He didn't deny what you said.

"You know, I've never seen you smile before Satoru. I want to see you smile."

You and him are sitting next to each other, laying against a tree in a flower field. He stares at you like you said something crazy.

"Is that your wish?"

"I told you I'm not going to wish for anything." You reach your hand up to his fluffy white hair and played with it. "I just want to spend time with you and see you happy. I did promise to make you happy didn't I?"

"Ridiculous," he scoffed but didn't stop you from playing with his hair. Instead, he leans into your touch. "You are the strangest human I've ever met."

You only laughed at his comment.

"I promise to stay with you and make you happy," was your promise to him. So why did you break it?

You in his arms, your life slowly fading away. Too soon. Way too soon. Why? Accused of a crime you've never committed. Cursed out by your own kind. Blinded by greed and envy.

"They're always with the God! They're trying to keep all the benefits!"

"They're hogging the God's favor all to themselves!"

"They're trying to seduce the God! They're the devil!"

"We need to get rid of them!"

"Kill them! The God will favor us if they're gone!"

"I will kill them all. Every last one of them."

"Satoru... please don't hurt them," you say as your bring your bloody hand to caress his cheek.

"Why?" He looks at you with a pained expression. "They've hurt you. You're dying. If that's your wish, I refuse. I refuse to grant it."

You tried to laugh but only ended up coughing out blood.

"I don't want you to be cursed out. I don't want you to spend eternity being cursed because of someone like me."

"I don't care. I don't care about them."

"Satoru," You smiled at him. "Do it for me? Promise you won't hurt them please?"

The last smile he will ever see from you. Something that will haunt him for all of eternity.

He stares at you because even at your dying breath, you were selfish. He could just ignore you. Pretend you didn't ask him to leave those humans alone. But he couldn’t because it was you. So he promised. He promised not to hurt them.

"It seems like I will be burdening you with a wish even after saying I won't make a wish. Grant me this wish Satoru. I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to find happiness. Be happy."

You started to feel tired. Really tired. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and sleep.

"I'm sorry," you said before your eyes closed. Your hand falls down onto the floor and he is left there with you in his arms.

"Selfish until the very end," he brings your cold body into his embrace. "Didn't you promise me to stay by my side?"

Even a God like him, the strongest, was unable to bring you back to life.

"We wish for peace."

"Please bless us with a healthy child."

"I hope he can be cured."

"I hope to be loved."

"Bless my family with prosperity."

"I wish she becomes mine."

"I hope that place burns down in flames."

"I wish she dies."

"I hope they suffer in agony."

"I want him to need me."

"I wish to be rich."

"I want to be happy."

Eons have passed since then. All he does now is listen to the wishes made from humans. Hidden away from their view. He doesn't curse them, after all, he made a promise. However, he doesn't bless them either. After all, how can he grant their wishes when yours was still on the table unfulfilled?

"Grant me this wish Satoru. I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to find happiness. Be happy."

What exactly is happiness? He's back to being alone. But why does it feel so different now? It's dark. It's cold. It's....lonely? Oh. Lonely. He finally acknowledged it. He's lonely.

So... lonely.

"What have you done to me?"

"Please God. Please give him back to me!! I can't continue life without him. Bring him back!"

Can't live without him? What does she mean? Humans can live on their own.

"I wished we could have been together. But we are too different. I don't want to give up on her.. but we are not in the same position."

Same position? Do humans have to be the same to be together?

"I wish someone could love me so I can be happy."

What is love? Why do you need love to be happy?

"I got great misfortune! I might die tomorrow or something!!"

"Don't say that love. Saying that is a bad omen. If anything happens, I will stay by your side. After all, I can't imagine my life without you anymore. I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy as long as you're here with me dummy!"

It's as he came to a sudden realization of what happiness meant. After eons, he finally came to understand what happiness meant for him.

"...oh. I get it now. Happiness..." A single tear dropped down his face. "Happiness...there is simply no such thing as happiness in a world without you."

"Please return to my side."

He waited more eons without you by his side. He waited for your soul. For the chance that you may get reincarnated and return to him once again. Was it a foolish thing to do? Yes. Because there was a chance you may never reincarnate but he held onto that hope. The hope that you'll return and keep your promise so he can fulfill your wish.

Despite being the strongest, neither God nor Humans could live by themselves.

"So hurry up and return to me."

And you did. Here you are, standing in front of him. The same as ever. As if eons have never passed. You remained the same.

"Why are you crying?"

"I finally found you."

Because if you break it, the God will be sad too.

[luv-y0urself]

18 headcanons for woon's 18th !

day 2 : professional woon . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

army officer!woon x fem nurse!reader , baseball player!woon x fem!reader , barista!woon x fem!reader ♫．genre : slice of life, a little bit of angst for baseball!woon... | wc : 1725 | warnings : third person pov ! usage of y/n, l/n, and noona (only for the barista one). woon is a high schooler in the baseball one, but all others he is an adult (at least 18). mentions of injuries ⏤ nothing specific except woon does receive a knee injury in the baseball one. 𖤐．second post of the series ! sorry this one is a little late; i got a little bit carried away with all of the headcanons :> make sure to let me know which one you guys like the most for the full fic on the seventh day ! more details on the masterlist linked below ↓

ᵔᴗᵔ﹕masterlist | the day before . . . [posted] ! | the next day . . . tba !

army officer woon

army officer x military nurse oh my GOD hear me out guys–

woon is a part of this regiment that often goes out on dangerous missions that often lead to many injuries, which is why the girl would know him so well.

they know each other so well to the point where if he walks in (if he’s walking in; sometime’s he’s on a stretcher with something sticking out from his leg) she recognizes his face and sighs.

“again, officer kim?”

“same ol’, same ol’, nurse l/n. fix me up so i can get out asap, yeah? i don’t like this place very much.”

“i could say the same for the field, officer kim – no need to be stingy about our workplaces.”

he merely laughs, shaking his head as he nearly collapses onto the hospital bed, clutching his wound. 

he’s in the medical room so often that she begins to speculate that he gets hurt on purpose so he can come in just to see her – and once she actually accuses him of doing so.

“officer kim,” she says.

“mm?” he has his arm over his eyes while the other is being treated; another gash from an incident that she didn’t want to know specifics about.

“do you get hurt on purpose on the field?”

he takes his arm off his eyes and looks at her like she’s crazy. “excuse me?”

“i mean, if i wasn’t as pretty as i was, i wouldn’t think so, but since i am this gorgeous, it would make sense that you would want to see me every chance you get– i… nevermind.”

he laughs heartily, looking at her with amused eyes. “oh, keep going, nurse l/n. you’re so gorgeous that what?”

“forget it.”

“oh, c’mon, don’t be like that!”

playful bickering – as all military officers do – becomes playful flirting, and before they know it, they fall in love w each other.

but there’s a big mission that’s been assigned to his unit, and he has to go. 

he pays one last visit to the medical room, and she rushes out from the supply room where she was checking inventories, her eyes conveying all the worries she has for him.

but officer kim is stoic when he says, “out of all of the worries you have right now, worries about me should be out of the question."

"i’ll be back.”

and he grabs her hand, nods his head to her, and leaves the room. her hand is heavy; she opens it up to find his dogtag with his name and birthdate written on it and a single tear falls from her eyes, praying that he comes back home safely and in one piece.

baseball player woon

i feel like woon would have been such a good baseball player… but unfortunate things have happened to him, causing his career to end early. too early, in fact.

he was on the youth national team and was so good that clubs were lining up to get ready to sign him as soon as his high school career was finished – but at the finals of his high school baseball games, a wild pitch struck him in the knee.

he had to go through surgery but his parents were often busy, which meant that his girlfriend was the one always waiting for him to come out. she had been friends with him ever since they were little, since she lived next door. his parents often told her to go back home, but she refused. she knew that he needed someone by his side, no matter how tough he might act in front of everybody else.

after his surgery ended and he was moved to his hospital room, she didn’t realize the tears that were falling from her cheeks. tears kept rolling down her cheeks as she stared at his leg, covered with bandages and all kinds of medical equipment beeping around her. she was worried – worried for his reaction to his situation, as all he ever knew about was baseball.

he was the one always pulling her out during the week to play catchball with him at the park. he was the one always begging to go to baseball games during the weekends. he was the one who had smiled the brightest when he had gotten a baseball uniform on the day he entered middle school, wearing it to sleep and placing it gently in a case that he kept in his room. 

when he wakes up from the anesthesia later in the day and sees his leg covered in all those bandages, i think it would frustrate him a lot – and scare him all at the same time.

i’ve done this for my entire life.

… but i don’t think i can do it anymore.

then what should i do?

what can i do?

“... woon–”

“i… w-why are my legs like this?”

“...”

“i can’t- i can’t move them–”

“woon…”

“it hurts, y/n, it hurts… what do i do? what am i supposed to do? can i not play baseball anymore?”

watching him break apart, crying and asking over and over again what he should do broke her heart. there was nothing she could say that would console him – there was nothing she could do that would make herself understand the pain that he was going through, because that was truly all he knew how to do.

— — —

“although your senses may not be fully restored and you may not be able to move well now, if you continue to rehabilitate and exercise, you should be able to go on with your daily life, but... i think it's better to think that you cannot play on the field anymore.”

“i can’t– i can’t play at all?”

“it seems impossible at this time.”

soon after recovering consciousness, woon’s baseball career was pronounced dead by the doctors who came by during the first rotation. woon had no choice but to accept the fact helplessly in front of the stern doctor, who told him it was impossible for him to continue playing at this stage.

— — —

“y/n.”

“mm?”

“do you think i can go to the college that you want to go to too if i started studying now?

“... of course! you can start now.”

“there has to be something i can do instead of baseball, right?”

“... of course.”

“right? …”

“you’ll be good at anything, woon. i know it.”

woon just stares blankly outside the window. 

she’s seen him for over a decade now… but she’s never seen his eyes look so empty.

barista woon

he's friends w this girl that comes to the cafe regularly during his shift – he's too shy to make a move first, but would prolly do it bc his bros told him to (probably myungjae LMFAO)

he would prob use the cup and say like a cheesy ass thing like 'ur cute can i hav ur #?' 

anywho. turns out this girl is older than him by a year or two, which makes him call her noona.

they're talking in the cafe during his free time (still platonic friends) but then the latte that she's drinking causes foam to stay on her upper lip. woon, obvi not thinking much of his actions, leans forward and brushes the foam off of her lip, his thumb warm and his touch soft. 

“noona, why're you so clumsy?” his smile is shown, and the girls heart goes crazy.

BUT the thing is that this gal already has a boyfriend!!! and she talks about him a lot w woon bc she thinks woon is a true friend :(( 

okay, but its a rainy day and woon is getting ready to close the shop. he's cleaning the tables at the cafe when he hears the all-too familiar shop bell ring behind him. 

he calls out to the person without looking: "the shop is closed right now." 

he can hear the footsteps of whoever just decided to come inside anyway and doesn’t turn around, guessing that they would just leave after a minute or two. the rain was pouring outside today, and the cafe was cozy from the heater that he had left on.

warm hands circle around his waist.

something soft falls on his shoulders, and woon freezes like a deer in headlights. he glances at the hands around his waist ⏤ female fingers? they look just like the nails that his noona had shown him a few days ago⏤

woon moves immediately, turning around in her arms, her face looking up at him. 

oh... she's drunk. 

he can smell the soju coming off of her body. how much had she drunken? woon checked the clock hung across the cafe. it was barely nine thirty... woon hurriedly pulled out a chair, gingerly helping her sit down while kneeling down in front of her. 

with his eyebrows knit tightly together, and his voice soft, he asked her calmly, "you okay?"

“woon, he…” a tear slipped down her cheek. “he broke up with me.”

woon narrowed his eyes to figure out who it was for a second before it all made sense. 

her boyfriend.

“noona, look, i…” woon pauses, watching her as she tries to stop the tears from falling before he continues to speak. “it’s okay to cry.”

almost immediately, she begins to cry, tears falling freely down her cheeks and her form crumbling. he awkwardly slides into the seat next to her and puts his arm around her, patting her back softly.

“sorry,” she began saying. “i shouldn’t be bothering you when it’s so late.”

“don’t be sorry; what are you sorry about? you’re absolutely fine.” woon watches her shaking form and his heart falls, using his warm hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks, trying to think of something that would make her feel better.

"... you know, noona, when i first saw you, i thought i fell in love," he said, reminiscing. "you were this really pretty, confident woman that lit up the room. you were never rude, and never overstepped someone's boundaries. heck, you didn't even find the note i wrote on the top of your drink weird," he added with a small chuckle.

“... see, what i'm trying to say is, basically, you're amazing. you're confident, kind, pretty, smart – you're everything a person could want from their significant other."

"it's his fault for not seeing that in you. don't blame yourself."

© luv-y0urself / 2024 | taglist : @onedoornet

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my (36F she/her) girlfriend (32F she/they) to be out at work if she wants to become myanager ?

It's messy and complicated. I love my girlfriend very much and ultimately I think we are in a shitty situation with no real win and we have a different opinions on how to lose.

I am a polyamorous lesbian. I have a wife but I also sometimes have other secondary partners, and my wife does too.

I am happy to work in a place safe enough that I am out at work (about the lesbian part, not the polyamory part). My wife often comes at afterwork events and because she is a sweetheart, is loved by most of my colleagues.

I have been at this job for 4 years, that's how I met this colleague, Angel. This person looked familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. We talked, grew a bit closer then I met them again outside of work, at a queer event of my city. This time I recognized them. Angel is trans, non binary and fem presenting, at work she is not out and present herself as a cis heterosexual man. We talked, I obviously swore to keep it a secret but knowing this part of her helped us growing even closer together. We have now been dating for 3 years.

Angel has a longtime girlfriend (childhood sweethearts even) as her primary relationship. Let's call her Valentine. Valentine is working in the same industry but not in the same company. Because it's a niche field, everyone knows everyone and we often meet at work events. I also like her very much and we are good friends. Val is terrified to be out as polyamori at work because she is afraid of what the gossip will do to her work reputation. Valentine has a more public facing role than Angel and I and I absolutely respect her desire to protect what she has.

Even if it doesn't look like it, I do like too to keep private and professional life separated… Angel and I mostly connected outside of the workplace at queer events and are also both deeply involved in the drag scene and the queer political scene of our city. We never flirted at work and have even never stole a kiss on workground. We just happened to fall in love anyway even if we recognized the situation was less than ideal.

Our company has been through a lot of changes recently. My teamleader is leaving and Angel(that previously worked in another department) has been asked if she wants the role.

She does.

I have more experience than her even if she has more seniority with the company. I have been pretty open about wanting a senior expert position rather than managerial one and that's why I have not been offered the role. I am really happy for her and think she will be a great manager and recognize it's a great opportunity.

But I don't want her to be My manager. It's a really dangerous position to have over a romantic partner and she recognizes that. Moreover even if we managed to keep our relationship a secret until now, we know it's a precarious position. If our secret would be revealed while she IS my manager it could be terrible for us. She could be accused of taking advantage of me, or me to want to sleep my way through the top. Keep also in mind that she is male presenting at work and I am publicly a lesbian so yeah… We are also in very committed relationship which is another mess… It would not look good for us should we be forcibly out…

That's why I want to go to HR while her candidacy is being studied and explains the whole thing or at least some of them. I don't want to leave my team because my mentor is there and not a lot of people are doing what we do but maybe we could sort something out together? I would agree for Angel to be the team leader if I have a separate manager… Or maybe Angel could be the leader of another team ? Or I could become a more independent team member ? Angel and I are publicly work best friends so it would made sense anyway for me to have a different manager to keep things more fair.

Angel doesn't want to, and Valentine is absolutely against it. Angel thinks it will ruin her chance at the position. Maybe want to sort things out After she has been offered the job, maybe try to work out how we would work at manager/managee for some time before calling HR. I would not be against waiting for a real offer but listening her talk, I am afraid she intends to push things forever. Angel is afraid HR will reveal our secret to everyone. I recognize our HR team is not the best and even gossipy but it's about really private and protected things (in my country) : our sexual orientation and sexual identities. We also have a very good Union (with queer delegates) and even if I am unsure about HR, I am sure the union will remember them the law protecting us here and will ultimately behave appropriately. But I recognized it's a risk.

I want to break things of with Angel if she doesn't want to go to HR. My wife says it's mean and manipulative to use this kind of ultimatum. The way I see it I am just protecting myself. Angel is putting her job before our relationship and I am OK with that, she is also priorizing Valentine's needs (as she should) but in this case, I should be allowed to do the same and protect myself and my job. From my point of view, Angel could : refuse the position, go to HR, or accept the breakup.

AITA for this ultimatum ? Valentine thinks I am. Angel is confused. My wife disapproves but loves me to much to call me an asshole.

[suguwu]

"i've never seen anyone cheat to lose before."

the man glances up at you, a smile flickering to life on his handsome face. he leans back in his chair as your dealer shoos away the other gamblers. "that's quite an accusation."

"not an accusation," you say. "just commentary, really."

he rolls a coin over his knuckles. you watch the steady way the coin moves, a slow dance across his fingers until he flicks it up in the air.

you snag it.

he laughs, his bi-colored eyes flickering over you, settling at the lapel pin that marks you as the pit boss.

"you're hard to get an appointment with," he says. "i improvised."

"i noticed," you say, bone-dry.

he grins, propping his chin up on one hand. his rings gleam in the dim light of the casino; you think of the twinkle of distant stars. how cold they burn in the quiet hours of the night.

"what do you want, aventurine?"

he hums. beneath his opaque sunglasses, his eyes almost seem to glow. he gazes up at you from beneath his lashes, the lush curve of his mouth going sly.

"just your attention."

you tilt your head. "and if i say you have it?"

"well then, darling," he says. "i'd ask how to keep it."

"why do you want it?"

he leans in close; the scent of him wafts through the air to settle in your lungs, a sweet kiss of ambergris. "maybe i just like you."

you raise a brow. "or maybe it's because i keep telling the ipc no."

he grins again. "that too."

"i'm not interested."

"it's too early for business," he says. "come get a drink with me."

"i'm working."

"after, then."

you eye him for a moment. he tilts his head with another little smile. his hair shines with the movement, a ripple of golden wheat fields under the sun's tender touch. it's almost a halo.

"stop cheating at my tables, aventurine."

"then come get a drink with me."

you sigh. "fine," you allow. "after work."

his smile has teeth.

"it's a date."

[savannahsdeath]

SOCCER!ELLIE WILLIAMS X CHEERLEADER!READER

PART 3THREE

part 4four

part 2two

mdni please<3

summary: ellie hoped to get her reward even though she didn't win the match, but someone really looked forward to ruin her plans, and potentially, change your whole life

warnings: i think its minors safe?? mentions of cheating tho !!

writers note: meow meow its a short chapter again plus everything happens pretty fast cuz im impatient🩷

you watched as the both teams shook hands, acknowledging the game's conclusion and the tie.

ellie ran over to you and the other cheerleaders, smiling. she looked exhausted, but she was still happy to see you.

"you know, i could still use that kiss." she joked.

"but you didn't win." you smirked, handing her your water.

you remembered how just yesterday you hated her for taking the bottle, and the fact you're the one offering it now was hilarious.

she also seemed to think about that, as she hestitated before drinking it.

"yeah, but..." she stopped to completely down the liquid in just a few sips. she must be really thirsty. "but i didn't lose, either."

ellie looked around. "she's somewhere around here, isn't she?" she asked with a smirk, and you instantly knew who is she talking about. "i need to shove these results in her face."

you shrugged and tried to change the topic. "anyway, back to what i..."

ellie looked you up and down before cutting you off. "one kiss. it's all i want."

she raised an eyebrow at you, clearly expecting a response.

"so is that it?" you chuckled. "you just wanted to make vi mad?"

ellie defensively raised her hands. "no, no. that's just a great bonus."

you laughed at ellie's response, but you knew that there was more to it than that.

ellie had spent the entire match trying to win your recognition. she didn't just want to make vi mad. she wanted to win you - your attention.

"fine." you agreed with a smirk. "i shouldn't, but i'll give you your hard-earned kiss."

you reached out towards ellie, bringing her slowly closer and closer.

you could both feel the anticipation in the air. ellie's breath hitched, and she held her breath as you both moved in for the kiss. your mouths met softly yet passionately, as your lips pressed together and ellie's tongue explored your mouth. you could feel her excitement and her desire for you, and you began to feel the same for her.

the cheering from the crowd faded away as the two of you were caught up in the moment.

a sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted you. you pulled away, heavily breathing, to see vi.

"i just wanted to congratulate you, ellie." she clicked her tongue and crossed her arms.

vi was clearly annoyed by the situation, as she looked at her rival with disdain.

"why do you always take things too far?" she asked ellie. "this match was supposed to be about scoring goals, not about scoring dates."

you both stayed silent, not wanting to start an argument. but maybe it'd be necessary.

"i'm glad to see you two having such a great time together." she said dryly, giving ellie a hard stare.

it was clear that vi was still trying to win you back, and it was also clear that she was bitter about the situation.

ellie looked annoyed by your ex's comment, as she knew exactly where vi's anger was coming from. ellie's face was still flushed from the kiss, but she didn't let it bother her.

you didn't even notice when other students and players left the field, leaving you almost alone.

"thanks for your concern, but we don't need it, alright?" ellie replied, rolling her eyes.

"you should be careful with her." vi warned ellie, sternly looking at her. "or you'll end up like me, being known as a cheater."

her rival laughed, shrugging it off. "not going to happen."

she pulled you closer, almost as if she wanted to keep you away from this.

"why so sure?" your ex put on a mockingly curious expression. "maybe you're feeling safe because you're the one who made up this little gossip?"

your eyes widened at vi's accusation.

"you did cheat on me, don't deny it." you shook your head.

"oh, of course i did!" vi sarcastically smiled. "did you never wonder why the first ones to call me a cheater were people from ellie's team?"

as soon as vi saw she got to you, she simply walked away, mumbling a proud; "i see you two have some explaining to do."

"ellie..." you started softly. "just tell me- is it true?"

she looked down, and for a moment, she seemed like she was about to lie. but then she took a deep breath and sighed.

"yes, i did." she looked at you and shrugged. "i was jealous, okay? the only thing i could think of was to sabotage her, so i made up that whole story about her cheating to get you to spend less time with her." she frowned, looking away.

"i'm sorry."

not only you just found out you broke up with someone you loved because of a false rumour, but it was ellie who spread it too. the same ellie you cheered on for the past months. the same ellie who, you thought, hated you the whole time. and here you are, finding out she's the one who ruined your relationship, because she liked you.

you were in disbelief. you felt stupid, and hurt. but more than anything, you felt betrayed by someone you, well, didn't really care about, but trusted. because you met up everyday after classes and no matter how much you pretended to hate her, you knew a lot about her.

ellie saw the look on your face, and the weight of her antics got to her. you never saw her so... vulnerable before.

"i'm so sorry." ellie repeated, her voice awkwardly quiet. "you have a right to be mad at me, but, please, keep in your mind that i didn't do this to hurt you." she took a step towards you. "i just...i liked you, and i didn't know what do you see in her."

"i need to-" you hestitated for a moment, taking a step back to make up the distance between you both. "i need to think about- everything. alone."

she opened her mouth as if to speak, but you cut her off by raising your hand.

"i know." you nodded.

you didn't know what was she thinking - that no one will find out eventually? you didn't know how is it possible her team just played along, making everyone in school believe it too. you didn't know how did she even come up with this idea. but you knew what she was going to say, you knew she's sorry. she already told you two times. enough.

it's good to know you're not the only hurt one, though.

"i know." you repeated, quieter this time, and it seemed like you were whispering it more to yourself than to her. because that's how it was. you were trying to convince yourself you do know and you understand.

she fucked up, really, but at least she knew that.

you could hear a quiet "m'kay." and the sound of a disappointed sigh.

so guys what do we think?? are we being in a generous mood and forgiving ellie?? are we trying to give her a little lesson?? <3<3

TAGS: @wandasromanova @bellaramslover @aouiaa @glennns-blog @elliewilliamsfuckbuddy @iheartsadiesink @ximtiredx @coff1nn @jowdann @simpforellie @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @skylerwhitwyo @pinkigirl @islalips @ratdungeon @okayyesbutno @dinoastronaut @ucannotcompare @elyonz @lesbiantothemoonandback @lovejuliettq more i cant tag for unknown reasons:(

[cynicalclairvoyantcadaver]

Why Zeus transformed Thalia into a pine tree

So I've seen people asking why Zeus transformed Thalia into a tree, and was THAT the most POWERFUL being's plan to save his DAUGHTER? My answer? YES! YES, THAT WAS THE PLAN! He looked down and saw an OPPORTUNITY!

First of all, there's no telling if Thalia would save or raze Olympus. And now she's dying from a fatal wound, BUT he doesn't want her to die because then Hades will………well……….send her to the Fields of Punishment or Tartarus (which is a whole other post that I'll make soon).

And he can't exactly just interfere and save her life because then he would be accused of hypocrisy by the other gods and also the Ancient Laws, both of which he probably doesn't care about.......

But the MAIN reason he didn't save her life was most likely because she was the prophecy child and he didn't want it to come true. So, what does he do? Easy! He transforms her into a TREE.

Reminiscent of Greek Mythology, where people are transformed into things all the time. AND he actively ties and strengthens Thalia's tree to the magical border, thus giving her a legacy to live on at Camp Half Blood for not just one generation but EVERY generation to come.

And this way, the prophecy can be averted! (Or postponed, because Percy).

It's really a simple answer-I'm pretty sure others have reached this conclusion too. I just wanted to post it for other people to see and understand. Keep in mind that this is my theory only and you don't have to accept it.

Tell me if you want tags to be removed

[thedeviljudges]

Hi Noel. We used to be mutuales back in the good old days. I hope you are taking care of yourself.

I am having a fucking horrible time. I am devastated. Even though I moved on from fandom so long ago, I always cared about Liam and I always will.

I think one of the least surprising things for me and I guess for you as well is the reaction so many people are having. They act as if their hatred for him is new and based on recent events but we know that shit runs deep and is old. I’m not even surprised by their hypocrisy because they are all about holding people accountable for their mistakes as they weren’t the biggest fucking bullies to him every single day since day one, why aren’t they holding themselves accountable for being fucking horrible people and being part of the problem? Many of us would defend him and point all of this out too and we knew back then how much he was hated on for literally existing within the band. He couldn’t post selfies because they would accuse him wanting attention and he would get bullied. He couldn’t tweet any simple and insignificant thing because they would hate on him. They were constantly body shaming him. They hated when he would show off his talent in concerts. He literally couldn’t have a fucking break because his existence alone was enough to fueled their hatred towards him. The way they had a fucking field day bullying him and body shaming him when they filmed you & I video. It was constant. It doesn’t matter and it didn’t matter what he did because they simply just hated him and would let him know. Not only were they a huge component of the system that messed him up over the years, not only did they bullied him back then, but now too even in the wake of his death. I never understood it back then and I don’t understand it now, how they could do all of that and continue to do so while demanding accountability and who knows what else as if they are deserving of anything from him or his loved ones when they were fucking horrible to people since the very first day of 1D.

Anyway, to anyone who is hurting and is grieving him, do so, and do so without holding back, do so because no one has the right to police your feelings, and fuck anyone who makes you feel bad for grieving Liam.

hi, babe. i hope you've been well all this time. 🥺

tbh it's hard to add anything because i agree completely. liam was always the one that went through the worst comments (aside from the racism zayn faced) and treatment within the band. people were always so cruel to him for no reason. and no matter what he did, the fandom always found fault with it. it makes me especially sick to see how twitter was relentless with their bullying the week before all of this happened. it was nonstop and then now to see them all pivot and upset... hypocrites.

and all i keep thinking about is how unfair it was because if any of the boys did what he did (and have done), everyone's been so forgiving. but not for liam.

liam loved one direction with his whole heart. he kept the band alive during their activities and long after by mere mention and discussion and knew how special it was for fans and himself. he was the reason i got into one direction, which i think is why it's also hitting me so hard. he's the first video i saw walking the streets of the us in 2012, who stopped for a few fans. he was so kind and loving, and it's incredible how many people in the industry have commented how lovely he truly was.

i feel a lot of things still, so it's really difficult to put it all into words in a single post. but liam was so talented and the fact that fandom never recognized the brilliance of it will forever hang over one direction now.

i truly hope people take this as a lesson to be kind; everyone preaches about it so much - and you're right. they want accountability but can't even recognize that their own actions warrant accountability, too. the callousness that has infected the internet and fandoms will truly be its downfall. there are so many of us who talk about how it's not the same, and it will never be the same again if we don't start having compassion and love even in the face of difficulty and misconduct.