#also breaking down and collapsing and falling apart

[rose24207]

I‘m so tired, Sieun

Summary: After days of emotional exhaustion and rejection, you reach a breaking point and collapse into sobs, prompting Sieun to awkwardly but tenderly comfort you with quiet reassurance and a tight embrace.

Yeon Sieun x reader

A/N: worst day of my life. I’m getting rejections after rejections and I don’t know what to do. I also crashed my mums car. Shibal my life.

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The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Your footsteps were almost silent as you shuffled through the kitchen in your socks, every motion of your body sluggish and weighted, like gravity had turned cruel. You barely felt like you were walking anymore—more like dragging yourself forward through the thick fog that had been clinging to your mind for days now. Maybe even weeks.

The last few days had been… unbearable.

Too much socializing. Too many faces. Too many fake smiles. Too much pretending like you were fine when inside you were screaming. You’d gone to dinner after dinner, met up with people you didn’t care to see, laughed at jokes that fell flat in your soul. And all of it—all of it—on the heels of rejection letters from Universities. One after another. Neatly typed, heartlessly formatted, emailed right into your inbox like digital knives.

'We regret to inform you…'

Every time you opened one, your chest tightened. Your dreams, your hopes, your years of effort—all shattered in cold, corporate wording. And you’d kept it all in. Swallowed it down. Told everyone you were okay.

Even Sieun hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had and just didn’t know what to say. He was never great with emotions—not his or yours—but he was trying. In his own way. Quiet support. Sitting with you in the same room. Making you tea. Letting you be silent. It helped, a little. But you were stretched thin.

You hadn’t cried yet. Not even once. Not even when the final rejection came in that morning. Just… stared at the screen and felt your insides deflate like a balloon left too long in the sun.

You reached up into the cupboard, grabbing a glass. You didn’t even need one. You just wanted water. Maybe the motion gave you purpose for a second. Maybe your body was running on automatic, trying to keep you grounded.

But your fingers didn’t work like they should’ve. They trembled slightly, and before you could tighten your grip—

Crash.

The sound of the glass hitting the floor was sharp. A clean, crystalline sound, followed by the splintering crack of it shattering across the tiles.

You stared.

You stared for a long time.

It was a simple mistake. It’s okay. One glass. Easily cleaned. No big deal.

But something inside you—snapped.

Your lip quivered.

And then—

You broke.

The first sob ripped out of you so violently it startled even yourself. Your knees buckled, and you dropped to the floor with your hands shaking and eyes blurring instantly with tears. You didn’t try to stop it. Couldn’t. The dam had broken and there was no patching it up now.

You started crying—not soft, not slow—but full-on, chest-heaving, loud, messy, ugly sobbing. Gasping through the tears, your body curled up on itself on the kitchen floor, like you could shrink small enough to disappear.

Your cries echoed through the apartment. And then—

“Y/n?”

Sieun’s voice, faint at first. From down the hall. You didn’t even lift your head. You couldn’t. The shame, the pain, the exhaustion—all of it had wrapped around you too tightly.

You heard the thud of his chair being pushed back.

Then fast steps.

Then his shadow.

He stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes wide, his gaze immediately landing on the shattered glass and then—you.

You were a crumpled mess on the floor. Hair falling over your face. Arms trembling. Loud, wrenching sobs shaking your whole body. You couldn’t even breathe properly. The sound coming out of you didn’t even feel human anymore.

Sieun froze.

His hand twitched like he didn’t know whether to reach for you or not.

This—this was not something he was used to. Not something he was good at. Emotions this raw? Feelings that bled out loud like this?

He always struggled to name his own emotions. Touch didn’t come naturally to him. Neither did talking. But this—you—on the floor, completely broken? It shattered something in him.

“Hey… hey, no, no, it’s okay,” he said, voice rough as he finally crossed the room.

He crouched down. His hand hovered over your back for a second before slowly, awkwardly, he pulled you into his arms.

And you—like a reflex—clung to him.

You buried your face into his chest, fists gripping his hoodie like a lifeline, and sobbed even harder. Your whole body shook against him. There was no holding back. You were past the point of control now. This was your breaking point—and he was witnessing every second of it.

Sieun held you.

Awkward at first. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. But he kept them around you. Tightened them slowly. One hand came up to cradle the back of your head. He didn’t rock you—he wasn’t the kind to do that. But his grip was solid. Protective. Real.

You could feel the tension in him. Like he wanted so badly to say something—anything—but couldn’t find the right words.

Still, he tried.

“I’m here,” he said quietly, one hand brushing down your back in a movement so gentle it nearly broke you more. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just let it out.”

Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie, the fabric soaked now from your tears.

“I’m s-sorry,” you choked between sobs. “I—I don’t know—why—why now—I just—it’s just a glass—I’m so—tired…”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said immediately, his voice firmer now. “Don’t you dare be sorry.”

You whimpered, leaning heavier into him as your legs finally gave up completely. He pulled you more securely into his lap, his back pressed against the kitchen cabinets as he held your weight without complaint.

“It’s not about the glass, is it?” he whispered.

You shook your head violently, still sobbing.

“No. It’s—everything. The rejections, and—and pretending I’m okay, and trying to smile when I want to scream. I can’t—I can’t anymore, Sieun. I don’t know how to—how to—breathe—”

“Shhh,” he said, rocking you just slightly now. “I know. I know. Just breathe with me. Okay? Try to match me. In… out…”

You tried. Desperately. But your lungs weren’t cooperating. Panic had crept in. The kind that made everything feel too tight, too small, too much.

Sieun held you closer, whispering softly.

“I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen. Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

His calm voice became your anchor.

Little by little, your sobs started to slow. They didn’t stop entirely—not yet—but they stopped stealing the air from your lungs. You could breathe again, if only just.

And in that moment, in the middle of a kitchen littered with broken glass, with your body trembling in his arms, you realized—he was trying.

Awkward, quiet, reserved Sieun. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing—but he was holding you like you were made of glass. Like he didn’t care about doing it right—just that he was there.

You pulled back slightly, still crying but quieter now.

Your eyes met his. Teary. Red. Exhausted.

His thumb brushed lightly under your eye.

“You didn’t have to hold it in,” he murmured.

“I didn’t want to burden you…”

“You’re not a burden. Ever.” He said it like it was a fact, not up for debate. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

A fresh wave of emotion welled in your throat.

“But I’m so tired, Sieun,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m tired of fighting for something and always getting told no. I’m tired of being ‘fine’ when I’m not. I don’t even know who I am anymore…”

Sieun’s expression softened. His brows furrowed just slightly, and he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re still you,” he whispered. “Even when you’re exhausted. Even when you’re crying. Even when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

You closed your eyes, tears leaking out again, though gentler this time.

“I just wanted one thing to go right,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied.

A long silence passed. Just breathing. Just the steady rhythm of his hand brushing over your back, grounding you again and again.

Eventually, your crying slowed to sniffles. Then just quiet tears. Then stillness.

You stayed in his lap for a long time. His arms never loosened.

When you finally pulled back, voice barely above a whisper, you said, “Thank you.”

He looked at you for a long second, then nodded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “You’re the most important person in the world to me. Of course I’ll be here.”

You blinked, heart thudding quietly at his words.

“Even if I break down like this again?”

“Even if you break down every day for the rest of the year,” he said. “I’ll still be here.”

And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—you felt a thread of comfort anchor itself deep in your chest.

Not because the pain had disappeared.

But because you weren’t alone in it anymore.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa, @night-fall-moon, @niggette, @martynka1, @intoanothermind

[vastwillcurse]

Aries Rising

You’re forced to own your primal will not the “motivated” version, the ruthless, raw instinct.

Others project power struggles onto you, seeing you as a “threat” even when you’re silent.

You’re a disruptor of passive compliance your existence screams: “Do something about your life.”

Your shadow gift? You learn to use confrontation as a spiritual tool. Not war. Rebirth.

Taurus Rising

You’re born to hold steady in the middle of chaos and that pisses people off.

People try to disrupt your peace, not because you’re weak but because your groundedness triggers their instability.

You’re the soul midwife for dying systems your job is to build something real after things collapse.

Your power is in slow, permanent transformation the kind people resist, until they beg for it.

Gemini Rising

You speak in ways that slice through masks even your jokes are psychoanalytical weapons.

Your presence is mentally destabilizing to people still clinging to surface level truths.

You’re born to disrupt “fake clarity” expose contradictions, ask the taboo questions.

You don’t “communicate” you surgically unearth hidden beliefs with language.

Cancer Rising

You’re the one who feels the unspoken grief of the lineage. Your identity is built on emotional truths no one else faces.

People see you as “soft” but your emotional presence erodes their defenses like ocean waves on stone.

You are not a nurturer by default you’re a transformational container, holding psychic surgery inside your empathy.

People break down around you, because your aura says: “It’s time to feel what you buried.”

Leo Rising

You’re not just charismatic you’re catalytic. Your light burns through others’ shame.

People may envy or worship you but it’s projection. They’re seeing the unclaimed confidence they abandoned.

You show that power isn’t about dominance it’s about being fully, radically visible.

You don’t shine for applause. You shine to say: “It’s okay to exist loudly.”

Virgo Rising

Your existence challenges the lie of perfection. You fall apart in front of others so they know healing is nonlinear.

People think you’re neat but your soul is a sacred dissecting table. You see what’s rotting and you fix it, or you leave.

You offer healing through sharp honesty, not gentle coddling.

Your life is about refining everything until it’s true. Including yourself.

Libra Rising

You don’t just “look good.” You seduce transformation. You make others see their shadows through beauty.

Relationships for you aren’t just connection they’re contracts of karmic confrontation.

You are often used as a screen: people project their shame and longing onto you.

You’re here to reclaim your identity outside of others’ comfort zones and then burn the performance mask.

Scorpio Rising

Your very presence starts endings and you’ve known this since you were a child.

Others fear you, love you, obsess over you because you mirror what they’re not ready to admit exists.

You don’t trust easily because you see motives like X-rays see bone.

You’re not dark. You’re real. You just stopped pretending life is clean and safe. That’s your gift.

Sagittarius Rising

You speak wild truths that unravel illusions. Not everyone can handle your freedom.

You embody contradiction: joy that also hurts, insight that destroys naivety.

People think you’re carefree but you carry the burden of awakening others through shock, laughter, or rebellion.

You’re here to drag philosophy out of the ivory tower and into the dirt.

Capricorn Rising

You carry the weight of being taken seriously before you wanted to.

People assume you’re strong but they don’t know that your power was forged in forced maturity.

You’re here to dismantle fake power by becoming real power.

Success for you isn’t about status it’s about proving that survival can turn into sovereignty.

Aquarius Rising

You are the anomaly. You carry the code for future systems which is why you never fit into old ones.

People say you’re cold, distant, weird but really, you’re five timelines ahead, watching the current one collapse.

You don’t rebel for fun. You refuse false consensus and you suffer silently for it.

You will be thanked later after you’ve burned the dying script down.

Pisces Rising

You dissolve people’s illusions just by existing and they often hate you for it.

You’ve always been between realms, which makes you feel like a ghost in your own life.

But you’re not fragile you’re porous. You can hold grief no one else sees.

Your gift is in making invisible truths real through art, touch, disappearance, or surrender.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Ved

CR 5

Neutral Evil Large Humanoid

Bestiary 5, pg. 263

These ruinous and destructive Giants are just barely above the brutish ogres in terms of cruelty, separated largely by a cultural distaste for consuming the meat of sapient creatures and a tendency to allow anyone who flees their attacks to actually escape rather than chasing them down. Sadly these differences don't do much to keep them from being menaces, because if their hunting and gathering lifestyle doesn't keep them fed, they have no qualms against launching spontaneous raids against smaller and more isolated settlements, breaking open food stores or simply grabbing up livestock while killing anyone that tries stopping them. If a town proves especially weak, they may go even farther by tearing homes apart to steal anything that catches their eye, be it a bauble, clothing, a useful bit of raw material, or even a new "pet."

Plenty of reason for an adventuring party to be sent to scatter a clan of these giants! And luckily for most parties, Ved are about as simple as can be. They're a decent introductions for a party to the dangers that Giants pose, possessing a single but punishing attack with their simple clubs for 1d8+7 damage, though this is often augmented by their Power Attack, making their 10ft space and 10ft reach painful to be in. The most dangerous thing about Veds is their tendency to live in snowy mountains and cold hills, where their immense strength and size allows them to easily navigate through difficult terrain or build simple traps like falling stones or stacks of logs, ready to collapse upon any invaders.

They also possess the Awesome Blow feat which is annoying at the best of times, but in a Ved's home territory? It can be fatal, knocking players off cliffsides or down steep slopes, something they're also prompted to do via their Improved Bull Rush and immense size. This is also a useful way to introduce parties to the concept of positioning and terrain hazards if you haven't yet, almost as useful as their final and most dramatic party trick. You're likely looking at their art and wondering what, exactly, it's doing to that stack of stones, and I'm here to tell you: Huffing and puffing and blowing your house down.

A Ved's lung capacity is a thing of legends, the giants able to unleash a powerful Gale Breath once every 1d4 rounds as a full-round action. This breath is a 30ft cone blast of 50+ MPH winds, sending anything within their reach flying straight off its feet if they fail a DC 18 Strength check, while anything else in the cone is exposed to the effects of a Gust of Wind spell, thwarting attempts to re-engage via melee or fire projectiles in its area of effect. If you don't think that's especially bad, please consider the second-to-last line of the spell: "in addition to the effects noted, a gust of wind can do anything that a sudden blast of wind would be expected to do. It can create a stinging spray of sand or dust, fan a large fire, overturn delicate awnings or hangings, heel over a small boat, and blow gases or vapors to the edge of its range."

Consider that, and then re-consider that Veds live in snowy hillsides and mountains. With a single breath, a Ved can conjure a concealing blast of snow or a torrent of blinding (or damaging!) rock shards, send a whole party flying down a jagged slope, or even start an avalanche! These brainless brutes may be simple creatures, but a party charging in and believing them to be an easily-solved problem--just buff enough to block most of the damage from their club!--are in for a rude awakening as the entire party is blown straight off their feet and given an excruciating reminder on the rules for being knocked prone.

All of this becomes worse, of course, if there's more than one. Ved frequently travel with their close-knit clans which usually consist of their blood relatives, and they're all willing to hunt and fight together, giving them access to dangerous tactics that even their simple minds can wrap around. For example: one uses Awesome Blow or their Gale Breath to knock someone prone directly in the reach of one of their allies. It's simple, but it's effective and reliable, and likely to lead to a lot of hurt for anyone that can't keep their balance!

You can read more about them here.

[dumbdiscodragon]

Tragedy of all time

young man just came back from very tense shopping expedition

and forgot

cookies

[amnxp]

I'll see you in a minute

Pairing: Yelena Belova x fem!Reader

Summary: The Thunderbolts needed help with bringing Bob back to reality, so Bucky turned to one of his closest friend for help. Too bad that Yelena seems to absolutely hate your guts and despise the very idea of you breathing the same air in the same vicnicity as her because now you are all the Avengerz.

Word Count: 10k (oops i went overboard)

Warning: enemies to lovers, angst, panic attacks(yelena), eventual mention of smut(kept short n sweet), almost kissing, wounds, fighting yk the usual, miscommunication cuz thats lowk my fav trope n lotssss of yearning and almosts, also lowk bucky x reader but only for one single scene so

!THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS AHEAD AS WELL AS BLACKWIDOW SPOILERS!

Continuation:Unrequited love

A/N: saw a post saying they needed an enemies to lovers slowburn yelena fic and i knew i just HAD to write this be i have been meaning to make a longer fic so i went overboard i am SO sorry but it just had to come out one way or anotheeTwT anyways REACHED 50 FOLLOWERS THANKYOU SO MUCH!!!! This means a lot to me you have no idea bc like damn 50 ppl like what i write thats crazy omgomg This took weeks to write so i hope it wont flop too bad, all likes comments and reblogs are more than apreciated!!iterally!!!you guys have no idea how much actually. Also, today is my birthday!!! Happy birthday to me this shall be my gift go you guys:))

Alright toodles:>

Masterlist

!English is not my native language!

If someone had told you a week ago that you'd be sharing a shaggy, run-down Uber car with the Thunderbolts, you'd have laughed, rolled your eyes, and gone back to your warm bed. But here you were—strapped in between John Walker and Ghost, watching the streets blur past the window, and pretending Yelena Belova wasn't glaring holes through your skull from across the damn runway of a car.


Bucky owed you. Big time.

When Bucky had barged in a few hours prior into your little apartment, you were lounging on your couch, half asleep, half awake, with a shirt that you barely managed to get on before you collapsed out of exhaustion, with a thin blanket on you which quite literally almost flew off because of his aggressive: “Get up right now!” followed with his harsh tug on your blanket.
“What the actual fuck, Barnes?”
—half of your sentence came out slurred because you were still somewhat in another world as Bucky kept spewing nonsense at you. Something regarding someone named Bob, John Walker, and some others you had never heard of, but what got your eyes opening was the mention of her name.

Yelena Belova.

It was no secret to anybody that knew the both of you that you absolutely hated each other. You couldn't pinpoint when exactly it happened, but at a certain point in time you noticed how rude she was to you—and only to you.
Not to Bucky, not to whoever tried to kill her, and not even to the little kid that called her a boy and tried to throw his car toy at her head because he found her that scary.
“If Yelena is involved, I don't think that Bob is going to be your biggest issue that needs fixing, Barnes. Go collect some other deeply traumatized hero to go play Avengers with.”
“Yeah, no. You know that Sam won't talk to me anymore, and I don't know any others so... get the hell up. I will be downstairs. Red car. You got 2 minutes.”
Didn't even let you open your mouth before he scurried downstairs to his supposedly red car. A troubled sigh left you as you ranked up the motivation to sit upright on your bed. Your head falling onto your hands as you rubbed your face to try and get yourself to wake up a little more. You hoped that whoever this Bob is wouldn't put up too much of a fight.

———


You stole a glance at her.


Your own mistake, really.

Her eyes locked with yours like she was mentally calculating exactly how many bones she could break before Bucky noticed. You gave her the world's most insincere smile, and she just shifted her eyes back to the window behind John with a dramatic sigh, like even acknowledging your existence was exhausting.
Ghost nudged you with her elbow, smirking.
"She's been glaring at you since we picked you up. What did you do to her?"
"I don't know," you muttered. "Breathe too loudly, maybe?"
“No, you breathing in general is pissing me off.”
“You looking at me in general is pissing me off.”
"Why are you even here? You couldn't even throw a ball back to a child that was in front of you. How exactly are you meant to help with Bob?" Each word of hers deepened her snarl.
“That was one fucking time, Blondie.”
“More than enough.”
“Alright, you—” as you stood up to leap towards her, a taco-shaped shield was placed in front of you and you felt Bucky holding you back.
“What the fuck is this?" your eyes were trained on the taco shield as you looked back at John. "What the fuck did you do?”
"It was Bob..." your mouth hung open.
“Bob? A Bob did this.”
“Don’t act like you are any better than John. If it were you against Bob, you would have been that shield.”
Yelena's deep accent cut through, and if it weren’t for Bucky pulling you to sit in front of him instead of her, you would have jumped her out of the damn car.
“All right, that is enough of you two. I brought you here so that you can help, not make everything worse, and I don't want to hear another word from you or from Yelena until we arrive.”
Bucky's eyes stayed trained on you during his whole little speech as you leaned back into your seat and tilted your head back. Your eyes closed out of pure fatigue, and before you knew it, you were already out.

_____

Fighting a Bob-shaped black void that was currently shadowing people left and right definitely wasn't on your fight-a-Bob to-do list.
You were running around trying to prevent people from either being squashed by parts of buildings falling or being sent into the void by Bo—the Sentry?—no—the Void? You lost count of who Bob decided to be.
Placing a little girl down onto the floor, your eyes snapped towards the group as you heard Alexei scream out Yelena's name.
She was just a few feet away from you, standing directly in front of the void.
“The hell are you doing?" you screamed out.
You quickened your steps towards her as you saw her take a deep breath in before turning towards you with a cold but yet relaxed expression on her face.
Furrowing your eyebrows in an unspoken question, you tried to reach her.
Before you were able to drag her back by her arm, she let herself fall into the void, and your eyes widened. What the fuck just happened?
You stumbled back away from the consuming void and from Yelena's shadow on the floor towards the group before turning to them to see Bucky and John pulling a wailing Alexei back.
Just like before in the car, they all started arguing and panicking on what to do next, but your eyes were trained on the void.
Blurring out their arguments, you slowly walked towards the consuming shadow and let it consume you as well.

—————

Flopping down on your crowded couch, you let out a loud groan as you pressed an ice pack onto your knee.
Your head leaned on the back of the couch as you glanced at a very fidgety Bob next to you.
“Have to give it to you, Bob. Extremely underestimated you. You practically handed our asses to us on a gold platter.”
His eyes looked at you with such guilt, you almost pulled him into a hug.
“No hard feelings,” you smiled at him.
On the other side of you sat John and Alexei, and somewhere behind you, wandering around looking for something to eat, were Ava and Bucky.
Yelena, although definitely in your apartment, was nowhere to be seen. Most likely in the bathroom.

After the whole fight with the Void, the group was too tired to wander back to their homes, so you just volunteered the idea that everybody crash at yours. It wasn't that far away from the crime scenes anyways, and it didn’t bother you all that much. Especially since Valentina is forcing you still to live in the New-Avengers-Old-Avengers watchtower that she has been rebuilding.
As much as you hate her, you couldn't contain your excitement for the idea of living in such a huge space.
Even if it was with these dorks and Yelena—God, your mind is all over the place and she still hasn't made an appearance.
Your eyebrows furrow as you glance at the bathroom door.
“Anybody know where Yelena is?”

Silence.

You looked over at John and Alexei, who were both out cold, and then at Bob, who just looked guilt-ridden toward the bathroom door.
“She locked herself in the second we entered.”
You stood up, and his eyes followed your movement.
“Get some sleep, Bob. I know today was a lot for you—for all of us. I don’t even know where Ava and Bucky ran off to.” You softly smiled at him and turned toward the bathroom door as he settled down on the couch.

In front of it, you hesitated. What exactly were you even trying to do? Ever since she looked at you before entering the void, you couldn't shake a deep sense of guilt off of you. Although she looked at you with those same hate-filled eyes, you still saw it. She wasn’t sure what the void would do. She was ready to risk dying.

Your eyes locked onto the bathroom handle, and you slowly raised your hand to try and open the door. No luck—it only rattled.
“Blondie? You in there?”
Not a sound could be heard. You raised your fist to knock at the door.
“Go away,” she muttered, accent thick with exhaustion and something else.
“I am busy.”
“Busy sulking?”
“Busy not murdering you,” she corrected. “It’s self-care.” Although you usually would have sent her a sharp quip back, you still felt off.
“You sure you’re good? Is—”
“I told you I am fine. I do not need your sympathy.”

A beat of silence before you spoke up.
“What was that today, Yelena?” By now your forehead was leaning against the door. The cold soothed your blaring headache. She didn’t answer, and instead you just heard a soft thud onto the floor.
“Yelena?” Your only answer were soft mumbles and mutters from her that you could barely even hear.
“Is everyth—
Let me in, Yelena.” You cut yourself off after hearing multiple things fall to the floor. It sounded like she was hurling herself across the bathroom trying to get away. A loud sigh left you as you looked over to the group and realized they were all still deep asleep.

She wouldn’t talk to you, and you knew she wouldn’t let you in.
“I’m just trying to help. You are not okay, Yelena. I saw the way you looked at him—at it. I mean—damn—you even had me worrying there and I don’t even—” You were cut off when your bathroom door rattled open slightly. The soft yellow light bled into the hallway in a small sliver.

Pushing the door further open, you saw her.

On the floor, still in her blood-soaked dirty suit, and even her face still had the dirt and rubble from the fight, and yet—yet she still raised her head to look at you with such a deep dislike in her eyes you wondered if maybe you were just conjuring all of this up because your mind was so overwhelmed today. Half-lidded blue eyes started to wander about anywhere but you, and her chest started heaving—that’s when you realized.

She was having a panic attack.

Her hand started rubbing over her heart, and the other one was grabbing onto your sink so hard her knuckles turned white. You quickly looked around to see if someone had awoken to the sound, but nobody did. You quickly pushed yourself into the bathroom and closed the door behind you to lock it before dropping down onto your knees in front of her.

Her head fell back onto the cold wall as her eyes closed, and she looked severely in pain—like something or someone was currently punching her over and over again.
“Yelena? What’s going on?”

Your voice came out in such a soft manner that you even shocked yourself slightly. Your eyes wandered and flittered around her face as you took in her state. A coat of sweat started to form on her skin as her hair clung to her face. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at you and only you.
“It hurts,” she breathed out. Her voice barely came out as a cry of a whisper, followed with a small sob.

You didn’t know what to do, but panicking about that would just make everything worse, so you focused on her.
“What hurts? Do you need me to get anything? Maybe I should get Bob—hold on—”

As you went to stand up, you felt a heavy hand grab onto your wrist and you looked immediately at her. She shook her head but still avoided your eyes, but you knew what she was trying to tell you. Don’t leave me alone. An exasperated sigh left you as you crawled back to her level—now closer than you previously were. Your wrist still in her hand, and she had started to tighten her grip, seemingly looking for something to ground her. Slowly, your other hand raised toward her face but quickly stopped in the act when you saw her flinch away.

Hysterically, she started shaking her head again and muttered things in Russian that you couldn’t keep up with. Slowly, you started to piece together some words like “I’m sorry,” “please don’t hurt her,” and “Natasha.” You knew her sister’s death had greatly affected her—you just never assumed it was this bad to the point of her hallucinating. As she started trembling, her other free hand still rubbed away at her heart, but it started to look so painful you were sure the skin underneath was burning red. So you quickly grabbed her hand and held it still.
“You are hurting yourself. That won’t help you. I need you to calm down, okay? Can you do that?”

Your words seemed to enter one ear and leave out the other as her eyebrows pinched together in pain.
“Do you trust me?” you asked—not really expecting an answer—but to your surprise, you received a curt nod from her after a beat of silence.

Letting go of her hand and pulling away from her hold on you, your hand found the back of her head and you pulled her into you. Resting your chin on the top of her head, your free hand found comfort on her arm where your thumb rubbed softly at the suit-covered skin as if to soothe her—perhaps also a little yourself.

It took some time, but eventually she stopped shaking in your hold and instead clutched onto your shirt. You hadn’t stopped muttering soft words to help encourage her to calm down, and now she was so still you worried she might have cried herself to her own death.

You tried pulling away, but she only gripped onto your shirt tighter, so you only lowered your head. Hers was barely held up with eyes half-closed, lips red and swollen, littered with cuts and furrowed eyebrows. Her eyes fluttered between yours, and it took you a moment to realize just how close to her you were.

You could feel her ragged breath, noses so close they were brushing against each other, and still the light tremble in her hands.
“Are you better now?” you whispered.
“We need to get you out of your clothes and maybe into a bed—or the couch if John and Alexei haven’t taken the entire thing over.”

Still no answer, but it wasn’t like you had expected her to give you one. Not in her current state, at least.

Pulling out of her hold and leaving the bathroom turned out to be the most difficult task the entire day had given you. She had eventually pulled away from you - actually, she even pushed you away from her—but her untreated wounds seemed to have festered and worsened, as she could barely stand up. So you held her upright.

You helped her get to your room and laid her down onto your clean bed. You gave her some shirt you found lying around in your closet that you weren’t even entirely sure was yours, with some jeggings. Her wounds were treated by herself, but you didn’t leave the room when she did it. Not in your good conscience, you couldn’t.

She returned to her cold state she previously always sported around, and you knew what this meant—she would act like none of this had happened. And maybe a part of you had hoped for that as well, because at the end of the day, you hated her and she hated you—right?

Now you were both laying on your bed with you on your back and her on her side with her back facing you. Your head turned to her side as your eyes wandered over her silhouette before turning back to the ceiling.

You were just glad this hell of a day was finally coming to an end. As you closed your eyes, you could have sworn you heard a hoarse “Thank you” come from her side before everything faded to black.

—————

Over the span of the next few days, she went back to how she was before—cold, mean, and just plain petty. The only difference now was that she was crueler, and even though you knew you shouldn't say anything, you couldn’t help but confide in Bucky.
Bucky, who was currently standing in front of you in a fighting stance, ready to knock you on your ass—all the while looking extremely confused. “So, wait. You hugged her?” “Held her just close to me.” “Hugged her. Helped her calm down after a panic attack, and she didn’t even let you leave afterwards—and now she’s ignoring you?” “Ignoring me would have been mercy. No. She’s just a plain bitch to me now. At least before she would shut up when she realized I’d had enough. Now it’s just jab after jab after jab.” You let out a sigh. “Punch your feelings out.”
Your arms dropped, and you tilted your head to look at him with a "The fuck are you saying?" facial expression. “Come on. It helps. I promise. Do it as hard as you—”

You cut him off by moving toward him steadily, one jab to his side, the next to his shoulder which he blocked with his metal arm. He got a strong punch to your ribcage, and you stumbled back in faux pain. As he strutted closer to you to apologize, you quickly grabbed his arm and twisted it around to throw him on the floor.
He caught your arm and pulled you down with him just underneath you, with you sat on his lap, both breathing heavily.

“You’ve gotten rusty, old man,” you let out with a smirk.
“Haha. You’re just as out of breath as me. Don’t get cocky now.”

He pulled himself up with you still in his lap, one hand finding purchase on your side to stabilize you. His eyes locked on yours, and a beat of silence followed.
Just now, you realized how close he was to you, much like Yelena was earlier this week—but this time, you didn’t feel the way she made you feel.

As you opened your mouth to say something, anything really, you heard a loud clap followed by a thick Russian accent screaming:

“Only real American heroes are able to fight and love! Bucky Barnes, you are phenomenal! America’s big hero, everybody!”

You rolled your eyes as you spotted not only Alexei but John and—worse of all—Yelena, who looked about six seconds away from murdering you.
You tumbled off of Bucky, who still hadn’t stopped staring at you, paying no mind to the rest of the gang just behind him, arguing about what “professionals” should and shouldn’t do in their training room.

Taking off your hand bandages, you placed them down on the floor and quickly grabbed your towel, trekking out of the room and into the bathroom to shower… whatever that was off.

After your shower and after you retreated back to your own room, you laid down on your warm bed.
Arm above your eyes, you were close to falling asleep before someone almost ripped the damn hinges off your door with how hard they were knocking.

“One fucking second,” you muttered as you forced yourself to get up.

Maybe it was Bob and he’d lost control again.
Maybe Bucky finally caved in and stuck John's head into the trashcan and now can’t get him out.
Or maybe…

Maybe it was just Yelena in front of you, looking extremely disheveled, like she had just woken up to the worst news of her entire life.

“Can I help you?” Your voice came out more hostile than you intended, but you really weren’t in the mood for her bullshit right now.

“I can’t fucking sleep,” she said, her accent thick with exhaustion. It was similar to how it sounded just a few days ago.
She shoved her way into your room and sat down on your bed.

“Okay, so make yourself at home, I guess. You ignore me all week and now all of the sudden you can’t—”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
“No.”

A sigh left your parted lips.
“Are you staying here tonight?”

She didn’t say anything, but you already understood her: Yes, I will. And I will sleep in your bed with you.

Laying yourself down on your side of the bed, you patted the empty space beside you.
“Might as well get comfy.”

Slowly but surely, she made her way to lay down next to you.
Your eyes trailed her profile, and it hurt how pretty she was. Slowly, she turned her head toward you, and once again, there was barely any space left between you two. Her eyes trailed down to your lips, where they stayed—laser focused.

“Lena?”
Her eyes snapped up. They were wide and feral, like she was looking—hunting—for something inside of you that only she was aware of.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in.
“Get some sleep. Or try to, at least. It’s late.” Caving in, your body relaxed and once again you were on the brink of falling asleep—but to her, it must have seemed like you were already dead to the world.

A warmth spread over your face as you slowly felt her hand cup your cheek.
Thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek, your nose slope, and your cupid’s bow with feather-light touches that could almost be described as nonexistent. Almost.

You heard her mutter something in Russian before her hand fell, and you felt a deep sense of disappointment grow inside of you.
Still, you didn’t open your eyes to look at her.
Instead, you turned your back to her and fell asleep—because this, whatever this was, was entirely wrong.

She’s meant to hate you not come into your room at 2 a.m. just to touch and feel you exist beside her.
Yet you crave this.
You need this just as bad, if not worse than her.

By morning, you had assumed she was already gone, but when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by tousled platinum blonde hair all over your face.
Blowing it away, your hand moved to push it all down and you felt her. Looking down, you could see how she had practically become one with you.
Head heavy on your chest, one hand holding yours, the other cradling your cheek. Her breathing remained soft, unbothered, so your hand found the back of her neck and began to softly caress her.
You couldn’t understand what any of this meant or what she was doing, but you weren’t going to tell her to stop.

No you wanted her to continue. And she did.


For two more weeks, on and off, she would come barging into your room and just lay there. Not one single word was uttered, but you knew—she had a nightmare, so she came to you for comfort. However, during the day, she was still the same cruel, heartless girl you had known for years.
Most days, you assumed her coming over was a new form of sleep paralysis that you had developed, because she truly showed you no difference.

Although you may have not noticed any change, Bucky sure did.

He saw the longing glances she gave you when you looked away.
Her furrowed eyebrows toward John when he took a quick jab at you for something she would have said much worse to.
Or when Alexei went to wrap his arm around you, he saw her flinch—as if he had done it to her and not you.

He tried ignoring it, because at the end of the day, this was your life and your relationships—but when Alexei and John caught on, he knew it was just a matter of time before something excessive happened.

But for now, you were sent away on a solo mission that Valentina had conjured up as good press work.
Normally, you would’ve complained and even yelled at her, but you just really needed a break from everybody back at the tower.
Especially her.

The mission wasn’t supposed to be that hard: get in, destroy the lab, and get out.
It was supposed to be empty—because that’s what that witch Valentina told you.

But obviously, it wasn’t.

No, right now a 6-foot-something man had you in a chokehold, while another man had taken all of your knives with him.

Wherever you were rendered your powers entirely useless—you assumed the walls were coated with something to stop superheroes from interfering.

Your nails dug into his arm and you felt a small puddle of blood forming underneath.
Eyes feeling like they were about to pop out of your head, your hand reached to his face, digging your nails in before dragging them down to his eyes.

He let out a loud groan before pushing you off of him, and you fell to the floor, heaving.

Your hand went to your neck in an attempt to comfort yourself before you turned and saw him dragging his feet toward you.
In front of you, about two feet away, lay your weapon but you couldn’t tell anymore if there were any bullets left. Your brain was too scrambled from the lack of oxygen.

So instead, you leapt forward and grabbed it.
On your back, you aimed the gun toward his head as he started sprinting toward you, and shot him square between the eyes.

When you heard him fall with a loud thud to the floor, your head dropped onto the hard, blood-covered concrete beneath you.

Your head was spinning, something somewhere on your body burned, and you felt your own blood pooling beneath your clothes.

Still—you had to get up. The mission wasn’t done.
You knew somewhere along the hallways were many more men.
Your phone was discarded in your bag at the roof of the building, meant to be picked up after the mission, but dying seemed like a more likely possibility than ever seeing your stupid phone again.

“Damn you, Valentina. You fucking bitch,” you muttered as you lifted yourself up with shaky arms.

Your legs wobbled beneath you and you almost fell face-flat.
Looking down at the gun in your hand—you had about three more bullets left.
You hoped it was enough.

You tracked your way down the hall and set all the timers for the bombs.
You were almost out of the door when it ripped open and about five or six way-too-muscular men came barging in.

More footsteps emerged from behind you, and by then, you had started to make peace with the fact that you were most likely going to die in less than two minutes.

A loud sigh escaped you as you leaned against the wall for support, eyes closed.

Before anyone could do anything, the windows shattered.
You dropped to the floor to avoid the shards.

One by one, the men dropped.

With wide eyes, you looked outside the broken window and saw Bucky—just on top of the next building, rifle in hand.

Relief washed over you as your body collapsed in on itself and you fainted.

Before everything went black, you heard her.
Screaming your name with such anxiety and worry you second-guessed whether it was real or not. Warm, shaky hands engulfed your face, her thumb stroking your cheek.

By the time your eyes opened again, you were half-blinded by harsh white lights.

Turning your head to the side, you realized you were in a hospital room.
Outside your door, you heard chatter and murmurs. You caught Alexei’s pungent Russian accent and Bob’s nervous stuttering—which made you smile a little… before grimacing.
Your entire body hurt.
There wasn’t a single point that wasn’t burning or bruised. Looking around more, you saw flowers, gifts, food, and balloons that read: “Congrats! It’s a boy.”

You heard the door handle rattle, and soon enough, almost all of the team pushed through the door.
Bob was the first to notice you had regained consciousness.

“Hey... Hey! Guys! Look!” he pointed frantically as they all fell silent, just staring at you. A small smile found your lips as you opened your mouth to speak—but nothing came out. Bucky quickly rushed out to call for a doctor while the rest surrounded you.
All but her.

She was nowhere to be seen.
And a deep sense of disappointment befell you.

Had she cared so little about you? You swore it was her holding your face as you bled out.
Her whispering into your skin as you were driven to the hospital.
Her holding your hand. Even in your half-dead state, you felt the pressure.

It was always her.

So why wasn’t she here now?

Before you could help yourself, your heart monitor began to speed up. “Whoa—hey, hey, are you good? Damn, where the hell is Bucky?” John asked, placing his hand on your arm to comfort you.

Soon enough, Bucky followed with the doctor.
He checked your vitals, declaring them stable for now before quickly leaving the room, still glancing at the papers in his hands.

The team stayed a while until all cleared—but Bucky.
He was left looking at you with extreme pity.

“What? What did I do?” “You want to know how she’s been doing?” You didn’t answer right away, instead opting to stare at the ceiling.

“Why does she hate me, Buck? I didn’t even do anything…”

The second part came out as a hurtful whisper as your eyes found his.

“I don’t think she hates you. Matter of fact, she was the one who felt something was wrong with your mission.
Claimed you usually send a cat sticker in the group chat to announce you were done but you didn’t this time.
So she demanded we check on you. When we found you, she was shaking.
She wouldn’t talk to anybody for days after.
Even when she went on missions, nobody knew or heard.”

“…So why isn’t she here now?”

“She always is. During the night, she would sneak out to sit with you.” His eyes dart to his watch on his wrist.
“Should be about time actually. I should get going. Play nice with her. She has had it rough.” He stood up and made it to his door before stopping just before opening it. “I’m glad you are okay.”
As reluctant as you were, you did want to believe him about Yelena, but it was just so hard and confusing with her. Before your thoughts could spiral any further, your hospital door opened again. Eyes snapping towards the door, you saw her in all of her glory—messy blonde hair with makeup smudged and many, many bruises littered all around her. She was breathing heavily.

“You are awake,” she muttered out in a thick, exhausted Russian accent.
“Yeah, I guess so.”

She moved before you could blink; all of a sudden, her arms were around you, careful not to hurt you any more but just tight enough to let you know she was scared.

Your hand finds her head, and you brush her hair a little. Pulling away from you, her arms stayed near you.

“You are stupid. Dumb. An idiot.” You knew she meant to insult you yet you didn’t focus on that.

No, you focused on how red her eyes looked and how deep her eyebags ran, how her lips were turned into a frown, and how she was barely holding herself together. You didn’t say anything; you simply pulled her in by her forearm.

“Stop talking and just lay with me. You need rest more than me.”

With that, she laid herself down around you, mindful of all the bits and bobs attached to you. Her head, just like before, found purchase on your chest before you and her passed out in tandem.

It took you all of two weeks before you were finally allowed to return to the Avengers Tower. Yelena had been the first to come from the team to help bring your stuff back. Slowly but surely, you began recovering, and before you all knew it, you were all okay again.

The only problem was that none of them would let you on a mission. Not even Valentina her goddamn self.

When you asked Bucky, he told you that you needed more rest and going out on missions alone in your current state was unwise and possibly very dangerous. You tried going in teams with John or Ava, but again they simply brushed you off.

“I just don’t understand. I am fine, I have recovered—even my damn bruises are gone—why can’t I just be sent on another mission?” You voiced out your concern to Bob most days because, just like you, he would always stay back on missions, so you just grew to talk his ear off.

“I mean, they just want to be nice? They don’t want you to hurt yourself again. Give them some time—I am sure they will come around. Besides, being alone in the tower isn’t so bad? Is it?...”

The last part came out more as a question to himself than to you, but you let it be. Turning your head to look at him, you let out a small chuckle.

“I still don’t quite understand the whole thing with Yelena. One day she latches herself onto me, the next she looks like she would want to kill me, and every time I try to talk about it, nothing comes out of her. I am getting tired of her stupid game.”

“Maybe corner her?”

“Corner her? How?”

“Like in the bathroom all those weeks ago? Or something?” He seemed so unsure of what he was saying that for a second, you had to stifle a small laugh as a smile broke out on your face.

“Want food, Bob? I’m sure we still got something left?” He nods and you get up to get both of you some food. You should at least consider yourself happy that Bob would still be around—and not just you and the endless voices of despair and shame catching up to you.

In a few days, there would be a huge gala event that the entire team needed to attend, so your plan was to go there, meet with Valentina, and force her to give you a new mission—it shouldn’t be that hard anyway. You were sure that Bucky and the others have just been taking your missions for themselves before you get a chance to even see them without Valentina’s consent or knowledge.

Looking around the kitchen isle, you found little to no actual snacks for you and Bob. Some apples, some bananas.

Turning around to the cupboards, you purse your lips in thought. Where the hell did Alexei and John hide their sweets? You know very well they do—you just need to find where. Soon enough, you found Alexei’s stash on the top of the cupboards—damn tall super soldiers. Even on your tiptoes, you couldn’t reach the mile-high top, so you looked around for a chair to stand on.

Dragging one from the seating table, you quickly grabbed the first thing that came to hand, which were some salt and vinegar chips—you weren’t too sure if Bob would like them, but they had to do for now.

Placing the chair back to its place, you quickly walked back to Bob on the couch who looked immensely immersed in whatever rom-com he put on when you left.

Once on the couch, you ripped open the bag and held it open to him.

“Couldn’t find anything else. Hope you like what I served you.”

Bob simply smiled at you before pulling a few chips out of the bag. One hour into the movie and you heard the elevator door ding open. Tossing your head back to look at the couch, you smiled at them. They looked rough.

“You fight Thanos himself, or why do you guys look like hell in human form?” You fight back a grin as John stumbled over his feet and nearly took Alexei with him.

Your eyes quickly divert to Yelena, who quite arguably looked the worst out of all of them. Your eyebrows furrow in an unasked question. Are you okay? You knew the answer, but still. You don’t like seeing her like this—so weak—so empty?

You thought you made progress with her after the whole hospital situation, and even though she has severely eased up on the backtalk (although you weren’t too sure it was because you guys were becoming friends or if she just saw you as too weak to handle them currently), she still wasn’t the nicest to you considering what was happening at night with the both of you.

You even started to leave your bedroom door open when you went to sleep because you just knew she would come and wouldn’t want to possibly wake you by opening your creaking door.

You always tried to make everything easier for her, and you don’t even know why.

All you knew was that sometimes you would wake up in the middle of the night to find her next to you. You would stare, and you would whisper everything you wanted to tell her—how you felt about her, how you want her to feel about you, and more. You would trace the slope of her button nose and brush your finger to her lips just to have a small sense of what it could feel like—her lips on you. Not just on your own lips, but everywhere. You wanted to feel her everywhere, for her to be everything and it was starting to become harder and harder to ignore outside of the vulnerable moments you shared in your bed.

It wasn’t fair how she was able to laugh so freely with Ava, hug Bob so easily when he needed it, look at them with joy and love and not hate and shame. Were you that bad of an option? Did she find it embarrassing to go to Bob for help so she found you as a plan B because she knew you wouldn’t say anything?

God, everything about her just hurt. It hurt how badly you wanted her, and it hurt how obvious it was she would never want you.

Shaking your head rid of those thoughts, you stood up from your place at the couch next to Bob and bid him goodnight before disappearing into your room. Your eyes find your door handle. If she was that embarrassed to be around you, maybe you should just help her stop—maybe it would even help you to stop feeling for her.

So, you locked your bedroom door and made your way to bed. Too lazy to get up and do anything, you were out in just a few minutes and were only awoken by the soft rattle of your bedroom door.

At first, you had been scared maybe someone was trying to get in, but you quickly got to your senses and realized who it was.

Closing your eyes, you turned onto your side and tried to fall asleep again, only succeeding after the rattling of the door handle had finally stopped. A sigh of relief left you.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. A break from her.

Days passed by and you stopped seeing her and ultimately stopped thinking about her—unless you count the fact that you still sleep on only one side of your bed because you still think she will come.

She won’t.

But she doesn’t seem any better off without you. Her eyebags lay heavy beneath her crystal green eyes that look so dull, so lifeless it scares you almost.

Now you were standing in your room preparing yourself for that gala that was in less than an hour. Your hair wasn’t done yet, and you also didn’t even want to think about doing it because then you might actively tear the entire tower apart from frustration.

Instead, you opted to simply wear your dress and finish applying your makeup for now.

You heard a rough knock on your door before you let out a, “It’s open!”

Turning your back to the door, you fumble through your makeup bag to look for that specific lipstick shade that you knew you had somewhere in here. Or was it in the bathroom?

“You look good.” Her thick accent makes you freeze mid-motion.

You turn to look at her—really look at her.

She has a blue dress on that fit the colour of her eyes so perfectly. That blonde hair of hers only adding to the effects of the dress and her makeup—simple but nonetheless there—and her lips. They looked so red—so full and plump.

You couldn’t stop staring.

“What do you want, Lena?” You couldn’t shake the nickname no matter how mad she made you.

At first she said nothing, simply opting to stare at you instead—top to bottom, where her eyes lingered on the curves of your body and of your neck. She stepped closer, but you were still all together confused on why she was even here and what she even wanted from you.

“Yelena?” You voiced out.

“Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
“You have been keeping me out. Why?” Her eyes flitted between yours.

Your heart raced and you were starting to sweat. Profusely so. A deep sigh escaped you as you tried to look at her in a stern way. “You ignore me all day, crawl to my bed at night and hold me—which, yes, I am awake when you do it because I can’t fucking sleep next to you without thinking about you. How does that work? I think about you and I miss you, yet you are laying right next to me knowing by morning you will act like I am a dead man walking. Yelena, it fucking hurts.”

By the end, you were a mere breath away from her. You felt her ragged breath, you saw every small micro-expression she was giving you, and it was ruthless how unbothered she seemed by all of this. Your shaky hands go to cradle her face, and in a small whisper you mutter out, “Why?”

Her eyes dropped down to your lips and they remained there—staring and awaiting. Pulling her in closer, your lips parted just above hers. Would it be so bad? To just go in? You felt them brushing slightly against yours as your eyes snapped up to hers, asking an unspoken question. Out of pure hesitation, you started to pull back, but it didn’t get very far before she pulled you back in by your arms. Her lips consumed yours, and all of your worries and all of your doubts flashed away, and it was only her in your mind. Pulling you with her, you stumbled at the foot of the bed and sat down on it, her between your legs now, holding onto your face as your hands dropped to her waist.

She hasn’t left your lips even for a small breath—

A loud knock pulled you out of your fantasy, and you found yourself back hunched over your makeup bag, lipstick in hand.

Had you been fucking hallucinating that?

Looking around and then back to the mirror, you realize you look normal—nothing out of place, no smudged makeup from her tight grip on your face or anything and you felt like ransacking your entire bedroom because of it.

You missed her badly, and even that small glint of her from her open bedroom door, getting ready with Ava in tow, was enough to send you over the edge and start imagining her. It was certainly not the first time you daydreamed—or dreamed in general—of her. During the nights when she laid next to you, you would often dream about how she would feel bare on you. Her lips trailing down a path of lust and neediness down on you.

How you would feel just wrapped all around her.

Your door opened, and you saw John standing there. His eyes did you a quick run-over before smirking at you.

“Don’t say anything weird, John. What do you want?”
“Car’s out waiting, everybody else is done. Had to come get you—are you finished?”

Quickly grabbing your purse and stuffing your lipstick that you finally found in, you rush out behind John.

Once in the car, you sat opposite of Yelena, who was running her eyes up and down. Your eyes met hers, and how you wished you could read her mind in this moment.

Was she judging you? Or was she admiring you?

The car ride took a dreadful 20 minutes of Alexei screaming with John about how excited they are. Everybody else was dead silent save for a few chuckles here and there when Alexei did something stupid or someone threw a jab at John.

The Gala itself was beautifully ornamented. An orchestra to the sides playing soft background music, chatter all around, and most importantly a bar in which you could drink away Yelena—or at least try to.

After about two glasses and a handful of very annoying rich people coming to congratulate you on being a part of the new Avengers, you started to feel lightheaded.

Your eyes scanned the crowd and there you saw her. Bathed in the moonlight that shone through the big window behind her, peeking out from the velvet red curtains covering them.

It shone on her in a way that angels would shine should they step foot on earth.

Her eyes skitted to yours from across the hallway. You didn’t know how long you both stood there, watching each other. Could’ve been seconds, could’ve been forever. The music faded behind you like you were submerged underwater, the chatter turning into a dull hum in your ears. Nothing existed but her—Yelena, haloed in that goddamn moonlight like some kind of sick miracle sent to test you again.

She tilted her head just the slightest bit. You knew that look. You’d spent nights memorizing every tick of her face, every twitch of her brow, every small furrow that meant something more. This one said she was thinking too loud inside her head, same as you were. Maybe you were dreaming again. Maybe she was still a ghost haunting your bed when the lights went out.

But when she started walking toward you, slow and unsure like the floor might cave in with each step, you knew this wasn’t a dream. You knew because your heart started racing again. Loud. Relentless. Stupid.

She stopped just inches in front of you, eyes scanning your face like she was making sure you were real, too.

“You locked your door.”

You didn’t expect that to be the first thing she said, “Yeah,” you replied, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I needed to make it stop.”

She looked down at her hands for a second. Then back up, those stormy blue eyes all cracked and tired and too honest. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked hard, trying not to lose it in the middle of some overpriced ballroom in front of the entire team. “Why are you here, Yelena?”

Her lips pressed together, and for a second you thought she’d walk away again.

“Because we were both invited to the Gala tonight?” She chuckled dryly.

Your hands trembled where they clutched at your now empty glass, torn between touching her and pushing her away.

“You can’t keep crawling into my bed if you’re not willing to stay in the morning, Yelena.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But you also need to know that i am scared.“

You didn’t trust her. Not completely. Not yet. But when she reached for your hand and your fingers slipped together like they belonged there—like maybe this was the one thing the world didn’t plan to ruin—you let her hold on.

The orchestra shifted into something softer, something gentler. She gave your hand the smallest squeeze.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

And even though your legs felt like they might give out and your chest was still tight with the weight of everything unsaid—you nodded.

You stepped onto the floor together, slow and unsure. Her arms wrapped around you, and yours found their way home to her waist. Neither of you really knew the steps, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter. Because she was here. In the light. In your arms. Not just when the door was closed and the world asleep.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d stay this time.

[wileys-russo]

in the blink of an eye (2) II a.putellas

part one in the blink of an eye (2) II a.putellas

"it has been years, time to forgive yourself."

eli's words had been playing on your mind for much longer than you cared to admit, despite the chaotic dumpster fire mess that your life was that really should have meant you were at capacity for things to overthink about.

like your mind ever listened to you though, or missed a chance to play a wonderfully wickedly cruel trick.

"i wanna pick!" speaking of.

"vale. you can pick your clothes nena, but remember it is hot outside sí?" you smiled, honestly far too exhausted from yet another sleepless night dealing with the poor three year olds endless night terrors to have the energy to argue with her over what she wanted to wear.

you knew this coffee date was important but you also knew mariposa's needs came before anything, and building up her independence was surely not a bad thing?

"posie. no!" you laughed as the girl returned, rubbing your hands down your face and shaking your head as moments later the three year old toddled back out, wrestling furiously to try and pull her head through the leg hole of a pair of jean shorts.

"you look like a wrestler." you teased, tugging the shorts off and smiling at the annoyed scowl which painted her face. "don't laugh!" the girl huffed, smacking your leg with a scowl and crossing her arms.

"we need to leave soon princesa, can i pick por favor? you can pick tomorrow, promesa!" you squatted down and held up your pinky, the three year old giving in with a nod and a grunt, locking her pinky with yours as you both leaned in and kissed the others finger.

"can't break it." the girl huffed as you nodded, her surprised giggles filling the air as you snatched her up, carrying her back into her makeshift bedroom upside down by her ankles.

"down tia! down!" the girl demanded, collapsing into a fit of giggles as you dropped her on her bed, careful she didn't land on her neck as you did so.

you smiled as posie grabbed her favorite bear, starting to sing a little tune to him as you rummaged through her wardrobe picking out an outfit. but suddenly, the singing stopped, then you heard a little sniffle and your head whipped around, features softening as you watched her tiny hand wipe away a stray tear.

"hey hey hey bebita, qué pasa?" you were sat beside her in a flash, picking her up and sitting her on your lap as her face hid itself in your chest, one of your hands cradling her head and the other gently rubbing her back.

"mami's song." the girl managed out as your heart cracked and you squeezed your own eyes shut at the emotions which poured down on you like someone had cast a storm cloud above your head.

"oh." you managed out, her little body starting to shake with an awful broken sob, her tears staining your shirt and you adjusted your position slightly, squeezing her tightly and mumbling assurances over and over in her ear.

the same words you'd repeat to her every night you'd wake up to hear her screaming, horrid wailing filling the apartment as you'd fall out of bed and sprint to be by her side, taking her in your arms and gently shushing her.

by now it was routine she just slept by your side in your bed, tiny fist curled into your shirt, grip unrelenting and desperate, night terrors always lingering just over her head like a thundercloud waiting to burst with rain.

posie had always been in your life from the very moment hers began. you were her one and only tia, your older sister your only sibling and her husband an only child who was long estranged from his parents.

when posie was a baby she could be rocked in a singular arm, your mami cooing and fussing over her just like she had when both you and your sister natalia were her own babies.

these days your mami suffered from arthritis and could hardly lift the tv remote let alone a wiggling three year old, her fingers gnarled and wrists stiff, a result of working far too many hours for far too many years just to keep a roof over your head when your father left one day to get milk and never came back.

being a tia wasn't a job you took lightly, and despite the fact you'd moved away from barcelona years ago it never stopped you making as many trips over to see her once she was born, or your sister and brother in law bringing her to madrid to see you every few weeks once she was old enough to travel.

her cheeks were always rosy, never without a bright but gummy smile plastered on her face, always giggling and babbling, desperate for any sort of attention and your sister and her husband gave it to her by the bucket load.

but when the accident happened, your role in one another's life was changed forever.

"miss her. miss mami! and papi!" posie choked out once her sobs had turned to shallow gasps and her head rested on your shoulder, tiny little fists gripping your shirt as if one wrong move and you would disappear entirely right in front of her eyes.

"i know nena, i know. i miss your mami too." you whispered out with words barely audible, swallowing a sob of your own which started to claw its way up your throat, tears banking up in the corner of your eyes and threatening to spill over as you fought to pretend they weren't there.

lips lingering on the side of her head with a few gentle kisses, you were unable to stop the small smile curling into your lips as your niece wiped her nose on your shirt a few moments later as if you were a big human tissue.

"have to see the lady?" the girl asked quietly, grip on you loosening just slightly as she wiped her nose again this time on her bear which you made a mental note to wash later.

"sí, we have to see ana. but she is nice to you, no?" you rubbed the girls back who nodded. "and, you get cake nena." you poked at her stomach softly as her smile returned, pad of your thumb tenderly and carefully wiping away the tears which had begun to crust the corner of her eye.

"when we get home tonight we can do whatever you want. dress ups, fashion show, tea party, make cookies, watch tv, anything!" you promised, slowly moving her off of your lap and gently prying off her fingers which still gripped to the shirt you now needed to change.

"watch mami and papi's video?" posie asked hopefully as you tried not to let the way your heart twisted show on your face, nodding with a pained smile, bouncing her gently in your lap.

"sí bebita, we can watch mami and papi's video." you promised, the tape of your sisters wedding that posie had stumbled across a couple of weeks ago practically living on your tv screen since the day she'd first watched.

your own mami had urged against it, warning it might bring up some feelings which were far too big for a three year old to process. but you were still learning how to say no to the small girl and when she hit you with the puppy dog eye and pout combination, you were done for.

but to everyones surprise not a single tear was shed as posie sat and watched the ceremony which wed her mother and father, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in far too long as the moment it finished she was demanding you play it again and a routine of sorts fell into place.

really both you and your therapist were certain it was a coping mechanism, but theres no real way to explain that to a three year old who had lost both of her parents in the blink of an eye.

with posie finally dressed and ready you'd packed the same blue little backpack you now knew to take everywhere with you and hoisted her up on your hip, locking the front door after you.

you smiled kindly at the older woman who stepped into the elevator after you, who wiggled her fingers at posie in greeting as the three year old hid her face shyly in your neck and the woman gave you an amused smile.

"vale. this is not rocket science idiota, you can do this." you mumbled to yourself as you strapped posie into her car seat, tugging her thumb out of her mouth every few seconds as she settled for sucking on the ear of her teddy instead.

another coping mechanism.

you sighed in relief as finally you managed to slot the lock of the belt in, the stupid thing far too complicated for a seatbelt but at least you knew there wasn't a chance posie was getting it undone with how long it took you to get it locked in.

"listo?" "sí, vamos!"

~

"-and a job?" ana asked, firmly but not unkindly as you were quick to nod, pausing to wipe posie's face with a napkin where she'd decide to smush most of the cake around her mouth rather than in it.

you glanced up apologetically as you rummaged around in the little blue backpack for the wet wipes, ana too busy scribbling something down to notice as you grabbed out the pack and yanked one out.

"tastes good!"

"how can you taste the cake if you wear it and do not eat it?" you teased causing the three year old to giggle, gently holding her head still as you wiped away the chocolate smeared around her mouth.

"lo siento ana, what did you ask?" you grabbed out a little wooden puzzle for posie to play with, a happy squeal leaving her mouth as she sat herself down by your feet to fiddle around with it.

"oye! the ground is dirty posie." you scooted your chair back and slipped your arms under her elbows, pulling her up and onto your lap, settling the puzzle down on the table in front of her as she made no move to argue but rather slumped comfortably against you.

"a job, steady income." ana reminded with a small smile as you nodded.

"sí, at a little clothing shop not far from the apartment. i know it is not much but it is three days a week and that is as much as i can organise childcare for her until we've settled in a bit, found a routine." you nervously fiddled with your rings under the table.

"hey, a start is a start. i want to work with you so that this works for her, so that she is as best looked after as she can be and stays with family." ana assured quietly as you exhaled shakily, giving her a small but uncertain nod.

"i know these normally feel stressful, and i can see you are nervous chica. but that is why i asked we meet here and not in my office, so that it felt a little bit less formal." ana gave you a kind smile as the tension in your shoulders melted away a little.

now slightly more relaxed you answered her questions with a touch more confidence, nodding and taking down your own notes as she explained what else she'd need to see before she could sign off the papers and take everything to family court.

"you said you grew up here, sí? you have family here? friends?" ana questioned as you hesitated before nodding. "some, a lot i lost touch with when i...moved." you forced a smile as ana nodded and scribbled something down.

"do you know her? she has been looking over to us for the last ten minutes." ana tilted her chin behind you as you frowned curiously and turned your head to glance over your shoulder.

though as you did and you caught the eye of your assumed spectator, your blood ran cold and your body froze, rigid and tense all over again like you were made of scrap metal.

her hair was different, longer, blonder, and tied up in a neat ponytail. she looked like she'd just come from the gym in bike shorts and an oversized shirt, yet you didn't even need to see her figure hidden beneath it so be able to draw it from memory with your eyes closed.

her face was shadowed by a faded blue nike baseball cap which was tucked on her head, and though her eyes were covered by a pair of black expensive looking sunglasses, you could feel them peering right into your soul and it had your heart hammering in your chest.

"old friend?" just as suddenly as alexia had appeared it was as if you blinked and suddenly she was gone, merely a faceless figure in the back of your mind, haunting your most tender and endearing of memories like a ghost.

only you didn't need someone to pinch you to know you hadn't been dreaming, her gaze seared into your forehead as you caught a flash of blonde hair duck around the corner and you frowned.

"sí...something like that."

~

as alexia hurried around the corner, feet smacking the pavement with hollow thumps, cursing herself both for running away and for the fact she'd done so before her coffee was ready so the entire trip was now voided useless all together.

alexia was angry, burning and boiling and seething like a wave at its peak ready to come crashing and smashing down toward shore.

no, she was upset, agonizing over what could have been, what should have been, as if someone had just grabbed her heart in their fist and squeezed as if it were a stress ball.

no, she was disappointed. gut wrenchingly, soul crushingly, undeniably, disappointed. fixated on a scene she'd imagined a million times over in her head and yet the real thing couldn't have been more different if she tried.

or was it perhaps, that she was frustrated? heartbroken? torn up? hollow? numb? jealous?

emotional, alexia was overwhelmingly emotional.

which is how she found herself pulling into a driveway which was once hers but no longer, head covered by the hood of her jacket, baseball cap tilted downward masking her face.

with her heart hammering in her chest and stomach queasy with an apprehensive sense of heightened anxiety she hurried up the driveway as if you might jump out from the bushes at any second, ready to yelp and laugh like all of this just a cruel prank or a sick joke.

with knuckles tense and ready to pound themselves against the faded blue of the front door, alexias hand curled to form a fist, however before she could even lift her arm it was swinging open.

"hermana? what-" not letting her sister finish her sentence alexia was already barreling inside with a huff, leaving the younger girl to roll her eyes at her dramatics and close the door after her, grumbling something under her breath

"mami! mami? mami!" alexia called out, eyes flickering rapidly around the room trying to spot her, spinning around on her heels as a hum sounded, the older woman staring right back at her with a raised eyebrow.

"you will never guess who i have just seen." the blonde grunted with a shake of her head, alba taking a seat at the table watching on curiously. "your ex almost fiance?" the younger girl guessed, biting into an apple as apples head swiveled so fast it should have flown on.

"eh? cómo lo supo?" alexia managed to spit out in shock as her sister chuckled. "lucky guess hermana." alba smiled taking another bite of the apple, crunch echoing around the room and making alexias eye twitch.

"qué pasa hija?" eli gained her attention again, alexia spinning back around with another huff, shaking her head and starting to pace back and forth. "here we go again." alba mumbled under her breath with a roll of her eyes.

"so she says no to marrying me, no to a family, no to a future. but then i see her and-and-and-" alexia stuttered though it was one fueled by anger, not nerves.

"-and we break up. a few months goes by and she moves away to madrid, a year and she loses my number, time passes and i do not have to see her face in front of me for nearly three years and now-" alexia paused to scoff, throwing

"-now she has done all of that which she refused me, but with another woman! she has a baby, a family, maybe she is married? quién demonios sabe!" alexia laughed in shock, dragging her hands down her face and pausing for a moment, giving the threadbare rug beneath her feet a brief pause of respite before right away resuming her furious pacing back and forth across it.

"i thought you were over her? ale it has been four years since you broke up." alba sighed, immediately falling silent at the venomous glare sent her way by the older blonde across the room, holding her hands up in surrender.

"and the other woman? la nueva mujer? she is too old for her! parece una abuela." alexia spat, eyebrows furrowed angrily as she practically threw herself down in a chair, head resting on her chin and eyes moving slowly to glare at her younger sister who bit down on her apple with yet another obnoxious crunch.

"you are jumping to a fast conclusion hija, i thought i raised you to use your head." eli chimed in when it seemed her eldest daughters rant had come to a ceasefire, alexia instead seething silently in her seat and scowling off into the distance.

"i saw her mami. i saw her. y sé lo que vi!" alexia grunted, biting the inside of her cheek and wishing as she could yank her heart from her chest and toss it as far away as possible.

alexia loathed that alba was right.

it had been almost four years and yet you never quite left her mentally the way you'd run away physically, always and forever occupying a sliver of her mind, sometimes pushed right to the back and forgotten temporarily.

then she'd see something, smell something, ignite some sort of sense and every hair on her body would stand on end, flooded with a bitter nostalgia.

if it be something as simple as a bunch of brightly colored poppies in a storefront, the melodic chime of a bell that sounded horrendously close to your laughter.

sometimes when she was alone and her mind drifted to you alexia could near feel the ghost of your touch lingering at the back of her neck.

it was as if with her eyes closed she could still imagine your slender digits raking through her hair, nails scratching ever so lightly against her scalp, a soft hum reverberating around her head where you'd have heard the snippet of a song in the elevator not quite able to place what it was.

but then reality sunk in, you weren't there, you couldn't be, and then the phantom fingertips turned cold and haunting, mocking alexia for letting her guard down, allowing a thick fog of delusion to deceive her.

humiliation seeping into the footballers bones she was shaking her head and hands about as if to ward off a bad spirit, the apparition of your false touch burning her skin with a cruel brand of what once was, and seemingly never would be again.

"i saw her too hija." eli added, focused again on chopping the peppers in front of her with a methodical precision.

"perdón? you saw her? you knew she was back? i cannot-mami when!" alexia spluttered out in a state of shock, eli's eyes never raising to meet the hazel ones which raked over her accusingly.

"when we were at the store. mami called out to her, spoke with her." alba chimed in, apple finished now and core sat abandoned in a tissue in front of her as the girl leaned back in her seat with a sigh.

"mami? es esto verdad?" alexias head swiveled back to the older woman who nodded with a hum.

"sí, her hair has grown out. she suits the natural look more, but she has always been a pretty girl." eli spoke as if referring to an old family friend, and not the sore spot ex flame of her eldest daughter who danced through alexias subconscious more than she would ever dare to admit.

"mami!" was all the blonde could manage to splutter with a scoff of disbelief. "vimos al bebé. yours would have been cuter!" alba added in with a shrug, eli looking up this time and fixing the brunette with an evil look.

"no metas a esa niña en esto, lo sabes bien!" eli warned firmly pointing the knife in her daughters direction who mumbled an apology and suddenly excused herself to the bathroom.

"mami..." alexia sighed tiredly, dragging her hands down her face and struggling to process everything. "her eyes hija, they were sad. she looked as if she could use a friend, a real one." eli stated solemnly as alexia peeked out through her fingers with a frown.

though when the silence grew longer eli looked up again, the very slightest raise of her eyebrow all that was needed for alexia to catch onto where she was going with this.

"qué? a mí?" the blonde choked out in shock, arms falling limply by her side as eli shrugged. "an old friend." the woman turned and opened the fridge as alexias mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

"an old friend? mami i asked her to marry me and she said no!" alexias body shot up from the table as her fist thumped angrily against the wood, eli sighing as she returned with an armful of vegetables.

"sí. but that was four years ago nena, and how long are you going to keep that memory locked prisoner in your head? you have been wanting closure for a long time, no?" eli questioned and not untruthfully as alexias chest tightened, hackles up and a defensive quip loaded and ready to fly from the tip of her tongue.

but then there it was, the ever so slight beat of hesitation, the pause all she needed to let the dust settle for a moment, the noisy hustle in her mind quietening down for just a second.

"you are angry, upset, confused. you have questions mija, and she will have answers." "mami, i can't." "you can't hija, or you won't?"

~

"qué hago aquí? idiota."

alexia scolded herself and exhaled shakily as the car engine shut off, silence around her somehow even noisier than the traffic just a few feet away, her limbs operating with a mind of their own as her keys slipped into her pocket, one foot hitting the asphalt.

this was beyond a dumb idea, this was borderline psychotic.

and yet, alexia moved forward, one step, two steps, three steps and then four. her feet moved again of their own accord as her car flashed and locked behind her, the warm evening air engulfing her body which felt doused in an invisible cold sweat.

five steps, six steps, seven, eight, nine, she'd crossed the road now, stood outside your old apartment building with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie.

this was a horrible idea. a terrible, no good, poorly timed, not at all thought out and overall unacceptable use of her time.

yet her feet continued on. ten steps, eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen and she'd reached the elevator.

her eyes darted around nervously as if she was under attack, looking for an enemy she couldn't see but knew lay in wait, silent and deadly, ready to strike the very moment a crack in her walls appeared big enough for it to slither through.

the elevator closed and suddenly so did alexia's ability to breathe. the small room grew tinier, walls closing in, a wicked voice in her head urging her forward, its much quieter more rational sibling slain and silent, corpse rotting away in the back of her head.

then, a ding, doors open, her lungs filled with air and she trembled, a cautious step forward, one more ever so slight beat of hesitation.

but then, off she went. fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and by number twenty five she was in front of your door.

well, really it could be anyones door.

this was a shot in the dark, an idea fired from a rusty old pistol which no matter which way alexia pointed it always seemed to end up trained to her own head, finger on the trigger and whatever consequence to come from pulling it hers to suffer.

you hadn't lived here in years so why was alexia so sure you were there? a mere few feet away as her shoes suddenly felt made from stone, her body rooted to the ground in front of the door she used to hold the key to, a key she kept on a chain right next to the one for your heart.

alexia wasn't sure if she'd ever returned that key, or if you still had one to hers, an invisible string tugging her feet a few inches closer and now if alexia even breathed too loudly she was terrified you'd hear from the other side.

all it would take was one second of bravery, a glimpse of courage, or perhaps...a moment of utter utter stupidity.

and yet, her knuckles rapped against the door and though meek the noise echoed around alexia's head like a gunshot, her knees suddenly wobbling and the panic button smashed in her mind, alarms blaring and neurons firing into overdrive.

leave, go, turn around, run. leave, go, turn around, run. leave, go, turn around, run. leave, go, turn around, run.

but the very moment alexia exhaled, left foot pointed ever so slightly outward and ready to back away and leave this most horrendous idea behind her, the door swung open and every last gasp of breath was snatched from her lungs.

"alexia?"

[itsnesss]

𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲, 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 | oscar piastri × fem!reader

summary | in the middle of a late-night emotional crisis, you call oscar. he picks up, tells you to come to his room

warnings | emotional distress / anxiety attack, comfort & vulnerability, soft romance, implied kiss

word count | 0.8 k

🖇️ more op81 🖇️ f1 masterlist

It’s 2:43 a.m.

The city sleeps. The engines rest. The paddock lights have been off for hours. Everyone but you seems to have found some peace.

You, on the other hand, can’t breathe properly.

Your hands are shaking, your throat burns from holding back the tears, and your mind is a mess. Anxiety grips your chest like your own body is turning against you. You’re not even sure why. Maybe it’s everything piling up. Or maybe it was that unexpected message from your mom—those words that reopened wounds you thought were healed.

You’re alone. Thousands of miles from home. And you hate it.

At some point, your thumb scrolls through your contacts without much thought. You're just… searching. A familiar voice, a way out, anything to feel less alone. You see it. His name. Oscar.

You weren’t exactly friends. You’d talked at events, shared glances during team dinners, maybe a laugh or two. But not trust. Not real closeness. Still… he always felt calm. His voice always steady. Like nothing could shake him. And right now, that’s exactly what you need.

Without thinking, you call.

The phone rings once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Hello?"

His voice is hoarse. He was clearly asleep. And yet, he answered. You don’t say anything for a second. You’re just crying silently.

"Hello?"

He swallows. The shift in his voice is immediate.

"Are you okay?"

You don’t know how to answer. Finally, your voice comes out broken:

"No… I’m not."

There’s a pause. The kind that doesn’t need explanation.

"Where are you?"

"My room," you whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate.

"Come to mine."

You blink.

"What?"

"I’m in 816. You’re not alone, okay? Just come. I’m waiting for you."

You don’t even remember how you got there.

The elevator felt endless. The hallway even longer. Your legs shook like you were about to collapse. But here you are, at his door. You knock softly. Once. Twice.

He opens right away.

Oscar’s in pajama pants and a wrinkled McLaren tee. His hair’s messy. His eyes still sleepy. But the moment he sees you, he straightens.

"Hey..." he says, and without giving you a moment to speak, he gently pulls you into him.

And you fall apart.

You bury your face in his chest as if your body suddenly remembered how to breathe. He wraps his arms around you tightly, with a tenderness you didn’t expect. His hold is firm, protective. No questions. Just the warmth of someone holding you like he means it.

"It’s okay," he murmurs against your hair. "You’re here. I’ve got you."

It breaks you a little more. But it also calms you. No one’s said that to you in a long time.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, voice cracking.

"You don’t have to be sorry," he says gently. "It’s okay."

You don’t know how long you stand there.

You sit on the edge of his bed. He sits beside you. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders. The silence settles, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s soft. Safe.

"Sometimes it happens," he says eventually. "Your body just can’t take it anymore and it breaks down."

You glance at him, surprised. He shrugs.

"I’ve had nights like that. More than I’d like to admit."

"You?"

He nods, slowly.

"This life… being away. Having to pretend you’re always fine."

His gaze meets yours. And for the first time, you feel like you really see him.

"Thanks for picking up," you say, quietly.

He gives a small smile.

"Thanks for calling."

A pause.

Then, almost shyly:

"Can I stay a while?"

Oscar leans back on the bed, giving you space.

"Stay as long as you want."

You settle beside him. It’s not awkward. It feels natural. Almost too natural.

Minutes later, when the tears have dried and the shaking stopped, you’re half-asleep. But you feel his fingers lightly brushing your arm, as if he doesn’t want to break the contact. As if you’ll vanish if he lets go.

"Oscar?"

"Mmm."

"Why were you so… you?" you ask, half-laughing, half-shaky.

He sighs softly.

"Because I care about you more than you think."

You freeze a little.

"Since when?"

"Since before you looked at me like more than just the quiet guy from the paddock."

Your heart tightens.

"I didn’t know you looked at me."

"I did when you weren’t looking."

Your fingers graze his. And for the first time tonight, you’re the one who reaches out.

Your lips brush his. He stills. You do too. Until he leans in. And kisses you. Slow. Gentle. With the same calm he answered your call with. As if that kiss, too, is a promise.

"Thanks for coming," you whisper against his mouth.

"Thanks for needing me."

And that night, you sleep. Really sleep. Peacefully. Because someone held you right when you couldn’t hold yourself.

[kunareads]

ummmmmm i’m under the influence. and also a certified box muncher if u didn’t know that about me

utahime is soaked.

her folds are slick and swollen, glistening where they move against yours. you start slow, enough to make her feel it, make her ache for more. you drag your clit over hers, teasing.

“fuck—” she gasps, manicured nails biting into your hips as she tries to pull you in.

you grind down, pressing harder, her clit catching yours just right. the sound is obscene—wet and messy as slick smears between you.

she’s loud, moaning and calling out for you. you reach behind you, holding a finger to her fluttering entrance.

“oh my god—”

you grin, watching her as you push inside, feeling the way she clenches. she moans, hips bucking up helplessly, her body shuddering as you continue to grind down on her.

“you’re so fucking wet,” you groan when she pulses around your finger, sucking it in. “so messy for me.”

she’s gone, whimpering, rocking into your hand. every grind of your hips makes her tense, clawing at you, trying to ground herself.

but she can’t.

not when you push another finger inside, scissoring, stretching her. her head dips back, breathless sighs slipping from her lips. “right there?”

“oh god—please,” she chokes out. “please, i need it.”

you watch her chest rise and fall through shaky breaths. her nipples are tight, and when you roll one between your fingers, pinching lightly, her moans break.

she jerks, her body locking up, her slick soaking your hand and dripping between you. her thighs squeeze, trying to trap you there, to make you give it to her.

but you’re not done teasing.

you slow down, grinding in tight, slow circles, pressing your clit right up against hers, letting her feel the way you’re just as swollen, just as desperate.

“you’re making a mess, baby,” you murmur, dragging your tongue along the curve of her breast before latching on, sucking. “you gonna come for me?”

she nods frantically, moaning, trembling as you sit up and fuck your fingers into her, curling deep, pressing right against the spot that makes her wail.

“fuck, fuck, oh my—”

her walls clench hard, pulsing around your fingers, creaming all over your hand and dripping down your wrist as her body locks up.

you grind down faster, chasing it, dragging your clit over hers until it hits you all at once.

a moan rips out as you fall apart, pleasure tearing through you in waves. your fingers slip from her, soaked and messy, and you press both hands to your chest as you roll your hips against her, drawing every bit out of both of you as you come together.

the room is filthy, filled with the sound of your moans, the smell of sex, the way you’ve drenched each other and the sheets beneath you.

when it finally fades, you collapse against her, skin sticky and burning. you pull back, just enough to see her.

her hair is a mess, tangled and sweaty, her lips parted, still catching shaky breaths. her thighs twitch against yours, little aftershocks running through her, and you press soft, lazy kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth.

and when you sit up, looking between her legs—

fuck.

she’s glossy and ruined, a slick, creamy mess smeared between her folds.

you groan, dragging your fingers through it, spreading her open to watch her flutter around nothing.

her breath catches, her hips giving the tiniest, neediest little twitch, chasing more even now.

you smirk, sliding your fingers back inside, slow and deep, watching the way she sucks them in, still so fucking desperate.

“one more,” you murmur, thumb circling her clit. she whimpers, already clenching, already giving in.

[xoxochb]

breaking no nut November with percy but doing it in secret because he can't lose the bet he made with his buddies but he also can't leave his girlfriend alone for a month so he sneaks around to love her 😙

anon… I’m tenderly kissing your lips for this

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you can’t fucking function properly like this. surely not with the way your legs are practically on fire, begging you to let them give out and collapse onto the sheets. and your eyes, your poor eyes, with your mascara all smudged from tears, you’re basically going blind at this point— stars clouding your entire vision. you attempt to form a coherent sentence, or at least just a few words that could be put like a puzzle into a new sentence but it’s only disorganized words that have no significant meaning to the current situation before you. percy holds a firm grim on your thighs to keep them parted as he ruthlessly takes in your sweet nectar

between guttural moans you manage, “perce, I thought- ah- what about- mhm- your bet?”

you feel him laugh from inside you, sending a shiver down (or more so up) your spine. you knew he didn’t care about the bet he made with his friends, he claimed “a month is far too long without fucking you” and you’re not apart of the bet so who were you to say no to him? but again— you couldn’t help but feel worried your november trysts would be magically discovered by one of his idiot friends and he would lose the bet and be all disappointed. this doesn’t mean you’d stop him

his soft tongue thrusts in and out of you smoothly, swirling over your folds as his fingers dig deeper into your skin. he’s like a madman, truly, acting like he hasn’t seen you in weeks— which is the biggest lie ever, currently before this, he had seen you only two hours ago. your back arches off the bed as you determinedly continues to hungrily suck your clit. you’re not even sure how you’ve survived this long, you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move at this point, everything feels utterly numb. and it’s all because a fucking bet. with one last swirl of his tongue over you, he pulls his head out from between your thighs to look at your disoriented self: messy hair sprawled along the pillows, sweat beads streaming down your skin, teary eyes, flushed cheeks, and the rapid rise and fall of your bare chest as you try to regain composure

“a month,” he scoffs “who do they think I am?”

[all-my-love-for-harry]

❧ Almost Eden (part three)

pairing; jake seresin x childhood friend!reader

summary; Jake comes face-to-face with the years he missed—and the version of you he was never there to protect.

word count; 3.4k

warnings; terrible mothers. it gets kinda dark at some point lol but nothing too bad

a/n; we finally get to know a little more about bambi and her life, as well as the long awaited reunion :') so far it has been a lot of inner dialogue but oh boy there is some drama coming!! also, this chapter is way longer than the past two, let me know if i should keep them short or would you like them a little longer?

series masterlist

Your mother didn’t like the way you dressed, said you looked sloppy, or like you were trying too hard. She didn’t like the way your hair fell messily over your shoulders, or how your nose wrinkled and your eyes disappeared when you smiled, like joy itself was somehow unflattering. She criticized the way you laughed too loudly, spoke too softly, and dreamed too big. And the older you got, the clearer it became: it wasn’t just your clothes or your choices she disapproved of. It was you. She didn’t like you very much at all.

When you were little, you used to curl up on your daddy’s lap, crying over the sharp words your mother threw like stones. He’d wipe your tears with the soft pad of his thumb and whisper that it was only because she loved you. That she saw so much of herself in you, and wanted you to be better than she ever was. And back then, you believed him. You believed that being compared to her was something to be proud of—that her harshness was just love in disguise.

But now, without your father’s hand on your back and his sweet, soothing words to bridge the space between you and her, it’s harder to believe that love is what’s behind her coldness. Harder to pretend that being like her was ever meant to be a gift.

You stopped chasing your mother’s approval the moment she sent you halfway across the world. Thirteen was far too young to be separated from your parents, but the distance brought a strange kind of freedom. You missed your father terribly, but being away also meant living without your mother’s cold, disapproving stare shadowing your every move. And that, in its own way, was a relief. Boarding school gave you space to breathe. You made friends from every corner of the world, studied hard, and slowly began to grow into someone who almost believed in themselves. But then your father died, and everything that had started to feel steady collapsed beneath you.

Sometimes, your life felt like the universe had a personal vendetta against you—like it had spent the last decade throwing every possible challenge your way just to see how much you'd take before breaking. The losses, the disappointments, the endless uphill climbs—it all began to feel less like coincidence and more like cruelty. But then again, the universe had nothing on your mother. Between the two of them, you were never sure who had it out for you more. All you knew was that you were tired of fighting battles you never asked for.

Anyone else in your shoes might have given up by now, raised the white flag and let it all fall apart. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Somewhere deep down, you made a quiet promise to yourself: that no matter how hard things got, you’d stay the person your father believed you were. The girl he was proud of. The girl he loved. Holding on to her became your way of holding on to him.

So you did your part. You kept your clothes pristine, your hair perfectly styled, and your mouth shut. You attended the parties and the charity events; you smiled politely and kept your back straight, but that one came as a second nature after so many years of hearing her hiss, "Did I birth Quasimodo?"; you stayed in Texas and became the doll-like socialite as if you didn't attend the most prestigious boarding school in the world and then went and got your degree in Languages and Linguistics in one of the best universities in England. As if it didn’t hurt that your mother had cast you aside, only to come reaching back once she realized you were learning to be happy without her.

You told yourself it was fine, you were used to it, you had been living under your mother's thumb for twenty-eight years. The pills helped a lot, though.

Pills. Dozens of them. Antidepressants, antipsychotics, anti-anxiety meds, antihistamines—if it existed, she probably had you on it at some point. It was as if she'd made it her mission to convince every doctor that you were a danger to yourself if left unmedicated. And they believed her. They always did. That’s how it had been since you turned twenty—your life managed by prescriptions, as if survival depended more on chemistry than on choice.

You knew you weren’t crazy. Flawed, maybe. Angry, definitely. But never once, not even at your lowest, had you thought about ending your life. Not when you spent your first Christmas alone at thirteen. Not when your father died and the world went quiet. Not even when your mother had you committed after the funeral, convinced you were a danger to yourself. And certainly not during the years that followed, when she tore through every relationship you tried to build, hunting down anything that resembled love and burning it to the ground before it could grow.

God, your early twenties were bad.

Now, at twenty-eight, you’ve learned how to keep the peace. You follow the rules, offer quiet little “Yes, Mother”s, and bite your tongue when you want to scream. Because talking back comes with consequences, always has. Her favorite punishment? Cutting you off. Credit cards canceled without warning, allowances frozen mid-month. She didn’t just control the day-to-day—she held the keys to everything your father left behind. The trust, the inheritance, all tied up in paperwork with her name stamped at the bottom. And she never lets you forget it.

She removed people from your world the way one plucks petals from a flower: carefully, deliberately. You've found a friend in the people working in your home. Your driver, the chef, the housekeeper. Anyone who would talk to you, you couldn't really allow yourself to be picky, since a lot of the friends you once had now resided miles away from you, unaware of it all.

The friends you used to have in your hometown were also all gone. They moved out, grew out of the place they once called home. You thought of them often, wondering what would happen if you reached out. You weren't forbidden from it; you simply didn't know how to do it. One thing you forbade yourself from doing was thinking about Jake Seresin.

Although sometimes your brain betrayed you and made up fantasies about him coming back, reaching out, saving you. You'd wake up in a cold sweat the moment you saw his face in your dreams.

You were many things, but a masochist wasn’t supposed to be one of them—or at least, you hadn’t meant to be. You’d done your best to forget the boy who broke your heart before you even knew what heartbreak really was. Told yourself childhood friendships weren’t meant to last, and that it was foolish to think he’d wait for you to catch up. You were younger, smaller, always trailing behind. The crush you nursed had to be nothing more than proximity, the natural result of spending so many days in his shadow. You told yourself all of that. And some days, you even believed it.

But you still wondered.

Will you always wonder?

[…]

Jake wasn't supposed to be outside the house. He was supposed to be resting, healing the wounds from his accident. But a man could only take so many naps before losing his mind.

So, like a teenager, he sneaked off. He wasn't allowed to drive, so he walked under the Texan sun until he got downtown. Unlike his family's state, which appeared to have been frozen in time, the town he grew up in was nothing like he remembered. There were glimpses of his childhood hidden in the modern buildings that housed equally modern businesses. Long gone were the family-owned restaurants, the local boutiques, and the cozy cafes he once thought would stand there forever.

Jake was no stranger to unfamiliar places; he’d moved enough times to know how it felt to be the outsider, the drifter, the face that didn’t belong. But this was different. This was home. Or at least, it had been. He kept expecting to turn a corner and see someone he used to know. It didn’t even have to be you.

Still, that didn’t stop him from searching. Every crowd, every café window, every sidewalk held the quiet hope that your face might suddenly appear. He chased your shadow like it was the only thing left tying him to this place.

It pained him to admit it, but he was tired. Exhausted, even. No amount of painkillers could numb the ache he's been feeling in his heart since the moment he arrived back home. His mind has been spiraling, running a hundred different scenarios in his head on what on earth had happened to you.

What was so bad that it couldn't be spoken about at the dinner table? What happened after your father's funeral? Or was it before? Maybe it was during your time abroad. Was it about your mother? He wouldn't doubt it. Or perhaps you got married? No. Divorced? Maybe. Widowed? Perhaps.

Okay, he needed to calm down.

He's been here for less than a week, and he has already let his mind drift back to you more than he had allowed it to in the past ten years. Pull it together, man. He was a fucking naval aviator, goddammit. He wasn't the same seventeen-year-old asshat who was incapable of keep his emotions on check and tended to word-vomit things he later regretted.

He stopped being that person the moment he became the reason your eyes—your beautiful, hopeful, crystallized before him. He still remembered the way your bottom lip trembled and your hands dropped to your side. The way you stopped trying to chase after him and how he didn't dare to turn back around, leaving you alone on the sidewalk like everyone else in your life had.

Yeah, Jake has been thinking a lot. About what he would say if your paths dared to cross again. Would you remember him? Or could you pass right past him in this town and not even spare him a second glance? He wasn't sure which one would hurt more.

He always knew karma would catch up to him eventually, but it still landed like a punch to his already cracked ribs when his eyes happened to flick toward the window of a hipster-looking café, and there you were. Alone in a corner booth, head tilted down, hair falling across your face. But it was you. He knew it instantly. He could’ve picked you out in any crowd, in any city, on any day. Because no matter how many years had passed, his eyes still knew how to find you.

His feet moved before his consciousness reminded him he didn't deserve to approach her. Not after what he did.

He entered the place and carefully moved to order something, anything, while still looking at her from his peripheral vision. She didn't notice him. Her head didn't move a single millimeter when the little bell on the door rang and announced his presence. He couldn't make up what she was looking down at, not from where he stood.

His heart pounded against his bruised ribs, each beat louder than the last as his thoughts scrambled in two directions—go to you, or turn and get as far away as possible. Charlotte hadn’t been lying. You looked good. No—you looked beautiful. Had you always been? He remembered you as a cute kid, always tagging along, all wide eyes and bright smiles. But this—this wasn’t a child standing in front of him. This was a woman. Grown. Composed. And for the first time, he realized he didn’t know when that change had happened… only that he’d missed it. Completely.

The barista calling your name snapped him out of his thoughts. He blinked, brows furrowed, turning to her in confusion. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like they were old friends sharing a secret. "The girl you’re staring at? That’s her name," she said, nodding toward you. "Comes in every day. Never talks to anyone. Her bodyguard freaks me out, though—total statue, never smiles."

She said it like gossip, soft and casual, but it landed heavy in his chest. So you were real. You were still here. And suddenly, he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

"Word is she’s a little unhinged, but when your family’s got that kind of money, people tend to look the other way."

His jaw clenched. The girl had no idea who she was talking to—didn’t know that he knew you, or at least, used to. Somehow, that made it worse. The way she spoke so casually, so carelessly about you to a complete stranger—it didn’t sit right with him. It felt practiced, like she’d said it before. Maybe more than once. And that thought twisted something in his gut.

Was this how people talked about you now?

Like you were a story. A warning. A punchline.

“You didn’t ask, but want my advice? Spare yourself the drama—her mother’s just as crazy as she is.” Why was she still talking?

“You’re right,” he said at last, voice calm but sharp. “I didn’t ask for your advice.” He tossed a bill onto the counter, grabbed his overpriced black coffee, and walked away—before the heat rising in his chest made him say something he’d really regret.

You're sitting alone in the booth, stirring a cup you've barely touched. A designer bag is slouched on the seat beside you, gaping open just enough to show a handful of pill bottles inside—amber plastic, white caps, names he doesn’t recognize.

He freezes mid-step. Then, breathes in. Out. And walks up.

He said your name carefully, like he was trying to approach a wounded animal, and he didn't know how it would react. He hated it.

You look up slowly, like she’s been underwater and just surfaced. Your expression flickers—confusion first, then disbelief. Your fingers tighten around the mug.

"Hey." He continued softly.

"...What are you doing here?" You finally said. Not hostile, not angry. Just flat. But the surprise in your eyes gave you away.

"Mind if I—?"

"I’d rather you didn’t."

The words aren’t cruel. Just tired. Flat.

"Right. It’s just been a long time." He looked down at his coffee, starting to lose the courage he once had when he approached you first. "Bambi, I'm—"

"Don't call me that." Suddenly, your words weren't so flat anymore, and your eyes darkened in a way he's never witnessed before. "Don't act like we're old friends catching up, Jake. If you’re here to dredge up old memories, save it. I’m not that girl anymore."

"I know it's been a long time," His throat felt dry. “I didn’t know how to come back.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stayed gone.”

The woman standing before him wasn’t his Bambi. She had the same golden hair, the same wide, doe-like eyes, the familiar curve of her nose and lips. It was you—yet not the you he remembered. This version was quieter, heavier, with shadows lingering beneath her gaze. Somber. Worn. Exhausted. What the hell had happened to you?

"Can I help you with anything else?" Your voice snapped him back to reality.

"I'm... No. Sorry for bothering you." With his tail between his legs, he walked away. His eyes met the barista's, and she gave him a knowing look, like she was telling him I told you so.

He threw his untouched cup in the trash can and left the place.

He wasn’t lying to himself—he’d run through a hundred scenarios in his mind about what seeing you again might be like. But this? This was never one of them. He knew all too well he didn’t deserve a grand, emotional reunion. Hell, he didn’t even deserve a simple glance in return. But the way you looked at him... it was ten times worse than any coldness he’d faced all those years ago.

The one thing that echoed that day was the silent scream in your eyes. Back then, he hadn’t recognized it—but now, it was as clear as daylight.

Question remained, was he going to do something about it, or was he going to leave you hanging again?

[…]

Seeing you again rattled him to his core—and that didn’t happen often. He was a highly trained, battle-tested fighter pilot, used to pressure, to danger, to keeping his emotions locked behind steel. But the moment your eyes met his, he wasn’t Lieutenant Jake Seresin anymore. He was seventeen again—reckless, uncertain, and entirely unprepared for the weight of you.

The feeling haunted him. He hated it.

And yet, deep down, he knew—he deserved every second of it.

Still, he felt like he was going crazy. It was hard to breathe, and he knew it wasn't because of his wounds. He felt numb, and it wasn't because of the sling on his left arm.

He wanted answers, needed them. But he couldn’t go straight to the source. It wouldn’t be fair to barge back into your life and demand explanations he had no right to. So instead, he went to the one person who’d kept him in the loop all these years, feeding him carefully curated versions of the girl he once knew and the woman he’d just seen in that café.

His mother.

"I saw her today." No explanations, no dancing around the subject. Jake knew she knew who he was referring to. "Why did you lead me to believe she was the same girl I used to know?" He didn't shout, he wasn't angry. He was desperate.

"Oh, Jake." Her tone was sad. Not condescending, but knowing. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Then try." He practically begged. The lump in his throat was killing him. He wasn't used to feeling this way, yet it seemed like all his emotional control went out the window ever since he came back.

Caroline let out a quiet sigh. “I know what happened between you two, sweetheart,” she said gently. “And no matter how hard you try, you’ve never been able to hide how you feel from me.” She paused, her eyes soft with something like guilt. “I knew you already carried enough regret for the things you said back then. I didn’t want to add to it. I wanted you to hold on to the version of her you remembered—the sweet, innocent girl you knew. I thought if I kept the truth from you… Maybe you’d stop punishing yourself for something you did when you were just a kid.”

"What happened to her, Mom?

She stared back at him for a moment. "I'll put the kettle on."

Jake sat at the kitchen table, hands clenched around his cup of tea, fighting the urge to rush his mother into speaking. His thoughts spun in relentless circles, moving faster than he could catch them. Every time he blinked, he saw your eyes staring back at him—dark, distant, and filled with a sadness he couldn’t unsee. And underneath it all, something worse.

Disappointment.

"Her life hasn’t been easy, darling," Caroline said gently. "Elizabeth was always difficult, but with her daughter… she was brutal."

Jake didn’t need to be told. He’d grown up watching it unfold—your mother’s sharp words, the cold disapproval, the way she seemed to chip away at you day after day.

"It got worse after William died," Caroline continued, her voice quieter now. "It was like something in her snapped, and instead of holding her daughter closer, she shoved her straight off the edge—then acted shocked when she broke." Jake’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as his mother went on. "Elizabeth never told me much, but not long after the funeral, she came to me rambling about how she was afraid Bambi might hurt herself. Next thing I knew, she had her committed."

He clenched his teeth so hard that it sent a sharp ache through his jaw.

"Six months," Caroline said softly. "She spent six months in that place. Came back with a pharmacy’s worth of prescriptions. She tried to leave again—not just the house, but the country. Finished her degree in London, tried to build something new. But Elizabeth never let her go. Not completely. I’m fairly certain she had the state appoint her as Bambi’s legal guardian. Which means…"

Jake swallowed hard, fury and disbelief burning in his chest.

"…she controls nearly every part of her life."

❧

taglist; @khouse712 @madsothree @xhazzz @daggersquaddoll @lomlbuckybarnes @pascalquinns @sydneejean @mrsevans90 @bodhiscurls @calirindo @kastlepage @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

[bitxhy-bookworm]

Sevika x Sensitive!Reader

Cw: slight anxiety attack, crying, hurt/comfort, swearing , established relationship

(also i didn’t proofread this- sorry)

It started out as one joke. Lighthearted and teasing, you even let out a geniune laugh. However one joke became two, until your whole friendgroup seems to be adding in their own version of the joke. Suddenly it didn’t feel like a tease, it felt like an attack. An attack on you, on the self esteem you work so hard to build. Next thing you know you’re not sitting at the last drop giggling with your friends, now you’re a kid again and everyone’s laughing at you for some joke you’ll never be apart of. You know this is crazy, it’s not half as big of a deal as you’re making it in your head but the sinking pit in your stomach and the pain in your throat make it feel like your fighting a war. And you are losing…terribly. Despite the feeling of all your insecurities attacking you at once, you keep an amused look on your face the whole night. It’s not everyone else’s fault you can’t handle a little joke, why ruin the mood cause you’re a crybaby?

You walk into you and Sevika’s shared apartment later that night, exhausted and ready to collapse. You kick your shoes off and allow your mind to relax or try to relax. Instead the only thing on repeat is that joke, was it a joke? Do they actually feel that way and tried to hide it with humour? You’ve never been great with expressions and social cues, maybe they all secretly hate you and this is their way of showing it? You feel hot tears begin to fall down your face and your chest starts to feel a little too tight. You hardly notice the sound of footsteps as you press your back against the door, trying to find anything to support you as your legs start to shake.

“Baby?…” a voice calls out, Sevika, her voice tired and groggy. God you probably woke her up with all this crying. “Oh love, what’s going on?” The sound of concern is evident in her voice, when you finally open your eyes to look at her all you can feel is guilt. She looks like she’s just woken up and here you are sobbing on the floor…the thought makes you cry harder. Why can’t you just pull it together already? You feel her arms wrap around you as she hushes you soothingly, “It’s alright, beautiful. I’m here, you’re safe.” She repeats this phrase along with a few more loving affirmations as she feels your body begin to relax and your breathes return to normal. She pulls away after a few more moments, giving you some space to collect your thoughts. You look at Sevika, then down at the floor slightly embarassed.

This isn’t the first time she’s seen you like this, living together has it’s ups and downs and you’ve both seen your fair share of breakdowns. Despite this, you can’t help but feel like you were doing too much. “Sorry about all that, I dont…i dont know where that came from..” You say, hoping that you can just brush past it fat chance.

Sevika looks completely unconvinced, “Sweetheart, that didn’t come out of nowhere.” She leaves no room for arguement, there is no malice or anger but no humour either. She says your name softly, gazing at you with a pleading look in her eyes. “Hun..you’ve been doing so much better lately, especially with talking these things out. We don’t need to talk about it right now but dont shut me out..please” goddamn it, that face, her voice..you never stood a chance. “Ok…but can I change first? I need to get out of these clothes” You say, breaking eye contact before her eyes make you do anything else.

You crawl into bed with sevika a few moments later, now in much more comfortable clothes. Sevika places her book down and turns her attention to you, at first you say nothing opting to curl into her arms instead. She smiles at how adorable you look, much more relaxed and those pesky tears tracks gone. You tell her everything, the joke and how it felt. The insecurity that followed and how it became too much too quickly. Her heart breaks when you look at her and ask if she feels the same way, “I won’t be mad if you do, i just..I feel stupid I guess. Like there’s this big joke everyone but me is in on…” you trail off as you feel her grip tighten, as if she could lose you to your own thoughts. “Baby look at me,” you do.

“None of that is true, not even close and none of your friends feel that way. I know you don’t want to kill the mood but you have to say something when you feel like this, I know they wouldn’t want you feeling this way either.” Her tone is firm but gentle, you know she’s right.

“I know, it’s just scary..I don’t want to make everyone stop having fun to cater to my fragile ass ego-“ “you are not fragile, not even close. But you are human, and humans feel and you feel especially deep. That’s nothing to be ashamed or embarassed of.” She takes her hand and places it on your chest “I love your heart, you’re so passionate and empathetic, so what if you cry a little harder or get worked up a little easier? That doesn’t make you fragile, it makes you extraordinary.” You feel tears well up in your eyes and you bury your face in the crook of her neck, “god Sev, quit sweet talking me or I’m gonna start crying again.” You say, giggling as she hugs you tightly one more time.

“Cry all you need baby, I’ve got you”

[nanamiskentos]

ACCIDENTALLY YOURS! — jujutsu kaisen

prologue. → some not so meet-cutes 😁 who said love was easy?

pairings. jjk x gn!reader choso, toji, geto, nanami, sukuna, gojo.

warnings+. no curse/jujutsu au, slightly suggestive for toji's. attempted vehicular injuries but gojo's fine w/ it as long as he gets your number. some alcohol mentions. someone has a nosebleed.

word count. 6k! song inspiration. let me in (20 cube) — enhypen

a/n. this is saur silly, and i wrote this super quickly so it's not proofread.

CHOSO KAMO ✶ just trust me bro ... ?!

there's a man in your apartment.

at first, your brain short-circuits with options. scream, call the police, throw your used dinner dishes. why not all three in rapid succession?

it's nine at night, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed with a cozy throw and a criminal minds marathon. instead, fate or your carelessness in leaving the door unlocked, has gifted you with this stranger who just walked in.

this man didn't sneak in, mind you. no, this stranger barrelled through the door, let out a soft groan as he ran into your dining table. he then muttered a soft and polite 'excuse me' before plopping himself down onto your couch like he'd paid three months of rent.

and now? he's sitting there, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed. like he's contemplating the futility of existence, or whether he left the stove on at home. you can't quite see his face yet, just the curtain of messy chestnut hair falling over it.

what you can see is that he's wearing an oversized violet sweatshirt that's swallowing him whole, and right over dark cargo pants and scuffed combat boots.

well, now what?

your heart is hammering as you edge closer, gripping a fork behind your back like it's king arthur's sword. he's muttering something, no. a name?

you lean slightly, straining to hear.

"...yuuji, when i c-catch you."

but finally, the stranger looks up at you, as if he's searching your face for this 'yuuji.'

big hazel eyes stare up at you, bleary and glassy, and his lips are pouting, pale pink and peeled raw from where teeth have gnawed into them. his cheeks are slightly flushed, and he smells faintly of cheap alcohol.

great, the strange man in your living room is also drunk. you wonder where your phone is.

"uh, hey. are you one of yuuji's friends?" and the stranger's voice is absurdly deep, but incredibly shy, "can you get him? is he in his room?"

your brows furrow, "huh, who's yuuji? what room?"

the man blinks slowly, and he hiccups. a tiny, almost cute sound — and then he frowns, "yuuji? my little brother? lives here, obviously?" he gestures broad hands around vaguely, loosely.

"no. i live here."

his wide eyes scan the room. your glossy magazine on the table, a cup of hot chocolate next to your laptop which still glows with the not-so-legal streaming site. but you can see the very moment that the stranger's face freezes, like he's just been slapped in the face, "oh."

"yeah."

the stranger groans, dragging his hands down his flushed face and this only makes his clingy strands stick up in strange places, "oh no. oh, man. i — uh, think i'm in the wrong apartment."

"you think?"

"i was just tryna' find yuuji's place," he mutters, his words slurred but earnest, "we live, like, two floors down. but it's all the same, right? like...layout-wise?"

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. technically, he’s not wrong about the layout, but that’s hardly the point. "why didn’t you check the apartment number?"

"because i’m…" he pauses, thick brows knitting together like they’re searching for answers his brain won’t provide. finally, he lands on, "tipsy. yeah, tipsy. i actually really hate drinking, by the way. it was some stupid bet with my little brother."

you lift the fork a little higher, its tines gleaming under the dim overhead light. "so you broke into my apartment."

"hey, i didn’t break in!" he protests, his voice thick with indignation that doesn’t quite match the circumstances, "your door was open."

"unlocked," you grind out, ignoring the mildly adorable pout on his flushed lips,"not an invitation."

the man has the decency to look sheepish, one hand reaching up to scratch at his neck. "uh… yeah. my bad."

his bad? that’s the best he’s got? not a sorry for terrifying you! or a sorry for making you think you’re about to feature in a criminal minds special! but before you can really get going on the lecture building on your tongue, there’s a soft thud.

you glance down. your cat, the fluffy little traitor, is rubbing affectionately against the leg of this random man, purring like an old motorbike. meanwhile, the stranger just lights up, crouching down to scratch behind your cat’s ears with absurd gentleness.

"hey, buddy," he says softly, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. and damn it, he’s got dimples.

"what’s wrong with you? traitor," you hiss at your cat, who just looks far too content in the man's arms.

the stranger looks back up at you with those wide, hazel eyes, his head tilting to the side. "i’m choso, by the way."

"i didn’t ask."

"you’re holding a weapon," choso observes, eyes flicking to your hand.

"it’s a fork," you snap. "and you’re in my apartment."

"touché," he mutters, slouching back into your couch like it’s his own. he looks too tired to argue before he starts rambling, words tumbling out in uneven waves, "look, i’ll leave, okay? sorry for...uhm, being here. it’s just been a rough day, y’know? my brother — he's my little brother, he dared me to drink, and i hate drinking. then the cab driver tried to scam me, and i kinda gave up on the bet and wanted to go home. i don’t even know how i ended up here."

he waves a hand around like the universe itself is to blame for the situation.

you should still be mad. and you are. sort of. but it’s hard to stay furious when the guy in your living room is practically drowning in a sweatshirt two sizes too big, cradling your cat like it’s a lifeline. there’s something weirdly endearing about him, even if your fight-or-flight response still has a foot on the gas.

"fine," you sigh. "but if you've left anything drunk and gross on my couch, you’re coming back tomorrow to clean it."

choso’s face brightens like you just granted him parole. "i didn’t, swear i didn't, but yeah. deal. you’re cool. what’s your name?"

you hesitate, fork still in hand. "why?"

"so i know who to thank when i hopefully sober up. i’m really sorry for scaring you."

"alright, choso." you point to the door. "out. and if i catch you here again uninvited, i’m calling the cops."

he staggers to his feet, towering but unsteady, still cradling your cat. "uh, can i…"

"no," you interrupt. "put mr pickles down."

he pouts but complies, setting the cat down like he’s handling precious cargo. as he shuffles to the door, he glances back, scratching the back of his head, "thanks for not stabbing me with the fork."

"yet, choso," you deadpan.

with that, he stumbles into the hallway, and you slam the door shut before finally locking it properly this time. it’s only then that you notice the little silver bracelet lying on the couch.

maybe when he's also sober, you’ll find him two floors down. not because you’re curious about him or anything. it’s just the responsible thing to do.

probably.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✶ got a mean laugh, huh ?

you'd just wanted a burger. greasy, cheesy, unapologetically unhealthy — a perfect antidote to a day of endless meetings and passive-aggressive emails from your annoying boss.

what you didn’t want was to make an absolute spectacle of yourself in the middle of a restaurant.

but here you were, ever the universe's favourite clown and plaything.

it started innocently enough: you’d been sitting behind him in this faux-american diner, cheap enough that it didn't break your last paycheck.

minding your business and just sitting behind some two loud-talking men, one of them broad and terrifyingly large in a too-tight black gym shirt and the kind of wide-legged pants only men with way too much confidence could pull off.

then he started making strange noises.

at first, you tried to ignore it. who were you to interfere? but then it got louder — a gruff, guttural wheezing that sounded suspiciously like a man choking on his fries. your heroic instincts (and latent secondhand embarrassment) kicked in.

what can you say? you were a natural born avenger. you didn’t think. you acted.

scrambling out of your booth, you darted behind him, arms awkwardly looping around his absurdly muscular torso. it took more than one attempt — why was he built like a human brick wall?

but you managed to start the worst heimlich maneuver known to mankind, trying to remember your hazy first aid training from high school.

"hold still, man!" you grunted, struggling for leverage, and trying not to collapse backwards. "i got this!"

except he didn’t hold still. he started laughing. loud, throaty, barking laughs that only made the situation worse.

"stop squirming, you’re gonna end up choking even more —oh my god, are you fuckin' laughing?!"

"hey, i’m —" the stranger wheezed between gasps, not choking, just laughing so hard his voice cracked, "i’m not choking!"

you froze, mortified, arms still awkwardly wrapped around his incredibly chiselled torso. "you’re...not?"

"tch, nah." his voice was deep, almost lazy, as he twisted his head back to smirk at you, sharp green eyes gleaming with amusement. "but yer' real determined. if i was choking, i’d probably survive. maybe."

you stumbled back, cheeks flaming, trying to pretend the floor might swallow you whole. trying to pretend that someone didn't pull out their phone to record you.

the expensive-looking guy sitting across from him — a man in a sharp, well-pressed brown suit who clearly didn’t belong in a place with laminated menus and sticky booths, just sipped his coffee with an air of quiet disdain.

"i always said you got an ugly-ass laugh, toji," the man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "could ya not traumatise strangers for five minutes?"

"hey, it’s not my fault i got jumped," toji said, shrugging lazily, and the motion made his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a scar slicing across his ridiculously defined abs. "not that i’m complaining. i got humped by someone gorgeous in public. call that a good day, hah."

your brain short-circuited, trying not to stare at the light dusting of hair over his abdomen, "i wasn’t - humping, oh my god, i thought you were choking! i was just trying to be be a good samaritan."

you backed away slowly, trying to act like the horrifyingly awkward scene behind you had not just happened. you didn’t even spare toji a glance, though the smugness radiating off his gorgeous, stupidly muscular frame was practically tangible.

you grabbed your milkshake, your only ally in this tragedy, and downed it with all the dignity of a medieval knight trying to poison themselves with wolfsbane. the cold, creamy sweetness slid down your throat, like you were trying to drown yourself in the sugary oblivion. which you were.

"well," you muttered bitterly, setting the empty glass down with a clink, "i'm gonna disappear from here forever. just gonna...vanish." you made the universal gesture of disappearing: both hands dramatically flailing as if you were casting an invisibility spell.

"wait, hey, give me your number!"

the voice, deep and annoyingly gravelly, floated over the booth like a warm breeze. you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes narrowing in disbelief. no way. no freaking way.

"you’re joking." you turned slowly to glance back at him, at this toji. the guy in the suit across from him — who had been watching this whole disaster unfold with the kind of expression you’d imagine someone gets when they’re asked to hold a million-dollar briefcase during a hostage situation, was now doing the mental equivalent of sinking into his booth like a man deeply embarrassed.

"swear 'm not," toji insisted, leaning back in his own seat, "what if i really do choke and i need ya to save me?"

SUGURU GETO ✶ love at first nosebleed !

you were exactly where you needed to be: right in the thick of the mosh pit at one of your favourite festivals of the year. one that you had scrounged together enough dollars for an overpriced ticket out, all perfect to spend a night out in the cool, desert night air.

the mosh pit was packed. like wall-to-wall bodies, as though you were wading through a sea of waving limbs.

without any warning, the crowd surged forward in a wave of bodies, just as the lead singer of this band threw a rose into the crowd and you squealed. throwing your arms up to steady yourself, and of course, you managed to send your elbow directly into the guy standing behind you.

at first, there's a sharp grunt of surprise, swiftly followed by a:

"hey, what the fuck!"

you turned around in a panic, your breath caught in your throat as you saw the aftermath of your unfortunate swing. oh, blood. it wasn’t just a little trickle, either. it was a full-on fountain.

the stranger's hands were pressed to his face, but you could already see the crimson streaks spilling through his fingers. and as much as your brain screamed oh my god, what have you done?, your first thought was also, holy shit, this guy is gorgeous.

tall. broad. jawline that could cut glass. his hair was jet-black, falling messily to his shoulders, and when he looked up at you, you saw it. his eyes, pretty.

they were a pale, unnatural shade of purple, sharp and disarming, the kind of thing you only saw in movies. or at least, you thought you only saw them in movies, because now you were staring into them, and the moral compass on your shoulder stomped some sense back into you.

"oh god, i’m so, so sorry," you stammer, your hands flying up in a panic. you just didn't know whether to offer him a napkin or your life savings, so you just stand there like a deer caught in headlights, doing the world’s most unhelpful impression of a living, breathing human being, "i didn’t mean to, i didn’t, oh, that's a lotta blood —"

he waves you off nonchalantly, and you immediately thought, what kind of person is so chill about being impaled in the face?

"don’t worry about it,” he said, voice smooth as butter, if a bit nasally, considering the massive nosebleed that makes you feel a bit faint. the kind of nonchalant tone that should not be coming from someone who had blood pouring from his nose like an open tap, "not your fault, really."

"i...i don’t know what to do," you mutter, your hands still flailing around awkwardly. you didn’t have a napkin, or a first aid kit, or any idea what you were doing. hell, you weren’t even sure if the guy was okay without medical attention.

"nah, seriously, chill," the man says with a chuckle, wiping his nose with the back of his hand like it was no big deal, "relax, i’m fine. it’s just blood. it happens."

just blood. just blood. you stare at him for a beat, trying to wrap your brain around the fact that he was genuinely not bothered. if you had a nosebleed like this, you’d be on the ground, crying for your mother and your entire bloodline, but here this guy was, an absolute unit of a man, all broad shoulders and muscular thighs — bleeding out in front of you, and acting like it was the most mundane thing in the world.

"are you sure?" you ask, your voice pitched too high from nerves. "i mean, i feel like — i don’t know, i feel like i should at least be doing something to... help? like, i can — oh! i can find you something!"

you start rifling through your bag in a panicked frenzy. who carries band-aids to a concert? not you. who carries tissues to a concert? definitely not you. all you could offer was a packet of gum, a half-melted candy bar, and some lip balm. great. you were the epitome of preparedness.

you frown, "fuck, i'm really so sorry, i was just kinda, -" and you wave your arms around in the air as a half-hearted impression, as he tentatively takes a step back. probably worried you're gonna bazooka his chin next, and leave him with a busted lip.

"hah, i get it," he says with a shrug, as if his nose was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, "practically an expected hazard of being in the mosh pit."

you looked at him, genuinely unsure whether he was joking or just that calm about it, "you’re really okay? i'd really rip part of my sleeve, i don't know, if that would help," but you tug the sheer fabric, "but this is kind of tough elastane. oh my god, what am i even saying?"

"eh, i’ve had worse." the stranger gives you a grin that only made the situation feel more surreal. he was smiling, smiling — despite the fact that he was actively leaking blood like he’d been in a fight with a giant squid.

damn, you kinda like your men when they look a bit unhinged.

“look, just —" he cuts you off, “i'm flattered someone this cute is flustered over me. kinda nice, hah."

your face goes scarlet. "i am not cute, i should be terrifying," you gasp, mortified. “i just broke your nose in a mosh pit, and i —"

and that’s when it clicked. your brain finally registered the fact that this guy wasn’t some random concert-goer. no, this was geto—the suguru geto, the lead guitarist of the band that was headlining the festival tonight. you’d been a fan for years, practically worshipping the man’s guitar solos and smooth stage presence. and now...now you had broken his nose.

god help you when stan twitter got their hands on you.

you stare at him, wide-eyed, and he must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he raised a pierced brow, "oh, i see it now. you, uh, a fan?"

"uhm," you squeak, still too mortified to speak normally, and trying to lower your voice to sound chill and unbothered. but it's just not working. "of course i recognise you! you’re — geto!"

suguru geto bashfully grins, as if pleased with your sudden realisation, though the blood dripping from his nose didn’t exactly lend him the aura of mystery he was used to, "i gotta say, you’re the first person to recognise me looking like this." he pauses, glancing at his nose with a casual flick.

you let out an awkward, nervous laugh. hoping that the divine powers have some pity for you, and you actually don't mess this up further, "i’m so sorry again. i really didn’t mean to —"

"seriously,” geto said, cutting you off again, "you don’t need to keep apologising. i get it, you're real sweet." then, after a pause, he tilted his head, his purple eyes glinting. "but, hey, next time i’m on stage? i’ll make sure to look for you in the crowd. you won’t be able to miss me. i’ll be the guy with the broken nose."

and just like that, it hit you. he wasn’t just being cool about the situation. he was flirting with you. the man was literally bleeding from his face, and he was flirting with you.

you open your mouth to say something, anything — but before you could form the words, geto flashes a wink, that same mischievous grin never leaving his face, "just gonna have to go and get this looked at. manager's gonna lose his shit, but see you around, yeah?"

NANAMI KENTO ✶ is it too late to turn this plane around ?

the plane shuddered just slightly as it levelled out, and you gripped the armrest as if your life depended on it, trying to pretend that you weren't ready to hurl the contents of your empty stomach over economy class.

it didn’t help that your armrest companion, sharply dressed, annoyingly calm, and with a face that could have been carved from marble — seemed utterly unbothered by the subtle turbulence. he didn’t even glance up from his boring ass magazine.

you had been stealing glances at him since he sat down. the suit caught your attention first, impeccably tailored, so he was probably some finance guy. his tie, a speckled shade of banana yellow that somehow still looked elegant, was loosened just enough to suggest this wasn’t his first flight today, though not so much as to appear disheveled.

well, just your luck that you were seated next to someone who looked like they could be a stone-faced nordstrom model.

his face, though. well, damn! it was the face that made him hard to look away from. angular features, strong jawline, and a slight furrow in his brow that gave him a perpetually exasperated look. the kind of face that probably made people think twice before asking him for directions.

you, however, were not most people.

"so," you began, forcing your voice to sound light and casual, even though your heartbeat felt like it was trying to escape your chest. "do you think we’re supposed to hear that sound?"

he finally looked at you, glancing up from his magazine with the slow precision of someone who was already regretting their decision to acknowledge you.

"which sound?" he asks, his voice calm but carrying a hint of weariness. his blonde hair was neatly slicked back, though a single strand had rebelliously fallen onto his forehead.

"uhm, you know. that sound," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the overhead compartments as if that explained anything.

his gaze followed your hand, and his brow furrowed further, not in alarm but in what looked like mild irritation. “the plane engine or the luggage settling. perfectly normal." his tone is clipped, curt.

"are you sure? i watched a tiktok that said that there was a one in a thirteen million chance of being a plane crash. that's like...too much for me," you press, trying to ignore the mild rattle of the window.

he sighs softly, the kind of sigh that said he was already dreading the rest of the flight. "yes. i’m sure. i would not trust...short videos made by attention desparate people on the internet."

“okay, but what if it’s not normal? like, what if it’s—”

"it’s not the plane falling apart," he interrupted, his tone polite but firm. "i promise you."

you blink at him, momentarily silenced by the sheer certainty in his voice. "well, that’s reassuring, i think," you say finally, "thanks, uh…" you glanced at the seat tag clipped to his bag. "nanami kento. i mean, just nanami, right? don't wanna full name you..."

he inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the unspoken introduction, then returned to his magazine. it didn’t escape your notice that he turns the page with the kind of precision you’d expect from a surgeon.

you sit back in your seat, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that you were currently hurtling through the air in a metal tube. but the silence didn’t last long.

"so, what are you reading?" you asks, craning your neck slightly to get a better look at the magazine in his hands.

nanami hesitates, like he was debating whether to humour you or not. finally, he said, "an article on japan’s economic trends."

you blink. "oh. thrilling."

the corner of his stern mouth twitches, just barely, as if he was fighting back an amused smile, "i find it...informative."

"sure, but informative and thrilling are two very different things," you point out.

nanami turns another page, still exuding that same infuriating calm, "you seemed like you needed a distraction," he says, almost reluctantly. "would you prefer i explain it to you?"

you tilt your head, surprised by the offer. "you’d...explain the economy to me? as a distraction?"

"you were the one asking about plane sounds, and you look as though you're going to pass out. i'm not keen on doing first aid if it can be avoided," nanami says, with a tone so dry that it grates over you.

"fair point," you admit, "okay, hit me. tell me something i don’t know about japan’s economy."

he adjusts his glasses, his expression unreadable as he snaps his magazine straight in front of him, reading off the page, "the yen has been under significant pressure lately, largely due to increased government spending and concerns over inflation. it’s a precarious balance, on one hand, stimulus is necessary to sustain growth —"

nanami gives you a stern glare as you stifle back a yawn but continues, "but on the other, it weakens the currency against global competitors. the nikkei index reflects this uncertainty, fluctuating in response to external factors like american monetary policy and global market trends.”

you stared at him, trying to process the flood of information. frankly, you've never given a fuck about economics, and you had been more busy staring at his smooth lips, "so.. don’t buy yen?"

nanami's mouth twitches again, and this time you were certain it was kinder. "that’s one takeaway."

"wow," you said, leaning back in your seat, "you really know how to distract someone."

"was it helpful?" nanami asks, his tone suggesting he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

you considered that for a moment, "actually, yeah. i mean, i don’t understand half of what you just said, but it was so boring i forgot about the plane noises. uh, i hate planes. in case, you couldn't tell."

his eyes soften ever so slightly behind his glasses, "i could tell. glad to be of service."

you found yourself smiling despite your nerves. there was something unexpectedly charming about his awkward attempt to engage you, even if it involved the driest topic imaginable.

"you know," you say, "you don’t seem like the kind of guy who enjoys small talk."

"not in the slightest," nanami admits.

"so why are you humouring me?"

he glances at you, "didn't want you to throw up over my jacket."

the plane lurches, and you look at him with panicked eyes, "i wouldn't be so relaxed yet! oh, fuck, pass me that plastic bag, wouldya?"

RYOMEN SUKUNA ✶ retail's worst nightmare !

working retail was a game of holy patience, and holy fuck, you were losing.

it wasn't just the holiday rush or the fluorescent lights buzzing ominously as spotify worked through the most overplayed songs of the year.

it was him.

the man who was always camped out in your section of the store, for at least thirty minutes. for each of your shifts, rifling through stacks of neatly folded shirts like a bored bear rooting through a cooler. you watched, jaw grinding, as he unfurled yet another oversized graphic tee. flattening it against his broad frame, against the washed denim of his thick jeans. holding it up like he was considering buying it.

only to toss it back onto the table in a rumpled heap.

occasionally, he'd slide down his red headphones and you'd watch him flex wide arms, tattoos crawling out of the neckline of his shirt as he huffed.

you hated this innocuous customer. hated how ridiculously good-looking he was, in a way that screamed danger. what, with the mess of blush-pink hair and deep, russet eyes. hated how little he seemed to care about the destruction he was wreaking on your display, and most of all, you hated how he smiled whenever you sighed audibly.

making eye contact with you as he tossed yet another tee into the ruined pile.

"are you gonna keep unfolding those shirts?" you snap finally, "or are you actually planning to buy something?"

the man turns, slow and deliberate, and his gaze slides down to your name tag before sharp teeth unfurl from the corners of a rosy mouth, "relax," he drawls, "i'm just browsing."

browsing. right. you stare at the disaster zone that he's created, the meticulously folded rows of band-tees now reduced to a chaotic mound of cotton.

"this isn't a library," you shoot back, hands on your hips, "either decide or move on."

he arches a brow, clearly enjoying himself, "why so tense? isn't this your job?"

you let out a cool breath through your nose, clenching your teeth to fine dust, "yeah. my job isn't babysitting grown men who can't pick a shirt size."

the stranger blinks, pink lashes fluttering over sharp, dark eyes. as though he's genuinely considering this. then, with an absolutely maddening level of confidence, he grabs another shirt.

a hideous neon green monstrosity, with some kind of skull prints, and he shakes it out right in front of you. letting the creases fall out, dangling it like a flag of triumph.

"this one's nice, heh," he says.

"if you ruin one more folded pile, i'm gonna stuff that shirt down your big-ass neck."

his laugh is sudden and loud, echoing through the department. a couple of shoppers turn to look, but he seems to not care in the slightest, "ya can't say that to me. but you got guts, i'll give you that."

"and you’ve got about five seconds to put that shirt down before i make you refold this entire table," you shoot back.

he doesn't move. instead, he holds your gaze, clearly testing your patience. his wolf's smile was now edged with something sharper, something that dared you to follow through on your threat.

"you’re serious, aren'tcha?" he asks, almost impressed.

"deadly," you replied.

for a moment, you thought he might actually comply. but then, with the same deliberate slowness, he dropped the neon green shirt onto the pile he’d already decimated.

you stared at it. then at him. you think you're trying to pour gasoline on him, and blow him up in your mind.

"what's your name?" you ask flatly.

"sukuna."

"i hope a thousand evil little bugs descend on your house tonight, sukuna. i hope they invade your dreams so you know i'm wishing a curse upon you."

"that's kinda hot," he replies, without missing a beat and turning to leave.

"you can’t just walk away!" you called after him, but he was already halfway to the escalator, hands shoved in his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world, and already pulling his crimson headphones back up.

you groaned, grabbing the nearest shirt to start refolding the mess he’d left behind.

then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw sukuna pause at the top of the escalator. he turned, just enough to make eye contact, and called out:

"when's your lunch break? let's go out!"

GOJO SATORU ✶ you charge my particles :D

the emergency department smelled like antiseptic and awful syringes. you were perched on the edge of a very uncomfortable chair, hands clenched in your shaking lap. staring at the guy you had, accidentally, thank you very much, run over in a parking lot.

his leg was propped up, wrapped up in plenty of gauze and a ice-pack, and he also looked oddly serene for someone with a pretty nasty, bruised up limb.

when you had first gotten there, you had been sick with guilt and worry that this poor stranger had been knocked unconscious by the rear of your car. but to your absolute bewilderment, he was actually just...sleeping? dozing off, sprawled back with a soft and peaceful smile on his face like he was just happy to catch a good snooze. the most absurd shade of ice-white hair mussed around his head.

that was, until his eyes fluttered open.

"oh my god, you're awake!" you blurted, leaning forward, with regret pouring out of you, "are you okay? does your leg hurt? what am i saying, of course it does! i am so sorry —"

he turns his head to you, blinking slowly. his eyes were a ridiculous, striking shade of blue. like glacier water caught in the sun. and then he grinned, voice still a little rough from his nap.

"hey, cutie."

you stare, utterly thrown, "excuse me?"

"what's up, gorgeous? don't worry, i forgive you for attempted vehicular manslaughter."

"good god," you muttered, "i hit his head too."

the stranger stretches his arms above his head, and you try not to track your stare to ridiculously, circus-long legs that sprawl over the crumpled sheets of the wheeled bed. way too tall, lean and far too good-looking for someone who had just been brought via ambulance to the hospital.

"it's fine, i swear," the man says, waving a scraped hand dismissively, "i needed a day off, so you did me a favour."

"a favour," you repeat, utterly incredulous, "you're in the emergency department. i backed up my car into you!"

the stranger shrugs, wincing at the stretch. and utterly unbothered by your fluttering worries, "yeah. but think 'bout it. if you hadn't hit me, i'd be stuck in a lecture hall. i don't wanna explain newtonian mechanics to a bunch of half-asleep undergrads."

you stare at him, suspiciously, "you're a professor?"

"mhm, physics."

"you don't look old enough to be a professor," and you're squinting at white lashes that ring impossibly large eyes. he looks more like a famous actor that you can't quite place, or someone's beautiful sugar baby.

no, focus.

he smirks, pale and glossy lips quirking upwards, "saying i look too good to be stuck in academia?"

"what? no," you say quickly, worried that he's gonna think you're a freak who hits on their victims, "that's not what i meant."

"you can say it," the man interrupted, still grinning, "i get it a lot. oh, satoru, you're too handsome to be explaining thermodynamics. satoru, you should be on the big screen, not teaching string theory. it's a bit of a curse."

you rub your temples, trying to block out the nonsense coming out of his fast-moving mouth, "you're kinda...weird. satoru."

"you hit me with a car," he points out cheerfully.

before you can retort, or ask him if he has private health insurance, a nurse clicks over, a clipboard in her hand as she's tapping her pen impatiently.

"mr gojo? we're ready to take you back for another x-ray? we just want to make sure that we also get a good picture at some soft tissues, so an mri as well."

your poor wallet.

"great," satoru says, and then to your utter horror, he adds, "i'll just leave my stuff with my partner, right?"

the nurse raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. you feel your tongue go dry, "i'm not —" but satoru cuts you off, with a voice like silk.

"so shy, right?" and he's flashing the nurse a charming smile that makes your nose crinkle, "but i'm just so glad that they're here through this difficult situation."

the nurse looks mildly skeptical, and you can feel your face heat up as she sighs, and stares at you.

"i...yeah. gotta be there for my sugar pumpkin snookums, right?"

it's satisfying that the tips of satoru's ears turn an awful shade of pink as he glares at you now, "such a sweetheart," and he pats your hand.

the nurse seems more inclined to roll her eyes, clearly over what she assumes are the antics of a medicine-doped boyfriend, "right. let's get that leg checked out."

as she wheels him away, satoru winks at you over his shoulder, "don't go anywhere, pretty!"

what a fiend. grinning like he's having the time of his life.

[4barbatos]

✦ disorders of 5wirl

what it’s like dating them through dysfunction, delusion, and decay.

cw: mental illness, emotional manipulation, self-harm, suicidal ideation, alcohol abuse, grief, trauma, gaslighting, toxic relationships, codependency, modern au, hurt no comfort.

a/n: i’m not a professional, and i don’t claim to perfectly represent any of the mental illnesses in this fic. i did my best to research each one, but a lot of it is also based on my own behavior, thoughts, and experiences — which makes this deeply personal to me TT i’m sorry in advance if it hurts to read. it hurt to write, too </3

venti – alcohol dependency + persistent depressive disorder (dysthymia)

he’s drunk when you pick him up from work.

again.

his manager texts you with something polite — “venti had a rough day again, would you mind…” — and you already know what that means. you don’t ask for details anymore. you just grab your keys and go.

he’s outside the building when you get there, sprawled across the front steps, a bottle in a brown paper bag clutched to his chest like a comfort blanket. he sees you and lights up like a child.

“my ride has arrived,” he slurs, pushing himself to his feet and swaying like a dandelion in the wind.

he leans into you, all dead weight and dizzy warmth, humming something tuneless, something about heartbreak and sky-colored dreams. he reeks of rum and bad decisions. you steady him without a word.

“i’m fine,” he says on the ride home, head on your shoulder. “just a little drink. i’m just… poetic when i’m tipsy, you know?”

you’ve heard that one before.

you’ve watched him drink through an entire bottle of wine before noon. you’ve had to carry him to the shower while he laughed and mumbled lyrics into your collarbone. you’ve held his hand in the emergency room after he fell down the stairs, pupils blown wide, breath soaked in tequila.

you don’t believe him anymore. but you still nod. because the alternative is asking him to stop, and watching him fall apart even faster.

he calls it his “muse.” you call it his slow death.

you’ve seen him sober, but it’s rare. brief. like a comet in the sky — bright, brilliant, and gone before you can hold onto it. he’s gentler when he’s clear-headed. softer. quieter. sadder.

sometimes he sings in his sleep. sometimes he cries. sometimes he stares at the ceiling for hours, eyes dry, lips moving like he’s praying — to who, you don’t know. he hasn’t believed in gods for a long time.

his apartment is littered with empty bottles and notebooks.

the bottles get recycled. the notebooks don’t.

he leaves them open, like he wants you to read them. and you do, even when it hurts.

his handwriting gets shakier the more he drinks — sometimes whole lines slant sideways across the page. sometimes the ink is smudged with tears. sometimes you can’t tell the difference.

one morning, you find one sitting on the kitchen counter, still warm with the shape of his hand. the last line reads:

“i’m sorry you had to love a corpse with a heartbeat.”

you tear the page out. quietly. you fold it and tuck it into your pocket, hands shaking.

he never asks where it went. and you never bring it up.

instead, you kiss his forehead when he stumbles in at 3am, breath sour with gin, cheeks flushed. you hold him as he collapses into your arms like a child. he sighs against your neck and says,

“you’re the only thing that makes the world feel less loud.”

but it’s not love. it’s dependency. inertia. decay.

and you don’t know if he’s killing himself on purpose anymore — or if he’s just given up trying not to.

xiao – depression + complex ptsd

he doesn’t speak unless spoken to. he doesn’t touch you unless you touch him first. even then — it’s hesitant. fragile. like he’s afraid he might break you just by existing.

being with xiao feels like trying to hold fog in your hands. he’s there. and then he’s not. you reach for him, and he lets you — but only barely. only long enough for your heart to start hoping before the silence settles in again like dust.

he never says i love you unless you say it first. he never texts first. never asks if you’re okay. never initiates anything beyond presence.

he just exists. on the edge of your bed, in the corner of a room, near you — but never really with you.

you ask him, sometimes, why he disappears.

he shrugs. looks down. fingers clench in his sleeves like he’s trying to fold himself smaller.

“i didn’t want to be a burden.”

he says it like it’s a fact. like that’s just what he is.

he vanishes for days at a time. no calls. no warning. sometimes he turns his phone off completely. sometimes he leaves it behind. you panic. you spiral. you sit by the door with your heart in your throat, waiting for a knock that doesn’t come.

and when he returns — it’s quiet. like it never happened.

sometimes he looks like he’s been in a fight. bruises on his knuckles. cuts on his cheek. dried blood under his nails. he never explains.

you ask, “where were you?” he answers, “walking.”

you ask, “are you okay?” he answers, “i’m here, aren’t i?”

you start to wonder if he’s trying to die.

you don’t say it out loud. but it clings to the silence like smoke.

he never cries. never yells. never breaks. he just carries this still, heavy sadness everywhere he goes — like it’s welded to his spine.

he stands in the doorway after each vanishing act, face pale, hair damp from rain or sweat or grief, and says,

“sorry. i didn’t mean to make you worry.”

like it’s not the tenth time this month.

like you didn’t think you’d have to identify him in a morgue. like you didn’t sit on the bathroom floor at 2am, shaking, wondering if loving him is the same as bleeding out slowly with your hands tied behind your back.

he tells you you’re too good to him. he tells you he doesn’t deserve this. he tells you not to wait for him if it gets too hard.

but then he clings to you in the middle of the night — softly. like it’s accidental. like it hurts him to need you.

you feel it when he breathes: the guilt, the numbness, the way his ribs tremble when your fingers brush over his scars.

he never says thank you. he never says stay.

but he looks at you like you’re the last light left in a world that’s long since burned.

and you stay. because you don’t know how to walk away from someone who already believes they’re gone.

heizou – persistent complex bereavement disorder + obsessive traits

he loves you like he’s afraid you’ll die.

not just leave — die. vanish. disappear. go cold like the last person he loved. like the boy with bright eyes and a sharper mind who bled out because heizou was twenty minutes too late.

he doesn’t say his name anymore. he doesn’t have to. you see him in the way he checks your location ten times a day. you hear him in the silence after every argument. you feel him in the way he panics if your phone rings twice without an answer.

he doesn’t call it trauma. he calls it “being prepared.” calls it “rational.” calls it “not making the same mistake twice.”

he keeps track of everything. every password. every safe word. every route you take to work. he memorizes your calendar and reminds you to eat at 2:15pm exactly. he checks the locks twice before bed, then again after you fall asleep.

you say, “this isn’t healthy.” he says, “you think being dead is healthier?”

his voice never rises. he’s never cruel. but there’s a steeliness in him — something inflexible. obsessive. something that says: “i already lost one person. i won’t lose another.”

and the truth is, he doesn’t trust the world. doesn’t trust you. not to survive. not to stay safe. not to stay.

you try to love him gently. he doesn’t know what to do with gentle.

you reach for him in the morning — he flinches. not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s afraid of comfort. because it feels wrong to be held when someone else is six feet under because of him.

he won’t let you touch the box in the back of his closet. you do, once. it’s full of old newspaper clippings and case notes and a photo printed so many times it’s starting to fade.

you confront him.

he doesn’t get angry. he just goes quiet. quieter than usual.

“he was my friend,” he says. and then, softer: “i think he would’ve been yours, too.”

you ask if he’s ever let himself grieve.

he laughs. just once. hollow.

“this is me grieving.”

he doesn’t believe he deserves happiness. he tells you that sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep.

“you should be with someone normal.” “you’d be safer without me.” “i think i’m just keeping you here to punish myself.”

you reach for him. he lets you. but his shoulders stay tense. his hands stay cold.

loving heizou feels like wrapping your arms around barbed wire and pretending it doesn’t cut you.

you tell him, “you’re not broken.”

he whispers, “then why do i bleed on everything i touch?”

and you don’t have an answer. so you just hold him tighter. and pray he doesn’t vanish into his grief before you do.

kazuha – self-harm (cutting) + dysthymia + avoidant personality disorder

you stopped asking about the bandages months ago.

they show up in the laundry sometimes — clean gauze, stained edges. rolled too neatly for accidents. they’re always on his forearms. left wrist more than right. layered under his sweaters, always hidden, but never that well.

he never flinches when you look. he just smiles. soft. tired. unreadable.

“don’t worry,” he says, like that’s ever worked. “they’re old.”

but you touch his arm one night, gently — just a brush of fingertips — and he inhales too sharply to be casual. you pull back like you’ve touched fire. he laughs it off and kisses your forehead.

you don’t sleep.

his poetry never helps either. it’s beautiful. it’s haunting. it’s the only time he ever tells the truth. you read the drafts left on the kitchen counter, in the notes app, in the corners of receipts and torn envelopes. they always end the same:

“i want to vanish like the last light of dusk.” “some things weren’t made to stay.” “even the wind knows when to let go.”

you memorize them. just in case.

you don’t find out how bad it really is until you catch him by accident. bathroom door unlocked. early morning. you weren’t supposed to be awake.

he doesn’t hear you at first — he’s too focused. sleeves rolled up, blade against his skin, methodical and quiet like he’s brushing dust from a shelf. no panic. no mess. just another routine.

when you whisper his name, he looks up.

he doesn’t hide it. he doesn’t apologize. he just says, “i thought you were asleep.”

his voice is so calm it terrifies you.

you don’t yell. you just kneel beside him, hands trembling, trying to take the razor away without breaking the fragile stillness between you. he lets you. not because he wants to, but because you look like you’re about to fall apart.

“i don’t do it because i want to die.”

you ask him what he does want. he doesn’t answer.

you beg him to let you help. he says, “i don’t want to be a burden.” you say he’s not. he doesn’t believe you.

after that, he disappears more often.

not for long — a day, two, sometimes three. no goodbye. no explanation. just silence.

you learn the patterns. when you cry, when you raise your voice, when you say you’re scared — that’s when he leaves. not out of cruelty. out of fear.

he doesn’t know how to be needed. he doesn’t know how to exist without apologizing for it.

he always comes back. quiet, sheepish, empty-eyed.

sometimes with flowers. sometimes with food. sometimes with a poem folded in half and slipped into your hand like a confession.

“i’m sorry. it won’t happen again.”

you both know it will.

but he smiles like he means it. and you smile back, because loving kazuha feels like holding your breath underwater — peaceful. delicate. just painful enough to ignore.

you start doing everything more gently.

you knock before entering rooms. you lower your voice even when you’re upset. you stop crying where he can see you.

you shrink yourself so he doesn’t run.

and still — he runs.

you stay. because he needs you. because he��s beautiful when he’s hurting. because you don’t know where your sadness ends and his begins anymore.

and somewhere deep down, you think: maybe if you’re soft enough, small enough, safe enough — he’ll stop trying to disappear.

but he never does.

and you keep pretending that’s not killing you.

scaramouche – borderline personality disorder + emotional dysregulation

your phone rings at 2:37am.

you don’t even look. you already know who it is. it’s always him. always at this hour. always when you’ve just drifted into sleep deep enough to feel safe.

five calls in a row. then a voicemail. then a text: “please don’t leave me. please. please. please.”

you’re up before you can think. shoes on. jacket over your pajamas. keys shaking in your hand. there’s no logic anymore — just instinct, panic, guilt that blooms fast and poisonous in your gut.

because what if this is the time he means it? what if he’s hurt? what if you don’t answer and he —

you don’t let yourself finish the thought.

his apartment door is unlocked. you rush in, breathless, heart in your throat. and there he is. on the couch. dry-eyed. perfectly calm. laughing at some trashy late-night reality show, wrapped in a blanket he stole from your place weeks ago.

he looks up like nothing happened. like he didn’t just drag you out of bed with a near-suicidal panic attack. like he didn’t just twist the knife in your chest for fun.

“you made it,” he says, grinning. “knew you would.”

you don’t speak. you just stand there, soaking wet from the rain, mascara smudged under your eyes, your breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob.

he pats the couch. “c’mere.”

you do. because of course you do.

being with scaramouche is like weathering a storm that never ends. no warning. no pattern. just destruction. you used to try and read him — map the triggers, trace the moods. now you just flinch when the wind changes.

sometimes he loves you so hard you can’t breathe.

he cups your face and says you’re the only good thing in the world. he kisses you like he’s starving. he texts you twenty-five times in an hour to ask if you’re still thinking about him. if you still love him. if you’re sure.

and sometimes —

sometimes he looks at you like you disgust him. like you’re a joke. like you’re a traitor just for needing five minutes of space.

“you’re obsessed with making everything about yourself.” “stop acting like i’m abusing you.” “you think you’re better than me? then leave. go ahead. just like everyone else did.”

you used to argue. now, you just sit there. you’ve learned the hard way that defending yourself is blood in the water.

he accuses. he spirals. he weeps.

you get good at patching him together. you stop patching yourself.

he’s already reaching for you now, wrapping himself around you, arms clutching too tightly like if he lets go you’ll vanish. his voice breaks into your shoulder.

“don’t let me ruin this too. please. i’m trying. i swear i’m trying.”

he is. and he isn’t. he wants to get better. but only if it doesn’t hurt. only if it doesn’t mean giving up the parts of you he feeds on.

he cries and you wipe his tears. he rages and you take it. he threatens to die and you believe him every single time.

and when it’s quiet again, when he’s breathing soft against your neck and the chaos has burned itself out, he says:

“you’re still here. i knew you would be.”

like that’s proof you love him. like your survival instinct isn’t dead.

and it is. because deep down, you already know:

he’s going to do this again. tomorrow. next week. the next time he feels hollow and furious and terrified and too full of love to hold it right.

he doesn't mean to hurt you. but he doesn't know how not to. and you don't know how to stop letting him.

you keep calling it love. maybe it is. maybe it's just what love looks like when neither of you knows how to survive it.

[alexrosa13]

New Year's Eve

Xavier; Zayne; Rafayel; Sylus; Caleb x female!reader

Genre: fluff/suggestive(Rafayel, Sylus)

Warnings: minor writing suggestive content!

Note: Happy New Year you all <3 my last year as a kiddo comes to an end lol - twins fic is still in the making... 20k words already in, it will be up next year, sorry for anyone who's waiting :c

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

Let's start the new year with...

His gaze focused on you, he felt at peace, his heart beating slowly, calm, unrushed. The night chill could be a problem, but luckily tonight it wasn't as bad. You and your lover were lying on top of the rooftop of the apartment bulding you two live in, on top of a blanket and fluffy pillows.

You were laying down on his chest with a blanked thrown over you, your palm resting next to your head, toying with the fabric of his shirt that found itself between your fingers. One of his hands on your head, playing with you hair gently while the second rests under his head.

It was close to midnight, New Year will start soon, and you will welcome it - together, in each other embrace.

None of you cared enough to actually look up the time on your phones, how much time was left? It didn't matter at the moment.

The fireworks started to fly up, dark sky lightning up in countless colors. But instead of the once-a-year show, you were looking at each other. His eyes expressing the love he holds for you.

"Happy New Year Xavier." your soft smile bringing warm to his heart that he hoped he could keep there forever.

Your body slowly turning to come face to face with him, your hand from his chest wandering to his face, your lips getting closer.

"Happy New Year, my star." with little to no patience left, his hand on your head bringed you even closer to him, your lips finally connecting in a sweet kiss.

The sounds of celebration all around the city encouraging you to live in the moment, the hand he was resting on up until that moment moved in search of your hips, your body collapsing on top of his with your lips still moving against each other.

Even the cold midnight air were no match for your bodies which seem to be getting hotter with every passing second.

Suddenly you felt a tear in your eye, trying to break free from under your eyelid, as if all pain of the past year were to disappear together with it.

So you let it fall - right on Xavier's face, but before he could have the chance to understand the situation and move away to ask what's wrong, you pulled him in deeper, all your sorrows went away, leaving only bliss and happiness.

He was there with you, the sorce of your joy and the owner of your heart. He hopes you know, that his own belonged to you since what seem like forever and he wishes for you to never let go of it.

View of Snowcrest behind the window of your room bringed out memories from the past. The happy ones of you and your loved one, but also the ones of his pain and sorrows. The weird nostalgic feeling found it's place deep inside of your heart.

The half full mug of hot chocolate in your hand and your silhouette sitting on the rocking chair with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and with your knees brought up under your chin came into the view of your lover the moment he entered the room.

"Is one blanked enough? I don't want you getting cold." his soft voice distracted you from your thoughts, your head turning away from the window to look at him.

"I'm perfectly content here. However there is one thing that I would like, if you want me to be as comfy as I can be here." the mug in your hand meet the surface of the table nearby.

"And what is that you need?" closing the door quietly he made his way towards you.

"Love." your hand reached out to him. He couldn't help the soft giggle that left his mouth at your statement. He let you pull him closer.

You stood up and made him sit up in your place before getting comfy on his laps, like a kitty getting ready to sleep on it's favourite human.

He embraced your form cuddling up to him, your head hiding in his neck. He fixed the blanked around you, making sure to keep you warm and content in his hug.

The chair slowly stopped rocking with your movements coming to an end. His gaze fell from your form towards the window before him, the night sky making the snowy mountains look even more breathtaking that usual.

"Zayne?" he felt your warm breath on his sensitive skin, giving you a gentle hum to let you know he listens "What time is it?" your voice sounded tired, as if you were ready to fell asleep in his arms.

He looked at the clock on the wall, the moonlight bright enough for him to read the time.

"A little past midnight." your head peaked up from his shoulder, your eyes meeting.

"Happy New Year." your tired eyes gazed into his, your lips forming a soft smile.

"Happy New Year my love." your hand wandered from under the blanked to the back of his head, his eyes closed and a second later your lips found his, meeting in a soft unrushed kiss.

None of you knew for how long it lasted, maybe second, maybe minutes. You slowly pulled back, eyes not opening and your breathing getting steady. The blanked close to falling of your shoulders.

Without any word leaving him, Zayne stood up with you in his arms, one of his hands catching the blanked from falling completely.

He laid her down on the bed, making sure to tug her in nicely under the comforter and kiss her on the forehead.

With no rush he got into the bed too, lying down next to her under the cover. Her almost sleeping form turned to him and without any hesitation he pulled her closer to himself.

"Sleep well, my love."

Rafayel's art studio was full of laughter and colors today, it all started with the proposition to spend the New Year's Eve together. What was supposed to be an innocent painting session turned out to be a joyful disaster, with your faces, bodies and clothes covered in paint.

"Wait Miss Bodyguard, don't move, you would look so good with a heart painted on your neck." his paint brush touched the sensitive skin, your laughter proved to add a little challenge, the shaking of your body making the lines come out a bit messy, but the whole image still turning out pretty notherless.

"Can I draw some blue scales on my favourite fishy?" you voice full of joy reached his ears and a moment later your hand started to move his hair away from his face, getting ready to paint a masterpiece.

"Aww you better make me look like the most handsome fishy in the whole sea." he smiled, having the perfect opportunity to stare at your focused face, while you were busy with your work.

He was so mesmerised with your face that he didn't even noticed your eyes turning mischievous until it was too late. In a second his lips became covered in blue paint, he opened them in shock, taken a back.

"How dare you!" instantly in his mind there was a plan for a revenge.

You saw his gaze turning towards the red paint sitting on the floor close to you. Both of you froze. Staring into each other eyes.

In a manner of seconds you tried to stand up and run away from him, but able to predict your next move he moved faster than you, trapping you underneath him, your laughing form trying to apologise and break free didn't budge him.

He held your wrists above your head, pinning them to the floor with one of his hands, while the second took a hold of the paintbrush dipping it in the red paint.

"Rafayel do not! I'm sorry!" your pleading didn't help and in the next second your mouth got covered in paint which smelled and tasted just like... strawberry?

"Now we're even." his smile growing larger at your happiness. Suddenly you heard a loud noise outside of the windows, and a countless more following.

"Midnight." your out of breath voice bringed his attention back to you.

"Happy New Year Miss Bodyguard." he helped you sit down, the eye contact unbreakable and more intense with every second.

"Your lips are still blue." your gaze fell onto them.

"And yours are red." he saw where your eyes went, searching for an answer to his silent question in your gaze, which didn't went back up.

He saw you getting closer to him, you smeared with paint hands went up to his face, holding it with love, and messing up your previous work.

"Want to make purple with me?" your half-opened eyes finally reaching to gaze into his. He swore that you looked like you were about to faint if you didn't get what you wanted - or rather, needed.

"Anytime cutie." your lips came crushing into his, the sounds of breathless making-out meet the loud noises of the fireworks, his hands grabbed your hips, pulling you up onto his lap. His palms leaving obvious traces on your clothes.

Unexpectedly you broke the kiss, your rapid heartbeats trying to outrun each other, hot breaths mixing.

His drunk from lust gaze searched for your eyes, expression on your face matching his. He took notice of your purple lips, your tongue sticking out of your mouth to taste it.

Suddenly your hands left his face but before he could open his mouth to question you, he witnessed you taking off your shirt in hurry and throwing it somewhere behind you.

"Happy New Year baby." managed to leave your mouth, before they came back to his with twice as much passion and yearning than a moment before.

A Happy New Year indeed.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, he covered your eyes with a black ribbon back in the car and proceed to carry you princess style to who-knows where.

"You'll see soon enough." once again your curiosity didn't get satisfied. You let out a huff of disappointment, your head falling down, as if pretending to faint, but your arms wrapped themselfs tighter around his neck. You couldn't see it, but you knew that his lips turned into a smirk at your attics.

That man made you wear one of the prettiest dresses you own, telling you to dress up because he is taking you out. After enjoying dinner at some fancy restaurant he brought you back to his car, telling you that there's one more place to go tonight and tying the blindfold over your eyes gently, as not to ruin your make-up.

Soon enough he finally put you down onto your feet, his hands gently took a hold of your waist, making you stand exactly where he wants you to.

"Ready?'" you heard his quiet voice right next to your ear, he stood behind you, his hands staying on your waist.

"As I'll never be." you state with a confident tone. With a quiet and short laugh he finally reaches for the ribbon, slowly pulling one end of it, making it untie itself before his hand comes back to it's former place.

Before your eyes is a huge window taking up a whole wall, you were probably standing on 20th floor of some high building. You try to took in your surroundings.

The huge room is decorated in your signature colors, you're quick to take notice of the pile made out of presents, and a banner hanging from the ceiling above it:

Happy New Year Darling

There were flowers all around the floor, you couldn't help but smile at the fact that they matched yours and Sylus' aesthetics perfectly.

"I've decided to spoil you one last time before the end of this year." you felt a kiss on your neck. Turning around in his hold you wrapped your arms around his neck just like before. His eyes glancing into yours, seeing the happiness in your gaze warmed his heart in a way he never knew were possible before meeting you.

"You really didn't have to." joyful smile found it's place on your face, Sylus wished that he brought Mephisto with him to capture that moment forever, but he had to settle for saving that image in his head instead.

"I know, but I wanted to. I love spoiling you kitten, you know that very well." one of his hands reached up to caress your chin before coming back down to take a hold of your hips.

"I love you so much." managed to reach his ears before your lips caught his in a breathless kiss. He was quick to match your passion, kissing you like he yearned for that moment to happen since forever.

One of his hands wandered to your thigh, making it wrap itself around his hip and holding it in place, while the other found your back, gently but firmly making your body arch to his liking, his face now right above yours and your bodies pressed together.

The loud sounds from the outside world caught your attention. You broke the kiss with a heavy breathing arching your body even more, as to see the window behind you, the upside-down image of the sky lighting up in a variety of beautiful colors meeting your eyes.

"Happy New Year kitten." you felt your lover's hot breath on your neck, before his mouth came to meet it, wet kisses making you close your eyes for a moment in delight, before your head went back up and your eyes met. You took notice of the pink blush adoring his face before speaking up.

"Good luck with putting up with me in the new year." your face came closer to his, giving his lips a quick peck before pulling back to say something more "I raise the stakes this year." with a grin on your lips you noticed his eyes lightning up and you could swore that you saw a hearts in them.

"Try me, pretty girl." his lips came crashing onto yours once again.

Oh god how you loved this man...

"Stop it!" your scream broke through the laughter, but the man above you wasn't planning on letting you win that easily. He pinned your hands above your head, not caring one bit about your kicking and squirming under him.

"Give up!" his mocking-like laugh reached your ears.

"Okay, okay! You win! Let me go you bully!" you couldn't stop your giggling even if you tried. Your play fight finally comes to an end, letting you catch your breath.

"One more insult and I won't let you go for the next half-an-hour." his second hand came to join his other one, both of your hands now in his hold.

"Please no. I'm too tired for this." your head dropped down onto the sofa's cushion, your eyes closing up to show the truth behind your words.

"Sure, sure, as if I'll believe that one of the best Linkon City's hunters has this low of a stamina." his hands finally letting go of yours. You felt his body straightening up and sitting on your hips, but not putting his whole weight onto you.

Your eyes opened, one of your hands coming to lay on your forehead. His gaze already focused on you, the grin on his lips speaking loudly about the fact that he was enjoying this.

"You better be careful and take care of one of Linkon's best hunters instead of being mean to her and making her almost die from laughter." with a soft laugh he finally pulled himself up from your body, making his way towards the kitchen area in your apartment without fixing his crumpled T-shirt.

To say that you ogled his walking form was an understatement. Gosh how could someone look this good FROM BEHIND?

Supporting yourself on your elbows you lifted your upper body a little higher, looking at the still running tv. The little clock on the bottom left corner showed that it was only 30 seconds before midnight.

You shot up from your seat and ran to the window with the view on the whole city.

"Caleb! It's almost the time!" the man was quick to put the drink he was holding up onto the countertop and join you in your waiting.

With your gaze still focused on the window you hugged his body tightly, one of his hands returned your embrace, while the second held up his phone to look at the time.

Seconds later the numbers on the screen finally showed midnight, and together with it colors lighten up the sky, making a spectacle of saying goodbye to the old year and welcoming the new one.

His phone dropped to the pocket of his pants and his other arm wrapped itself around you.

"Happy New Year pipsqueak." his lips touched your forehead, planting a quick kiss on it.

You looked up at him, the happiness perfectly visible in your eyes.

"Happy New Year Caleb." standing up on your tippy toes, your lips touched his in a sweet kiss for the first time this year.

It'll be a happy one, because it will be with him.

©alexrosa13 on tumbrl

[cumironi]

FALL APART? NO, JUST MENTAL BREAKDOWN : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

gojo found you training in the middle of the night only for you to have a mental breakdown in front of him. so he brings you to geto's dorm room to calm you down, also for gojo to find behind geto's action on why he is so gentle with you.

warning. highschool! satosugu, fem! reader, mental breakdown, blood mentioned.

wc. 11k | [☆] MASTERLIST

the moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the training grounds as gojo strolled leisurely toward the dorms. the night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves as he walked, his posture relaxed with one hand casually tucked into the pocket of his gray sweatpants. a plastic bag dangled from his wrist, filled with snacks, while the other hand held a bottle of ramune, the fizzing sound of the drink faint in the quiet night.

as he approached the training area, his keen senses picked up on a faint, familiar energy. gojo's sharp eyes, hidden behind his usual dark sunglasses, flickered toward the source. there you were, in the middle of the field, your movements precise but lacking the usual fire. something felt off. he could see it in the way you moved—like you were pushing yourself too hard, not out of determination but as if trying to outrun something.

gojo paused, tilting his head as he observed you. the way your shoulders tensed, the subtle tremor in your stance, it was clear you were wrestling with something heavy. he didn’t need to use his six eyes to know that whatever it was, it was eating at you.

with a sigh, he made his way over, his footsteps quiet against the ground. “hey,” he called out, his voice breaking the silence as he approached. “shouldn’t you be getting some rest? it’s almost midnight.”

you didn’t stop, swinging your fists with a determination that bordered on reckless. sweat glistened on your skin, your breaths coming out in harsh pants. gojo frowned, sensing the storm of emotions swirling inside you. gojo crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on your back as you continued to punch, ignoring his words. he could see the tension in your muscles, the stiffness in each punch you threw. it was clear to him that you were drowning in something, something that went deeper than just physical exhaustion.

“y/n,” he called out again, his voice firm. “stop it. you're gonna exhaust yourself.”

but you didn't listen, continuing with your relentless assault on the air, your breath coming out in ragged gasps. when you didn’t respond, he took a sip of his ramune, the fizzy sound breaking the silence again. gojo knew you well enough to recognize when you were shutting people out, but he wasn’t one to back off easily.

he took a step closer, setting the bottle down and letting the plastic bag drop to the ground with a soft rustle. “you know, you can’t just punch your way through everything,” he said, his tone lighter but laced with a sincerity that was rare for him. “what’s going on?”

you finally stopped, breathing heavily as you glared at him, trying to maintain your composure. “it’s none of your business, gojo,” you snapped, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

gojo just shrugged, unbothered by your attitude. “yeah, maybe. but i’m making it my business,” he replied, his gaze never leaving you. he could see the cracks in your tough exterior, the way your resolve was starting to waver.

gojo took a couple of steps closer, closing the gap between the two of you. he stood there, his hands in his pockets, his casual demeanor starkly contrasting the intensity of the moment. he tilted his head slightly, studying your face, taking in the way your expression flickered with a mix of anger and vulnerability.

“you're not fooling anyone,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “you look like you're about to collapse. why are you pushing yourself so hard?” you shot gojo a sharp look, your eyes narrowing as his words cut through the tense air. “wow, thanks for the observation, the strongest sorcerer,” you snapped, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. “maybe i'm pushing myself because i have to, unlike some people who just stroll around like they own the place.”

you turned away, trying to focus back on your training, but his presence lingered, making it impossible to ignore. “not everyone has the luxury of slacking off, gojo,” you added, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “some of us actually have to work for it.”

the frustration in your voice was clear, but you kept your back turned, refusing to show him the full extent of what was really eating at you. gojo stood there, unfazed by your biting remarks. he had seen this side of you many times before. it was a defense mechanism, a way for you to push people away when you were feeling vulnerable.

he took a slow step closer, closing the gap between you even further. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. “don’t get all pissy with me because i’m just taking it easy. it’s not my fault i’m powerful enough to do that.”

he paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

he took a step closer, standing just a few feet away from you. “but you're not fooling me, you know,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over the field. “i know you, y/n. i know when you're acting all tough, trying to hide how you really feel.”

gojo waited a moment, watching as you continued to punch, your movements tense and aggressive. he knew you were doing this intentionally, trying to block him out.

“what's going on?” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. “talk to me.” you glared at gojo, your vision blurring as your eyes welled up with unshed tears. his words stung, digging into the parts of you that you tried so hard to keep buried. you hated how easily he saw through you, how he always managed to pry into your thoughts no matter how hard you tried to push him away.

“shut up, gojo,” you spat, your voice cracking as you try to hold back your emotions. “you don’t know anything, so just stop pretending like you care.”

your fists clenched tighter, nails digging into your palms as you felt the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over. the frustration of being seen, of having someone like him so close to your vulnerable side, made your heart pound in your chest.

you turned away from him, your breaths coming out in shaky huffs. “you have no idea what it’s like,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “so just leave me alone. go play hero somewhere else.”

you could feel his gaze boring into you, unrelenting, but you refused to let him see you break. not now, not ever. gojo's expression softened as he watched you struggle to keep your composure. he could see the way your hands were shaking, the way your voice wavered with emotion. it was clear that you were on the verge of falling apart, but you were doing everything you could to keep yourself together.

he took another step closer, closing the distance between you, his presence looming over you like a protective shadow.

“you're right,” he said quietly. "i don’t know what it’s like. but i can see that something is tearing you apart.” he reached out, gently gripping your shoulder and turning you to face him. you tried to shake off his touch, but his grip was firm. gojo's eyes met yours, and in that moment, he could see the weight of everything you were struggling with.

“y/n,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm, “you can't keep this up. you're going to break. you don’t have to tell me what's going on, but at least let me help you carry the load.”

anger flared in your chest, burning hotter with every soft word that fell from gojo’s lips. you hated this—being seen so clearly, so intimately by him. it made you feel weak, exposed in a way that made your skin crawl. the vulnerability he brought out in you wasn’t something you were ready to face, let alone share.

your breath hitched, and without thinking, you lunged at him, fists clenched and ready to strike. the thought of wiping that concerned look off his face, even for a moment, felt like the only way to regain some control over the spiraling chaos inside you.

but before your fists could connect, gojo's hands were there, catching your wrists in mid-air. his grip was firm but gentle, not meant to restrain but to steady. your eyes locked onto his, those impossibly blue eyes that held so much softness it made your chest ache.

“let go,” you snarled, your voice thick with frustration, but your resolve was already wavering under the weight of his gaze. his touch was warm, grounding, and it pissed you off even more that it made you feel safer than you wanted to admit.

gojo didn’t flinch, didn’t react to your outburst. instead, he just held your wrists, his thumbs brushing lightly over your skin in soothing circles. “i’m not letting go,” he said softly, his voice steady. “no, y/n..”

you tried to pull back, but his hold remained firm, not allowing you to retreat into the walls you’d built so carefully around yourself. your breath came out in ragged, uneven gasps, and you could feel your resolve crumbling under the sheer kindness of his gaze.

gojo’s thumbs continued to brush against the skin on your wrists in soothing circles, his touch grounding you even as the tension in your body remained taut. he could see the conflict in your eyes, the struggle between vulnerability and resilience. it tugged at his heart, the way you were fighting against your own feelings, trying to push him away even as you leaned into his touch.

he leaned in slightly, his voice still soft but firm. “just let it out, y/n,” he said, his eyes fixed on yours. “you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

your breath hitched the moment gojo’s words reached your ears, and the dam you’d built up so carefully finally cracked. tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, and you hated how exposed you felt under his gaze. but there was something in his eyes—a quiet understanding, a patience that felt like a lifeline in the storm of your emotions.

you tried to keep your lips shut, biting down hard to stop the sobs from escaping, but it was useless. your chest heaved, and your vision blurred with the force of your tears. you looked up at gojo, desperately trying to hold onto the remnants of your pride, but the tenderness in his eyes only made the tears flow harder.

you wanted to yell at him, to tell him to leave you alone, to stop being so kind when you didn’t deserve it—but the words wouldn’t come. instead, all that came out was a broken sound, halfway between a sob and a gasp, as you stared at him, your defenses crumbling under the weight of your own emotions.

gojo didn’t say anything; he just stayed there, holding your wrists gently as if you were something precious, something worth protecting. his thumbs continued their soothing motions, grounding you in the moment even as your walls came tumbling down. and for once, you let yourself lean into it, let yourself feel the comfort of someone who wasn’t going to leave, who wasn’t going to judge.

your shoulders shook as the sobs you’d been holding back finally broke free, and gojo just stayed there, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you fall apart without pulling away.

gojo's heart ached as he watched you fall apart in front of him. seeing you, always strong and determined, reduced to tears, was a sight he had never imagined he'd see. it was heart-breaking and beautiful all at once.

he wanted to hold you, to wrap his arms around you and shield you from everything that had pushed you to this point, but he held back. he knew you wouldn't accept it, not yet. so, he settled for holding your wrists, grounding you with his touch, his thumbs continuing to draw small, soothing circles on your skin.

you stood there, trembling under gojo’s touch, your resolve crumbling with each passing second. your tears streamed down your face, and despite the overwhelming urge to scream or collapse, you stubbornly kept your lips pressed into a tight line, refusing to let a single sob escape.

your breath came in ragged gasps, each one a silent battle to maintain the last shreds of your composure. it infuriated you—how he was seeing you like this, so raw and broken, and yet he didn’t look at you with pity. instead, there was something warm and unyielding in his gaze, something that made the knot in your chest tighten and loosen all at once.

your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the tears continued to fall. gojo's calm, unwavering presence only made it harder to keep the sobs at bay, but you still fought against it, clenching your jaw and blinking rapidly to stop the flood. you hated feeling this vulnerable, hated that he was witnessing you at your lowest.

but despite everything, you couldn’t pull away. you couldn’t turn your back on the silent comfort he was offering. so, you just stood there, staring up at his much taller frame, trying to steady your breaths and failing miserably. the warmth of his hands on your wrists was the only thing keeping you grounded, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone, even as you continued to silently unravel.

gojo held your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. he saw the battle you were fighting within yourself, the struggle to keep your emotions in check. he knew how hard it was for you to show weakness, how much you hated the vulnerability that came with tears.

but he also saw the way you leaned into his touch, how you couldn’t pull away even though you desperately wanted to. his thumbs continued to brush softly across your wrists, a silent reassurance. he didn’t push you to speak, didn’t ask you to explain. he just stayed, offering his presence as a silent comforter.

gojo hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of your pain pressing against him. when your tears didn’t stop, he finally gave in, wrapping his arms around your shoulders with a gentleness that was almost uncharacteristic of him. pulling you closer, he murmured softly, "come on, let's get you to rest and clean those wounds," his gaze lingering on your bruised knuckles. without waiting for you to respond, he guided you carefully, picking up the plastic bag from the ground before leading you to geto's dorm room.

your silent sobs echoed softly in the quiet night as gojo continued to walk beside you, his arm steady around you, providing a comforting presence. when he finally opened the door to geto’s room, the raven-haired sorcerer was sprawled out, halfway through opening a bag of snacks, his expression immediately shifting to irritation.

“where the hell have you been?” geto began, his tone laced with annoyance, but the words died in his throat the moment he saw you. his eyes widened in surprise, and his expression softened instantly as he took in the sight of you, tears still streaming down your face, tucked under gojo’s arm. the sight was jarring—seeing you, someone who was always so tough, reduced to a state of raw emotion.

gojo gave geto a small, rueful smile as he gently nudged you further into the room. “look who i found,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual teasing edge. geto’s gaze flickered from gojo to you, his expression shifting to one of concern and understanding.

“hey,” geto said quietly, his voice warm as he quickly moved over, abandoning his snack without a second thought. “what’s going on?” he asked gently, his eyes searching yours for an answer, but he didn’t push, knowing better than to pry when you were already so vulnerable.

gojo guided you to the bed, helping you sit down before pulling up a chair beside you. he glanced at geto, who nodded silently, the unspoken communication between them clear. they weren’t going to leave you alone to face this on your own.

geto settled down on the other side of the bed, sitting facing you. he didn’t say anything, just waited patiently, his presence steady and calming. gojo leaned back against the nearby wall, keeping his distance but still within reach.

they both knew that pushing you to talk wouldn’t yield any results. this situation was delicate, and they didn’t want to make things worse. so, they waited, their gazes never leaving you, silently offering both comfort and the time you needed to gather your thoughts.

geto’s eyes traced over your form, taking in the disheveled state of your jujutsu high uniform, the fabric stained with dirt and specks of blood. his gaze lingered on your knuckles—bruised, swollen, and dotted with dried blood. the sight of your injuries stirred a mix of concern and quiet anger within him, not at you, but at whatever had driven you to this point.

“what the hell happened?” geto asked softly, his voice low but filled with a hint of restrained frustration, not directed at you but at the situation. he reached out, carefully taking one of your hands in his, inspecting the bruises with a delicate touch. his thumb grazed the torn skin gently, his brows furrowing as he noted the extent of the damage.

“you shouldn’t be out there pushing yourself like this,” he continued, his voice laced with worry. geto’s usual calm demeanor was still there, but there was a distinct edge to his tone—he was deeply concerned. he glanced at gojo, who nodded subtly, the silent communication between them reflecting their shared unease.

“you’re still in your uniform,” geto pointed out softly, his gaze returning to your face. “have you been training all this time?” his eyes searched yours, filled with quiet understanding. despite the softness in his voice, his grip on your hand was firm, grounding you, making sure you knew he was there.

geto’s thumb continued to brush lightly against your bruised knuckles, a silent promise of comfort and protection. he didn’t push for answers, didn’t demand an explanation. instead, he just stayed, his presence calm and steady, offering you a quiet space to breathe and let go. he understood that right now, the best thing he could do was simply be there, ready to support you however you needed.

gojo sat quietly, watching the interaction between you and geto with a mixture of concern and relief. he was glad you were with someone he trusted wholeheartedly. he knew that geto had a way of making people feel safe, and right now, you needed that more than anything.

he observed the way geto touched you, his hands gentle and considerate. he could see the worry etched in the raven-haired sorcerer'a eyes, the protective edge in his voice. it was clear that geto deeply cared, and it made gojo feel somewhat more at ease.

after a while, the tears stopped, not because the weight had lifted or the pain had lessened, but simply because you were too exhausted to keep crying. the emotional toll had drained every bit of energy from your body, leaving you feeling hollow and numb. your breathing steadied, but your eyes remained red and puffy, your face marked with tear stains that you didn’t bother to wipe away.

you glanced down at your bruised knuckles still held gently in geto’s grasp. the ache was a dull reminder of the pain you were trying to drown out through sheer force. you took a shaky breath, trying to gather the shattered pieces of your composure, but even that felt like a monumental task.

“i'm fine,” you mumbled weakly, though it was clear that you were far from it. your voice was hoarse, a faint tremble still lingering in your words. you pulled your hand slightly away from geto’s hold, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration at your own vulnerability. you hated showing this side of yourself, hated feeling so exposed and raw in front of them, even if they were the people you trusted the most.

but despite everything, the presence of both gojo and geto was oddly comforting. their silent support, the way they just stayed with you without demanding answers or forcing you to talk—it was more than you could have asked for. you leaned back against the headboard, closing your eyes as fatigue settled heavily in your bones.

“thanks…” you whispered, barely audible, but it was the closest you could come to acknowledging how much their presence meant to you. you were still too worn out to express it fully, but in this quiet moment, surrounded by the soft hum of their breathing and the warmth of their company, you felt a flicker of solace.

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly at your mumbled attempt to wave them off. he shared a glance with gojo, his eyes filled with understanding. they both knew that you were far from fine, no matter how much you tried to deny it, but neither of them called you out on it.

he continued to hold your hand gently, his thumb running soothing circles against your skin. geto leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper, “we're not going anywhere, y/n. no matter how much you try to push us away.”

gojo knelt down in front of you, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare, genuine softness. his eyes, usually so full of mischief, now held only concern as he met your gaze. he could see the exhaustion etched across your face, the way your body slumped as if the weight of everything had finally become too much. he reached out, his hand hovering just above your knee, not wanting to overwhelm you but offering a touch of reassurance.

"hey," gojo's voice was gentle, almost coaxing, as if trying to soothe a skittish animal. "why don’t you take a shower? it'll help you relax, and then we can clean up those bruises." his tone was tender, lacking the usual teasing lilt; it was clear that his only priority was to make you feel even a little bit better.

geto, who had been silently watching from the side, finally released your hand with a soft squeeze, a silent promise that he wasn’t letting go for good. he stood up, moving quietly to gather a fresh set of clothes, a new towel, and some essentials from his neatly organized closet. he returned, placing the items beside you with care, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

"you can use my stuff," geto offered, his voice as soft as the quiet room around you. "everything's clean, and it’s all yours for as long as you need." his eyes lingered on yours, the quiet intensity in them offering comfort that words alone couldn’t convey.

the room was filled with a comforting silence, a quiet understanding shared between the three of you. gojo’s hand still hovered close, waiting for you to take that first step, while geto stood nearby, ready to help in any way he could. they were giving you space, but at the same time, making it clear that they were there, unwavering and steadfast in their support.

you glanced between gojo and geto, their quiet patience somehow making the knot in your chest loosen just a bit. the gentle concern in their eyes, the way they hovered close but not too close, made you feel a small flicker of comfort amidst the exhaustion weighing you down.

“okay…” you mumbled softly, barely above a whisper, your voice laced with a mix of fatigue and reluctant acceptance. you didn't have the energy to keep fighting them, and a part of you knew they were right—you needed to take care of yourself, even if it was just a shower and some clean clothes.

you gave them a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of their efforts to help. “thanks,” you added, your voice still quiet but sincere. though it wasn’t much, it was the closest you could get to showing them that you appreciated their presence, their gentle persistence, and the way they were there for you without asking for anything in return.

gojo and geto exchanged a quick glance, relief flickering in their eyes at your begrudging agreement. they had both expected you to resist more, but it seemed that you were too exhausted to keep fighting.

“good.” gojo smiled slightly, his hand moving to rest on your knee as he spoke, “we'll be right here when you get out. take as long as you need.” his voice was gentle, lacking the usual playful edge.

geto nodded in agreement, his eyes softening as they met yours. “we're not leaving,” he reaffirmed, his voice firm yet comforting. you quietly stood up, your movements slow and a bit unsteady as the exhaustion continued to weigh heavily on you. you glanced at both of them, taking in their reassuring expressions and the way they seemed to have silently vowed to stay by your side. there was something oddly comforting in knowing that, despite everything, they weren’t going to leave.

without saying a word, you made your way to the bathroom, your footsteps barely making a sound against the floor. you could feel their eyes on you as you closed the door behind you, the quiet click of the latch sealing you in a small, private space where you could finally breathe without holding everything in.

standing in front of the mirror, you caught your reflection—bruised, worn out, and drained. it was hard to look at yourself, but you pushed down the urge to break down again. you let out a shaky breath, turning on the shower and letting the sound of running water fill the room, drowning out the turmoil in your head. as the steam began to rise, you slipped out of your jujutsu high uniform and stepped under the warm stream, hoping that, at least for a moment, the water could wash away some of the heaviness clinging to you.

gojo and geto remained in the bedroom, listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom. the water rushing through the pipes and the soft splash against your skin was all they could hear, and it made both of them feel even more worried than before.

gojo fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, his foot tapping a steady rhythm against the floor. he wanted to barge into the bathroom and check on you, but he knew that would only cross a boundary.

geto sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door with a look of concern etched across his face. he turned to gojo, his tone sharp but laced with worry. “okay, what the fuck is happening? is she okay?”

gojo sighed, his expression serious as he leaned against the wall. “i found her training alone. she was pushing herself way too hard, like she was trying to burn out all the pain or something. her knuckles were bruised, and she was on the edge of collapsing. she clearly needed a break, but she wouldn’t admit it.”

geto's eyebrows furrowed as he listened to gojo's explanation, his expression becoming even more troubled. he knew you well enough to know that pushing yourself to the brink was your way of coping when things got rough, but this felt like you were going too far even for your standards.

“did she say anything at all? what set her off like this?” geto questioned, his voice betraying the worry that was gnawing at him. gojo rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “not really. she was just... pushing herself too hard. i tried to talk to her, but she was so set on keeping her distance.”

geto's gaze sharpened, his concern turning into frustration. “why didn’t you stop her from doing this?”

gojo’s eyes widened slightly, and he whispered, almost defensively, offended by the accusation from his friend, “she was going to punch me in the face! I was scared shitless. i mean, seriously, i almost peed myself.”

geto looked at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “you’re an idiot,” he said with a sigh, though his tone carried a note of exasperation. gojo protested with a pouting tone, his pride clearly stung by geto's words, “hey! i am not an idiot. just because i was trying to avoid getting decked by her doesn’t mean i’m stupid.”

geto rolled his eyes playfully, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, though the concern still weighed heavily on his mind, “well, you could’ve still done something instead of just standing there like a dumbass.” gojo scoffed, clearly offended by geto's remark. he gave geto a light smack on the chest with the back of his hand, his expression challenging and annoyed. he didn't say anything, but his frustration was evident.

geto glanced down at his chest where gojo had hit him, then returned the gesture with a similar smack, his frown deepening and his eyebrows knitting together. the silent exchange was a mix of annoyance and camaraderie, a way of expressing their frustrations while still showing that they were on the same side.

gojo and geto continued their silent exchange of smacks, each one growing slightly harder than the last. their competitive nature flared up, even in moments as serious as this.

gojo's eyes sparkled with a competitive glint, and he let out a soft chuckle. “oh, it's like that, huh?” he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. geto rolled his eyes, but a corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “yeah, it‘s like that,” he retorted, his voice just as teasing as his counterpart’s.

you stepped out of the shower, your hair still wet and dripping onto the floor. as you watched gojo and geto in the midst of their playful exchange, don't even realize your appearance, you couldn’t help but let out a tired sigh.

“you two are stupid,” you said, your voice carrying a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. your narrow gaze and damp hair only added to the absurdity of the moment, making it clear you were both exasperated and slightly entertained by their antics.

gojo and geto's eyes darted to you upon hearing your voice. they both immediately stopped their playful smacking and guiltily looked away from each other.

gojo cleared his throat, trying to act nonchalant as if he wasn’t just engaged in a battle of pettiness a few seconds ago.

geto, on the other hand, was a bit more composed, though he wasn’t completely unapologetic. he shot gojo a knowing smirk before turning his attention back to you. “hey, you’re done!” gojo said a little too loudly, hoping to change the subject.

“you look better,” geto said softly, his eyes scrutinizing you from head to toe, taking in your damp hair and the exhaustion etched on your face.

gojo nodded in agreement, his usual playfulness completely gone for once. he took a step towards you, his eyes filled with a concern that he usually reserved for moments of true seriousness. “did it help at all?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

you let out a soft sigh and nodded, murmuring a quiet “thanks” as you looked at them. the warmth in their eyes and their genuine concern made you feel a bit better despite the lingering exhaustion.

geto's eyes fell on you, noticing how his oversized clothes engulfed your figure, making you look even smaller and more vulnerable. the sight of you struggling to keep his pants from slipping down made him chuckle softly. he couldn't help but smile, finding the moment endearing despite the serious circumstances.

“you look like you’re drowning in my clothes,” he said with a gentle grin, his tone light and affectionate. when he noticed your still wet hair, he continued, “and you also look like a drowned rat,” he teased softly, the warmth in his voice contrasting with the playful comment. “let me help you with your hair. you can’t stay like this forever.”

gojo, who had been studying your tired frame, chuckled along with geto at the sight of you practically drowning in the oversized clothes. he knew you were always small, but the extra material hanging off of you only emphasized that fact. he smirked and jokingly chimed in, “yeah, you look like you’re being swallowed by that shirt and those pants.”

geto shot gojo a look that was simultaneously affectionate and annoyed before turning back to you. “seriously, you look ridiculous.” he teased gently, his voice still laced with concern. “come here.”

you groaned softly, shuffling over to them despite the heavy fabric. “do you have anything smaller?” you asked geto, your voice tinged with frustration as your feet dancing towards them who's still sitting at the edge of the bed. “i can’t wear this without having to hold it like i’m about to defend my life or something.”

geto chuckled at your exasperated tone and your exaggerated movements as you made your way over to him. he knew that his clothes would be too big on you, but he didn’t expect them to be THAT large.

he pushed himself off the bed, moving to stand closer to you. he reached out to adjust the collar of the shirt, a teasing smile on his face. “sorry, didn’t quite expect you to swim in it like that.” he quipped, enjoying the way you looked swamped in his clothes.

then, with a gentle yet authoritative tone, he said, “why don’t you sit on the floor for a moment? i’ll grab a towel to dry your hair.” you let out a dramatic sigh as you sat down on the floor in front of the bed, gojo moved from the bed to join you, his gaze shifting from playful to more attentive. he took in how you looked much better than before, despite still showing signs of exhaustion and vulnerability.

gojo’s eyes softened as he noted how much more relaxed you seemed, even if only slightly. he couldn’t help but tease, “you look like you’re a kid playing dress-up with her daddy’s clothes.” his voice was gentle, the playful edge softer than usual as he settled down in front of you on the floor.

geto returned with a towel, carefully sitting at the edge of the bed behind you. he began to gently towel-dry your damp hair, his movements steady and soothing. the room was filled with a comfortable quiet, the kind that spoke of trust and unspoken understanding.

gojo's soft jab at your appearance made you huff in mock indignance, but you didn't have the energy to engage much in retorts. besides, they were right; you did look like a kid playing dress-up.

as geto began to dry your hair with the towel, gojo reached out with his hand and gently tugged some of your still-damp locks. he chuckled lightly, “you’re a mess, you know that?” he teased, his tone affectionate despite the playful jab, “it's a wonder you can look this adorable while looking like such a disaster.”

you let out a soft sigh, your exhaustion still evident despite the gentle teasing. “yeah, yeah,” you murmured, your voice tired but carrying a hint of reluctant amusement. “i guess i’m just a walking disaster today.” you managed a small, weary smile, appreciating their attempts to lighten the mood even though you didn’t have much energy to respond.

geto, who was still behind you, silently focused on drying your hair, a soft smile on his face as he heard your response. he could sense the exhaustion in your voice and body, but he was glad to see that you still had a bit of humor left in you. gojo, sitting in front of you, chuckled and shook his head. “well, at least you're a cute disaster. not many people can pull that off.”

geto continued to silently dry your hair, his fingers gently working through the damp strands. he could feel how exhausted you were, the way your body slumped a bit beneath his touch showing just how drained you were. gojo, noticing your tired state, shifted closer to you. he reached out to gently poke your cheek, his tone softer now, “you look like you're about to fall asleep.“

you mumbled a tired, “sorry,” your eyes flickering as you struggled to stay awake. the warmth of geto’s touch and the gentle teasing from gojo made you feel a bit more at ease, even as you fought the heaviness of your exhaustion.

geto, sensing that you were on the verge of collapsing, moved more forcefully and quickly with the towel, trying to finish up drying your hair as soon as possible. he could see how your eyelids were starting to droop.

gojo also scooted closer, his smirk softening into a gentle expression of concern. he leaned forward slightly, his voice low and tender. “hey, you can't pass out on us. we're not done worrying about you yet.”

gojo's expression softened even more as he observed the red and swollen puffiness around your eyes. his thumb gently caressed the skin below your eyes, his touch tender and reassuring.

“you’re so stupid,” he murmured warmly, his voice filled with an affectionate frustration. “look how swollen your eyes are.” his smile was a mix of concern and fondness, showing just how deeply he cared. geto, who had finished drying your hair, looked down at your face. his gaze immediately took in the visible signs of strain; the exhaustion, the swollen eyes, the tension etched on your features. his heart weighed heavier as he saw how worn out you were.

“you really did a number on yourself,” he said, his voice low and filled with worry. he crouched down beside you, his eyes raking over your face as if trying to memorize every detail. you sat there in silence, taking in the comforting presence of gojo and geto as they attended to you. their concern and physical closeness, once a source of annoyance, now felt oddly soothing. you reflected on the year you had known them, remembering how their constant attempts to touch and tease you had become a familiar part of your daily life.

the small, seemingly insignificant gestures—poking, intertwining pinkies—had taken on a new meaning. their touch was now a comfort, a reassurance of their unwavering presence. you couldn't help but wonder if it was okay to feel this way, to find solace and a strange kind of warmth from the two strongest sorcerers, who had, despite their playful torment, always been there for you in their own way.

gojo, who was still in front of you, observed the subtle changes in your expression—the softening of your features, the flicker of emotions in your eyes. he could tell there was a lot going on in your head at the moment.

he leaned in a bit closer, his voice gentle yet playful, as he inquired, "penny for your thoughts?" his eyes searched your face, a mixture of curiosity and concern in his gaze. you blinked slowly, your tired mind finally focusing on the question. a small, sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you admitted, "actually, i'm just really hungry."

gojo's face lit up with a grin, clearly pleased to hear something as straightforward as hunger. "well, that’s an easy fix!" he said, his tone light and upbeat. "we’ve got snacks, and I’m pretty sure geto has something better in his fridge. what do you feel like eating?"

geto, still by your side, nodded in agreement. "yeah, let’s get you something to eat. you need to refuel after all that."

both of them started to move, eager to get you something to eat and help you feel better. gojo immediately jumped to his feet, his hands on his hips in his usual animated fashion. he rubbed his chin, contemplating the best possible snack for you.

"let's see, we've got chips," he began listing out the options, counting on his fingers, "chocolate bars, cookies, oh, and a bunch of junk food. but I think geto's fridge might have something healthier."

geto chuckled and got up as well, walking over to his mini fridge in the room. "yeah, we've got fruits, veggies, some leftovers, etc. anything you prefer?" you let out a soft, tired laugh at their enthusiasm. "anything's fine," you said quietly, appreciating their efforts. "just... whatever you think is best."

you leaned back against the bed, feeling a bit more at ease with their comforting presence and the thought of getting something to eat. gojo, still standing near you, smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement at your reply. he looked over at geto, who was rummaging through his fridge, and then back at you.

"that’s a dangerous thing to say with geto around," he teased. "he’ll probably shove a bunch of vegetables in a bowl and call it a snack."

geto shot him a playful glare from over the fridge door. “hey, fruits and veggies are good for you!” gojo and geto continued their lighthearted banter, completely engrossed in the contents of the mini fridge. they were focused on finding the perfect snack for you, occasionally exchanging jokes and comments about each other's food choices. the room was filled with their voices, punctuated by the occasional clink of containers.

unbeknownst to them, you had quietly curled up on the floor, your back resting against the bed frame. the exhaustion from earlier had taken its toll, and despite your earlier protests, you had succumbed to fatigue. your head was tipped back against the soft mattress, your body tucked in a fetal position, wrapped in the oversized clothes. the warmth of the room and the comforting presence of gojo and geto had lulled you into a deep sleep.

gojo and geto both turned around at the same time, their attention shifting from the fridge to the sight of you curled up on the floor. for a moment, they stood still, surprised by the sight of you asleep so soundly.

gojo’s eyes softened as he saw how peaceful you looked, his playful expression fading into something more tender. he walked over quietly, kneeling beside you, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with a gentle warmth. "well, look at that," he murmured softly, not wanting to disturb you. "you must’ve been more exhausted than we thought."

geto, still in front of the open fridge, took a moment to observe your sleeping form as well. his eyebrows furrowed slightly, a mix of concern and relief washing over him at the sight of your peaceful expression. he knew you were exhausted, but seeing you sleep so deeply on the floor wasn't what he was anticipating.

he closed the fridge and walked over to where gojo was, his steps soft. he kneeled down next to you as well, mirroring gojo's position and his concerned expression. "she really conked out," gojo mused quietly, his gaze still fixed on your sleeping face.

geto nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "she must’ve been wiped out."

gojo reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair off your forehead, his touch so light it was barely discernible. he looked up at geto, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes, "should we wake her?"

geto shook his head with a soft, reassuring smile. “no, let her sleep. she’s had a rough day.”

he moved carefully, avoiding any sudden movements that might wake you. gently, he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you with practiced ease. he felt the slight weight of you against him, and his expression softened further.

with a careful touch, he laid you down on his bed, arranging the blankets around you to keep you warm and comfortable. as he did, he glanced back at gojo, who had watched the entire process with a mix of curiosity and amusement. gojo stood and watched in silence as geto picked you up effortlessly, a small pang of something he couldn’t quite put into words going through his chest. he pushed it away, replaced it with a warm smile as he watched geto take care of you.

once you were settled comfortably on the bed, he looked over at geto, his tone playful again. "well, looks like you won the knight-in-shining-armor award this time," he quipped, folding his arms across his chest.

gojo leaned against the bed frame, his arms crossed and a small smirk on his face as he watched geto carefully place you on the bed.

he let out a small, suppressed chuckle, "being all soft and gentle there, suguru, i almost forgot you have a soft side."

geto shot him a playful glare, his voice filled with mock defensiveness, "i’m always gentle." gojo’s smirk widened into a full-fledged grin, clearly enjoying teasing geto about this.

"sure, you’re always gentle," he agreed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "i remember you being particularly gentle during training the other day when you nearly strangled me for being two minutes late."

he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

geto let out a huff of annoyance, his eyes narrowing at the memory of that training session. he knew he could be intense when it came to training, but gojo always had a way of getting under his skin.

"that’s different," he argued, his tone still playful. "that’s training, not… this. you know." he gestured towards you, asleep on his bed, emphasizing the difference between the two scenarios. gojo's grin grew wider, enjoying the familiar banter between them. he leaned back against the bed frame, getting more comfortable.

he chuckled, "yeah, you’re right, it’s different. with training, you’re the one usually giving the beat downs. but this," he gestured at you, "is something else. can’t really go around strangling someone who’s asleep now, can you?" geto rolled his eyes at gojo's comment, a smirk of his own forming on his face. "yeah, yeah, save the smartass comments for later," he retorted. "besides, it's not like you’re the epitome of gentle either. remember that time you slammed me into a wall during a sparring match to prove a point?"

gojo let out a bark of laughter, remembering that sparring session vividly. "oh, i remember," he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. "you were just being stubborn and not listening. i had to get your attention somehow."

he looked at geto, a challenge in his eyes, "besides, you got me back by tripping me later and pinning me down. that wasn’t exactly gentle, was it?" geto rolled his eyes as gojo’s laughter filled the room. he gave gojo a sharp kick on the shin, the movement quick and precise. "always so fucking loud," he grumbled under his breath.

he turned his attention back to you, checking to make sure that gojo’s boisterous laughter hadn't disturbed your sleep. seeing that you were still peacefully resting, he let out a quiet sigh of relief and returned his focus to making sure you were comfortable.

gojo let out an exaggerated yelp at the kick to his shin, wincing dramatically. "ow, ow, ow," he pouted, rubbing the spot where geto had kicked him. "you always gotta make the point with violence, don’t you?"

he watched geto as he went back to checking on you, a mix of amusement and admiration in his eyes. he had been about to retort, but seeing how geto was being so gentle and careful with you caused him to pause.

he observed geto in silence for a moment, watching how he arranged the blankets around you, his movements gentle as he made sure you were comfortable. there was a subtle shift in the way gojo looked at geto now, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a more quiet contemplation.

after a moment, he spoke up, his tone softer than usual, "you’re really good with her, you know." geto, caught slightly off-guard by gojo’s change in tone, paused his movements to look at him. he looked at gojo for a moment, a flash of surprise in his eyes, before responding.

“well, i’m just making sure she’s comfortable,” he said, his voice also softer. he reached down to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear before returning his gaze to gojo, a hint of a smile on his face.

gojo, noticing the small, tender gesture, felt that strange pang in his chest again. geto and gojo quietly observed you, their eyes taking in the peaceful expression on your face as you slept. the room was filled with a different kind of energy now, the playful banter between them replaced by a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere.

the silence was interrupted by gojo, his voice a touch lower than usual. "how’d you learn to be so gentle, anyway?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. he looked over at geto, his eyes studying his profile. geto glanced over at gojo, his eyebrows raising slightly at the unexpected question. he thought for a moment before answering.

"well, it’s not like i’ve been a brute all my life," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. he leaned back slightly, leaning against the wall beside the bed.

"i just... pick up on things, i guess," he continued, his gaze returning to you, his features softening a bit. "people are different. some need a rougher approach, some need a gentler touch." gojo, leaning against the bed frame, considered geto's words. there was a lot he could tease geto about - his rough demeanor, his directness, the fact that he looked like he could intimidate just about anyone - but gojo found himself wanting to hear more.

"yeah, you've always been pretty observant," he mused, his eyes flickering between geto and you.

a moment of silence passed before he spoke up again, his tone a bit quieter. "but with her, you seem more... i don’t know, tender. more careful." geto paused, reflecting on gojo's observation. there was a truth to his words. while he could be rough and strict with others, with you, it was different. he found himself being more patient, more understanding, more... tender.

he looked back at you, his eyes tracing over your features, before returning his gaze to gojo.

"i guess," he said slowly, "it’s different with her. i don’t know. i just... feel the need to be gentler, more careful. it’s automatic, i suppose." gojo, listening intently, watched as geto's gaze returned to you, his words hanging in the air.

the usual playful banter about geto's demeanor he had in mind faded to the background as he focused on the current conversation. he felt a tug at his chest, a strange mixture of curiosity and something else he couldn't quite identify.

he looked at geto, his eyes holding his gaze for a few seconds before he responded, his voice almost a whisper. "automatic, huh?" gojo paused for a moment, letting the silence settle between them again before continuing.

"why, though?" he asked, his voice soft. "why do you feel the need to be gentler with her? what makes her different from anyone else?" there was a hint of genuine interest in his tone, mixed with something else he didn’t quite understand. geto, feeling the weight of gojo's question, took a moment to respond. he was so used to teasing and bantering with gojo that serious conversations like this were almost foreign. but he knew that beneath gojo's usual bluster, there was a depth to him that many overlooked.

he looked back at you, considering how to put his thoughts into words. finally, he turned back to gojo, his voice measured and quiet.

"i don't know. she just... makes me want to be gentler, i guess. she's different." gojo, hearing geto's response, felt another pang in his chest, stronger than before. he had expected a snarky remark or a sarcastic reply from geto, but getting a genuine response from him threw him off.

he shifted his position on the bed, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving geto's face. he studied his expression, trying to decipher what lay beneath it.

"what do you mean 'she's different'?" he pressed, his eyes not leaving him. gojo's gaze was fixed on geto, his usual demeanor replaced with a rare moment of seriousness. he knew there had to be more to how geto saw you than just wanting to be gentler with you. there was something deeper, something geto wasn’t saying outright.

he leaned forward even further, making sure geto couldn’t look away. his voice, still soft but firm, broke the silence. "come on, suguru. be honest. what makes you want to be gentler with her?" a moment passed before he added another question, his voice even lower, "why does she make you want to be gentler with her?"

gojo was acutely aware of your presence in the room, and he couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of curiosity and something more as he interrogated geto. he knew he shouldn't be pushing the subject, but the need to understand geto's sudden shift in demeanor towards you gnawed at him.

geto paused, his gaze momentarily shifting away from gojo as he recalled that night. his expression softened, a distant look in his eyes as he thought back to that quiet moment in the park.

"remember that night when we forced her to sneak out of the dorm?" he began, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "you asked her what she really wanted, and she said she wants a gentle love." he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "i guess that's why."

the memory washed over them—sneaking out late at night, the thrill of breaking the rules, and then the calm that settled when they lay together on the grass. you were sandwiched between them, the cool night air pressing against your skin as you stared up at the stars. geto and gojo had been teasing each other, like always, but then gojo asked that question, and everything stilled.

you had spoken softly, your voice tinged with a quiet yearning that left them both silent for once. you told them about wanting a gentle love, something tender to counter the harshness you’d known all your life. it was a rare moment of vulnerability, one that etched itself into both their minds.

gojo and geto were transported back to that night at the park, the memory vividly replaying in their minds. he could still remember the way the night air felt on his skin, the way you were nestled between them, the quiet yearning in your voice as you described wanting a gentle love.

gojo's usual smirk faded, replaced by a solemn expression as the weight of your words settled over him. he looked over at you, fast asleep on the bed, a different kind of emotion stirring within him.

he turned back to geto, his voice quiet. "you've been gentle with her ever since, because you’re trying to give her the gentle love she said she wanted," gojo finished gojo’s sentence, his tone carrying a hint of realization.

gojo continued to watch you on the bed, his eyes studying your sleeping form. the usual air of arrogance and confidence he always put on was replaced by a more contemplative expression.

"so you’ve been gentle with her all this time... because you’re trying to give her what she’s never had before," he repeated, the words slowly sinking in. geto could sense a subtle change in gojo's demeanor. his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to read the expression on gojo's face. he couldn't quite place it, but he knew that look.

"what is it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "you've got that look."

gojo shook his head slightly, dismissing the question, "it’s nothing."

geto raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying gojo's answer. he stepped closer to him, his gaze unwavering. "come on, you know you can’t fool me." gojo's lips curled into a slight frown as geto stepped closer to him, scrutinizing his face. he tried to maintain his usual air of indifference, but he knew geto could see right through it.

he let out an exaggerated sigh, "ugh, fine. you really know how to nag, don't you?"

he leaned back on the bed frame, folding his arms across his chest.

"i was just thinking about what you said," he admitted reluctantly. he continued to watch you on the bed, his thoughts conflicted. gojo knew he was being uncharacteristically quiet, but there was something about this whole revelation that had thrown him off. he glanced over at geto, who was watching him intently, waiting for him to continue.

"it’s just... i never expected you of all people to be the one to try and give her what she wants," he mumbled, his voice low. geto's eyes narrowed slightly at gojo’s comment, a hint of defensiveness flaring up. his tone was sharp but not angry, more curious and challenging as he shot back, "why? you want to be the one to give her that?"

his gaze bore into gojo’s, searching for something in his expression. there was a tension in the air, one that was charged with unspoken words and lingering feelings. geto wasn’t sure what he expected gojo to say, but he needed to know if they were on the same page, if they both wanted the same thing for you—or if it was something more.

geto’s fingers twitched at his sides, and his jaw tightened as he waited for gojo's answer, the silence between them thick and heavy. despite their banter and their occasional rivalry, this was different. this was about you, and he needed to understand where gojo stood, even if it meant confronting something neither of them was entirely prepared to face.

gojo met geto’s gaze with an equal intensity, the tension crackling between them. there was something different about this moment, something deeper and far more complex than their usual banter.

he held geto’s gaze, the words stuck in his throat for a moment before he forced them out, his voice almost a growl.

“maybe,” he finally admitted, the confession barely above a whisper. “maybe i do.” the silence that followed was deafening as the words hung in the air. gojo's heart pounded in his chest, the sudden vulnerability leaving him feeling raw. he rarely allowed himself to be this open, this exposed, but there was something about this moment that demanded honesty.

he looked back at geto, his expression more guarded now, trying to read his reaction as he waited for his response. geto’s eyes widened a fraction at gojo's confession, the words settling in the air like a heavy weight between them. he hadn’t expected that answer, yet deep inside, he knew there was a hint of truth behind it.

he studied gojo, his body language betraying his own conflicting emotions. his jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides.

"why?" he finally asked, his voice low and strained. "why do you want to be the one to give her that?" gojo’s sigh was heavy with resignation as he looked at geto. “come on, suguru,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “you know better than anyone that I’ve liked her since the start, and I also know better than anyone that you like her too.”

his eyes were locked onto geto’s, a serious expression softening the usual playful glint. “it’s not just about who gets to give her what she wants. it’s about what’s best for her. and if you think I’m willing to back down just because you’ve got this idea that you’re the only one who can be gentle with her, you’re mistaken.”

gojo’s tone was firm but edged with a subtle pleading, as if he were trying to convey that their feelings were intertwined and that there was a shared responsibility in making you happy. his confession was raw, stripped of the usual bravado and pretense.

geto’s usually composed demeanor crumbled somewhat in the face of gojo’s frankness. he hadn’t expected him to lay everything out so plainly.

he clenched his jaw, the conflicting emotions swirling in his eyes. a part of him felt defensive, threatened even, by the idea of gojo wanting to be the one to give you what you wanted. but another part of him recognized the truth in gojo’s words.

“i’m not saying I’m the only one who can be gentle with her,” he muttered, his voice tight. he turned away, looking over at you on the bed, his expression a mix of frustration and contemplation.

“but that doesn’t mean I’m going to back down either,” he added, his tone resolute. “if i can be the one to give her what she wants—what’s best for her—i’m going to do it, even if that means competing against you.”

the tension between them was still heavy, their feelings and desires all mixed up into an emotional maelstrom. gojo met his eyes again, his expression serious. “so we’re at an impasse,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of resignation. “both of us like her, both of us want to be the best for her.”

he paused, his eyes flickering between you and geto. “what now?” geto remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on your peaceful side profile. he took in the sight of you sleeping so soundly, the exhaustion from earlier seeming to have melted away. his thoughts were clearly racing, processing the weight of gojo's words and the implications they carried.

gojo, noticing geto's contemplative silence, broke the quiet with a soft, hesitant question. "do you think maybe we could ask her to be with us?" his voice was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability in his tone. he looked at geto with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, clearly aware of how complicated the situation was.

geto’s eyes widened slightly at gojo’s suggestion, seemingly taken aback. he hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, but he found himself thinking it through, weighing the possibilities in his mind.

“you…you want to both be with her at the same time?” he repeated, his voice quiet.

he looked back at you on the bed, the thought of sharing you with gojo causing a strange mixture of emotions to stir in his chest. gojo watched geto’s reaction closely, his own expression revealing a mix of apprehension and seriousness. he took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on geto.

“can you bear the thought of her being with me, suguru?” gojo asked quietly, his voice carrying an edge of vulnerability. “because i know i wouldn’t be able to handle it if she was with you and not me.”

geto felt a pang in his chest at gojo’s question. the thought of you being with either of them and not the other was enough to send a strange mix of jealousy and fear coursing through his veins.

he clenched his jaw, his emotions at war with each other.

“i...i don’t know,” he answered honestly, his voice strained. “but do you think she’d even go for it?” gojo shrugged slightly, his eyes drifting towards your sleeping form. he hadn’t thought too much about how you might react to their proposition.

“it’s worth asking, isn’t it?” he said quietly, his tone laced with both curiosity and trepidation. “if we’re both on board…we should at least bring it up with her, right?” geto nodded slowly, a mixture of hesitation and intrigue on his face. he had to admit, the idea was tempting, despite the potential complications.

“i suppose you’re right,” he agreed, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. “but we have to approach this carefully. we can’t just spring it on her out of the blue.” gojo rolled his eyes, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “yeah, i know that,” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “i just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. let’s figure out how to bring this up with her without making it weird.”

geto chuckled despite himself, amused at gojo’s sarcastic response. he let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he thought.

“well, the first step is figuring out if she’s even open to the idea,” he pointed out, his brow furrowing slightly. “how do we even go about asking her that without sounding like a pair of idiots?”

gojo chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “oh, come on, you know she already thinks we’re a pair of idiots,” he said with a teasing grin. “at least we can be idiots with a plan. let’s just be honest with her and see how she feels. it’s better than trying to play it cool and making things more complicated.” geto couldn’t help but smile at gojo’s comment. he had a point—you did often regard them as idiots, albeit endearingly.

he nodded, a hint of determination in his eyes. “you’re right,” he agreed. “we should be straightforward with her. no beating around the bush. we ask her how she feels about the idea of being with us…both of us…at the same time.” he paused, still a little wary about how you might react.

as you slept soundly, geto and gojo continued their quiet planning. they huddled together, whispering to avoid disturbing you. their plan was to approach the topic with care, ensuring that your well-being and comfort remained their top priority. their conversation was hushed, the both of them aware of not wanting to disturb your well-earned rest.

they made it a point to emphasize the importance of considering your comfort and well-being in their approach. they didn’t want to spring this complex matter on you unexpectedly, after all. they needed to find the right time and the right way to discuss it with you.

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 21

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: With nowhere else to go, you seek refuge in the apartment you shared with Bucky.

Warnings: Angst. Gunshot Wounds. Blood. Needles. Stitches. Mentions of weapons.

Authors Note: Please comment, I love interacting with you guys! Be kind! ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Glass shattered around your bruised elbow. Shards crunched under your stained tennis shoes.

 Your body gave way beneath you as you collapsed onto the mattress. Your chest tightened as you laid there, staring at the ceiling, your eyes wide and unblinking. The weight of what's happened settled over you like a thick fog.

You’d spent days moving, running and hiding, but now in the familiar walls of your previously shared apartment, you just felt weak. 

A choked sob broke the silence of the room, the feelings welling in your chest and tearing through you. You pressed trembling hands to your steadily bleeding wounds, hopelessness wracking your body. 

It was all over. 

You’d fought so hard, and for so long. You thought that one day you would actually make it home. That you and Bucky would get to taste freedom, together or apart, it didn’t matter. You just wanted to be free. You wanted to live without fear. 

Your world had been destroyed, picked apart and burned by selfish men with a selfish agenda. The world you’d spent your whole life building. But it didn’t matter. They plucked you out of society and kept you for their own.

 And here you were, dying, with nothing to your name. 

Cold tears slid down your heated face as you wept silently, the mattress beneath you growing wet with your blood. All you could feel was the rawness of your fear, your desperate want to survive. 

Everything ached and burned, everything hurt. 

But it was all over. 

The front door creaked open, then clicked shut almost silently. You heard a sharp intake of breath. Your whole body went rigid, your breath left your chest. 

You feared they found you, and were there to finish the job. 

But then you saw him, and all you could do was sob.

Through teary eyes, he looked the same. Only two weeks had passed, but you’d started to forget his face. But that furrowed brow and soft frown were so familiar to you now. 

And those aching blue eyes, those could never leave you.

“Shit,” Bucky whispered, falling to his knees beside you. He yanked off his backpack and dug out his first aid kit. “Where are you hit?” He asked immediately, not breaking to question you on where you’d been or what had happened. He just needed to stop the bleeding. 

And god, there was so much blood.

You could barely form words around whimpers of pain and tears of relief. “Hey, hey,” his voice dropped, softer, as he leaned over you. “Stay with me, okay? I need you to focus.”

You nodded, swallowing around your panicked breaths. “H-Here,” you pulled your hand back from your gushing thigh. 

He nodded, unbuttoning your pants. “Okay, where else?” He asked calmly as he removed your pants. You groaned as the fabric was pulled over your wounded leg. 

“Here,” you panted, keeping a firm hand pressed to your right side, just above your hip. “Through and through.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Keep pressure on it. I need to get the bullet out of your thigh,” he said, feeling beneath your leg for an exit wound. 

You blinked up at him, fear prickling your skin. “Oh god,” you wept, terrified of what that meant. 

“Look at me, Y/n, I need you to stay calm.” He sifted through his kit, pulling a knife from his bag. 

“Oh my god,” he was going to cut into you- you couldn’t do this, you just couldn’t.

“Y/n, please,” looking at him now, you could see his panic. He was great at keeping it together when needed, but it was there. Something beneath the mask of calm. Something beneath the steady layer of his voice.

You licked the tears from your lips and nodded. “Okay,” you whimpered. 

He nodded, ripping a lamp cord from the wall. He tied it firmly around your upper leg. “You need to stay as still as possible, okay?” He steadied you with a serious look as he unbuckled his belt. You nodded, biting back tears as he tugged his belt free of his pants. He folded up his belt and held it up to your mouth. “Bite down on this,” he slotted it between your teeth.

All the preparation and soothing comforts couldn’t prepare you for the feeling of his knife sliding into your wound. You screamed, your teeth clenching around the belt. His knife glided along the wound, opening it further. 

“I’m sorry- It’s okay, you’re okay,” he muttered, picking out tweezers. You cried out, your hands pressing and clawing at your face as he dug into the wound. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft, heavy with guilt as he dug further and further in search of the bullet. He used his metal hand to hold your bloody leg steady, fingers pressed into your flesh. You couldn’t focus on the soft shame in his voice as you writhed in pain. 

He felt sick, his body weighted by the mixture of darkness swirling in his veins.

He never wanted to hurt you. He never wanted to hear your cries, hear your whimper in defeat. 

He never wanted to have your blood stain his skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he pressed further, feeling the tweezers tap something hard. 

Your mind had sunken into a limbo of pain, your body seizing up, then writhing fitfully in agony. “Fuck-” you sobbed, panting around the leather between your teeth. 

“Almost done, I’m almost done… You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he tried to comfort you, but it was no use. Finally, after what felt like eternity, Bucky pulled the bullet from your leg. “There we go.”

You sobbed in relief as you heard it clink against the floor. Bucky began surveying the wound as he laced up a needle. You felt like you were blinking in and out of reality as he closed up the wound. You didn’t know- or even care, at that point- what he was doing down there. You just wanted the pain to end. 

After he tied the final knot, he tore up your old pants and wrapped them tightly around your wound. “You did great- Y/n, you with me?” 

You blinked up at him, heaving around the belt clenched between your teeth. His bloody hands warmly cupped your face, shaking you awake. You moaned softly around the leather, acknowledging him. 

“Almost done, okay? Lemme see your side.” He encouraged, moving around the bed to your side. You shakily lifted your shirt, exposing your oozing wound. Thankfully, this wound would be much easier. There was nothing to recover. So he laced up his needle, and began stitching you shut. 

You sobbed shakily into your hand, your other gripping his shoulder tightly. Your nails dug into the soft skin by his steel shoulder, but he barely blinked. When he finally finished up, he pressed the left over torn pieces of your pants to your wound. 

“All done, okay? You’re all done.” He sighed, his bloody hands trembling in his lap. You stared up at him, dazed. 

He assumed you’d lost enough blood to be nearing unconsciousness. “Y/n,” he called to you, brushing your hair back from your sweaty face. He gently gripped his folded belt, prying it from your clenched teeth. A string of saliva connected it to your lips as you panted. He wiped your mouth with the back of his hand.

“Y/n,” he called again.

“You-” you whispered, your voice raw and weak. “You said you’d go- go somewhere I don’t know.” You wept.

He huffed, shaking his head. “I know, I did.” He stroked your hair. “But I’ve been watching this place, just in case- and I saw blood on the window cill.”

You closed your eyes, nodding softly.

“Keep your eyes open, okay? You can’t fall asleep.”

“They’ll have heard…” you whispered, blinking up at him. “They’ll come.”

“I know…” he whispered. “But you can’t move.”

“I…” you sucked in a pained breath, shuddering in burning agony. “I can be moved.”

He stared at you for a moment, his jaw set in thought. “Are you sure?”

“We have to.”

He nodded, already packing up his bag. You watched as he moved around you, sliding his arms beneath your body. “Not the shoulder, right?” You grunted as he lifted you.

“Not the shoulder,” he assured you, settling you in his arms as he stood. 

“Oh good,” you whispered, your head lolling to his chest. 

The next time you woke, you were alone. You could barely move. Your entire body felt exhausted from your time on the run. Your thigh burned, your skin pulled tight by the stitches. The pain was hot and throbbing, but dull enough to handle.

 You didn’t recognise your surroundings. Just a shabby old apartments with covered windows. Nothing new, yet nothing the same. 

When you tossed your blanket aside, you found yourself only in your underwear, your skin wiped clean of blood. You saw a bowl and a rag on the floor beside the mattress. You assumed Bucky must have wiped you down once he got you settled. 

Your thigh and waist were wrapped in white bandages, neat and clean. You wondered how long you’d been out for him to clean you up and redo your bandages. 

You wondered where he had gone, and how long he’d been away.

You shivered and reached for his nearby bag. Inside was his med kit, a few cans of food, a journal, and a few spare articles of clothing. Once you found what you were looking for, you pulled the red henley out and over your head.

The small movement alone made you wince, you stitches sore from you stretching your arms over your head. You groaned as you fell back against the bed. Your body ached as waves of rippling, burning pain followed.

The front door creaked as it opened. 

Bucky entered the studio, his cap hiding his face as he turned to lock the door. When he finally saw you, his eyes widened. “Hi.”

“Hi…” you croaked. 

He filled a cup with water in the kitchen, then made his way to you. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I was shot.” you huffed, wincing as he helped you sit up a bit to drink. “Twice.”

“Well, that’s to be expected.” He muttered, setting the glass down. 

“Where did you go?” You asked, glancing at the bag behind him. 

“I was working- I’ve been helping run deliveries for a butcher shop around the corner. They give me spare meat, sometimes.” He nodded at the bag.

You nodded, resting your head back against the pillow. Bucky slid the old bowl and rag aside to make room for himself beside the bed. As he dipped his head, his long hair fell into his face. You couldn’t help but stare at him, at the angle of his nose, the flutter of his eye lashes. 

The pair of you had spent every second of the last few months together, only to suddenly separate for weeks. It felt weird seeing him so close now. 

You had started to think you would never see him again.

“Y/n,” he called to you, making sure you didn’t fall back asleep. “What happened?”

You sighed, disappointment twisting in your gut. “I tried to make it to the farm house, but I just couldn’t lose them.” You wiped a hand down your face. “And I tried, I mean I really tried. But I got lost in the city and they were everywhere. I think they were just waiting for me to lead them to you. At some point they stopped trying to pick me up, and just started following me from afar.”

“You should have tried to find me.”

You rolled your eyes at the man. “That’s what they wanted, Bucky. They would have ambushed you. Plus, I didn’t know how.”

“Still, I thought you were dead.” He glared softly at you.

“I know, and I’m sorry, I just had no way to contact you- we really need to find something to work around that, in the future.”

“We will.” He nodded, absently pulling the blanket back over your bare legs as you spoke.

“But after I realized what they were doing, I just tried to lay low. I was staying in a few different places- squatting honestly- but eventually I think they got tired of waiting. They tried to catch me off guard in the market, again.”

He nodded, listening closely as he started examining your leg wound. 

“You’d be proud if you saw it, I had to jump across fire escapes-” you almost laughed, thinking what you’d say to yourself from two years ago, before all of this. “They got my leg on the fire escape- and I don’t actually know when I was hit in the side. I think it was the adrenaline rush, but I barely felt it.”

You watched as he reapplied the bandages, his touch soft and careful against your skin. “I waited at the farm house for a few days. I left after that- I thought they had you.” He muttered, his voice quiet. 

“I’m sorry, Buck.” You knew you had a confusing relationship, but you still never wanted to hurt him. Or abandon him. Though it seemed that one day it would be inevitable.

“I think radios would be good, in case this happens again. We can store them in specific locations in the city, or something.” He went on, moving around you to check your side. He didn’t comment on the fact that you’d found and donned the red henley, as he pulled it up. “So we can get in contact if we need to.”

“Walkie-talkies,” you nodded, grunting as you shifted for him to get a look at your wounds. “That’s a good idea. I do wish-” you bit back a whine as he peeled off the gauze from a part of the wound they’d dried to. “I wish we could just get phones. I miss my phone so much. You can play games on them, and everything, you know?”

“Oh yeah?” He absently responded. 

“Mhm, you can play games and watch movies on them. We need to watch movies, Bucky. You need to learn about the modern world.” You rambled, squeezing your eyes shut against the sting in your flesh.

“I thought you were teaching me, already.”

“Yeah, but only about important stuff, like historical events. I need to teach you about pop culture. The things that really matter.”

He huffed, shaking his head at you. “I’ll get you a white board. You can make me a lesson plan.” He pulled your shirt back down, finished with changing your bandages. “You hungry?”

“God, yes. I’ve been living off of canned peas and granola bars.”

He chuckled quietly as he picked the bag of meat up off the counter when he moved to the kitchen. “I’ll make the steaks.”

“Steaks? They pay you well for those deliveries, huh?” It shocked you just how easily you both fell into that familiar space. Into each other's worlds.

“I get the job done.”

“Oh, I know.”

A/N: Ouch! But yayyy Bucky!!

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