#all he wants is to protect the people he loves

[p1girlfriend]

oscar piastri x emotional/sensitive!reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

content: fluff, comfort, love language overload, emotional vulnerability, soft protective oscar vibes.

– Oscar doesn’t say much when he first realizes how sensitive you are, but he notices everything. Every flicker in your expression, the slight change in your tone, the way your eyes gloss over when you're overwhelmed — he picks up on all of it, silently adjusting his behavior to make you feel safer.

– He never tells you to "calm down" or "stop crying." Never. If you cry, he just pulls you into him, strokes your back with slow, steady movements, and lets you fall apart in peace. He’ll whisper things like, “I’m right here,” or “It’s okay, you can cry,” while tucking his chin over your shoulder.

– You're the type to get overwhelmed by good and bad emotions — like, you cry watching underdog wins or get quiet when people are too loud or aggressive. And Oscar? He becomes your human noise-canceller. Just a calm hand on your thigh under the table, or a glance across the room like, “You okay?”

– He sends you voice notes when you're having a rough day. They're short and calm, always starting with a little sigh like, “Hey… I know today’s been a lot,” and ending with a soft, “I love you, alright? I’ll be home soon.”

– The way he holds you when you’re sad. Not tight, but firm. Like he’s grounding you. His hoodie sleeves are long and cozy, and he always lets you hide your face in them. He’ll wrap his arms around your head and let you stay there for as long as you need.

– You’re super expressive when you're happy too — jumping up and down after good news, tearing up because you’re proud of someone, always wearing your heart on your sleeve — and he adores it. Quiet little smirks when you’re telling a story passionately, just looking at you like you’re magic.

– You overthink things sometimes, and Oscar knows better than to say “don’t worry.” Instead, he sits beside you, legs touching, and goes, “Let’s talk it out.” He listens until you get to the real reason you’re upset — and then helps you untangle it with calm logic and gentle validation.

– He remembers the things that make you feel better. That one tea you like when you're spiraling. The way you like your hand held (fingers laced, always). Your favorite soft blanket. The playlist that calms you down. And sometimes, he prepares them without you asking, just… because he knows it’s coming.

– He doesn't get uncomfortable when you're emotional in public. If you're crying in a restaurant or anxious in a crowd, he doesn’t get flustered — he just focuses on you. One arm around your back, shielding you. A soft “Want to leave?” whispered near your ear.

– One time, you said “sorry for being too much,” and he got visibly upset. Not at you, but at the idea that you thought that. He held your face in both hands and went, “You are never too much for me.” And you believe him, because he means it.

– He never teases you for being sensitive. Not even lightly. To him, your softness is a strength. Your big feelings, your empathy, the way you care deeply about everything — it’s part of what makes you you. And he’s obsessed with that.

– Your softness doesn’t make him uncomfortable — it grounds him. It reminds him to slow down, to feel more, to appreciate things. He tells you that all the time. Like, “You make me feel more human.”

– And when he’s upset or stressed? You give him that same safe space. No pressure, no fixing. Just open arms and soft silence. He doesn’t talk much, but your presence alone pulls the knots from his chest. He once said, “You're the calm after the storm, always.”

©p1girlfriend

[teaboot]

Have you had other cats before Ollie? If so, what can you tell us about them?

Thomas was a black cat who slept in my crib when I was a baby. Hated everyone except me and my papa, would attack anyone who came to wake me up. By the time I turned four I was horribly allergic to him and we had to send him to live with family. Never saw him again. Rags was a long-furred bright orange barn cat I only ever saw a handful of times behind my grandma’s house.

Pretty Kitty was half-feral, but by far the most beautiful barn cat we had. A lovely long-haired Siamese type girl with big blue eyes. Shy but gentle.

Monday was a little runty black kitten I gave away at a festival, because I had a box full of kittens who needed homes fast.

Skippy broke his leg as a kitten, and for the rest of his life ran with his back legs together like a jumping bunny. He would play fetch with a ball and bring it back to you after you threw it. My dad hit him with his car one day and never told me.

Arthur was a short-haired orange cat who would meet me at he end of the driveway after school every day and walk me to my bus stop every morning. He had big yellow eyes and would swipe Angel-wing marks onto ground-floor windows with his paws. He went into the fenced backyard when the dogs were out and Penny, the youngest, killed him.

Garfield was another orange-furred cat. I don’t remember much about him, but he got in a fight with a dog and ran away and I never saw him again.

Stumpy was an ancient brick shithouse of a brown tortie with had little tufted ears and á bobbed tail, and half my life she was pregnant or nursing new kittens. She was famously short-tempered and especially protective of her babies, and once swiped one of the sheepdog puppies across the nose for getting too close and spooked him so bad he was terrified of cats the rest of his life. I once saw her catch, kill, and devour an entire rabbit, bones and all.

G*psy was an unfortunately-named sweetheart, white with black spots, who was my absolute best friend for the longest time. Eventually she had two kittens, one I gave to family and one that went to live with my papa. One day I realized she’d disappeared, and spent six months looking for her. Then I found out that an eagle had carried her off, and my grandpa had found half of her left behind in a field and hadn’t had the heart to tell me.

Bobbi and Fritz were two cats whose names I may be misremembering, left behind when an old lady in town had died without assigning them to anyone in her will. My mom wound up giving them to me to take care of. I don’t remember what happened to Fritz, but I went to feed Bobbi one morning and found her dead in her litter box.

Franklin was an emaciated-looking orange bastard who was 17 when I got him. Again, his owner had passed away before he could, so I wound up with him. He was pretty clearly depressed and would sometimes attack me at random, wrapping himself around my leg and biting the shit out of me. He passed away the morning we were about to leave for a road trip so he spent several weeks in a paper bag in our freezer before I could bury him.

Fireside Al was a semi-feral barn cat who would have been an excellent lap cat, if he wasn’t in a perpetual state of mild claustrophobia. The deal was he’d come into the house and STAY in the house for as long as the front door was open, but as soon as you tried to close the door he’d cry and wail and generally pitch á fit before zoning out again at the soonest chance. As per the name, his favourite spot was on the warm bricks in front of the cast-iron wood stove.

Ashley was a black and white cat and a massive bitch who hated everyone and everything except my dad. She never did gain weight, was like a bag of sticks under a rug her whole entire life, was scared of small rodents and hated babies. All she ever wanted was to bite people and be left alone.

Monty survived losing all his teeth, two major ear infections that left both ears tiny and shriveled, dementia, some sort of seizure disorder, cancer, a house fire, and something that made him spontaneously pee blood sometimes. He passed away peacefully in his sleep at 21 years old. Until that point, the joke was that all his various conditions and diseases had neutralized each other in their fight for dominance. My mom once heard him cough, asked him if he was okay, and then watched him hack up a tooth. He drooled when he was happy and smelled like garbage, his skin was crusty and full of cysts, and near the end sometimes he would get confused and end up lost somewhat in the house, or forget who the other cats were and attack them. He was a very good boy and we miss him.

Cookie is 30lbs and silky-soft like a chinchilla. He is also largely blind due to a disease he got as a kitten, and can only see vague shadows and bright lights because he somehow has two optic nerves in each eye. We found out when he first went blind and then seemed to miraculously regain some vision- seems like his tiny spare mutant nerves worked as a backup. I once watched him sit on another cat and eat its food. He’s doing great

Petra is probably 4.5 pounds soaking wet and launches herself from person to person like a flying squirrel. She is a soft blue-grey princess my brother’s boss found in a ditch on the side of the road. Every photo of her looks insanely glamorous.

Otis was my big baby who kept me alive through college. I brought him home and kept him in my room in secret for two weeks before my younger brother narc’d. At one point my dad told me if I didn’t get rid of him he’d kill him, so I took him out into the woods myself and set up camp in the old family home we’d abandoned years back. Then he moved out with me when I was 17 and went to college. He’s a crochety old man now and lives with my mom.

Tyler is my brother’s cat. He stole her by accident. Before then she was kind of shared by his whole neighborhood, until she showed up injured at his house. She is now “the biggest bitch alive, I love her so much”, to quote him. She hates all other forms of life and only really tolerates my brother.

Cleo was also my brother’s, but she passed away recently due to age and health reasons. He used to be solid muscle like Stumpy but developed a thyroid issue of some kind where her body just could not retain weight. She was very spoiled in her golden years though, and once declared terminal was pretty much given Doritos on demand (she fucking loved Doritos)

Not a complete list but these are the ones I think of most. If you can take away anything from this, please don’t let your cats free-roam unsupervised. Even barn cats, with a whole barn for shelter and an actual job to perform, don’t last long outdoors.

Much appreciated.

[bilboyagathechickenfootedhobbit]

I would love nothing more than for my kid to have the same freedom I had growing up but I can’t even let him bike ahead of me in our quiet, private neighborhood out in the country without people freaking the fuck out. I can’t let him play in the cul-de-sac at the end of our street without someone calling child protective services. I can’t let him walk down the street to his cousins house by himself even though that’s the reason my brother and his family moved in down the road.

Do people really think parents WANT to keep their kid with them 24/7??? I love my kid. I also want him to learn independence and resiliency and problem solving, but I can’t DO THAT unless people STOP CALLING FUCKING CPS ON ME EVERY GODDAMN TIME I BLINK AND LOSE SIGHT OF MY KID FOR A FRACTION OF A FUCKING SECOND!!!

Fuck, when I was his age my brother and I had a dozen different hide-outs and forts on the mountain in front of our house. We had a Millenium Falcon and an Ewok village and we only stayed indoors long enough to sleep and eat and then we BOLTED and our mom didn’t see us until dusk. Maybe we went down the road to a friends house, maybe we ran around the desert all day, maybe we went to the creek and swam, maybe we biked and explored, maybe we blew shit up. But it didn’t MATTER, because all the kids were running free and feral and if some unsavory adult came creeping along we ran until we were safe and then we laughed so loud it scared the mountain lions away.

I wish children could have the freedom we had in the 80’s. People complain about younger generations being soft and their parents being helicopter parents but it’s usually these same fucking assholes calling the authorities on me when my kid scooters ahead of me by half a block.

Let kids LIVE. Trust parents to know their kids well enough to assign them freedoms based on their ability to handle it. My nephew is a daredevil with no sense of self-preservation or stranger danger. Naturally his parents can’t give him too much freedom because he has literally tried to go home with other families from the playground. My son is hardcore about stranger danger and has no problem telling strangers to not talk to him and knows how to get help if he feels endangered. I can trust him to make safe choices. I could give him more freedoms if society allowed it. Trust parents to know their children and their abilities better than you, a fucking stranger with their itchy finger on 911 speed dial.

This is a legitimate and damaging cultural shift for all involved parties and it needs to be addressed.

[a-casxandra]

❝𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗠𝗘.❞

Caleb x you [non-mc] | Caleb x mc

𝑺𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔 : After the war ends and the world is declared wanderer-free, you wait for the man who promised to return—Caleb, your over and a colonel with gravity powers. But he never comes back. Years later, you finally met again.. but things were different. He's Alive. Older. With no memory of you. Now, watching him smile at another, living the life you once dreamed of, you're left with only one question: 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗶𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱—𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝗻𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀?

"Do you really have to go?"

Your voice barely carries through the heavy silence of your shared quarters. You sit on the edge of the bed, hands trembling, knuckles white as you clutch his glove. Caleb turns at the door—tall, imposing in his colonel’s uniform—yet softened by the tenderness in his eyes as he looks at you.

You already talked about this. Pleaded. Asked him to resign. But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

“This is my duty,” he’d said. “My dream. I want to protect you—so you could live without having to worry about wanderers. to everyone else too."

You remember how his arms wrapped around you that night. How he whispered promises against your skin. "I’ll come back to you. I always do."

So you let him go.

And you waited.

The world descended into chaos. Wanderers roamed freely, grotesque echoes of corrupted Evol energy. Evolvers fought back—Caleb among them. The government ordered a lockdown. Civilians were instructed not to interfere. Rations were delivered. Streets emptied. Skies darkened.

But you waited.

Weeks became months. Months turned into years.

You blamed yourself more often than not.

You were powerless—just a civilian. No Evol, no strength, no use.

All you could do was survive.

All you could do was wait.

Then, the world declared itself Wanderer-Free.

The war was won. The streets opened again.

And Caleb...

Didn’t come back.

You went to the Farspace Fleet. Demanded answers.

They told you he was missing. Then, days later—presumed dead.

Just another name on a long list of the lost.

You didn’t believe it. You refused to believe it.

You waited still.

Two Decades Later – Winter, Linkon City

You’re 42 now. You look it too—lines softening your once-youthful face, silver threads starting to braid into your long, uncut hair. Hair he once trimmed for you. You never let anyone else touch it.

People asked you to move on. Some even tried to love you. You turned them away.

How could you let go of a love that never said goodbye?

Then you met her—MC.

A kind woman who recently moved to Linkon City. Around your age. Warm-hearted. Glowed when she spoke of her son, and her husband.

You liked her. You liked the boy, too. Ten years old. Bright eyes.

But the first time you saw him, your heart stuttered.

He looked familiar. Too familiar.

You told yourself it was just your imagination.

Today – Outside the Library

“Mom! Dad is here!” the boy calls out as he runs toward the man waiting by the curb.

MC laughs. “Ah, my dear’s here.”

She turns to you. “Come! Let me introduce you—this is my husband—”

Your world stops.

“Caleb...?”

You don’t mean to say it aloud. But it spills from your lips before you can catch it.

The man—taller, older, refined with age but unmistakably him—blinks, puzzled. “Do we… know each other?”

MC tilts her head. “Oh? You two know each other?”

You force a shaky smile, swallowing the sob clawing at your throat. “...Childhood friends,” you lie. “We were childhood friends.”

Caleb’s brows knit slightly, and then he offers a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry… I had amnesia. During the war. Some memories never came back. If we were close… I’m sorry I can’t remember.”

MC gasps softly. “That’s unexpected… but what a small world.” She beams at you. “I’m so glad you found someone from your past!”

Caleb smiles, warmer now. “It’s good to know I still have connections here. Even if I don’t remember them.”

“Maa! Let’s go home! It’s cold!”

The child tugs at his sleeve. Caleb chuckles and bends to lift him into his arms.

He turns to you one last time.

“Nice to meet you… again, I guess.”

And just like that, he walks away. Hand in hand with his wife. With their son.

With your dreams.

You stand frozen in place, the ghost of his smile seared into your memory.

“Yeah… it’s nice to see you again,”

you whisper, but your voice trembles. Cracks.

You don’t move, even as their silhouettes blur into the snowfall.

He’s alive. Caleb is alive.

And he doesn’t remember you.

He built a new life. New love. New child.

You should’ve been in her place. It should’ve been your family.

But you can’t hate her.

She didn’t steal him—she simply loved him in your absence.

And he…

He loved her the same way he once loved you.

And so, beneath the heavy silence of winter: “Maybe it’s time I accept the changes…” you whispered, as snow began to fall. But the wind carried no answer.

Just silence.

And still—you waited.

Not for him.

But for the day it would stop hurting.

You were once his future.

Now you’re just a whisper from a forgotten past.

And fate, cruel as ever, let you live to remember it.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i just lost caleb to zayne, and i'm legit crying. because i already didn't got sylus's "where the heart lives" (i started playing during sylus's bday) and now i also didn't get caleb's birthday "no return night" so yeah, i'm gonna be petty and write caleb angst because i didn't get him.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Okay, uhm *kinda thunderbolts spoilers ahead*

Can I please request something with (beefy thunderbolts) Bucky Barnes and a shy sweet female reader (maybe grumpy x sunshine)

With the prompts: “hell, okay shit that actually really fucking hurts.”, “just let me help you... please”

Valentina brought the reader to the tower as a new team member. The reader has healing powers and is so shy but kind and polite, everyone likes her. Bucky and the reader are falling for each other but of course they are not admitting it. Like glances from the other side of the room and the reader is so flustered. Somehow Bucky gets her to talk more and more (when the reader feels safe and trusts him, she talks like a waterfall) and they become friends.

Later the team is send to a mission and the enemies attacking the reader and Bucky runs infront of her to protect her and gets shot, then he fights with one of the the enemy. When he turns around to the reader (to check if she is okay) he gets distracted and Bucky gets stabbed. He fell to his knees and Alexei brings Bucky and the reader to the tower and went back to the others.

The reader brings Bucky to her room and is cleaning his wounds at first and takes care of him. Bucky notices that her hands are shaking and her eyes are full with tears (the reader thinks it's her fault but it's really not). He is comforting her and soothes her and she starts to heal him.

A moment later he is so caring and soft and they confess their feelings to each other 🥺❤️

I'm so sorry I got carried away, tell me if it’s too detailed or if you want an other scenario

Thank you so much 😌❤️

Not Your Fault » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader with the Thunderbolts

Summary: Bucky gets injured while he’s trying to protect you during a mission and you feel like it’s your fault and he assures you that it’s not your fault.

Warnings: Fluff, language, flirting, blood, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: @jackys-stuff-blog thank you for the lovely request🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You nervously fidgeted with your fingers as you rode the elevator to the main room of the tower with Valentina. You got startled a little bit by the ding of the elevator when the doors opened. You followed Valentina out of the elevator and into the main room where there was a small group of people. The Thunderbolts gathered around when they seen Valentina.

“What do you want, Valentina?” Yelena asks with annoyance in her voice.

“I have a new team member for you guys.” Valentina says.

They looked over at you. You gave them a shy smile and a small wave. Valentina nudged you with her shoulder as a way of telling you to introduce yourself to them.

“I’m Y/N.” You finally introduced yourself to them.

“Enjoy your new team member.” Valentina says.

The Thunderbolts watched Valentina leave before turning their attention back to you. They all introduced themselves to you. They’re all really nice to you, but you still feel shy around them, which they don’t mind.

“Do you have powers or abilities we need to know about?” Yelena asks.

“I have healing powers.” You tell them.

“So you can heal cuts and stuff like that?” John asks.

“That’s what healing powers do, Walker.” Ava says.

Bucky was staring at you with heart eyes as you shyly talked to everyone. He thinks your shyness is cute.

“Would you like a tour of the place?” Bucky asks.

You nodded and smiled. Bucky showed you all around the tower, showing you to your bedroom last.

“And this is your room.” Bucky says as you followed him in the room.

“Where’s your room?” You curiously asked.

“My room is right next door.” He says, pointing to the right.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound weird or creepy. I was just curious.” You nervously rambled.

��It’s ok. I don’t think it’s weird or creepy at all. You’re welcome to come to my room at anytime of the night if you need anything late at night.” He says.

“Ok.” You replied softly and shyly.

“Do you have any questions?” He asks.

“Not right now, but I’ll let you know if I do.” You answered.

———

It didn’t take you long to adjust to living in the tower. Bucky made it easier for you to adjust too. Everyone loves you, especially Bucky. You hangout and talk to him more than the rest of the team. You and him have become best friends with the short amount of time you’ve been living there. He has gotten you to come out of your shell a little bit. Once he gets you talking, you don’t stop talking. Bucky listens to every word you say with the look of adoration on his face. Also, you have a huge crush on Bucky and he feels the same way about you, but neither of you have admitted to it yet. The team has noticed it too.

Right now, you and Bucky are watching movies. Actually, you fell asleep in the middle of the third movie. So did Bucky. Bucky woke up to the TV lighting up the living room and you snuggled up against him. He smiles at you before checking the time on his watch. It’s later than either of you expected. Bucky shut the TV off and picked you up bridal style, carrying you to your bedroom. He gently laid you down on your bed and covered you up with a blanket. In your sleep, you reached a hand out and grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could walk away. He decided to stay in your room for the night. There’s no harm in that, right? It’s just for one night. Bucky got in bed next to you and protectively wrapped his arms around you.

“Goodnight, doll.” Bucky whispers softly and kisses your cheek.

———

A few days later, you, Bucky, and the team had to go on a mission. You guys had a meeting before it and then suited up. During the mission, Bucky tried his best to protect you and do his part of the mission at the same time. While you were doing your part of the mission, Bucky sees someone aiming their gun at you. His eyes went wide and he ran over to you, shielding you from the bullet. Bucky got shot while he was shielding you from the bullet. Then he turned around to check on you. You had a look on your face like you were about to start freaking out.

“Are you ok, doll?” Bucky asks softly.

“I-I am now.” You stuttered in a shaky voice. “I didn’t see that guy.” You say.

“It’s ok. It happens.” He says.

You nodded. While Bucky was making sure you were ok, he wasn’t paying attention to anything around him. The guy who tried to shoot you, walked over to you and Bucky, stabbing him next to where he was shot. Your eyes widened in horror as he fell to his knees in pain.

“Bucky!” You screamed.

You dropped to your knees to check on him. You looked down to see his hand on his lower abdomen. You seen blood seeping behind his fingers. Your eyes teared up. Bucky noticed.

“Don’t cry, babydoll. I’m fine.” Bucky manages to say and then winces in pain.

“You’re bleeding.” Is all you say.

Alexei wasn’t too far from where you and Bucky are when he saw Bucky on his knees and in pain. He ran over to you guys. Without asking what happened, Alexei helped Bucky up and took him back to the tower. You followed beside them. Alexei took Bucky to your bedroom and helped him in your bed.

“Thank you, Alexei.” You say.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Alexei replies.

Alexei left your bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him. You got the first aid kit from your bathroom and sat down on the bed next to Bucky. Normally, Bucky can tolerate pain, but it hurts a lot more this time than it did in the past.

“Hell, ok, shit. That actually fucking hurts.” Bucky groans in pain, his hand still on his abdomen where he got shot and stabbed.

“Just let me help you… please?” You say softly.

Bucky nods and takes his hand off his abdomen. He leans up just enough to take his shirt off, wincing in pain as he did so. Your eyes teared up again when you see where he was shot and stabbed. You started with wiping the excess blood from his wounds and then put alcohol on both wounds so they didn’t get infected.

“Fuck!” He winces at the sting of the alcohol.

As you continued to clean his wounds, you couldn’t help but feel like this is your fault. If you have seen that guy who did this to Bucky, he wouldn’t be in this position right now. Bucky looks down, watching you clean his wounds, noticing that your hands are shaking. He also seen tears in your eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong, babydoll?” Bucky asks softly, putting his hand on your arm.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry.” You apologized profusely, your voice cracking and tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, doll.” He says.

“Yes I do. This is my fault. This shouldn’t have happened to you. I should’ve been paying attention.” You say.

Bucky props himself up on his vibranium elbow and cups your cheek with his right hand, wincing in pain as he sat up.

“I want you to listen to me when I say this, ok?” He begins. “This is not in any way your fault.” He assures softly.

“It feels like it.” You say.

“It could’ve happened to any one of us. If this happened to you, I would’ve dropped everything to patch you up.” He says softly. “I want you to understand that this is not your fault, ok?” He assures softly again.

“Ok.” You replied in a whisper.

Bucky wiped your tears away while looking deep in your eyes. Something about staring in Bucky’s blue eyes felt calming to you. He leaned up more and kissed you passionately. Now you definitely feel calmer. It’s like every worry you had in you left your body the second you felt Bucky’s soft lips on yours.

“How do you feel now?” Bucky asks softly.

“Calmer.” You answered softly.

“Good.” He replies softly.

Bucky lays back on the bed so you can finish cleaning up his wounds.

“I’m going to heal you now, ok?” You say softly.

“Ok.” Bucky replies.

“It shouldn’t hurt.” You say.

Bucky nods and looks down, watching as you hovered your hands over his wounds. A bright light shines in your hands as you healed his wounds. It took a few seconds to heal his wounds and then he was good as new and not in pain anymore. You moved your hands away to check the area of his abdomen where his wounds were. The wounds weren’t there anymore. He’s healed.

“How do you feel?” You asked.

“I’m not in pain anymore.” Bucky says.

“Good. That’s good.” You say softly.

You cleaned up everything and put away the first aid kit. Bucky noticed your hands were shaking again and your eyes were tearing up.

“Hey, look at me.” Bucky whispers. “I’m fine now.” He whispers again.

“I thought you were going to die before I got the chance to tell you that I love you.” You say, your voice cracking and your eyes tearing up again.

“You love me?” He asks, making sure he heard you right.

You nodded and sniffled.

“I love you too, doll.” Bucky says softly, cupping your cheeks.

You smiled when he said that. Bucky dips his head down to kiss you. This kiss had more passion in it than the first kiss.

“Be mine?” He asks in almost a whisper.

“I would love to be yours, Bucky.” You say softly.

Bucky smiles and kisses you once more.

“Thank you for healing me.” He says softly.

“You don’t have to thank me, Bucky. I would’ve healed you no matter what.” You say with a smile.

-Bucky’s Doll

[lilyinmysoul]

Human Thing

JacksonJoel x F!Reader

WC: 5K

Summary: You jerk Joel to sleep. The request was ‘old man’s first time in subspace’ and I hope I did it justice.

Warnings: subby Joel, Joel with internalized conflict about masculinity, smut, handjob, vivid description of bodily fluids, reader is described as having bony fingers, tit sucking, Joel is 56, anxious Joel, soft!dom reader, palming, embarrassed Joel.

Note: This one doesn’t have as much dialogue and instead more internal stuff, but I think it’s pretty detailed so that’s a win. Sub Joel also revives me, so there. I also noticed how much I overuse em dashes, but I can’t really help it.

Either two jobs really wasn’t enough for Joel, or he still felt like he had something to prove. You didn’t ever know why Joel kept piling on more work—first the obligatory patrols and then the repairs. Little maintenance things around town to occupy him; he was never a pipe guy, but he could unclog a sink. He eventually figured out how to get a dishwasher back up and running, but that was about where his luck ended in the realm of plumbing. But where one road ends, another begins—or so, they say—and so he picked back up on his old practice: his carpentry expertise from times long ago. It almost felt like a lifetime had passed since Joel had spent his days in the sun sawing planks and nailing them down, and maybe it had. However distant the memories, he still remembered the craft like the back of his hand, and the nimbleness of his fingers paired with the handiness of his technique returned as if they had never been gone.

It didn’t take long before Joel was out twice as often, fixing a cupping floor or replacing a bad beam in a roof. The town needed that: helpers. People to be there when you need them, to play their roles and keep things running—and maybe that’s why Joel fell into it so much. It was all he’d ever done. Maybe he really did love that, or maybe he was just still running. Maybe he never stopped. Not when he met Ellie, not when he came to Jackson, and apparently not when he met you. He still had a mighty mind full of buzzing memories—more hurt than life, it sometimes seemed. But that felt like an awful heavy reality to accept. Something you can only come to terms with when you really have to face it, and you don’t want to think about the kind of pain in your cowboy’s heart when you aren’t there to subdue it.

The man seemed very fascinated again by his tools, by the saws in the stables. Joel was a patrolman, and Tommy was surprised to see his brother asking around for more work. It was strange, but that’s not something you deny—so, then, Joel had two jobs. He was building again, helping to cram more new homes into the edge of town, fixing pre-existing ones or doing repairs on shops. It was quite the feat, you imagined, and it showed as Joel began coming home every day with an even more furrowed brow than usual, shirt soaked through with even more sweat. Whenever you’d ask, though, it always sounded the same: I’m alright… I feel fine, even as exhaustion took over his mind and his eyelids drooped like overripe berries.

Joel had always been depended on. He liked that. To provide was to show love in a way that he was comfortable with. It was really the only way he knew how to give his affection, but also to prove his worth. He was strong then—working day in and out to build a shed for a client—and he was strong now—laying the bricks of an old and crumbling house on his own time. He felt a little accomplishment after each, even though he had assumed the belief that fixing things was his duty. Either way, he admits to himself that deep down, he would appreciate some thanks, some congratulation. He usually received none.

Sarah was gone—long gone—and little brother didn’t need him anymore. He’d spent years protecting Tommy amidst a new world with horrifying conditions, and then there was Tess; she always left it upon him to do something, to finish a task, and for Ellie, he had to protect. If he had one job back then, it was to keep that girl alive—but of that responsibility he had long since been dismissed.

He frustrated himself with it sometimes. The desire to get shit done. It was all that his life had allowed him to know, and something he had no choice but to lean into. So, he lets the work pile on. If anything, he pursues it. Being of use, strong, of value… that’s what Joel wants to be. He assured himself of it.

Joel’s shoulders have always beared a certain weight. A tiredness upon them that could only be related to the sheer volume of effort he put into every little thing. A man who tried so hard was a gift, but he would surely work himself to the bone and you worried that you would just never understand it. Accomplishing, building… was he fulfilled by it, or had he spent so long having been expected to do it that it became his nature? Why did he feel so pressured into service—was it tradition or habit? The more it crept into his brain, the harder his mind pushed back, refusing to let himself contemplate. He was a stubborn man—‘Just how I am, always been,’ he’d say in passing. And from what you knew, he was telling the truth.

The week had kept you busy—Joel more so, as always. It was always one thing after another. The wonders of winter were many, and however much Joel hated the cold, he thanked the freezing months that slowed the wandering of infected. The things would freeze and bury themselves in the snow while coming down the mountains or sticking to frosted rocks, even falling through iced over ponds. This kept any of the extra rot-infested creatures away from the town, but as the snowy hilltops began to melt, the bastards began to thaw, and the price of peace was always paid with increased numbers of infected lingering around the gates. Joel’s patrols have been particularly rough and his arms are always tired from aiming at those things from behind the trees, and gosh, he’s getting older.

It’s certainly scary to Joel. This world—this new world—doesn’t accommodate anyone anymore, let alone those with aching backs and weaker wrists. Even in somewhere as quaint as Jackson, it’s impossible to let go of the knowledge of what happens outside. What beasts pace in humid basements or the kinds of people who roam empty streets. He knows what a clicker will do for flesh and what a raider will do for a bullet or two, and soon enough, he worries that the heavy strength in his arms will no longer suffice, giving way to muscle pains and the kinds of headaches that mess with your eyes.

For a week, you had slipped past each other in the mornings, readying for your day. A kiss on the cheek, a rub on the shoulder, and maybe a whispered ‘are you okay’—not because you believed that there was something the matter with Joel—beside his tendency to bite off more than he could chew—but because it was a subtle reassurance where he had trouble giving them. A small conformation that things were fine, that you were fine, even with a little less time to spend together. As much as you worried about Joel taking on too much, you both had to admit that the town needed him right now—construction was heavily underway in Jackson and security measures were up—so for now, you had to deal, and help out a little extra when it came to dinner and chores.

As much as he loved you and loved holding you close, Joel’s focus had to be elsewhere as of late. He’d been working double running around town from house to house, building fences and replacing broken windows.

If it had been a long day, it was about to get a lot longer if his suspicions were correct. The floor of the empty house had been fixed and polished, and Joel hoped to god that the feeling of odd intuition in his gut was wrong.

Joel walks into the center of the room—slowly—his boots making a low knock against the new wood before a dreaded crunch sounds through the room. You’ve got to be kidding me, he thinks, striding back to the doorway so as not to slump the floor further. It was sinking in just a little and his mind says, goddamnit, I can’t catch a break.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, a stained hand rubbing over his sticky forehead. A day’s worth of work in the sun, and this is what it gets him. Some incompetent prick polished a rotting floor as if that would fix it. It’s like filling a pothole with shaving cream, which makes Joel angry. Tired, too. He wants to go home already, but he isn’t one to mope—or quit.

The man rests an exhausted hand upon his hip, the denim under his fingertips acting as the only thing grounding him while his mind spins frustratedly. He’d have to pull up all of these planks—what a goddamn waste—and then he’d have to replace this decaying beam, and then some. Internally, Joel wishes he could just get a day off, but he knows that if he was offered one, he surely wouldn’t accept it. It was already beginning to get dark and he surmised that the new task at hand would take him a couple of hours at least, so he got to work.

••• ••• •••

When you’re fifty-six, it gets really hard to crouch like you used to. To uproot a shit-ton of floorboards, you have to un-drill each one, and pry it apart through the shiny paste that it had before been coated with. Now, half of the brand new floor was gone from the vacant living room, and his breathing was heavy and deep, his lungs in need of a break and his eyes in need of some rest. Outside, it is dark—almost completely—and Joel runs his fingers through his graying hair that’s a bit damp near his scalp, and decides that this would be one of those rare instances in which he calls it quits. He figures he’d screw it up if he didn’t go get some rest, and so he rubs his dusty hands on the faded denim covering his thighs and lets out his longest sigh in a while.

He looks over his work—not with accomplishment, which was much more rare in the realm of Joel’s mind—but contentment. He could leave this half done because he had more to attend to at home: his girl, for one, whom he had a habit of accidentally disregarding in favor of his work—although, he’d never admit that it was in part due to the secret appreciation he had for her congratulations. He didn’t take compliments—well, or at all—but her recognition flattered him. He liked that she made him work for it.

Languidly, Joel switches off the light that reflects in the bare room, closing the door—which could very well be rotting, too—and leaves, for tonight, his responsibility. His work has been sanctioned off and forgotten for now, and his duty is at home: taking care of the dishes, tidying up the bathroom, and falling into bed with his woman, arms wound around her as he slept, or maybe he could get lucky and make it all up to her. God knows it’s been too long.

As he walks down the old cracking driveway, his steps are weary, yet determined. If you were here, you’d laugh as he told you that even though he had only just left, he was already thinking about when he could get back to work and finish that job. You would pat his shoulder and tell him to take a break, or make some innuendo about needing him at home, and he’d wrap an arm around you. Crickets chirp in his ear as he imagines you and the warmth inside that little home you share.

Joel continues down the road, the gravel crunching under his feet as it waits to be replaced with cement, which would take a damn while if this town didn’t get a move on with all this development. he tells his brain to shut up; pushing the thoughts of work from his mind proved difficult.

Gravel soon gives way to concrete as he begins to near the house. Porch lights illuminate the street, and it’s times like these in this little town that he can begin to forget—for a moment—the world beyond it. What he has now is stable and comfortable. He doesn’t have to fight anymore. When he looks up at the stars, long since cleared of the light that once muted them, his heart holds admiration, rather than fear. There always seems to be a little bit of dread in his heart, a weight in his chest that left an odd anxiety coating his skin. But even so, he was learning to ignore it. Maybe, one day, it would shrink.

Joel crosses the narrow road into his own front yard. He hopes you haven’t gone to sleep yet. He feels fatigued and sore; he hasn’t eaten, and he doesn’t want to—but he wants to see you. And he certainly wouldn’t mind a glass of water.

The wetness of the grass turns the dust on his boots to mud and he kicks them off as he steps up onto the porch. The door is unlocked—you must be awake—and he turns the knob. The homely feeling replaces that of the cold night and the sight of the kitchen—even though it’s empty—warms his heart.

His slow steps cross the room as he shrugs off his jacket, hesitating for a moment before moving to hang it up in the closet. It takes him a few seconds longer than it should, an ache threatening to set in his shoulders.

He quietly shuts the closet door, and over the low hum of the radiator, Joel hears a thump from the bedroom. It could be the closing of a drawer or the drop of a book, but in Joel’s mind  it simply registers as you, and like a moth to a flame, he ambles down the hall through the dim light, the glowing gaps in the door leading him.

Joel splays a hand against the wood, pushing the cracked door open. He hadn’t realized that his brows are knit tight, but his eyes soften when he sees you, perched upon the bed with a book between your soft hands, fingers framing the pages with a sweet languidity.

When you hear the door creak open, you know who’s there—of course you do. You let out a soft hum, finishing the sentence that entranced you before you finally look up—withdrawn from one world and brought back to another, a fantasy just as sweet: one where Joel was with you, back at home, with nobody to come knocking about a broken shelf.

Your eyes meet with Joel’s, his hair quite disheveled. He’s hesitating, now, fingers fidgeting as they rest near his hips. You can always tell when Joel is exhausted, and he is exhausted now.

“Hey,” he mutters with a gruff voice before shuffling toward the closet. He busies himself with undressing, replacing his dusty clothes with soft and clean ones. He looks relieved to be rid of his stiff jeans, sighing as he pulls on new boxers. He grabs the nearest T-shirt off the shelf and pulls it on, turning back to you.

“Hey, Joel,” you return, voice as affectionate as warm honey as you take note of the reddened bags under his eyes, the sharpness in the lines of his forehead and how his gaze lands on you like you’re the only thing left. It’s clear that he’s tired, but he doesn’t know what to do with it, so he stands, for a moment.

You push your now forgotten book away, leaning back against the headboard as Joel’s enervated eyes make your heart quicken, just a little. You open up your arms, holding them out, beckoning him. He knows that if he lies down with you, he’ll fall right asleep, and so he does.

He doesn’t pull back the covers, only sitting atop them like you do, letting his back rest up against the wood.

“What’s this?” Joel picks up your discarded book, clearly trying to make some kind of conversation as his tired body relaxes into the mattress.

“A mystery I found in town.” You look at him, his messy hair casting a shadow over his eyes.

Joel hums, leaning his head down to press a soft kiss on your shoulder. “You’re so smart…” his low voice rumbles. He never really read until you showed him how fun it could be. Even then, he rarely had time.

When you give him a thoughtful hum in response, his thick arm wraps around your shoulder, hand slowly finding your side to rub it sweetly, a position so natural and recurring—your bodies are like magnets, always assuming the same attraction, his body enveloping yours. Right about now, he’d usually roll on top of you, hands cradling your head and caging you in as he showed you his love the way he was taught.

You rest your warm hand over his before lightly lifting it, slipping his arm back over your head. You hold his knuckles to your lips, pressing a little kiss to them, one for each weathered finger. Despite the tenderness of your action, Joel is a little confused, and when you place his hand back on his chest, he’s a little bit hurt. He feels his heartbeat underneath his palm and takes a fistful of fabric into it, unsure what to do with this—it felt like rejection.

Joel’s spine slumps a bit against the headboard, his slouch against the soft pillows leaving his head below yours, and you give a peck to the crown of it, taking the opportunity to sling an arm around his shoulder. The act alone elicits an inhale from Joel; you can hear it, and you can feel his heart rate slowing when you pull him closer, hand splayed on his chest.

“You’re sleepy,” you mutter in his ear before laying another kiss, this time in the crook of his neck.

A grumble sounds from Joel, a stubborn admittance. “Yeah. Well, I still want you.” When his voice is low, you can always hear his accent more clearly. A testament, like all other features, to who he is, who he’s been. You respond by rubbing your hand around his chest, and so he keeps talking. “‘M goin’ crazy.”

“You don’t look like it.” You chuckle into his thick hair.

As you bury your fingers into his hair, rubbing his scalp soothingly, his head turns into your chest and when the muscles in his neck tense and it looks like he might retract, you keep him there. A firm hand on the side of his head that presses him lightly into you. You want him to stay there because he needs it. You do know what he needs.

“You look like you’ll pass out on me any second,” you quip, and by the time you finish your sentence, you know that it likely isn’t true. You see it; the bump in his boxers just beyond the belt of softening flesh at his waist, so you run your wandering palm over that ring of tummy that hid years’ worth of muscle, although less visible now.

Your eyes glance down, and his are wide open. He’s watching you stroke the fabric over his coarse skin with eyes calmer than you’ve seen in quite a while. Continuing to roam, your touch rubs soothingly against Joel’s side and his face nuzzles further into your chest.

“I’m awake,” Joel finally says, his grumbling voice breaking the silence. As you touch his skin, you feel his pulse speeding up once again. “Can you…” ahead of himself, he trails off.

When you reply with an inquisitive hum, he only nuzzles deeper, the thin cotton you wear acting as the only barrier between your supple breast and the worn skin on his face. His cheekbones and the tip of his nose rub against your chest, and he can faintly feel your heartbeat. When he doesn’t answer, you don’t push and instead grip the fabric of your shirt and lift.

You don’t take it off, just bringing the fabric to rest over your chest, the flesh jiggling a bit as it’s freed, Joel’s cheek resting upon the soft tissue. He lets out a shaky breath.

The man looked very tired and very drunk on your touch, his body unmoving in a way that was rare. No fidgeting, no grabbing, just accepting.

Your eyes focus on the sweet lines around his eyes, and you let one hand take the side of his face. Maybe he takes it as encouragement, or possibly permission, but with your hand on his jaw, his nuzzles against your chest turn to kisses. They are wet, and not too coordinated, but they are full of that same kind of admiration that you always see in Joel when he loves you, but it’s missing its possession. He isn’t trying to prove anything, just taking. Is it selfish? He doesn’t know, and he’ll probably think about it later, but he can’t right now.

Rosy lips wrap around your firm nipple, the warmth of Joel’s saliva engulfing it. His kisses are turning to licks and sucks as his mind wanders about—about you, about the pure euphoria of sitting and getting what he wants without busting his ass for it. His tongue against the warm flesh puts a moist sound into the air and your fingers on his hairy jaw were only encouraging him, a little grunt leaving his mouth.

“Yeah…” you mumble, partly to yourself as your free hand wanders down his body again, and when he hears your voice, his lips part, a pop ringing through the air as your nipple slides from mouth. He feels caught, for a moment, like a child doing something wrong.

You push his head toward you again, other hand still wandering, and wow, he is rock hard. Joel’s boxers are thin and blue, making no effort to hide the pressure underneath them that forces the fabric to tent. You don’t want to tease him, not now, but you can’t help but have your fingers meander their way down his hips a bit slower than usual. As your hand traces, nearing too close to his pulsing bulge, Joel’s hips twitch into your empty touch.

Joel wonders to himself about how this all seems to you. Does he look stupid, curled up against you like a goddamn baby? If he was in his right mind—never. But now, there was no way to resist your warm embrace, and your hand was coming closer and closer to his cock, and he worried that if you touched it, he’d only last a few seconds. You’d wrecked him.

Ghosting over the fabric once and then twice, your fingers circle the spot Joel that wants you before cupping your palm over it; it feels like heaven, and you can tell. He mumbles something incoherent against your chest, his mouth reconnecting with the slick skin as he begins to suck once again. Something about the weight of them—it was grounding. He didn’t think, now, that he’d ever have enough of them.

As you knead gently, rubbing and squeezing his firm bulge, his hips tick up another time, almost imperceptibly. It’s a light movement, something you’d never usually catch, and you wonder if you’ll ever get him like this again.

Even though Joel tended to treat compliments like cardinal sins, you bet he’d let you get away with it now. Your fingers finally slip underneath the band of his briefs and immediately find his length, tip a bit slippery and oh, so firm.

“Lift your hips a bit, handsome,” you instruct gently, and he does it, his mouth leaving your breast again, its slick and spit covered surface dampening his cheek. Now, his head rests against you, his ear on your collarbone as you get a good look, boxers tugged down to his thighs.

Joel has been quiet, but his face tells it all. His look is dazed, like he wouldn’t be able to tell you what day it is, and you smile softly even though he can’t see it. His chin isn’t tilted up or focused on you, it’s on your hand as it wraps around him with such care.

You glance down at your chest, each nipple a bit shiny in the lamp’s glow. “Made a mess here, huh?”

“Yeah…” Joel responds, his voice raspy and only barely above a whisper. “‘Like doin’ it.” His head lolls back against your shoulder, and with the way he’s slumped, you know his back will be sore, but he just doesn’t care. He needed this, you tell yourself, but you know that you did, too.

“I do, too. It’s… comforting,” you let out a low laugh—partly out of hilarity and partly from contentment. This gets a low chuckle out of Joel—if you could even call it that. A low sound made from humor, sure, but one that sounded like it took effort to produce, like someone pretending not to be drunk and failing miserably. “Didn’t know these were so powerful.”

Joel gives you a mindless hum that turns to something of a whine when your thumb circles his tip. It’s a beautiful sight; Joel is laid out, soft and malleable, almost docile. You could hear the shakiness in his breath, like he was completely gone.

When you bring your hand to Joel’s mouth, he isn’t sure what to do with it, and so he watches you with slitted eyes before opening his mouth, leaning in the slightest bit, and enveloping your fingertips.

He sucks them a little, letting his teeth bite lightly on your fingers. Inside of his mouth, his tongue dances with your fingers like he needs them, and you chuckle into his salty hair.

You give him a little bit longer to suck your bony fingers, and he does so as if he were nursing from them. He looks utterly peaceful as you pull them out, your fingers now wet and again cupped by his mouth. Joel had gotten ahead of himself, but it was nothing if not endearing.

“Could you get these wet for me?” You ask him lowly, and you see his face go a bit red when he realizes what you’re asking. You never asked him to suck on your fingers, and so he looks away as he lets a bit of saliva dribble down into your hand. Joel is hit again with another wave of self-consciousness, and he feels compromised. He swallows and lets his eyes close when finally, your slick hand wraps around his cock again.

“Sorry,” a puff from Joel when he feels your touch. “Fuck.”

“I like it, Joel,” you give him a tight stroke and then a giggle in his ear. “Told you how nice it is to have something to suck on.”

He inhales through his teeth as you continue to touch him, and if he wasn’t so far gone, his face would have gone redder. His skin is damp and rosy, but the embarrassment is leaving as his responsiveness does, making more room in his head for that still softness that he never knew until now.

Joel only watches as your hand slides up and down his length, first taking a slow pace that makes his hands shake a little at his sides. He could no longer think about the contrast between this and the usual arrangements, how he let his strong body rest as you cared for him. His arms were littered with scars, hands tainted by the sun, abdomen dusted with dark hairs that trailed down into the graying abyss at which your hand rested now, your touch so caring.

His hands and his mouth are unoccupied, his eyes misty as he watches. Again, you press a kiss to his temple, nuzzling into his hair, free hand cupping his bearded jaw. Joel lets out heavy breaths, little deep sounds that he doesn’t bother to contain. His face turns again toward your breast. His mouth doesn’t open, but he leans against you, enveloped by the comfort of your body. When your hand speeds its pace, rubbing him quicker, his grunts only amplify, another bud of pre-cum excreting from his cock and dripping down it, slowly.

There’s a kind of gravel to his voice that you only hear when he’s close, and as you murmur little compliments into his ear, you know he hears you, he just doesn’t have it in him to answer. Joel’s mind is spinning a bit, and his eyes fall shut, some mix of a whine and a grunt passing his lips.

What seems to do it, though, is when your arm tightens around him, holding him even closer and even tighter as you work him. His mind has a fuzziness to it that he never wants to let go of—so new, and yet so organic.

He doesn’t tell you when he’s going to cum, he just does, but you can tell by the tightness in his muscles. His thighs tense up, and so do his hands, and when the milky liquid spills out of him, it comes slow. It trickles down onto your hand, and when you think it’ll stop, it keeps going. It’s certainly more than he’s ever given you before, its drips landing at his base and tangling with the hair there.

Joel’s head, slightly sweaty and slack, is rested against your chest, his eyes in slits and fighting not to close.

“Oh, Joel…” you give his warm forehead a rub, looking around the room for something to clean your hand and chest with. You can’t fall asleep like this, so you pull your shirt, already half off, over your head, using the fabric to dab at your damp skin.

You’re extra careful when you wipe Joel, his cock now soft as you dry him off, scrubbing the coarse hair lightly as you try to get it dry. By the time the cloth has done its job and you’ve tossed it aside to the floor, Joel’s eyes have long since been closed and his breaths are shallow against your bare chest, mouth open the slightest bit.

You click off the lamp and your hand finds his head in the dark, fingers running through his hair as you murmur to him sweet nothings that he surely won’t remember.

Thank’s for reading!! Tell me what you think

[ghost-kings-court-jester]

Yes exactly like even the tragedy of someone mishandling their own prophecy leads to that person projecting all of that anger and resentment onto someone who has nothing to do with it other than they had similar names/philosophies and you would expect them to be completely different situations except they aren’t because Mei Nianqing is involved in both of them.

Like Shi Wudus family got a prophecy from Mei Nianqing.

They got told how to handle it and decided that that option the more prideful selfish angle was a better idea than listening to the prophecy. (By throwing a feast because of status/keeping the kingdom instead of immigrating to a new place) and while both these characters were children handling an overwhelming responsibility the way they refused to take any option but their own idea really highlights how similar they are.

Like Shi Wudu could have used his cultivation to train and defeat the reverent of empty words. He could have helped Shi Qingxuan hide again after his secret was released by just leaving their rich lifestyle and changing their names, he could have became a God and asked a Martial God for aid but he was to prideful to admit there was even a problem.

Jun Wu of course went about it a little differently he did ask for aid but he didn’t like the answers of move them, accept the loss which he refused to do.

So they became violent and prideful. They were willing to pay the price of any victim to get the path that they wanted and didn’t care about who they hurt in the process because it wasn’t about the people they were claiming to protect it was about their own pride and how they thought things should happen and when those things didn’t happen they completely crashed out.

Xie Lian wouldn’t become white no face. He Xuan refused to be forgotten. Both of them were shaped by what happens when a god sees mortals as as stand ins for their own ideals rather than people who can think and therefore out think them.

He Xuan has always felt like he would be what Xie Lian would have became if did turn calamity. He is smart and cunning and vengeful and yet he was still able to feel the weight of someone loving them and how that destroyed them.

He Xuan wasn’t happy in his revenge because Shi QingXuan suffered, Xie Lian couldn’t be a god again because Wu Ming suffered because unlike Jun Wu and Shi Wudu people matter to them.

He Xuan wasn’t just getting revenge for himself but the people he lost along the way but is unable to stop himself for caring about Shi Qingxuan (see giving him tests and the Ming-Xiong crash out) and Xie Lian still cares for the common people after everything he’s faced they were not broken by the hardships done to them. They can still love and hope and feel sympathy because they have so much empathy despite their intelligence but that didn’t matter in the traps that were set up for them.

Because it wasn’t about the people they were it was about what they represented.

The parallels in this story drive me insane.

Thinking again about how Xie Lian didn’t fail Xianle because it wasn’t a test but a trap. Every decision in that arc was manipulated to make the war as cruel and soul-destroying as possible. BWX failed his kingdom, and he saw a similarity in XL. He orchestrated every single moment of that downfall, pulling multiple puppet strings from 5 different angles and adding consequences to XL that only he had the power to hand out. Like he didn’t lose because he was arrogant or naive or wrong he lost because it there was genuinely no way he coulda won. It wasn’t a test it was a trap.

[fic-girlie]

The one who sees

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x model!reader Summary: After a paparazzi ambush turns ugly, Pedro stands up for you—and later, wrapped in his arms, you remember that love drowns out the noise. Warnings: established relationship, haters disrespecting you, Pedro being very protective, slow mornings, pure fluff A/N: It was requested by @kellyxo1! Thank you again!

It starts with the campaign.

You knew the photos were going to be everywhere, of course. That was part of the job. A soft launch for a new lingerie brand with a luxe, minimalist aesthetic—sheer mesh in moonlight tones, gold-stitched underwire, delicate silk straps like brushstrokes across your skin. You’d signed the deal months ago, but the company waited until spring to drop the first wave of images. Your face, your body, blown up in SoHo and Sunset billboards. Trimmed in glossy black-and-white for Paris, golden-brown sun-kissed in São Paulo. You floating through your phone in bed one night, rosy and shocked, because you hadn't even known they were already up. Pedro crinkling beside you half-asleep, arm thrown around your hips, his post-sleep scratchiness rasping out, "Oh, that's gonna break the internet."

You laughed, leaned against his chest. "Too much?"

"No," he said, warm hand spread across your belly. "Hot enough."

You hadn't been thinking about doing the press tour. He was off to Europe for a week and a half of interviews, early screenings, some festival panels — not even that bad of a schedule. But he wanted you to go, and the way he worded it made it clear that he really needed you there. A bit gruff-around-the-edges, as if it had cost him something to mention that he did not wish to be away from you for that length of time. You kissed the corner of his mouth and rolled your carry-on into the trunk that night.

The airport would have been understated. Early flight, early landing. A side entrance they'd organized, as Pedro's people were used to how wild foreign travel was. But the tip was leaked—paparazzi and supporters lined up along the curb, all packed together behind barriers, cameras already snapping when the SUV arrived. Pedro's face hardened at once when he spotted them, sunglasses firmly planted and shoulders tensed.

You slid your hand into his. He squeezed once, twice. You okay?

You nodded. This wasn't new, not really. You'd both been in this spotlight long enough to know how volatile it could be. But still—this was more intense. Louder.

The moment you step outside, it gets to you like heat.

They're yelling his name, screaming your own, shoving forward with phones already in hand just in case. It's flattering, sort of. You'd been used to attention recently, but this isn't like that. Some girls are yelling about how gorgeous you are, whether they can take a picture—one gasps, "You're literally a goddess, oh my God." It's nice. Sweeping, but nice.

But then there are the others.

You hear it like a note of bass under song. The timbre of their voices—apart from the rest. Half-slurred laughter, maybe, or something worse. A group of men against the barricade, not holding signs or phones, just watching with smiles that fall short of their eyes.

One of them whistles as you walk by. "Yo, Pedro, damn! She's fine as hell."

You feel Pedro wince next to you.

"Bet you don't get much sleep, huh, bro? Lucky bastard." A snicker like static noise in the background. "She's got that lingerie body, you know what I'm saying?"

It takes a second.

Pedro stops dead in his tracks.

You feel it in the looseness of his grip, the way his fingers tighten around yours as if they don't want to rattle. He spins slowly, close enough to be calm, but there's a fire behind his shades now. It radiates from him in great waves.

He moves a step forward toward the man who talked. Not running, not shouting—just walking, but it's enough to make the man take half a step back.

"What did you just say?" Pedro's voice is icy. Biting. Glass-cutting.

The man laughs, trying to brush it off. "Hey, man, relax—just a compliment. You know what they say—don't hate the player—"

"No," Pedro interrupts, and his voice echoes over the crowd, now louder. "That's not a compliment. That's you disrespecting my partner in front of me like a coward."

There is a moment of silence, and for one awful second, you believe he's going to shove the guy. His hand tightens at his side.

You grab at him, holding your hand on his chest. "Pedro," you say, barely loud enough for him to hear. "Not here."

He looks at you. Really looks. You can feel the fight raging behind his eyes—anger and protectiveness burning so fiercely it hurts your chest.

But he stiffens.

His jaw tightens, his shoulders rise on a profound, wary breath, and then he turns away from the man as if he isn't worth a second glance. Takes your hand again. You both move on like nothing happened.

Inside, past security. Through the gate, toward the lounge. No words exchanged until the door closes behind you and the din at last fades.

He collapses on the top of the leather couch, rubbing both hands over his face. "I'm sorry," he tells you.

You crouch down in front of him. "Why?"

He blinks at you. "I nearly lost it out there. I was so close to—"

"You didn't."

He's gasping for air. His hands are sweaty when they lie against your cheeks. "I just don't like that people talk about you like you're not a real person. Like you're just—photos. Skin. An illusion."

You tilt your head, your forehead against his. "You think I don't know that? I'm proud of what I do. But that doesn't mean I like being used as a prop."

His thumbs trace the lines of your cheekbones. "I'll always protect you. But I can't be the one to make them spout more crap about you, either."

You close your eyes. "You weren't. You stood up for me. There's nothing wrong with standing up for the ones you love."

Later, when the plane takes off and you're curled up beside him with his arm draped over your shoulders, both of your phones light up.

Someone got the whole interaction on video.

They post it to X—distorted and jittery, but audible enough. Pedro's voice. The man's words. Your hand on his chest. How he holds himself, how he flinches away instead of retaliating. It goes viral.

You are already trending when you arrive in Cannes.

#PedroPascal #RespectWomen #ProtectPedro'sGirl

Your phone buzzes with repetitive messages. Screenshots, quotes, fan edits already circulating. People addressing him as a king. Addressing you as a queen. Some even stating it as the most romantic thing they've ever seen in a year.

Pedro watches you scroll through and says nothing, just kissing your forehead and burying his nose in your hair.

The Cannes suite is beautiful—too beautiful, actually. The kind of place that's meant for press kits and photo ops interviews, all floor-to-ceiling windows and velvet armchairs, shining surfaces and softness carefully designed. There's a subtle smell of lilies and bergamot throughout, and someone left a bottle of champagne cooling on the sideboard with a card reading Welcome to Cannes, Mr. Pascal in bold calligraphy.

You set down your bag softly. Pedro's already pacing, jacket off, one hand running through his hair as he mutters something to himself in Spanish too low for you to catch. The sun's pouring in golden and warm across the parquet floors, but the space between you has tightened like a muscle that won't unclench.

You can feel it in the air. He's shaken. But not just upset—shaken.

You perch on the edge of the bed and watch him pace like he's attempting to throw something off. The sunglasses are gone now, tossed onto the marble table. His eyes are darker than usual, a storm still raging behind them. And it's only when he finally stops to lean against the wall next to the window—one hand on the windowsill, the other on his hip—that you say anything.

"Talk to me."

He turns his head but doesn't look at you. Just stares out at the street. "I know this is part of the life. I know we both signed up for the visibility. But today…"

You wait. You've learned not to push him when he pauses like this, when his throat works around a feeling that hasn't found shape yet.

"…today felt different," he finishes, voice low.

You nod. "It was."

He turns finally, eyes meeting yours. "It wasn't what they said about me, okay? It was the way they looked at you. Like you were something they owned. Something they had the right to touch with their words."

You swallow. His voice cracks on owned, and it's just a nail in your ribs.

"They weren't fans," you whisper. "They were vultures."

Pedro moves toward you slowly, like each step is deliberate. He kneels in front of you, hands on your thighs, eyes searching yours with such intensity that it steals your breath. "I wanted to hit him. I've never actually felt that way before—not like that. That white-hot desire to punch him."

"But you didn't."

"Because of you."

You shake your head, brushing a hand over his cheek. “No, Pedro. Because of you. Because you’re a man who knows how to walk away and don’t care about those people who don’t deserve it.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. “You kept me steady.”

“You’ve done the same for me.”

His fingertips trace the hem of your top, restless now. "Do you ever feel like we're living in a glass house?" he says quietly. "Like the world is sitting there watching us sleep, breathe, touch—and every time you step out into public, they think they can take a piece of you just because they've seen your body in a picture?"

You breathe in sharply. He asks as if he's ashamed to be asking, but you don't detect judgment in his tone—just gentle, pained concern.

"I do," you admit. "But you make it feel like it doesn't. You're the only one who makes me feel like I'm more than the body they see. Like I'm not just a headline or a hashtag. You see me."

His lips part slightly, and something in him unravels. You watch it happen—his shoulders loosen, his mouth softens, his whole chest rises and falls in a deeper breath. As if letting that truth in takes effort.

Then he whispers, almost shyly, "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

The words open like a sunrise in your chest.

You press your forehead to his. "Then let it scare you. I'm not going anywhere."

He puts his arms around your waist and pulls you down onto the floor with him, the two of you kneeling beside the bed, holding each other like gravity doesn't work in this glamorous suite.

Later, after room service and a long shower, you’re curled up in one of Pedro’s oversized shirts on the couch while he scrolls through his phone, every once in a while, muttering something like, “Jesus, this went viral fast.”

You sit up. “Bad viral or good viral?”

He shakes his head, awe creeping into his smile. "No. All good. Like, overwhelmingly good. They're all calling me your 'respectful protector' now." He snorts. "Someone made a whole thread called 'Pedro Pascal being feral about his girlfriend for seven minutes straight.'"

You blink. "Seven minutes?"

"With timestamps. And background music. There's even a playlist to it."

You bury your face in your hands, laughing. "God. That's so embarrassing."

"It's perfect," he says softly.

You gaze at him through your fingers.

"I don't mind if the entire world knows how much I love you. I just don't like it when they make you into something cheap. You're not their fantasy. You're mine."

You can't speak for a moment. That knot in your chest—fear, tension, the hurt of being gazed at too long—starts to come undone.

"I'm yours," you say, voice trembling. "And you're mine."

He slams down the phone. Stands. Takes three deliberate steps across the room and holds out his hand. "Then come here."

You go to him. And in that moment, you don't care about Cannes or photographers or fans or headlines.

You only care about the way his hands close around your waist, the way his nose buries into your temple, the way his heart rate decelerates when you whisper, "I love you, too."

And when he picks you up and sweeps you over to the bed, the city outside just disappears.

——

You wake to the aroma of coffee and the far-off rustle of pages. There is a cold wind sneaking in through the open balcony door, with the sleepy stillness of a Cannes morning on its breath—the muted thrum of scooters deep below, pigeons battering against rooftops, and the ringing of a church bell tolling the hour. The suite is filled with warm, golden light, pulled long across the walls in languorous shadows. The sheets are warm from sleep, twisted loosely around your legs, and Pedro is there, busy in the chair next to the window, glasses sliding a little down his nose, thumbing through the pages of a much-thumbed paperback and cradling a cup in his lap.

He looks like something from a dream—rumpled and real, bare feet stretched out in front of him, curls still disheveled from sleep. The T-shirt he wears was your chioce, too large and draped across his chest like a sloppy afterthought. You can't understand how one man can be this desperately loose and still make your chest ache this way.

You shift slightly, and he lifts his gaze, a slow smile creeping over his face. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"Hey," you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"Didn't want to wake you. You were out cold."

You stretch out, arms over your head, letting out a gentle sigh as the tension leaves your muscles. "I slept better than I have in days."

Pedro stands, puts the book on the table, and walks over. He leans over the bed to put a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and looms over your lips with that grin that always makes your stomach twist.

"Good. You needed it."

You tug lightly at the hem of his shirt until he climbs in next to you, working himself in behind you so your back curves to fit the shape of his chest, his arm settling around your waist like second nature. It is. His body has been knowing yours for three years now, like muscle memory.

Neither of you say a word for a few minutes. You just lie there, wrapped in each other's arms and silent, the rest of the world like a mere background hum.

And then he whispers, his voice low and rough against your neck, "I keep thinking about yesterday."

You nod, fingers tracing the hand on your stomach. "Me too."

He places a kiss on your shoulder. "You were so cool. You kept me grounded. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there."

"You didn't need to do anything," you respond quietly. "You'd already saved me. Just for being with me and not letting it shatter you."

He exhales slowly. "It did shatter me, though."

"I know," you whisper. "But you stayed calm and composed. That takes more courage than anything else in this world."

You feel him hold you tighter. "You're too good to me."

"No," you say, turning around in his arms so that you could look up at him. "I'm just right for you. And you're just right for me."

He studies your face the way he's studying a map—eyes tracing each curve, each line, as if he must memorize it all yet again. "Do you ever wonder if it will always be this way?" he asks. "The press, the comments, the noise?"

You nod. "Sometimes. But I think we'll get used to it. Or perhaps we'll figure out how to tune it out. Like we both did for all these years"

"I want a life with you," he says to you. Without ceremony, without buildup—just the plain honesty of a man who's learned enough to know his own mind.

You flinch. Your heart stutters. "You already have one."

Pedro moves in and kisses you—slow and long and hot, like every molecule of him is whispering thank you and I love you and I'm not going away all at once.

And when he leans back, smiling, he says softly, "Yeah. I do, don't I?"

Later, you have room service bring you croissants and fruit and eat on the tiny balcony in your pajamas, legs folded under the tiny café table, as Pedro works the phone again with a look of wonder.

"I swear, this one's had over eight million views. Eight million."

You reach for your coffee, a smile tugging at your lips. "And the comments?"

"All dry. But respectfully so," he replies, an eyebrow raised. "One of them called me 'Zaddy Supreme of the Year.'"

You nearly spit out your drink laughing. "Are you embarrassed or are you proud?"

"Both. But more proud."

He snaps a photo of you at that very moment—eyes crinkling, cheeks reddening, hand clamped over your mouth laughing. And he never posts it, never shares it with anyone. He simply keeps it. For himself.

For certain things are meant to be introduced to the world.

And others—such as your lazy mornings, and sleepy kisses, and whispered I love yous spoken with croissants balanced on your fingers—are just meant for two.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

I think we all need something for THE Number 1 much of MHA Kirishima 🙂‍↕️

ღ eijiro kirishima x you —break me; hold me

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When you started dating Kirishima it was like a dream come true. He was perfect. A gentleman in his purest form. So manly. So supportive and full of life and love.

It was beautiful to watch him, to see him thrive and became everything he ever dreamed of. And you had been on his side the whole time. You dated quietly, without much social media presence, even when the love felt sometimes too much and you wanted to scream it out to the world.

A relationship so perfect that it almost scared you. He was all warmth, protective instincts and rock-solid devotion. The kind of man who always called you ‘babe’ with that crooked grin. Who wrapped you up in his big arms, after a long day on patrol, like he was shielding you from the world.

But this kind of love couldn’t stay undiscovered for long. You’re both pro heroes after all and it was only a matter of time.

First, it was just a few comments on social media how Red Riot kept hiding you and if he did it on purpose. Not out of concern for you, and if he could cheat, but them calling you not ‘flashy’ enough. Not ‘manly’ enough for the sheer force that Eijiro Kirishima was.

It turned into whole tabloid drama and always the question why you didn’t date and love in the broad daylight. Why why why. And slowly, those questions, those doubts, crept into your mind too. Of course it had been a mutual decision back then, but now it tugged on your heartstrings. Especially since Kirishima ignored the whole drama and didn’t mention it once to you.

It happened on a Saturday then. Kirishima had been buzzing with excitement, because you had two whole days off, until he saw the expression on your face.

“I need space.” You whispered. “Maybe—I mean—you deserve someone like you. Someone strong. Maybe this—us—is a mistake.”

To say he was crushed would’ve been an understatement. He was wounded beyond words, because his whole life he’d work to be someone people can lean on. And the person he wanted to carry slipped through his fingers like sand.

He gave you exactly fourty-eight hours before he knocked on your door. You hadn’t expected him to come. Not like this. Not straight from patrol. He was still in his cracked armor with knuckles stained red from someone else’s blood. He looked like he’d fought through hell and barely made it out. Maybe that was exactly what this was.

“Why did you say that?” Kirishima asked the second you opened the door.

You couldn’t answer. Your throat was tight and all the things you wanted to say had curled up in shame these past two days.

He stepped inside before you could stop him, slamming the door shut behind him. “You think you’re not good enough for me?”

“I never said that—”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice cracked.

You turned your back. Your arms folded so tightly that nails bit in your skin. “I’m not flashy. I’m not strong like you,” you said quietly. “You’re Red Riot. Everyone loves you. And I—I’m just someone people forget about until they need help. I can’t keep up with you, Eiji. I never could.”

Silence. And then the sound of heavy boots, closing the space between you. He was behind you in an instant, broad chest radiating heat against your back.

“Don’t say that shit.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

You turned, ready to argue. But the way he looked at you, red eyes glossy and desperate, made your voice catch in your throat.

“I don’t want someone like me,” he said. “I want you. I love the way you think. I love the way you fight, even when no one’s watching. I love how you patch people up and never ask for anything back. You think I don’t see that? You think I don’t see you?”

Your lip trembled. “You don’t get it—people are saying things. That I’m just dragging you down. That I’m—”

“I don’t care what they say.” He grabbed your wrists in a firm but gentle hold, like he was grounding you. “Let them talk. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I—”

“If you’re not strong enough,” he whispered, forehead pressing to yours, “then let me be strong enough for both of us.”

That shattered something in you. You took his perfect face in your hand and kissed him desperately. Your hands fisted in the front of his cracked armor, pulling him closer and closer. Kirishima kissed like he needed it, like every second without you had been agony. He kicked his boots off, hands sliding under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around him on instinct.

He carried you to the couch and sat with you straddling him, mouth dragging along your jaw, murmuring, “I got you. I always got you.”

Your shirt came off first, tossed aside in a haze of gasping breaths. Kirishima’s calloused hands mapped every inch of your skin like he was relearning it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Every inch. Every piece. Mine.”

You shivered when he said that—mine—like it meant more than just body and heat. Like it meant your heart and soul. A silent forever.

His kisses grew slower. He kissed your chest, your shoulders, your stomach, worshipping you like a prayer. His fingers teased between your thighs, warm and steady and patient. You rocked against him, hips grinding down in quiet need. He was already thick and hot under you, pressing up against your middle, but he didn’t rush. Not tonight. Not when you were still trembling under his touch.

“You can cry if you want to,” he whispered against your neck. “You don’t have to be strong with me.”

And you did. You let yourself cry. Small, broken sobs that spilled as he slid inside you slow and deep. He stretched you so perfectly your whole body arched into him. He held you through every trembling breath, every wave of release. He moved in steady thrusts, strong arms locked around your waist, forehead resting against yours.

“You’re everything,” he whispered with every roll of his hips. “Everything I want. Everything I need.”

Your moans came softer, choked by emotion. You came with your face buried in his neck, gasping his name like it was the only word you remembered. He followed soon after, groaning deep in his chest, holding you tight like he could fuse your bodies together.

You stayed there, wrapped in him, hearts pounding in sync. His fingers traced soft shapes along your back.

“You’re not dragging me down,” he whispered. “You lift me up every day just by being here. You keep me grounded. You make me better.”

You didn’t answer at first. You just curled tighter into him, cheek resting over his chest. “I don’t want space anymore.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t giving you any.”

[sasukekys]

the homosexuality and romance in naruto and sasuke’s relationship is textually supported inside the story

this is just an expansion of my own old post (rip sasukesun), but panels will be included in this edition. i also took inspiration from my friend @narutouzumakiarchive who so accurately wrote, and i quote, when determining the validity of something in canon you need to look at the internal logic of the world and the values that the author promotes, my post will only show other instances where naruto and sasuke do exactly (to each other) what is established by the manga itself as “love” or “romance” and even “gay”, many of them have already been pointed out by myself or other people in the fandom, but i wanted to put them all together to reinforce how a narrative is built and how an in universe logic is established. sit down cause it’s gonna be long and i will not leave it under a read more because i’m afraid to lose it forever if i do.

haku and zabuza

land of waves is such a well written arc that its presence, ideas, values etc keep showing up for the whole story. it’s the essence of the manga, if i’m being real, and if i were to put all the references here, it would be endless, but for the purpose of this post, i want to point out the implication of romantic feelings in haku and zabuza’s relationship, without any value of judgement whether i find it “problematic”, and how they parallel naruto and sasuke’s.

sasuke sacrificing himself for naruto parallels haku sacrificing himself to zabuza. but it goes beyond it because haku establishes the importance of wanting to protect people who are precious to you, an idea that persists for the entire manga. the same way haku considers zabuza precious to him to the point that he would die to see zabuza’s dream come true, sasuke’s sacrifice implies he feels the same for naruto, sasuke himself implies in his “deathbed” he wants naruto to fulfil his dream. and later in the manga, naruto internalises this thought, he wants to protect sasuke, who is precious to him.

almost 200 chapters later, and we still have land of waves clear references.

and as if that’s not enough, the feeling of acceptance that makes haku so devoted to zabuza is also shared by naruto towards sasuke.

in the arc itself, naruto recognises clearly that what haku felt for zabuza was love, the word he uses denotes feelings of affection, it’s not a mere “care about” the translation here is saying. the devotion, the desire to protect someone who is precious to you, the feelings of acceptance, they all fall under love as a definition, recognised by naruto himself when he calls zabuza out, but it goes beyond that, because kishimoto wrote haku to have romantic feelings for zabuza, something pointed out by many people in this fandom, haku blushes while calling zabuza’s body beautiful. kishimoto draws them in angles where their mouths are aligned. zabuza wishes to go to the same place haku went in the afterlife.

and yet the devotion, the desire to protect someone who is precious to you, the acceptance, all of those aspects that fall under the definition of love in haku and zabuza’s relationship are applied to naruto and sasuke. i guess it’s easy to accept that what they feel for each other is love, but it’s very curious how they parallel two people with implied romantic feelings in every single aspect of their relationship. again, i’m not here to morally judge haku and zabuza’s relationship or kishimoto’s decisions, the age gap isn’t part of naruto and sasuke’s relationship anyway, but i want to follow the internal logic of the manga, it was certainly a choice to add this romantic subtext for zabuza and haku while making naruto and sasuke follow the exact same patterns.

shikaku

shikaku talks about someone rough having a soft spot for the person they love, and shikamaru thinks his father likes to be bossed around by his mother. this is a trope kishimoto is fond of, in his manga mario, he likes that saori is tough but has a warms up for mario, but inside the naruto manga, the logic is no different in naruto and sasuke’s relationship. sasuke clearly has a soft spot for naruto, naruto is the only one sasuke shows weakness towards, sasuke admits naruto made me him feel at ease, and one of the things that actually got sasuke’s attention in naruto’s behaviour was his prankster gremlin antics, a trait generally rejected by others. when naruto yells at chuunin exams, people think he’s loud and annoying, but sasuke smiles fondly.

naruto also enjoys to be bossed by sasuke, this was shown in war arc, he says sasuke is “pissing him off” for giving orders but he doesn’t really do anything about it, he smiles and agrees on following sasuke’s ideas anyway, like a smitten boyfriend. shikaku says this is love, and again how naruto and sasuke act towards each other fall under what is defined as love by someone else inside the manga.

tayuya

i made a specific post about this one already, but i can’t leave what tayuya says out of this compilation because it’s one of the most interesting ones to me. tayuya doesn’t define love, she defines homosexuality specifically.

in sasuke’s retrieval arc, during tayuya vs shikamaru, tayuya asks if sasuke is that important for them to waste a team for one guy, and says that’s gay, there’s no euphemism or disguise on her words, she says they are homos. shikamaru himself explains at that moment that no, in his case at least, he wants to save sasuke because he is a brother of the leaf and shikamaru trusts his comrades, he doesn’t think he’s wasting his team for one guy, perfectly understandable, but that doesn’t change how tayuya has established a logic inside the narrative: there is a line to cross.

tayuya talks about “wasting a team” for one guy but it’s not the “wasting a team” aspect that is gay, it’s the idea of “going too far” for a guy that’s very important to you, now i wonder who has an entire narrative surrounding this idea, of many people questioning “why would you go that far for one guy?”.

“is that boy sasuke that important to you?” and the answer to naruto is yes, but not because sasuke is a “brother of the leaf”, and then you continue with what tayuya says after… so you are a homo. how naruto acts towards sasuke is established in the narrative of the manga as homosexuality, not only love or romance.

sai and nicknames

when trying to improve his social skills, sai reads a book on the matter. what kishimoto chose to show the readers by the social rules of the naruto universe is that using sufixes like “-kun” expresses distance, an emotional barrier, something that both hinata and sakura use with naruto and sasuke. but using nicknames and terms of endearment help to combat that distance, and it allows you to form an especial and close relationship. sasuke uses a term of endearment with naruto, a special nickname he doesn’t use with anyone else, actually, naruto is the only person to have that with sasuke.

in a flashback, we learn that naruto called sasuke an “usuratonkachi” first, but sasuke kept it and started using it with naruto. through the manga we see that sasuke calls naruto that multiple times, and sometimes it is when naruto is being an “idiot”, but it’s also in endearing moments, the most remarkable one being vote2, after their reconciliation. in the boruto movie, we learn that sasuke has its own definition for usuratonkachi, someone who hates to lose, a very noticeable trait of naruto’s personality, but something endearing to sasuke nonetheless. naruto’s strong will is something sasuke admires.

kishimoto uses a book on social skills to establish another in universe rule, that using nicknames with someone expresses emotional closeness, a special relationship. through the manga, kishimoto portrays sasuke to follow the same rule with naruto, showing that they are close and their relationship is special.

hinata’s confession

hinata confesses her love to naruto during pein’s invasion, in her confession, she explains the reasons for her feelings.

naruto doesn’t say anything about hinata confessing to him, but one arc later he says the same things she said, but to sasuke, basically the same reasons.

hinata to naruto: i nearly went the wrong way, but you showed me the right one / naruto to sasuke: one misstep and i could’ve ended up like you, but my connection with you helped go the right way.

hinata to naruto: i was always chasing you, wanting to overtake you, i just wanted to talk to you, i wanted to be with you / naruto to sasuke: i wanted to talk to you but i didn’t know how to approach it, you made me feel jealous so i made you my rival, but i wanted to be like you, i was always chasing after you.

on vote2, sasuke’s monologue reveals he feels the same about naruto, it’s a direct response to everything naruto has said, he even remembers that very conversation in kage summit, sasuke also adds the loneliness he and naruto were familiar with, but the same feelings of admiration naruto talked about in kage summit are there.

sasuke to naruto: i saw you growing stronger and i reciprocated the rivalry, when you started growing more, i felt jealous, you had a strength i didn’t, you had always walked in front of me.

hinata doesn’t have the same proximity with naruto as naruto and sasuke have with each other, the way she refers at him (the -kun suffix) expresses distance and an emotional barrier, meanwhile the way sasuke refers to naruto expresses a special relationship and closeness, as we can see by the social rules of this universe, and yet, what hinata says to naruto is defined as love. the way naruto and sasuke speak about each other is indicated in the manga as reasons for someone to romantically love one another, but they have a plus that their relationship is seen by the narrative as special, and what they have is mutual.

omoi and shinjuu

another one that has been pointed out by many people in the fandom, i’m not here to exactly discuss shinjuu and its references outside the manga, even though other tumblr uses have done a pretty good job on this. what i’m about to say has already been explained by @narutouzumakiarchive on the same post i linked at the beginning, i just want to compile all the references together and pay attention to the logic built through the entire story.

at the beginning of kage summit, omoi wonders about shinjuu, he specifically uses that word and frames it as romantic, translations are sometimes watered down because omoi says shinjuu (しんじゅう), the furigana is unmistakable, it means double suicide not merely “can’t let me go”, the text that doesn’t say suicide is omitting relevant information. omoi’s thoughts are basically: what if someone is so in love with him they can’t bear to be apart from him, making them propose a lovers suicide if he and the hypothetical person are to separate? omoi wonders about a romantic situation, it is not framed as anything else but romantic.

everybody knows what happens at the end of kage summit right?

the context of the entire arc shows everybody telling naruto to stop going that far for sasuke, to cut sasuke off, and yet naruto has a panic attack over the thought of sasuke dying. when naruto meets sasuke, he tells him the same things hinata said to him, and after everything, naruto proposes a double suicide with sasuke because he can’t bear the idea of existing without him, with this kind of separation. how exactly does that differ from what omoi imagined?

kishimoto throws a random and seemingly comedic and unrelated information at the beginning of the arc, frames it as romantic, and then not so innocently makes naruto repeat the same behaviour towards sasuke at the end of the very same arc. he could’ve chosen anything for omoi to say, and still, coincidentally, what he says fits naruto and sasuke’s relationship perfectly, please someone warn him the things he be writing accidentally.

kushina and minato

able to piss off even people inside the naruto and sasuke pile of shippers itself, what sasuke says about naruto parallels what kushina says about minato and why she fell for him, there are many many narusasu/minakushi parallels, actually, even more after the minato one shot, and it’s not about their personalities or looks, but rather about roles and themes.

kushina tells naruto that she fell for minato because he saved her, the only one who was able to, and he was capable of changing her heart, if those are reasons to make someone fall for another person, what can we say about sasuke that says naruto saved him, the only one who was able to, and was capable of changing his heart?

kishimoto even gives sasuke and kushina the same role of explaining to their son (k) about their fathers, and what they say about naruto and minato is also similar.

(this collage is maoam’s btw, you can check their posts, they also point out a lot of stuff i’m talking about).

kushina about minato: he looked like a sissy and unreliable, he said he wanted to be hokage but there was no way i believed in that / sasuke about naruto: he was always talking about becoming hokage but he was a loser, full of weaknesses, a good for nothing.

kushina about minato: i looked down on him, but i was wrong, he saved me and became a slpendid ninja (and later hokage) / sasuke about naruto: he pulled himself with his own strength and became hokage.

my point here is not even to show how their relationships parallel one another, but rather to talk about how the way naruto and sasuke act towards each other is framed as reasons why people fall in love in this universe, it can be seen as platonic for a reader’s standard, but for the naruto world’s rules, it isn’t, it is romantic.

not giving up

when kakashi wrongly claims that sakura has never given up on sasuke and that she’s only wanted to save him, he associates those feelings with love. this is not the first time kakashi’s judgement on sakura is objectively wrong, in kage summit, sakura was shown to be the same as any other konoha ninja when it comes to sasuke, well any other konoha ninja but one.

sasuke himself acknowledges that naruto was the only one who has never given up on him, not only that but it was naruto who saved him, that’s solely on naruto, nobody else mentioned. despite kakashi being wrong about the person, he also has a definition on love, one that was already used with kushina and minato. saving someone and not giving up on them is framed as love, and it comes out of sasuke’s mouth that only naruto did that for him.

i’ve only talked about the content itself, but in some of those instances kishimoto also uses visual language to get the message through, though that would be for another occasion, i guess.

i wonder how come so many different characters can name what’s love and romance and even homosexuality and have naruto and sasuke meeting every single standard, but people still claim kishimoto wrote it all accidentally because he is, without any proof except for the claim that he is japanese and old and a man, homophobic. i’m sorry, but it’s not “up to the audience” to decide wether naruto and sasuke’s relationship is romantic or platonic. you can disagree all you want and i know people will, but no one has yet provided the textual evidence that shows otherwise. by every metric, the narrative establishes that, in the logic of the naruto universe, what naruto and sasuke have is not only love but romance, and not only romance but homosexual.

[miajooz]

hello my loves! i’d like to talk about something important going on in america because it’s not okay AT ALL. as of recently, ICE (immigration and customs enforcement) has been raiding LA in a horrific way. children are being taken, families are being separated, friends are disappearing, it’s absolutely fucking disgusting what is happening. there’s no defense for this at all, arresting people without a warrant IS AGAINST THE LAW. IT IS UNCONSTITUTIONAL. this is the exact thing kamala and the harris administration warned us about, i am ashamed of all the people in my life who have voted for this sick, inhumane treatment being inflicted upon fellow people in this country. In no way is such lack of empathy and coldness against HUMAN BEINGS okay. the children, the families, it’s SICK.

recently, ICE has been targeting hard working families and innocent people. trump claims to be targeting violent criminals which is BULLSHIT. was that pregnant woman a violent criminal? what about the children being separated from their families? what about the hard working immigrants who literally helped america be what it is in the first place. if you open a history book or did research you would know that. you can’t claim to be getting rid of violent criminals WHEN YOU ARE A FELON. TRUMP WASNT PROVEN INNOCENT, HE IS A CONVICTED FELON. how can you support this shit but vote for a criminal to run our country? YOU CANNOT BE ILLEGAL ON STOLEN LAND. EVERYONE IN AMERICA IS AN IMMIGRANT BESIDES THE NATIVES. this country was stolen, and anyone who says otherwise is ignorant.

ICE has been raiding and sent to places that are densely populated with immigrants, JUST TO ARREST THEM. rounding people up who have legal documents, who are US citizens, who were born here. rounding people up because of the color of their skin is inhumane and absolutely repulsive. criminals aren’t being targeted, and have you seen the prison in el salvador? it’s HORRIFIC.

in LA, there have been a lot of protests, most of which were peaceful. california’s OWN officers were went to keep things peaceful which was partly successful. protesting is a first amendment right, but the freedom of speech has been violated ever since trump has went into office. tear gas, rubber bullets, flash bang grenades, all of that have been used on protesters. and without consulting any california law enforcement members, trump deployed 2000 state national guard members to the streets of LA. that is also ILLEGAL. THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE. and to the troops who were deployed, YOU SWORE AN OATH TO SERVE THE COUNTRY AND PEOPLE AND PROTECT THE CONSTITUTION. NOT A FACIST FELON WHO IS CAUSING A CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS. deploying troops without the consent of the state is federal aggression, and shouldn’t be tolerated. you guys are bitching about immigrants and saying they’re violent criminals? look at all the shit trump is doing! many veterans are absolutely devastated and it’s so sad to see. sending troops to attack american citizens is absolutely disgusting. this is the most obvious violation of the first amendment.

america’s democracy is at risk. donald trump doesn’t want a constitution, he’s a man child who bitches and uses violence when people don’t agree with him or oppose him. social media is being censored, he is targeting education, he is filtering everything—he literally DEFUNDED THE BOARD OF EDUCATION. education is the most dangerous weapon against dictators, so that checks out. if this isn’t a start to a dictatorship i don’t know what is, it’s here. these 4 years could be absolutely horrific, not to mention how he wants to ignore the precedent and “run again.” WHO WANTS THAT?

to all the people who have been affected by this, i am so, so sorry. it is repulsive what is happening, and i am sending love to all the families and individuals who have been hurt. to all the protesters who have been hurt, and to everyone this country has literally failed. to the women being denied life saving treatment in emergency rooms, to the women in my state who can’t get an abortion, it’s just horrific. to all the people who have been hurt during protests in LA, you deserve to be recognized. thank you for being a voice, you are valid and you are amazing and you deserve to be heard.

despite all of this, DO NOT STAY SILENT. that’s what he wants, he doesn’t want opposers. you are free to speak, that is the first amendment and cannot be violated. talk about it, don’t be scared to talk about it. the people are what makes a country, we shouldn’t be separated and on the brink of a civil war. it’s not right, why are we looking at people in such a selfish, ignorant way? this isn’t about being red or blue, this is our DEMOCRACY and the fact we are in a human rights crisis. this is about the fact that people are scared, communities are traumatized. people should be joining together and helping each other, do not normalize apathy. people are meant to love and join together, nobody should have this kind of power and influence on human lives in such a horrible way.

we are all people, you are all valid people. keep protesting, keep using your voice because it is POWERFUL. i love you all so unbelievably much, please, please don’t be ignorant.

Speech from Governor Newsom this addresses california!

[erinyesofvengeance]

A/N: just watched sinners and i am salivating at the mouth for irish fine shyt... alsooo this is from his POV and he might (definitely will) come across as a narcissist and weirdo in this (might do part two if yall ask in the comments cause i lowkey like this idea)

also!!! reader is dumb af and remmick is lowkey delusional and interpreting reader's feelings to how he wants her to feel. this man is a black flag, yall. THIS IS SHORT AND NOT PROOFREAD!!!

REMMICK didn't take kindly to people he considered outsiders, and that just so happened to be about everyone. Everyone except for you. You were the only exception. He cared for you like one of his own. Made sure you were healthy, loved, and cherished. Protected you against all of the people around you seeking to bring you harm.

He really had gone above and beyond for you. He had given everything to you; his time, his care, his love... he had given away his soul piece by piece to silly old you. So of course you ought to love him with all of your heart for the rest or your living life, or maybe even for the rest of eternity should he decide to turn you.

Isn't that right?

So why was it that you wouldn't even let him come into your house?

"Get the fuck off of my porch!" you snap. He was shocked. Honestly shocked that you had the audacity to treat him, the love of your life in this horrible manner. Surely you'd snap out of it if he talked to you a bit...

"Oh, come on now, baby..." he says. "You don't - you don't mean that. Don't be like this now." His hands are stretched, reaching to you on the other side of the door. But he can't grab you, can't touch you; not if you don't let him inside.

"You were gone for two months. Two whole months, Remmick! You just disappeared with no heads up. You couldn't even say goodbye."

Well... that might've been on him this time... but he couldn't help it! He was so hungry, and was resisting the sweet urge to rip out your neck where you stood. So really, he left for your own good. He was protecting you! Why couldn't you just see that?

"I-" He pauses. "I'm sorry... please, baby. Let me in. I was just tryna do the right thing. To be better, and be the man you deserve."

This was getting a lot harder than he thought it would be. Usually, you would invite him in almost immediately. But it's okay. He has faith in you. He knew you would eventually, one way or another, come around.

"I, I promise, I will repent for the rest of my life. I'll be by your side for the rest of our lives. For forever. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Just you and me."

Your scowl nearly burns through his skull.

"Come on in."

"Huh?"

"I said come on in."

He steps in carefully, as if there were broken shards of glass on the floor. He looks up at you and your expression.

The look on your face says it all. That you love him. That you want to be with him, just like how he'd promised you. For all of eternity.

"Oh, baby..." he says wistfully. "You should've just told me."

Your expression seems confused, but why would it be? You know exactly what he's talking about. This act you've been keeping up is really getting tiring, but he can't lie and say he doesn't like the chase. The effort he has to go through to get you.

His steps are soft, and he can visibly see you tense up as he approaches you slowly.

"What are you doing."

"Awh, baby. Don't you start gettin' shy on me, now. You don't need to be scared."

He grabs your wrist, pulling you close before leaning down to your neck and taking a deep inhale.

"You smell like cherries," he murmurs.

And with that, his teeth pierce your neck, tearing off your flesh with a wet swoosh. A horrifying rip echoes through the air, coupled with your screams.

But he can't hear you. He isn't able to. Not with the amount of euphoria he's drowning in at the moment. And he wants to tell you, to reassure you that the pain only lasts for a minute. That after you wake up, you'll feel as he does now; euphoric. You'll feel powerful and forever young, and although it may come with a few downsides, that it will pay off in the end.

Plus, you two will be together. What is there to fear?

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 3

previous chapter // next chapter(coming soon)

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: please enjoy this chapter everyone, like i said before my asks are open for any questions or to chat!!

Chan closes the door behind him once he enters your room, where you and Felix sit together on the bed. He doesn’t make any moves to sit on the bed, making sure he keeps his distance. You can smell the fear in him; he’s terrified that one wrong move will ruin everything.

“Feeling better baby?” The alpha gives you a warm smile.

“My baby is fine.” You speak unsure of your words, confused why Chan would ask that. Why does he care?

“Oh, I’m happy to hear that but when I said baby, I kinda meant you.” He raises a hand to scratch his neck, his ears turning bright red, Was he wearing fake pheromones? How was this an alpha? Nonetheless, unconsciously you blush like a teenage girl with a dumb crush. You can’t help but scold yourself for the behavior, you don’t know these people get it together. You’re left even more confused, You could chalk Chan caring about the pup up to his instincts but you? Why you?

“Ah, I’m okay.” Short and to the point, that’s all he needs to hear, nothing more and nothing less.

“That’s good, really good. Seeing you get sick like that made us kinda anxious so I called the omega specialist Felix and Han went to and I was able to get you an appointment for tomorrow morning! Felix can’t drive so I’ll be driving you if that’s okay, I can also go in with you, the alphas usually do the same for the other omegas’ appointments, which eases us a lot. But please if you don’t want me to go in with you say it, I won’t be mad, I just want to make sure you two are healthy, I don’t want to get in the way of that-“ The omega sat next to you swiftly cuts off the alpha.

“Babe you’re rambling.”

“Right. Sorry! So what do you say?” Chan looks at you sweetly, but as you look deeper into his eyes you can see his plea, he would never say it out loud, not wanting to sway your decision. You can’t bring yourself to defy an alpha’s wants, all you can do is hope you don’t regret it.

“You can come with me to the appointment.” Before you can even blink the bed in front of you dips and there are big arms wrapped around your shoulders. You flinch, well a sad attempt at a flinch, the arms keeping you stilled. A weak growl that could only come from an omega omits from next to you and the arms immediately disappear allowing you to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Chan hyung, what the hell was that?” Felix speaks sternly, and yeah you’d only know him for less than a day but you’d never imagine him speaking in such a manner, especially not to his alpha.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me. I just got so happy that you want to let me be with you during such an important moment for you and your baby, that you’ll allow me to keep you both safe.” The alpha moves to kneel on the floor next to the bed laying his head on the edge of the bed, excited eyes looking up at you. His arm lies flat against the bed dangerously close to your leg, but you don’t move, no matter how much the hand calls to you. Your omega purrs loudly.

Alpha. Alpha protects us. Alpha loves our pup.

Your breath hitches at the thought and you pray nobody hears. This is the worst part of being an omega, these instincts that are simply just that, instincts, there’s no logic or thought behind them, just your biological need for an alpha to take care of you. Your instincts are what got you into this situation in the first place, you know better than anyone that your omega isn’t always right.

“When you came down for breakfast today it got so silent because we all felt this pull towards you. The three of us felt it last night, but it hit the others this morning when they got to see and smell you for the first time. I really think, fuck, I think you are meant to be here. And if you let us show you how true that is, we will go at whatever pace is comfortable for you, this is a promise from my pack to you. You are still free to leave, but I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

The silence is heavy and almost suffocating. His words were simple but they pulled on your heart in a way you’d never felt before. Your omega began to purr so loudly in your mind, it felt like your brain was vibrating. This was going to be a real problem. You were split, a part of you that you wanted to chalk up to instincts that felt the same pull to this pack, and the other part of you, beaten broken and bruised that wanted to run, so terrified that this was all a sham and they too would hurt you just the same as everyone before them had.

“I don’t know you people. Every single person I was supposed to trust ended up hurting me, Why would I trust strangers I just met?” The two pack members frown at your answer, they were determined to help you no matter what that looked like. This was just a bump in a larger road, and god was there a long road ahead.

“We get it. I wish we could take away all the pain you’ve ever felt, believe me. We will never push your boundaries or scare you okay. Having you here, it feels like we found something that was missing, it’s second nature to take care of you, like this is what we were meant to do. I know wolves are known for rushing into things because we can sense when someone is for us but we’ll hold back for you, like I said, we go at your pace.” The pack alpha continues to look up at you, never breaking eye contact, but it’s not a suffocating alpha eye contact, it’s almost submissive.

“I can’t lie and say I don’t feel something, but I’m scared. I’m really scared. Chan, I’m broken. The people who have been in my life have done a lot of damage and I can already tell there are a lot of things I’m going to have to unlearn and change. I don’t believe any of this is real, You guys treating me as kindly as you have is so foreign to me and it probably will be for a while. In the past less than 24 hours I have felt more love than I have ever felt in my life and I never want it to end but I have to keep my guard up, because I may deserve to be hurt but my baby does not, I have to protect them. If this is real and you guys can be patient with me, I’d be willing to try being a part of your pack.” You squeeze your eyes shut trying to hold back tears, keeping your head down terrified of what’s to come out of Chan’s mouth next.

“All eight of us will do everything in our power to get you to want to be here with us. You do not deserve any of the pain you’ve been caused and we will turn the earth upside down trying to prove that to you. That’s a promise.” You give a tearful smile and Chan doesn’t hesitate to give you one back. You look to your side to see a teary-eyed Felix.

“Y/N, he’s right, we’ll do anything for you.” He speaks, taking your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“So, I have to head out to the studio soon and the other guys also have work but Seungmin will be staying back here with you and the other omegas okay? Felix will probably want to show you around the house and help get you settled in, hopefully you’ll find time to get to know Han and Seungmin, I already told Seungmin to be on his best behavior and he really is a sweetheart but if he bothers you, you have my full permission to put him in his place.” Chan moves over to the other side of the bed to place a kiss on Felix’s head and you couldn’t have known but he fights the urge to give you one as well, instead, he leaves with a gentle smile shot your way.

You lie down on the bed with a sigh, unsure of how to proceed, your mind is running a million miles a minute. Felix places and gentle hand on the curve of your shoulder and once again you don’t flinch at his touch. You can’t wrap your head around how easily he’s wormed his way into your space, Something about Felix is special, like everything is okay as long as he’s there. You lay there like that for a while, going over every possible outcome in your head before Felix interrupts you.

“If my nose doesn’t betray me it seems as though the alphas are gone for the day, we'll have free rein to explore the house and I’ll be sure to show you all the best spots!”

Felix gives you a big smile as he watches you get up off the bed gesturing for him to show you the way.

The house is huge. Each pack member has their own room, then there are guest rooms, and there’s an office that Felix lets you know that it’s mainly Chan’s office but the whole pack will use it here and there. There’s a massive fenced backyard that is surrounded by trees leading into the forest. You take note of the pool, you’ve never had a pool and have never learned how to swim, would the pack be annoyed by that? You shake your head at the thought and look at the deck, it’s pretty, littered with different flowers and plants, and tons of places to relax or eat. And all that doesn’t even include the large basement that has been turned into the pack den. Felix takes you down into the den and your mouth waters involuntarily. It’s perfect, the biggest nest you’ve ever seen lies on the floor, there’s a TV and a mini fridge. There’s lots of storage space, which you assume holds anything you could ever need for heats and ruts, and then even more stuff.

“You are free to come down here whenever you’d like, I’ll speak for Han here when I say we’d love your scent in our pack nest. A blush spreads across your face and in embarrassment, you face towards the door letting Felix know it’s time to move on.

The last place Felix takes you is in the large living room, where Han is sitting on the couch with his legs crossed under him watching something animated.

“And that’s the end of the tour! Is it okay if I leave you here to relax with Han while I make us some lunch?” You nod at Felix and as he leaves you take a seat on the couch leaving one cushion's worth of space between you and Han, not wanting to disturb him. You decide to watch along with him to pass the time before your skin begins to crawl with the feeling of a pair of eyes on you. You turn to see Han’s round brown eyes on you, and he jumps a little once you look at him.

“I’m sorry! It’s just, you’re, god you’re glowing! I know that’s cliché but it’s true! Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer.” He asks nervously and you take a deep breath before nodding.

“What’s it like? You know, being pregnant?” Han gives you a nervous yet curious look, his full attention on you and you can’t help but find it endearing. Your mouth falls open thinking of a response.

“I’m not that pregnant yet but it’s nice so far. It’s kinda like having a friend with you everywhere you go. I’m a little more tired all the time and I don’t like morning sickness though.” He lets out a soft laugh.

“I can’t wait to have my own pups one day, but for now I’d love to help you take care of yours.”

“I think, I think I’d really like that.” You speak softly, as if you said it too loud the wrong person would hear. But Han doesn’t judge, he doesn’t scoff or make a sly comment, no he gives you a warm smile. An unfamiliar feeling settles in your chest, not quite sure what it is but it feels good.

“Minho saved me too.” Han blurts out, and by the way his scent sours, you can tell he didn’t mean to. Your eyes go wide at the implication.

“What?”

“I come from a long line of alpha men, I think my parents knew I’d be an omega before I presented. I got called pretty boy and some meaner names growing up. Yet they were still so disappointed in me for presenting as an omega, they put me on intense blockers and rarely let me leave the house. Almost a year after I turned eighteen I made my escape, that’s where I found Minho. I showed up at his dance studio asking for a job, desk work, assistant, anything. I didn’t know this at the time but Minho doesn’t like omegas working for him, he doesn’t think omegas should have to work at all but he especially doesn’t want them to feel like he is above them as their boss, but he felt that pull, the same way we feel with you. He put together some bogus application for me to fill out and once he saw that I left the address line blank he didn’t ask or push he just offered me a bed at his apartment, no questions asked. He ended up basically paying me to sit at the front desk of the studio every day and look pretty. Months later, we met Chan and his pack and the rest is history.” Han smiled fondly at the memory. Your mouth was ajar, unsure how to respond to such a deep confession, Han trusted you with his story, and that meant more than he could ever know.

“Thank you for telling me that, I’m sorry you grew up like that.”

“Chan told us what you told him about your story. I hope you don’t mind, it’s good for us to know. I’m sorry that happened to you, but you’re safe now. Not all alphas are bad, especially not these big puppies in our pack.” Han giggles turning to face you, you both let out a contented sigh before Felix shouts that lunch is ready.

You’re sitting in the same seat you sat in during breakfast, Felix taking his spot next to you with Han and Seungmin across from you. You happily eat the food as the guys try their best to include you in their conversations. After the food is long gone and the other two have wandered off Felix leaves you in the kitchen for just a moment to use the bathroom. With nothing to distract your mind, it wanders as well. An internal fight between your logical human mind and your omega, unable to agree on what’s best for you in this situation. It’s all too much, you feel suffocated. So you find air, taking a step onto the deck outside, and taking a seat on the steps trying to catch your breath. The sound of the sliding glass door opening and closing rips you from your thoughts, and the smell of fresh laundry pierces your nose.

“Chan doesn’t like it when the omegas go outside alone.” It’s Seungmin.

“I’m fine.” Your voice is shaky, and you don’t even know why you tried to lie.

“I know you are. But Chan would kill me if anything happened to you or your pup so I will stay over here by the door until you’re ready.” You let out a shaken sigh, Great now he had to babysit you out here because you couldn’t even hold yourself together.

“I don’t mind, I like it outside.” It’s like he could hear your thoughts.

“You don’t have to lie, I know this sucks. I know I’m being annoying, I know I should leave and never look back so you guys can live your lives as normal.” Fat tears fall down your plush cheeks, you don’t dare look at Seungmin, nobody needs to see you like this, especially not a stranger.

“If we didn’t want you here you wouldn’t be here. As a pack, we are very territorial and we tend to stay with our pack except for necessities like work stuff. Us wanting you to be a part of our pack is a big deal.” He’s blunt, but maybe that’s what you need right now.

“And what if I don’t want to?” Your mouth moves faster than your brain, and your omega scolds you for your words.

“So leave. You’re free to go. But you won’t, because I know you feel the pull too.” Who the hell does he think he is? You could leave right now, it wouldn’t matter, none of this matters. And yet, you don’t move to leave the yard, you don’t run away. Instead, you get up and move past Seungmin into the house. Running head on into what you were so scared of.

[see-arcane]

Oof, that's tricky.

The trouble is the different flavor of vampirism we're treated to in Sinners, which I think needs a look first.

Remmick is the Head Vampire, but only because he's enforcing himself as a Head Vampire. He's got everyone turned, no matter who does the turning, under his direct influence in the big bloody grinning hive mind. The only exceptions we see to that influence come from Mary and Stack. In both cases, it seems that Remmick's direct control gets interrupted or spoiled by a suitable outer emotional factor.

Mary snaps out of her thrall mode when she sees Annie staked, recognizing that she's now fully dead and not part of the undead party. There's no getting Annie back--and that horror spurs Mary out of Remmick's command. By the film's end, we see her escaping into the dark at Stack's urging. Stack being similarly nettled out of the hive mind control enough to send her away.

Stack's full thrall mode is broken in the fight with Smoke, when the latter pins him and hesitates to stake him. They are brothers in that moment, not combatants. The one who protects--who always protected--apologizing for not keeping the other safe.

"Don't be sorry. You always did."

And that is Stack snapping the leash. Meaning Smoke is able to send him away after Mary; freed. That spares two loved ones. Which makes for a sour question of what might have been possible for the poor Chows. If Bo had been given the right stimulation, could he have broken free of Remmick? No knowing.

But circling back to the Harkers. What would have played out here? Mina in Annie's place, Jonathan in Smoke's.

Necessarily, a Jonathan who had presumably not gone through the Castle Dracula experience but had been given the up close view of how the undead appear to be smiling drones warped into Remmick's puppets with their souls as mere flavor added to the servitude. Especially after witnessing Bo Chow show zero regard for Remmick's cunnlingus line to Grace and openly threatening their own daughter. Bo just stood there, placid as anything.

That is not him, we're left to think. These people are not themselves at all, but costumes for Remmick's will.

No question. Jonathan would have kept that promise. And then, perhaps, felt a stake twisting in his own heart at seeing Mary (Lucy in this scenario?) reacting in horror to Mina's ending, breaking free in that shock.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Was there a chance for her after all? For all of them? Oh, God...

But either way, Mina would still be dead. With or without a belated bitter wondering at how she might still have been saved, Jonathan would have found some way to die in the end. Not Remmick's.

And now consider the flip side! Smoke as Jonathan Harker, Annie as Mina Murray.

The bitter abridged version involves Smoke dying immediately in Castle Dracula when he fails to play along to the Count's Bluebeard bullshit. If the Count was too chickenshit to turn Renfield, he's not turning the fucking brick wall that is Smoke and his impeccable aim. He'd want to kill the man dead, chuck his bits to the wolves.

But! Let's assume he makes it through the Castle Dracula BS in one piece, either stonewalling Dracula's psychological warfare nonsense or just flat out escaping. We get to the threshold of the Dracula Attackula of Mina Annie on October 3rd, mwa ha ha, cackle cackle, -> Annie clocks that she's on limited time, so if she goes full vampire, end her, swear to her and pinkie promise.

What would happen in order:

SMOKE AS A PSYCHOPOMP CRYPTID GIVE IT GIVE IT TO ME

Smoke also clocking that, hey, there is a waiting period involved with this kind of vampirism...and he has zero compunctions about killing anyone who looks at Annie the wrong way before she's actually factually cold and dead. Jack and Van Helsing do not survive long enough to make it to Transylvania. No, he hasn't seen them. Ignore the used shovel behind his back.

"If we have to split up, take this with you."

"This is a Tommy gun. How do you have a Tommy gun in the 1890s?"

"Don't worry about it."

But as to the serious Holiest Love bit? Fuck.

The vampirism is still poisoned with the influence of a colonizing Head Vampire, and supposing he was aware of the actual lethal body count Dracula and the Brides have chalked up as opposed to mere conversions like Remmick's, those vampires are more physically dangerous. If Annie told him she didn't want to become one of their number, I don't see Smoke reacting all that differently to how he did at the sticking point in Sinners. Annie was in immediate danger of turning into something Smoke had no reason to believe would really be her anymore. He acted fast. Dracula's conversions are slow, even when you aren't dead of exsanguination. You're forced to sit and wait and think.

What if? What if there's an alternative? What if there's a chance? What if we defeat the Head Vampire AND his curse in time and all is well? ...What if these others jump the gun? What if they try to put my beloved down because her teeth are too sharp or her hands are too cold? What if?

Smoke acted fast to stake Annie because he had already been made to promise

(Jonathan never promised),

he had no time to ponder

(Jonathan had resolved already that if Mina became a monster, he would too--the issue to him is not What if Mina becomes a monster? It's 'I Will Be Whatever Mina Is. Living, Dead, or Otherwise. Everyone else can do whatever.')

and no reason to think there was anything to make vampirism less horrible, right up until the shock of Mary and Stack slipping their mental collars over Annie's death. What if...

(Jonathan, thinking, thinking, thinking. These vampires have free will. I saw the Sisters disobey Dracula. I know Lucy tossed her poor young meal away at the sight of Arthur, love overruling appetite. If we kill Dracula too late and Mina is turned? Well. She will not be alone. Let them hunt two monsters. She will not be slain for another's sin. I refuse.)

It's all terribly tasty to think of.

And as an aside, I like my even more super abridged version:

Smoke as Jonathan Harker, lizard fashioning into the tomb, and just hacking Dracula apart with the shovel spade. No jumpscare, no waiting. Just whackwhackwhackwhack until he puffs apart into dust. The End.

There is so much to love about Sinners, but one of my favorite parts was the running theme of flipping the table on static storytelling tropes. And my favorite out of that pile?

Christianity is not the Magical Universal Good That Keeps the Monsters at Bay, and Hoodoo—or, nodding to cinema history, [INSERT ANY NON-CHRISTIAN FAITH HERE]—is not the Weird and Wicked Supernatural Scary Evil, Only Here for Curses and Pearl-Clutching Taboos.

In Sinners, Christianity isn’t held up as an evil in itself, but it is held up as itself, specifically as it actually came to be when it was introduced (forced) onto those people who never asked for it, didn’t want it, and had gods and cultures of their own which were largely crushed underfoot by colonialism and doctrines that generations were forced to choke down to the point that modern descendants now follow and spout a religion their ancestors had to have slaughtered or beaten into them. Remmick, an Irish vampire revealed as being old enough to have been a young man in an era before Ireland had been overtaken by Christianity, at the cusp of having it forced on them while their land and rights were stolen, can recite the Lord’s Prayer verbatim. Those words not only do nothing against his vampiric nature, but he admits the words give him comfort, even as he still hates the men who forced those words upon him and his father.

That scene coupled with Sammie’s interaction with his own father in the church was so beautifully and insidiously vindicating. Because Remmick and Sammie’s father are both leading congregations. They both have these groups of people following along, reciting what they want those groups to recite—even as they both come from groups that this religion was forcibly grafted into, they stand in places of power and command, and therefore it has become good! They both want Sammie to use his musical gift for their purposes, not his own wishes. They both disregard his fear and pain as they lay hands on him before staring crowds who wait to see him bow to their will.

Vampirism is the greater existential terror, especially as it is under Remmick’s rule. A potentially eternal undeath that traps the spirit and has one single controlling mind puppeteering their body and will. But Christianity as it’s framed in the reality of Sammie’s life is shown explicitly not to be the savior of the story, having so many of the same bones as the nightmare he barely escaped with his life.

Give up your gift and your desires and your free will to the Church, son, it’s the only way! Be a lesson for my followers and then we can acknowledge your torn face and the blood on your clothes and the absence of your cousins! Drop the guitar and give yourself to worship and leave behind all the evil sin that is joy not taken from sitting and reciting the Bible! Drop the guitar, son!

Then we turn to the Hoodoo and to Sammie’s musical conjuring. Annie’s magic and expertise is the only reason anyone survived the night as long as they did, and the only reason anybody was lucky enough to die as a human being. Her mojo bag saved Smoke’s neck from Stack twice, whereas everyone who went outside and got jumped by Remmick—or, in Grace’s case, rushed out in a literal blaze of glory to stake her turned husband—who might have worn a cross or been some manner of churchgoer, all got taken out by the vampires. Sammie’s power is not part of a Christian magic, but as the film points out, it is sacred. Those strings and his song pulled reveling spirits from the past and the future to dance with the present. That passion, that talent, that joy, that humanity, was so magnetic that it cast a spell...

…and it did so in what his father and many aghast others would deem a den of sin.

Sinful because of dance. Because of games at a table. Because of sex had for the sake of pleasuring each other—notably, each time with a miserably married woman, both getting to experience lovers who actually wanted them to enjoy themselves (sorry about that climax, Stack), rather than rote marital rutting for its own joyless sake. Because of nocturnal jubilation, separating oneself from the labors of life and the constriction of ‘polite and upstanding’ society.

Raucous joy is sin.

Faiths other and older than Christianity are sin.

Refusing to let yourself be absorbed into a coercive collective, no matter how well it sings or friendly its smile, is sin.       

Sin, sin, sin. The movie sins in this way, and so many glorious others, if only because these things which are not evil are painted with the label of ‘sin.’ Things that ‘are not done’ in a civilization choked by white supremacy and an increasingly puritanical Christian lens that leans deeper and deeper into disdain for empathy while championing strict control and obedience to patriarchy, bastardizing itself even as its original messages of love and goodwill are stretched so far and thin as to be nonexistent.

It’s sad to know how timely this story is. Here we are in the 21st century, strangled by conservative overreach on so many monstrous levels. But the story of Sinners does exist and it is being played like a loud and joyous song. A thousand thanks to Ryan Coogler for doing this all so artfully and so powerfully. I honestly can’t recall the last time I’ve seen such a thing on screen, if I’ve seen it at all. Here’s to more of it.

[hollyhomburg]

Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)(2)

(Sneak Peak)(JHS x reader, Ot7 x reader, Omegaverse, Forced Caretaking, Omega scarcity au)

୨୧‧₊˚ Summary: Hoseok will never forgive the people who did this to you. Never.

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Word Count: 14.4k

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Tags: Omegaverse au, omega scarcity, forced caretaking, discipline, possessive love interest, protective partners that go a little too far, Dom/sub undertones, dom! jimin x m/c, spanking, Pack alpha Hoseok x omega! m/c, Sickfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, chronic health issues, themes of trauma, familial neglect and abuse, Brief institutionalization, Past Medical mistreatment, non-chronological storyline

୨୧ ‧₊˚ A/N: ah well... people said they wanted to see a bit more of dom jimin so~ hopefully this scratches an itch! i can't believe they're all gonna be home soon! i saw jikook yesterday and...really does feel like the world is healing doesn't it? i guess this is also sorta a fest present too <3

"You're not my father Namjoon, I don't want you to act like my fucking dad when you're my partner. I get that sometimes- you have these instincts- but it doesn't make me feel good." You're close to tears, eyes suspiciously glassy. Your head feels fuzzy but panicky like everything is happening faster than you can handle it. Leaving you overwhelmed and off kilter.

You glance at Hoseok, and he stares back impassively. Rubbing a finger across his bottom lip- but he won't intervene unless you actually do cry or you ask him too. You're just starting to learn to trust your instincts. To understand why your breath goes even around him and why things are easier to sort through when he's touching you- either with a hand on the small of your back or holding yours so delicately- like you're fragile.

The others understand but you don't. you've never had a pack alpha before. He's the only pack alpha you've ever known.

There is apart of him more wolf than man, that loves that fact. That he's your first and your only pack alpha, If Hoseok can help it.

And Hoseok is helping, that's what this is. Mediating. Making sure you adjust to the pack and the pack adjusts to you. Hoseok is here just as Jimin is as pack beta- to make things go smoothly.

It's strange. Growing up you'd been treated so often like you were strong. industructible no matter what. Any cold or sickness was met with a snear that you were tougher than that. Strong despite your shakiness, strong despite the fact that when pushed you broke. Strong like your weakness was ever something you could conquer. No matter how many times you told people you couldn't- that you couldn't stay awake to study, that you couldn't run any faster- that you couldn't try any harder without it hurting- they never listened.

But now everything's changed- the pack are almost too gentle with you. Too aware of just how fragile you can be sometimes. You like to act independent. You even might need to sometimes (Hoseok is not so convinced that you actually need independance or if you just feel like you need it). And while they'd never stop you they are always hovering a little. It's easier sometimes- but right now-

Right now it feels stifling. Right now it feels like you can't breath. Like something very bad is going to happen if you take too much- like they'll find out it's not worth it. That you're not enough. You lean away from Namjoon when he speaks, and you can see the hurt in his eyes as you do it. Can see that Jimin's eyes darken in disapproval, posture stiff.

But your skin feels like it's going to crawl off your body and leave you fleshy and exposed. Something fights to claw out of your chest. And no breath comes easy.

Until you look at Hoseok.

You're not sure where your anger comes from or if it even is anger at all. Afraid, you know you're a bit afraid of Namjoon, but afraid of what you can't say. You know that his controlling behavior isn't exactly why but you're too worked up to care. Maybe you've never been both afraid and safe before. Maybe you don't trust them to keep you safe.

A deep voice whispers in Hoseok's ear, hidden and telling. His desires and impulses dark and not to be shared. You don't trust them to handle everything for you.

Yet.

Hoseok waits, Hoseok reclines in the chair and watches. Namjoon's voice is deep and calm. Rational. You're the only one getting worked up here, but thats okay. All of this is okay.

"Our lives are all very controlled, they have to be to get to the level that we are. But we need to look after each other. I won't be made out to be some sort of monster when all I'm trying to do is make sure you take care of yourself. You can't expect me not to treat you the same way I treat the others."

"Now that's some bullshit. You treat me like-" your voice warbles, and Hoseok gives it another 10 seconds before he intervenes. "I might be your omega but I'm not some sort of pet. You never tell the others what they can and can't eat or do so why am I-"

Hoseok holds up his hand, stopping your train of thought. For what it's worth you instantly fall silent. Your shaking stops just a little at the show of dominance, at obeying. Your body wants it even if your mind struggles to comprehend it. It's like you're trying to listen to your omega and your instincts but you just can't hear them.

You need a push. And Hoseok is very gentle. Gentle enough to do the pushing.

Coming Friday June 13th at 6pm EST

(Link to Part 1)

[deliciousangelfestival]

Her Turn Now - 3

Character: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Twin sisters. Opposite worlds. The eldest is a tough, no-nonsense soldier. The youngest is a quiet, hardworking corporate girl. They rarely meet—until the younger sister collapses from stress, hiding months of workplace bullying.

Furious and protective, the soldier twin trades places with her. Heels off, boots on. Now, the office has no idea what's coming.

She doesn’t play nice. She doesn’t play fair. And while she's serving justice in a pencil skirt, the ruthless CEO starts to take notice…

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , -

Bucky still felt guilty for leaving you. His voice was low, filled with regret.

"I'm sorry. My mind was filled dealing with my brothers."

You frowned slightly. You didn’t exactly understand what he meant. His brothers? That was the first time you ever heard him mention family. Back in high school, Bucky had never talked about them. He was the mysterious transfer student. Handsome, quiet, and distant.

Many girls liked him back then. Well, you and Levi included. And, of course, he was ridiculously good at playing the piano.

He looked down at his hands, his voice softer now.

"I should’ve been there to protect you, Levi. You joined this company to help me."

"But karma always comes at the right time," Bucky continued with a faint laugh. "The whole department ended up in the hospital."

Your breath hitched.

'Huh?' you thought, blinking in surprise. So that's why Levi wanted to stay? She stayed to help him? You swallowed hard.

'Dear God, Levi... you love him that much?'

You wanted to laugh too. After all, it was your handiwork.

"I'm glad you weren't there when it happened," he said, concern flickering in his eyes. "Did you get enough rest? It's fine if you need a paid leave."

"Oh yeah. I'm fine," you smiled, masking everything behind that calm expression.

His phone rang suddenly, cutting the conversation short. He glanced at the caller ID and answered.

"Yes. It’s true there are twenty-nine patients." His voice shifted, sharper, colder—more like a CEO. "Do your job. What's the point of me paying for your insurance if you can't cover that?"

You blinked, slightly stunned. This was the first time you heard Bucky sounding like that. Firm. In control. Ruthless.

Ending the call, he exhaled deeply and looked back at you with a light chuckle.

"I'm glad you're alright and they got punished. If your older sister found out, she would kill me." He laughed softly. "I heard she's a Captain now."

"Yes," you replied, clearing your throat. "After her last successful mission, she was promoted. She brought home all the hostages alive. She's still stationed in Egypt."

Your heart skipped.

'He knew?'

"Wow," Bucky whistled under his breath. "Remind me not to pick a fight with her. But honestly... she's awesome."

"If you ever need security advice, I know someone you can call."

He smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. Tell her I said that."

Curious, you asked, "Who was that?"

Before you could say anything else, his phone buzzed again. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, looking annoyed.

"Fine. I’ll go," he muttered, before hanging up.

He sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck.

"It’s them. My brothers. They know I’m back and they want me to come home."

You nodded without hesitation. "Yeah... of course."

He paused, then glanced at you almost pleadingly.

"Can you accompany me again? Please?"

Not long after, you both sat in the backseat of his black sedan, heading toward his family home. The city lights reflected off the window as Bucky stared outside, lost in thought.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

After a long silence, he scoffed under his breath.

"Hm. What kind of humiliation will they throw at me tonight?"

"My brothers," he answered, his voice dry. "I’m sure they’ve invited extra people just to make things more fun."

You bit your lip.

‘Shit,’ you cursed inside. You had no idea who his brothers even were.

Quickly, you texted Casey:

Emergency. Background check on Bucky’s family. ASAP.

Her reply came instantly.

On it, boss.

Bucky leaned back into the seat, his tone bitter.

"Maybe they'll ask why the planning department got shut down and why most of them landed in the hospital. Then they’ll probably try to pin the blame on me."

Bucky leaned back into the seat, his tone bitter.

"Maybe they'll ask why the planning department got shut down and why most of them landed in the hospital. Then they’ll probably try to pin the blame on me."

You snorted, tilting your head, voice laced with dry sarcasm.

"Well, maybe if they spent less time kissing each other’s asses and more time doing actual work, none of this would’ve happened."

Bucky blinked, clearly not expecting that. His eyes widened for a split second before a laugh burst out of him.

"Wow," he shook his head, grinning. "Levi... you're... way blunter than I remember."

The black sedan rolled to a stop in front of the Barnes estate, its towering gates looming like silent judges. Bucky let out a long sigh, staring blankly at the grand mansion ahead. He sat there for a moment, shoulders heavy, fingers drumming restlessly on his knee.

You shrugged, giving him a sly smirk.

"Guess I got tired of playing nice."

He exhaled sharply and opened the door. "Well, here we go."

As soon as Bucky stepped out, your phone buzzed. You glanced down, catching a message from Casey.

Casey: Turned out Bucky is the illegitimate child.

Your eyes shot open for a second, heart skipping a beat.

So that's the weight he's been carrying.

You looked up. There they were, standing at the top of the marble steps. Three men, his half-brothers, waiting like vultures with smug grins plastered across their faces. Their sharp suits couldn’t hide the arrogance radiating off them.

The eldest one, tall with slicked-back hair, let out a chuckle. "Well, look who finally made it. The world traveler."

The second brother crossed his arms, his eyes cold. "We were starting to think you’d skip out again, Bucky."

The third one simply smirked, eyes flicking toward you for a brief second, sizing you up with thinly veiled curiosity.

You stayed silent but straightened your back, standing beside Bucky like a shield. You weren’t here by accident. You were here as his support partner for this suffocating dinner.

Inside the dining hall, the air was heavier. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above an overly long mahogany table, while the scent of expensive perfume and roasted duck filled the air.

Mr. Barnes sat at the head of the table, his stern face carved in stone. His sharp eyes landed on Bucky, and even his neutral expression carried weight.

"You finally return from London," Mr. Barnes spoke in a low, commanding tone. "How was the trip? Productive, I hope."

Bucky sat down beside you, his jaw tight. "It went as planned. Secured a potential deal for the European branch."

"Good," Mr. Barnes nodded once, but his tone lacked any warmth.

Across from you, Mrs. Barnes sat like a queen on her throne, her diamond necklace catching the chandelier light. She offered you a glance, her painted lips curling into a fake smile before quickly turning her cold eyes back to Bucky.

"It’s nice that you finally make yourself useful, James," she said, her voice honeyed but sharp. "Unlike certain other… accidents in your life."

Bucky's knuckles whitened around his fork, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

You swallowed the urge to roll your eyes. This woman made her hatred crystal clear. She didn't see Bucky as family. Only as a stain.

The second brother joined in, eyes glittering with amusement. "Yeah. Someone almost died, right? What a shame. Poor management, I guess."

Then came the brothers again, ready to poke. The eldest leaned forward, voice dripping with mock concern.

"So, how's the little scandal back at headquarters? Planning department closed? I heard almost thirty people hospitalized... sounds messy."

The third one chuckled under his breath. "Father must be so proud."

You felt your teeth clench. Every word they spoke made your blood boil.

Bucky’s jaw ticked, but he held his composure, replying calmly, "The situation has been handled. The people responsible are no longer in the company."

His brothers exchanged glances, disappointed their prodding didn’t get a stronger reaction. But they weren’t done.

"You do seem rather calm about it, considering the mess," said the second brother.

Bucky smiled thinly. "Because unlike you, I fix problems."

You nearly smirked. That was a clean hit.

Bucky nodded stiffly. "Understood."

Mr. Barnes cleared his throat, silencing the pettiness for now. His voice remained sharp.

"I expect your next report by Monday. London or not, you still have responsibilities here."

The rest of the dinner dragged on, a tightrope of fake pleasantries and loaded jabs. You quietly kept your head high, observing every venomous glance, every hidden sneer.

This family wasn’t just dysfunctional. They were sharks. And Bucky had been swimming with them for far too long.

As dessert was served, you stole a glance at him. Beneath his calm facade, you could see it. The tension, the exhaustion.

And now you were here, sitting beside him in enemy territory.

Your chest tightened.

He’s been fighting alone this whole time.

⚾⚾⚾⚾

Before leaving, Bucky’s brothers weren’t done yet.

"Hey, Bucky," the eldest called out with a sly grin. "Come on. Let’s have a little game before you go."

Bucky glanced at you briefly, then looked back at his brothers standing near the private baseball field. The way they stood there, smug, waiting, was enough to tell anyone this wasn’t just an innocent game.

"You know I’m not good at baseball," Bucky said, his voice flat.

"Exactly." The second brother smirked. "That’s why it’ll be fun."

The third one grabbed a bat, spinning it casually in his hand. "Come on, lighten up. We’re family."

Reluctantly, Bucky walked over, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. You followed behind, sensing the trap but staying quiet. They handed him a bat, and one of the brothers stepped up to pitch.

The first pitch came fast, way too fast.

The ball slammed into Bucky’s stomach with a solid thud.

"Ugh!" Bucky doubled over, the bat slipping from his hands as he dropped to his knees.

His brothers burst out laughing.

"Come on, little brother," the eldest chuckled, "don’t tell me that hurt."

The second brother wiped tears from his eyes, barely able to contain his laughter. "Man, you’ve always been so fragile."

Your patience snapped. You stepped forward, grabbing the bat off the ground.

"Alright, let me finish it," you said, voice sharp and eyes locked onto the brothers.

"Ooh, look at that," the third brother teased. "The little assistant wants to play hero."

The eldest brother tossed you three spare balls, still grinning. "Be my guest."

You didn’t say a word. You simply planted your feet, adjusted your grip on the bat, and narrowed your gaze.

With a smooth motion, you launched the first ball straight at the eldest brother’s forehead.

Crack.

He stumbled backward, clutching his head and groaning, "Shit!"

Without hesitation, you threw the second ball. This time it struck the second brother square on the nose.

Crack.

Blood spurted instantly as he howled, dropping to the ground with both hands covering his face.

The third brother’s eyes widened in panic, but you were already swinging the bat. The ball connected cleanly and flew straight into his groin.

"Ughmf!" he groaned, collapsing like a rag doll, his face turning pale.

Bucky stood frozen, eyes wide, watching his brothers roll on the ground moaning in pain.

You blew a breath, letting the adrenaline cool off, and glanced back at Bucky. "My sister taught me sometimes."

Bucky stared at you like he was seeing a ghost. His mind raced.

Levi doesn’t like baseball. She never even wanted to try golf.

But suddenly, a memory surfaced. Back in high school, he remembered seeing a girl—one of the twins—playing baseball with the boys, laughing, full of energy, swinging the bat like she was born with it.

His chest tightened. He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Impossible.

Still, a seed of doubt had been planted. His eyes lingered on you just a moment longer, searching, questioning.

You simply smiled and handed him back the bat. "Let’s go home before they call their nanny."

Bucky laughed, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened. "Yeah. Let’s get out of here before they can even stand."

He held his stomach as you helped steady him. The two of you walked back toward the mansion, leaving the three groaning brothers behind, defeated and humiliated.

💥💥💥💥

Later that night, you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone while the TV played quietly in the background. The weight of everything that had happened kept swirling in your chest. You stared at Bucky’s contact info for a moment before shaking your head and tapping Levi’s name instead.

After a few rings, Levi picked up.

"Hey," you said, your voice light. "You didn’t tell me you work with Bucky."

On the other end, there was a small pause. "Now you know," Levi replied, her voice calm, as if she’d been waiting for this conversation.

You chuckled softly, trying to keep it casual. "Hey… do you like him that much? Is that why you insisted on working here?" You were teasing, but part of you hoped for a different answer.

Levi’s voice dropped, soft but firm. "Yes."

The simple word landed heavier than you expected. For a moment, your chest tightened, as if something bitter crawled up your throat. You swallowed it down quickly and forced a small laugh.

"Alright then," you said, masking your discomfort. "I’ll watch him for you. No woman will come near him while you’re resting. You’ve got my word."

Levi exhaled quietly. "I could go back, you know. I don’t want to make things complicated."

You shook your head even though she couldn’t see it. "Sist, rest. Take two full weeks. Then you can come back. You need to recover completely."

Levi went silent for a moment, as if weighing her emotions. "Okay," she finally whispered.

The call ended, but the silence in your living room grew louder. You let the phone rest on your lap and stared at the dark window ahead. Your reflection stared back at you.

Could you really surpass this strange feeling twisting in your chest?

After all these years, the high school crush you thought had faded suddenly roared back to life the moment you stood beside him. But now, you weren’t the only one standing there.

Levi loved him too. Enough to stay in a toxic company just to be close to him.

You rubbed your chest lightly, trying to calm the uneasy thumping of your heartbeat.

"This is stupid," you muttered under your breath, forcing yourself to stand. "You’re not in high school anymore."

But as much as you tried to shake it off, the ache lingered.

💥💥💥💥

Back at the McCain house, Levi was comfortably resting on the large sectional couch in the living room, surrounded by pillows and blankets. The comforting aroma of home-cooked meals filled the air. Elle had gone all out—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, honey-buttered cornbread, peach cobbler, and her famous sweet iced tea. Plates were scattered around Levi as she slowly picked through the feast her mother had lovingly prepared.

The front door swung open with a loud creak as Daren stepped inside, dropping his backpack onto the floor with a heavy thud. Still in his school uniform, the youngest of the McCain siblings ran a hand through his messy hair, scanning the living room.

He spotted Levi sitting on the couch, a blanket draped loosely over her lap as she sipped her tea.

He squinted. "Which one are you?"

It was always like this with Daren. Unless his twin sisters wore something completely different, he could never tell them apart when they were in regular clothes.

Levi let out a small, tired sigh and rolled her eyes. "It’s me, genius."

Daren’s shoulders visibly relaxed. "Thank God you're Levi."

Levi arched a brow. "Why do you sound so relieved?"

Daren grimaced. "Because your brother got into trouble… and Y/N gave me a punishment that still haunts my nightmares."

Levi’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before she shook her head. "I see she's been keeping you in line."

Before Daren could respond, the front door opened again.

"Honey, I'm home!"

The voice was deep, commanding, and filled with warmth. David McCain, head of the family, stepped into the house like a storm entering calm waters. His tall, broad figure filled the doorway. He still wore his Iron Man Marathon medallion proudly around his neck, sweat from the long trip clinging to his skin.

Elle walked up to greet him. David leaned down and planted a firm kiss on her lips, then patted Daren’s back with his large hand, nearly knocking the boy off balance.

Finally, his gaze landed on Levi, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"You’re home," he said, walking over and pulling her into a strong, comforting hug. His embrace was firm, almost protective, like he was silently shielding her from the world.

Levi clung to him for a moment longer than usual, breathing in the familiar scent of her father that always made her feel safe.

David pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he examined her face. He sensed something was off — fathers always do — but he didn’t press. Not yet.

"I’m so happy you’re here," he said softly.

Levi exhaled quietly in relief. At least for now, her father wasn’t asking questions.

But later that night, after the house had grown quiet and everyone retreated to their rooms, David sat down in the living room, his expression unreadable.

Elle sat beside him, already knowing what was coming.

"Tell me," he said.

Elle took a deep breath and explained everything. Every detail about what had happened to Levi, the bullying, the company, the cover-up.

David listened in complete silence, his face like stone. When Elle finally finished, all he said was, "Oh."

Elle’s heart sank. That was never a good sign.

"Oh no," she whispered, biting her lip. She knew her husband far too well. The calmer his reaction, the angrier he was inside.

David grabbed his phone and dialed a number. His voice was low but sharp as steel. "I want you to do something for me."

And just like that, the wheels were set in motion.

💥💥💥💥

The next morning, you sat on the edge of your bed, scrolling through the latest news as you sipped your morning coffee. The headline nearly made you drop your mug.

"Massive fire: 29 properties including homes, apartments, and businesses burned to the ground overnight."

"Yes."

You called your mother "Mom," you said, your voice sharp. "Is it… Dad? He’s back and now this?"

Your mouth went dry. You knew what that meant. Your father never left loose ends.

*****

You stepped into the company building, the atmosphere far more chaotic than usual. Employees whispered in hushed tones, phones rang nonstop, and the HR department looked like a sinking ship. Papers scattered across desks, and multiple people paced back and forth, some on calls, others just frozen in panic.

Well, they deserved it, you thought coldly. After what they let happen to Levi, this panic was nothing compared to the hell they allowed.

As you walked further down the hallway, you spotted Bucky standing near the conference room window, his phone pressed to his ear. His posture was tense but composed. His jaw clenched as he listened, nodding occasionally. His usual sharp suit was immaculate, but his face carried the weight of last night's drama.

He glanced up when he noticed you approaching.

"Did you see the news?" he asked after ending his call, his voice quieter than usual.

You kept your tone neutral, but your lips betrayed you, curling into a faint smirk you couldn’t quite hide. "I know. Devastating."

Bucky narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, something flashing behind them as he studied your face. His gaze wasn’t unkind, but calculating.

He had seen that smirk before.

His mind drifted—back to high school, back to a moment that had imprinted itself deep inside his memory.

There she was: standing in the school courtyard, hair tied up in a messy ponytail, sleeves rolled to her elbows. A group of girls who had bullied her classmate were suddenly covered in paint and feathers thanks to a carefully rigged prank. She stood back, arms crossed, and smiled that same exact smirk. Mischievous. Satisfied. Dangerous.

He remembered how she had turned her head and caught him watching her that day. Their eyes met, and she simply winked before walking away like nothing had happened.

The image blinked away, but it left a lingering question burning inside him.

He kept telling himself it was impossible. Levi’s twin sister, according to what she said, was still stationed in Egypt. She couldn’t possibly be standing in front of him now. Could she?

Still, ever since last night, something had been gnawing at him. The way you carried yourself, the sharp remarks, the confidence that Levi never really showed. And now… that smirk.

Bucky rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, his voice low. "Strange… you seem much calmer than the rest of us."

You gave a small shrug, trying not to meet his eyes for too long. "Someone has to stay calm, right? I mean, panicking won’t solve anything."

He watched you for a moment longer, his head slightly tilted, as if trying to read between your words.

"I suppose you're right," he finally said, though the suspicion hadn’t left his face.

But inside his head, the puzzle pieces were starting to shift. The question now was: would he dare put them together?

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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