#and being so busy is just making things worse

[katemoneymartinsgf]

can you do a pazzi one where Azzi is sick but keeps it from Paige because she’s busy with training camp. When it gets worse and Azzi has to go to the hospital or something kk tells Paige and she comes home to take care of Azzi

Sick & Stubborn |pazzi|

a/n: Hope this is what you kinda wanted 🙏🏽

It started with the smallest things.
Azzi felt it in her neck first — that kind of ache that sits behind your eyes and never quite goes away. She told herself it was sleep. Not enough of it. Too many late nights scrolling, too many early lifts. Nothing new.

Her throat burned the next morning.
By then, she was already half-dressed for practice, sports bra tight against her ribs, hoodie slung over her shoulder as she blinked at the fog on her bathroom mirror.

You’re fine.

She coughed. Wiped her nose. Drank water.
Brushed it off.

She wasn’t dramatic. She didn’t whine about being sick.
She played through injury. She smiled through the kind of pressure that made other people fold.

So a sore throat? A little dizziness?
She could handle that.

What she couldn’t handle — or didn’t want to — was the idea of Paige knowing.

Paige was two weeks into training camp with the Wings, and things were finally starting to click. Her texts came in between drills, short and excited, sometimes with pictures of her locker or a new pair of shoes she swore she didn’t ask for.

P: look at these bruh
P: we’re running everything through me rn it’s lowkey wild
P: I miss your voice tho. call later”

Azzi stared at that last one for a long second before typing back.

Az: practice ran late, I’m tired. maybe tomorrow?

She wasn’t lying.
She was tired.
So tired her knees shook when she stood up too fast.
So tired her cereal had gone untouched that morning.
So tired she didn’t trust her voice not to crack if she said too much.

She tucked her phone under her pillow and laid back on the couch, hoodie pulled over her head even though it was warm inside. Her stomach was starting to hurt now. Her head, too. Every blink felt like her body asking for sleep.

You’re just worn down, she told herself. Stop making it a thing.

She hadn’t seen KK all day.
Which was lucky.

Azzi didn’t want the lecture. Didn’t want the concern.
Didn’t want anyone — especially not Paige — to look at her and see through her.

Because if Paige knew, she’d come back.
She’d worry.
She’d miss a team meeting, or skip a workout, or take a flight and leave her whole routine behind just to be there.

And Azzi didn’t want to be the reason Paige slowed down.

So she closed her eyes.
Tucked the blanket tighter around herself.
And let herself drift — not into sleep exactly, but something close to it.

A pause.
A quiet place between “I’m okay” and “Please notice I’m not.”

—

The second morning was worse.

Azzi woke up shivering — not the post-practice kind, not even the “I kicked the blanket off” kind. This was deep. Cold-in-her-bones cold. Her hoodie stuck to her back, damp from sweat. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Her limbs like cinderblocks.

She sat up too fast and the room tilted sideways.

For a second, she stayed there — elbows on her knees, fingers pressed against her temples, trying to remember if she had anything scheduled before noon.

She didn’t even remember falling asleep last night.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

P: how u feeling? thought abt you all practice baby ”
P: sweat hit my eye and i was like ‘yeah azzi would’ve laughed at that’
P: you good?

Azzi stared at the screen, thumbs hovering.

Then typed:

Az: i’m fine. hope your eye recovers lol

She didn’t send a selfie.
Didn’t want Paige to see the dark circles under her eyes, or the flush in her cheeks that wasn’t from warmth.

——

KK got back late that night after study hall. Azzi didn’t hear her come in — didn’t even register the sound of keys or the door closing. She was curled up on the corner of the couch under a throw blanket, barely responsive, half-asleep but not resting.

The TV was on but muted.

KK walked into the kitchen and grabbed a drink from the fridge, then paused.

"azzi?"

No response.

KK walked over slowly, concern growing with every step. Azzi's skin looked flushed and pale at the same time. Her breathing was uneven — shallow, slow, like every inhale was a negotiation.

KK crouched next to the couch and gently touched her shoulder.

Azzi startled slightly, blinking open with a small gasp.

“Hey,” KK said softly. “You okay?”

Azzi blinked again. Tried to sit up and failed.

“I’m—” she croaked, then coughed. Tried again. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” KK said, her voice flatter now.

Azzi tried to protest again but her hand was shaking, and KK saw it.

“You have a fever,” KK said quietly. “Like a real one.”

Azzi didn’t answer.

KK stood up, grabbed her phone, and walked into the hallway.

She didn’t hesitate.
She called Paige.

Paige picked up on the second ring — breathless, like she’d been mid-conversation.

“KK?”

“Azzi is really sick.”

The line went quiet.

“What do you mean sick?”

“I mean I just watched her try to sit up and she couldn’t. She’s burning up. She’s barely talking. Her phone’s full of unread messages.”

Another pause. Shorter this time. Then:

“I’m flying home.”

“Paige—”

“I should’ve known,” Paige said quietly. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because she didn’t want to distract you.”

“Well, she failed,” Paige muttered. “Text me the address of wherever you’re taking her. I’ll be on the next flight out.”

——

By the time Paige made it to Azzi’s apartment, it was past midnight.
The Uber driver had been chatty, the kind that asks why you're flying last-minute and what’s got you looking so stressed. Paige had nodded along and said something about school, but her stomach hadn’t unclenched since she landed.

She hadn’t even changed. Wings sweatshirt still on, training bag slung over her shoulder, phone in one hand with KK’s last text open on the screen.

“She’s in bed. Still out of it. Door’s unlocked. I’m staying with ice tonight to give y’all space.”

“Thank you.” Paige said before hugging her goodbye and letting herself inslowly

The apartment was dark except for a small lamp in the corner. A tea mug sat half-full on the kitchen counter. There was a sweatshirt draped over a chair. One of Paige’s, actually — Azzi must’ve taken it from her bag the last time they were together.

She didn’t expect the sound she made when she saw her.

Azzi was curled up in bed, blanket pulled to her chin, hoodie sleeves covering her hands. Her face was pale, lips slightly parted. She looked smaller. Tired in a way Paige wasn’t used to seeing — not post-practice tired. Worn tired.

Paige’s throat tightened.
She sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, gently brushing a strand of hair from Azzi’s forehead.

Azzi stirred at the touch. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Paige?”

“Hey,” Paige said softly. “Hi.”

Azzi blinked at her, confused and a little glassy. “You’re not supposed to be—”

“I know.” Paige exhaled slowly. “But KK called me. Said you were sick. And I got on a plane.”

Azzi’s face crumpled slightly, and Paige saw it — that flicker of guilt, of embarrassment. That thing Azzi always tried to hide when she needed help.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Azzi murmured, voice hoarse.

Paige shook her head, brushing the back of her hand down Azzi’s cheek.

“You’re allowed to worry me,” she whispered. “That’s what loving someone looks like sometimes.”

Azzi looked away. “You’ve got training camp. You’re doing so good. I didn’t want to mess with that.”

“I don’t care.” Paige leaned closer. “You think I’d rather run pick n’ roll drills than be here right now?”

Azzi didn’t answer. She was too tired. But she pressed her face into Paige’s palm like it grounded her.

Paige tucked the blanket tighter around her. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I still am.”

They stayed quiet for a moment. The weight of it all — what was said, what wasn’t — settled between them like a blanket heavier than the one Azzi was under.

Then Paige leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Slowly. Carefully. Like she didn’t want to break her.

“You don’t have to be tough all the time,” Paige said against her skin. “Not with me.”

Azzi’s voice cracked on the next breath. “I didn’t want to be the reason you slowed down.”

Paige pulled her in gently, arms wrapping around her even as she curled into Paige’s chest.

“You’re the reason I know how to breathe, Az.”

Azzi didn’t respond. Just exhaled shakily and let herself be held.

Azzi woke up to the smell of something burnt.

The apartment was quiet, but she could hear soft shuffling from the kitchen and what sounded suspiciously like Paige muttering under her breath.

Her throat still hurt. Her head was still fuzzy.
But there was something comforting about knowing Paige was there — even if she was probably ruining the toast.

“Please don’t say you cooked,” Azzi croaked.

Paige’s head popped around the corner.

“You’re alive.”

Azzi blinked at her. “Debatable.”

Paige crossed the room and crouched beside the bed. She had on a wrinkled hoodie and mismatched socks and smelled vaguely like burnt peanut butter toast.

“You look like shit,” Paige said softly.

Azzi smiled, weakly. “Thanks.”

“I brought you tea.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Did you microwave it?”

“It was a two-mug situation. The first one got cold. I’m not proud of it.”

She helped Azzi sit up, slow and careful, piling a second pillow behind her back.

Azzi didn’t say much. Just watched her move — fussing, quiet, way too focused for someone who tried to act chill about everything.

After a beat, Azzi muttered, “You didn’t have to fly home.”

Paige shrugged like it was nothing. “You scared me.”

Azzi frowned down at the tea.

“I didn’t want to... make a big deal out of it.”

“You didn’t,” Paige said. “KK did.”

Azzi huffed. “Traitor.”

“She saved you from having to fake it any longer. Be grateful.”

Azzi sipped the tea. It wasn’t great, but it was hot. And made for her. And that was enough.

“You’re hovering,” she said after a minute.

“Am not.”

“You’re watching me drink tea like I might die from it.”

Paige grinned. “Just making sure you don’t slip into a coma.”

Azzi leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder, eyes slipping shut again.

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet, here I am.”

They sat in silence after that — no big emotional declarations, no perfect ending.
Just quiet breathing. Shared space. Warmth.

Paige didn’t need to say she loved her.
Azzi already knew.

[karaaeilish]

ꪆৎ FREAK SHOW — PT 1

౨ৎ mob!billie x fem!reader

ꪆৎ content — fluff & angst(?)

ꪆৎ summary; one day you won't come home, the next she'll walk over heads until she's finished with everyone who dared to touch you.

ꪆৎ spotify playlist !

ꪆৎ warnings: kidnapping, murder, murder/body parts mention, minor canon violence, sexual content, rodent mention. nothing really creepy or nasty ! NO proofread bc im tired asf

a/n — i know you were waiting <3

ꪆৎ wc — 3,2k

11:56 pm.

the air was especially thick tonight, heavy, making billie click her pen every few minutes with uncharacteristic nervousness. she needed to focus on the upcoming drug delivery that was scheduled for tonight at her ‘freak show’, but she was just distracted almost every moment, thinking about how you were alone.

she didn’t like to let you go without her or extra security, but you just looked at her like she was your whole world, telling her that if you just walked to some boutique where you were looking for a handbag on your own, nothing would happen and you’d return to her safe and sound. and how could she dare refuse her lawful wife?

that’s right, she never refuses you.

but now billie truly regrets not having done so, because her heart is sick and aching when she thinks about you being gone for so long. you would have definitely gone to her first, no matter if she was busy or not. but you're just not there. it's too late. there's no way you could have spent more than two hours going to get that damn bag.

reaching for the cell phone lying on the edge of the table, billie dialed the number of one of her many people responsible for your safety and location. he arrived without delay.

"where is she?" billie's voice echoes throughout the huge room, making her subordinate tense up. he freezes in the middle of the room, leaving at least ten meters between them, but even from that distance billie's eyes burn right through him. a few seconds of silence makes her voice noticeably rise. "i asked. where. is. she?"

the young man shudders, taking a deep breath. fear clouds his mind because he has no idea where you could be and that's really, really bad. "boss, i… i don't—"

but he doesn't get to finish, hearing the vicious sound of her chair rolling away from the table, and billie closes the distance between them in a few long strides, towering over the guy's shaking figure.

"you dare say you don't know where my wife is when this is your only fucking job?" her voice is too quiet. and everyone knows it's always so much worse when she says it like that. "i'll kill you if she's not here in half an hour"

pause. long, languid. "and then i'll send your wife your tongue… and your two sweet daughters your fingers"

this woman knows how to motivate anyone.

she whispers this in his ear as her hand tightens around his neck, causing the boy to cough and almost fall to the floor as she moves away.

"yes boss" but she can't hear him anymore, lost in thoughts of where you could be. you wouldn't dare leave her, would you? you know she's the only one who will keep you safe and love you like no one else could?

"billie" she's brought out of her thoughts by the soft creak of a door and an achingly familiar voice, sounding as calm as ever. "the show's about to start"

she turns on her heels, meeting her brother's gaze. the man they've built this empire with, one that holds too many secrets for even hell itself. "william"

her voice is noticeably more irritated than usual, her gait heavier as her loafers click against the acacia floorboards. it doesn't escape william's notice.

"you look particularly nasty today" he tries to joke, but there's not even a hint of a smile on his face. it might seem strange to anyone, but for the eilish brothers, it was the most ordinary thing. neither of them are eager to give each other loving smiles.

“she was supposed to be back an hour ago,” billie blurts out, walking over to the full-length mirror to straighten his tie. “she’s never late.”

william smirks. “did your sweet wife really just decide to start a normal life, not surrounded by crazy people?”

the words sting a little more than she’d like, but billie maintains a cool facade, not letting a single muscle on her face twitch. she just knows that you’ll never leave her. you’re her most beautiful creation.

“are you saying you’re not crazy?” it’s her turn to smirk before she finally turns around, roughly adjusting her older brother’s collar. her movements are deft, quick, but william doesn’t even move under her sister’s strong arms, looking right through her.

"we're all nuts here, billie. but i'm not the one who tricked an innocent girl into falling in love with me" billie's grip on his shirt immediately tightens as memories of the first time you met wash over her.

"she'll never know what happened that night. or i swear to god i'll burn the whole damn town down" her usually calm voice drips with venom as she sloppily pushes her brother away from her. "now let's go, the show's about to start"

william rolls his eyes but doesn't say a word, deciding not to get on his already irritated sister's nerves.

without looking at his feet, billie pushes the huge door with both hands, stepping out into the main hall of her 'home', though it looks more like a prison. several dozen cells line both sides of the wide hallway, and the sounds coming from the creatures that are there are not human.

their limbs that barely resemble arms and legs try to reach even a scrap of her clothing, but billie doesn’t even pay attention, completely accustomed to the atmosphere of horror that has reigned here for years.

she goes up several floors before she comes out of the underground part of the building, finally finding herself in the circus part itself, already hearing the excited screams of spectators from the stands. under the huge yellow and red tent was a large arena that could accommodate up to a thousand people, so it was always very noisy here, which played into her hands.

“everything ready?” billie stands next to the main organizer, looking forward, where every living soul was bustling about in the last minutes before the show. “yes, boss. clowns, animals…”

she raises her hand up, silently ordering the girl to shut up in the middle of a sentence. her rings reflect the warm light from the spotlights. “that’s not what i’m asking. are they here?”

the firm voice grows a little more excited, billie emphasizes ‘they’ as if it’s the only thing she cares about. her assistant nods, handing her a small piece of paper.

“left sector, tenth row, they’ll be on the edge” at this, billie smiles widely, tucking the scrap of paper into the inside pocket of her jacket and straightening up. blue eyes wander around the vast arena she’ll soon enter. her empire, her beautiful creation. she should be proud of it every second of her existence.

but there’s a but.

her mind keeps drifting to you and the fact that something could have actually happened. because everyone knows who billie really is. and everyone knows that her one and only weakness is you. and so all her energy is spent on protecting you. but what the hell happened today?

“billie” there’s only silence in response.

“billie!” william's voice makes her flinch, looking at him as if she has no idea where she is right now. "your turn."

she blinks a few times, instantly putting on a mask of joy and pleasure, and then takes a few steps until she is in the very center of the arena, greeted by contented hums and whistles. people felt only two emotions for her: fear and admiration. fear leads to obedience, and obedience leads to love. so, in the most twisted way, but she was loved in this rotten city.

"ladies and gentlemen" she greets, giving the several hundred people a friendly smile before giving her signature speech.

"you know that i do not like to waste our guests' precious time" billie takes a few steps back, almost disappearing into the shadows of the curtain. "welcome to my freak show," her face contorts into an almost creepy grimace. "come meet my monsters"

the audience bursts into approving shouts, and billie leaves the arena completely, whispering the rest under her breath; "such a beautiful collection of strange things"

the next few seconds her 'freaks' are brought out into the circus ring and billie smiles as she hears the crowd getting excited. oh, she was proud of her creations.

"keep an eye on the delivery" billie whispers as she passes her brother. usually she likes to keep an eye on things herself, but right now the only thing she cares about is you, and if they've found you.

most of her people are down there, so she has to go down a few floors again until she reaches a small office where only a few of her people are sitting. the rest are probably scouring the city to find you.

"where is she?" billie asks, making everyone in the room feel a lump in their throat. they don't know where you are. they're trying to find you, but it's like there's no trace of you left.

the entire room stops making any sounds at all. fingers hover over the old keyboard, the hum and conversations fade away. billie's eyes light up with anger.

"where's my wife?" she punctuates each word with an imaginary dot, feeling her hands clench into fists at her sides. oh, she's ready to go crazy right now. "i said where's my wife?!"

bilie lets out a scream, instantly pulling her gun out of its holster, taking a clean shot between the legs of one of her subordinates. the man flinches, nearly dropping the laptop from his hands, his shocked gaze fixed on the hole in the floor. they know she doesn't miss.

"i swear, if a hair falls from her head…" she's not even trying to threaten, her voice just always sounds like a threat when she's not with you. and now she's not with you, and because of that, her mind is torn apart by thoughts of what might happen if she doesn't find you soon.

billie takes a few deep breaths, trying to convince herself that she can’t just go and shoot seven people because they’re a bunch of fucking burdens who can’t even find you.

“be thankful she didn’t want me to blow your heads off, motherfuckers.”

billie takes long strides until she reaches her office, grabbing her leather jacket and looking at the picture on her desk; your fifth anniversary. she took you to paris, the city of love. you two sat outside all night long. that’s when she dropped to one knee in front of you, vowing to love and protect you until her dying breath. your lips are pressed against her cheek, and she has the biggest, stupidest smile on her face. she felt so normal in that moment. felt like she deserved to be truly happy, like she wasn’t a monster who only knew how to kill and rule. she felt like a woman.

she knows how to love, feel sorry, understand, be tender and sensual, but this skill only applies to you. at that moment she swore that her heart would love only you.

billie runs a hand through her long dark hair, noticing how her fingers shake as she thinks about how she might never feel your touch again, your lips, or hear your innocent words about how much you love her, your soft breathing while you sleep on her chest, and those adorable sounds you make while her tongue is buried between your soft thighs. each memory sends shivers through her body.

shaking off some of the bad thoughts, she grabs her car keys, jingling them nervously as she walks to the underground parking lot two floors up.

a matte black dodge challenger in the very center, like a trophy reserved for her and you. billie will never be able to count all the times she fucked you in the backseats, in the driver's seat, on the hood of the car, when it was just the two of you. she just enjoyed the view.

"fuck" she moans, going crazy with how quickly her mind is drifting from the most tender and sensual memories to the dirtiest and most obscene. she just needs to get her thoughts together, but it's just so hard when you're not next to her. unreal.

rolling her eyes, billie finally gets into the car, starting the engine. her hands grip the steering wheel too tightly. she tries to look at the road and think about where she's going, but her mind is only about you.

and your mind is bursting with thoughts of billie, and how you miss the way her arms hold you. always so tight, but so gentle. no matter how much shit she did, you always felt so safe around her.

but that wasn't the case now. there were other hands holding you now, rough, male hands wrapping around yours, and you feel like you're going to puke.

the room is filled with a nasty smell of dampness and a mixture of different strong men's colognes. it's quite dark in here, so it was quite difficult for you to see how many people were in the room, but you definitely saw many silhouettes flickering in the shadows, which over time began to disappear. at some point, you thought that you were going crazy and all these people were just a figment of your imagination.

"open your eyes, beautiful" a rather pleasant, surprisingly, voice was heard somewhere from the left side, and you turned your heavy head, noticing how the figure of a tall man delaminates in three due to your dizziness.

you groan, your gaze falls down, to your hands tied to an old wooden chair, on the bend of your elbow there is a noticeable trace of a needle, around which a fresh bruise flaunts. you were drugged with something.

"you can't even give a shot properly" your tongue was loose and your brain was a mess, so you couldn't and didn't want to control what was coming out of your lips until you felt a strong grip on your jaw, forcing you to look up, meeting a face in a clown mask, so that you can only see his brown eyes, in which a dull gleam is barely noticeable.

"watch your tongue before i…" he roughly lets go of you, walking to the other end of the room, and you look at his broad back, simultaneously tugging your hands to check how tight the bonds attaching your wrists to the damp wood are. too tight, the chances of pulling your hands out are rapidly decreasing to zero.

"well, why not, she can show you what that impudent tongue can do" a rougher voice sounds behind you, and a shiver runs down your spine when you realize that there are several of them here. an attempt to escape seems unrealistic in such conditions.

your heart beats faster, and no matter how hard you try to hide the chilling fear inside, your eyes darted around the room, slowly adjusting to the dark light and allowing you to see more:

the walls are stone, moss stretches from the ceiling to the floor from huge cracks, and something similar to vines. thick, flaccid and completely devoid of any signs of living organisms. apart from a chair and a small table, near which the stranger is now grazing, you did not find any furniture.

listening closely, you caught the quiet beeping of mice, which were probably in the genital holes. your face instantly wrinkled at the thought of rodents crawling out and wandering under your feet.

trying to somehow distract yourself from nasty thoughts, you focus on the only thing that always brought you peace — billie. her light touches, her calm breathing, her tender words dedicated only to you. a faint smile appeared on her face.

your heartbeat is almost back to normal until you hear the sound of heavy metal crashing against each other. all efforts to calm down are wasted and fear starts to flow through your veins again.

"time to have some fun, beautiful" a sick smile spreads across the man's face as he walks towards you slowly, unfamiliar objects glittering in his hands. and they clearly do not promise anything pleasant.

" a long-awaited familiar voice interrupts the tense moment, and then two gunshots ring out; two bodies fall to the floor next to you, a few drops of someone else's blood running down your cheek. your eyes are squeezed shut until you feel a familiar warmth and the scent of her perfume fills your sinuses.

"billie…" you open your eyes, looking at her serious face. she instantly cuts the ropes with a butterfly knife, rubbing your wrists before gently lifting you into her arms, holding you close to her chest.

“i’m here, my love,” she kisses your forehead softly, moving slowly until you reach her car and she lays you down in the back, covering you with the warm blanket you insisted she keep in the car. your body is shaking from the cold and fear, and you grab her hand, silently asking her not to go.

“angel, i need to take us home,” her voice is unusually gentle, as are her eyes, looking over your body with genuine concern. you pout slightly, causing billie to smile.

“are we going ‘home’ or home-home?” you ask quietly, knowing that you don’t want to go back to the circus right now, where you spent most of your time. you want to go home. to your usual cozy apartment, where there will be no other soul.

billie gives you another smile before reluctantly letting go of your hand, getting into the driver's seat, your eyes meet in the rearview mirror. "we're going home, my love"

a smile appears on your face and you close your eyes, letting the quiet noise of the engine lull you to sleep. billie periodically glances at you, making sure that you did not drop the blanket in your sleep. her heart is calm again. the storm has died down, but a terrible storm is coming, which she herself will create to find everyone involved in this.

the drive home takes about an hour, and finally the car pulls into the underground parking lot of the multi-story building that was your safe place with her.

despite being very tired, billie slowly lifts you into his arms, carrying first to the elevator, then to the apartment. you slowly wake up, pressing your body against hers, enjoying the warmth.

"sweetheart, are you sure you don't need anything? i can go get some medicine and some sweets and…" you interrupt her with a gentle kiss, raising your eyes to hers. billie immediately falls silent, not noticing that she is instantly lost in the beauty of your irises.

"i wanna take a bath, eat something and sleep in your arms, okay?" you speak quietly, and she can do nothing but nod obediently, but still doesn’t leave you for a second, while you walk into your bedroom, approaching the dressing table. your attention's caught by some small piece of paper, you frown.

"billie, what’s this?" you dont wait for an answer, unfolding the piece of paper. you read a few words written on it, your heart immediately sinks.

"this is just the beginning"

and there is a knock on the door.

[writingwisterias]

idk if you take requests or atleast these kind, but can you write a story of Leon and his girlfriend going out to a dinner with some people and he fingers her under the table and she has to be discreet 💞

If so, thank u !!

Hii! I can do this, thank you for the request!! Husband Leon is on my mind so I hope that's okay!! Sorry it's short, I've had such a busy month 💕

Husband!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MNDI, Fingering, Public Sex, Teasing, Breeding kink (idk how it's here either...)

Taglist: @senawashere @danigirls-missions

You should have known teasing Leon before the meal would end up with him like this. Hot and bothered, awkwardly shifting in his chair like he had ants in his pants. Your family didn't pay any mind to him, it wasn't the first time he's found it hard to get comfortable. After all his job will often leave him with some form of discomfort. Your hand barely touched him under the table, his knee bouncing frantically is the only way you knew this was affecting him. You danced your fingertips along the muscle of his thigh, following the contracted curve of it as he tensed towards your prize.

Thankfully the table was decorated today, some floral design tables cloth your parents picked for spring to make the evening nice. Neither of you particularly wanted to be here, the plans of creating your future were put on hold by a desperate plea from your mother. A family reunion was never on your top list of things to do, too much noise — to much fuss. Yet your mother insisted the both of you were there whilst Leon was home.

Tonight however, Leon had come to the assumption that you were ovulating. The constant teasing not only right now but before in the car was a hint to him that you were. A sign that spending what little time he had at home wasn't sat at the dinner table with family. It was never that you didn't tease him, of course you did— it was just never this much or in a situation this bold. This behavior has been going on for a while ever since you had approached him with idea of trying he's barely been able to satate your desires as well as his own.

The mere daydream of you swollen with his child was enough to get his old cock twitching in its fabric prison again. It didn't matter the location so he wasn't arguing that you were currently palming his cock to satate his problem, he just wanted to fix it inside of you not in his trousers like a teenage boy.

Despite your teasing you forgot that two can play at this game, which why your yelp of surprise was audible to everyone as his fingers instantly found the soaked fabric of your underwear. He ran them along the cotton, smirking at how puffy and glorious your lips already felt before he did anything.

If only you got in the mood like this when could bury himself you and punish you like the desperate brat you were being. Leon was sure your father wouldn't appreciate a move like that — not when it was hard enough to get the man to approve of him at the start. Having to swear multiple times that he wouldn't break his little girl's heart or get her mixed up in his world. He smiled as you gave some crappy excuse as to why the noise left your lips, your eyes threatening to roll back the more he pressed against the soaked fabric.

They took your excuse and the family chatter once again began filling the room as they returned to ignoring the two of you. Leons chair scooted closer, his hand no longer outstretched but looked more like an innocent touch...a hand hold maybe. "Careful now, we don't want people to hear do we?" Leon teased in your ear, placing a kiss against that one sweet spot under your ear. You gave him a side glance, smiling slightly before muttering a small no.

The "honeymoon" phase just never ended with the two of you it seemed, your family accepted it. After all when you have a husband that's job could turn from bad to worse at any moment these moments together were precious. It was only natural that despite in front of people he would want to soak up as much PDA as he could before leaving again.

Leon's fingers teased the hem of your panties, sliding underneath briefly as he spoke with your dad. Their conversation unknown as his actions caused your focus to dwindle. Your eyes hazed over with concentration to stop any reaction you had to your husband's sinful activities. "Not so confident now are we?" He teased, his teeth grazing the lobe of your ear briefly breaking the trance you had found yourself in. "I don't know what you are talking about"

"of course not, that's why you are just dripping for me at the table of your parents house"

The way he describe the situation made you blush, his vulgar words making your head go faint. The embarrassment coursing through your system was quickly replaced with a deeper desire as the first finger breached your tight cunt. It curled softly almost like he was softly scratching an itch. Your hand removed itself from his crotch, no longer palming his bulge but now pushing his hand further into your cunt. Allowing the flow of your arousal drip down knuckles and further if it didn't run against the saying fabric.

You knew you were making a mess one that everyone would see when you stood up. A stain in the satin fabric as a reminder of your desperate state. Your eyes flicked around looking at the faces at the table, watching their mouths move as the spoke doing anything to avoid the inevitable eye contact of your husband. Leon chuckled at something your dad said, or was it about your current state you weren't sure.

"Any plans for the weekend now Leon's home?" Your mother asked you, breaking your trance. You tugged at his wrist trying to pull him away so you could concentrate, leave the fading orgasm as your punishment for riling him up. Leon ignored you though, instead added another finger, sliding the two digits so they were now knuckle deep. Digging away at that spongy spot inside.

"Not really, I think he just wants to rest" you spoke softly, hiding you mouth behind your hand as you looked at her. She nodded and chuckled, seemingly unbothered as she returned her attention to the meal in front of her. "Well then I suppose he could come round and help your dad with the bike? We could do something as they do that" she offered lifting her head to smile at your husband who now had his head propped up against your shoulder.

Your hand gripped your mouth as he added a third finger, now moving his thumb in inconsistent circles against your clit. Lazy moving, building your release in a frustrating slow manner. "Sure, I'll take a look. It's always good to keep the hands busy whilst I'm resting" he spoke to her, kissing your neck briefly. The continued to plan, talking about something you couldn't focus on. Not when that pressure was set to release, his movements intentional now as he felt your walls hug him, suck him further inside just like do his cock.

Your walls always gripping him with no intention of letting him escaping, giving him no other option but to creampie you. Leon was glad you stopped your own teasing, his stirring cock wasn't far off spilling in his nicest jeans. A waste of his seed, if he had anything to say about it.

He felt you lean back into him slightly, your thighs suffocating his hand before loosening slowly as your orgasm flooded through you. "Good girl" he whispered, placing a kiss against your temple. His fingers never moved, your hand didn't remove itself from its position at his wrist either. "What about you?" You whispered, your free hand returning to ghost his bulge. Leon chuckled, the sound vibrating along your chest.

"Maybe your mum has a blanket we can cuddle underneath tonight as well watch a movie, don't want it to go to waste"

He stated it like it was a fact, that you were foolish for thinking about wasting his spend to the fabric of his boxers and not to your womb. As if it belonged anywhere but deep inside you.

"I think she's got a XL one somewhere"

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

28: LOST AND FOUND

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: After a long day at work, you return home to find Bucky pacing outside, tense and worried— Alpine, is missing. You step in to help him search. As the search stretches on, Bucky reveals just how much Alpine means to him, and you realize this is about more than just a lost pet.

Warnings: Emotional distress (Bucky struggling with loss/abandonment issues), mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 4200

The sun was beginning its descent in the sky when you strolled up to your building. It had been an arduous day at work and Anita had suggested you hot foot it home before another customer came in requesting a customized piece of jewelry. In short, business was booming. But it came with its own issues, which included being hunched over for hours working on new designs and this inevitably led to muscle soreness. You rolled your neck and shoulders as you walked down the front path to your apartment complex, eager to shed the day’s weight. But before you reached the door, a nearby movement caught your eye.

It was Bucky. He was pacing around the far side of the building, near the bushes. Which wasn’t the thing you found odd. His movements were stiff— they felt off. As you peered in his direction, you noticed how he held his hands to his sides, slightly flexed, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. And his jaw was tight— you’d learned to recognize that look, even from a distance— his whole body oozed a sense of frustration… or maybe something worse.

You frowned, watching him, your steps naturally slowed to a halt. His lips were moving and you strained your ears to catch what he was saying. It was barely audible over the hum of city traffic, but you caught the name. “Alpine.”

The way he called her name, it made your chest tighten with anxiety.

You walked closer and called out to him. “Bucky?”

He froze as you approached, turning to face you. His face remained impassive, like he hadn’t expected you to call his name, let alone come over.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

He looked at you with hesitation before he let out a long exhale through his nose. “I can’t find her,” he whispered, running his hand through his hair. 

It took you a moment to understand what he meant. “Alpine?”

He nodded.

You glanced around instinctively, even though you knew she wouldn’t just appear out of thin air. “She disappears sometimes, though, right? Does her own thing?”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “Yeah. A day, maybe two. But it’s been four.”

Four. That wasn’t just a feline adventure. That was worrying.

You felt your stomach drop. “And… you’ve checked around?”

“No, I stood here calling her name,” he answered snarkily. It only took a second for his head to drop back and his shoulders to sag. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

You put a hand on his arm, cutting him off. “It’s okay.” You didn’t take his sarcastic response to heart, knowing that he was probably stressed.

“I’ve checked everywhere. She’s never been gone this long.”

You could see it now— the way he was trying not to let the concern eat him alive. The tension in his shoulders, the restless way he kept shifting his stance, like standing still might make the feeling worse. The way his eyes flicked back to the street, like maybe she’d just appear.

“Okay,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Then let’s figure this out.”

You found it hard to believe that the man in front of you had once been a cold blooded assassin. He seemed so helpless.

“You checked the alley?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

“Called the local shelters? In case someone picked her up.”

He looked back at you slightly cluelessly.

You gave him a gentle smile and patted his arm. “Then let’s do that, shall we?” you said kindly.

For a beat, he just looked at you. Like he wasn’t used to someone stepping into his problems so easily. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Then, finally, he gave a small nod.

“Alright. Come on, let’s go inside.” You took his arm and guided him toward the door.

The two of you trudged up the stairs since there was an out of order sign still taped over the elevator. You waited for him to open his door and you followed him inside. He looked at you apprehensively, surprised that you were there. Some tension still lingered between you— this cautious uncertainty— but right now, it wasn’t about the past. Right now, it was about finding Alpine. And for now, that was enough.

Bucky handed you his laptop and you fired it up, searching the local shelters on his browser.

“Remind me to download a better browser for you later.”

Bucky frowned at you in confusion, but you didn’t give him much time to react.

“Here we go.” You turned the screen to show him a list of local shelters. “Why don’t you start by calling these?”

Bucky just looked at you blankly. It hadn’t been your plan, but you stayed with him for an hour, calling around at the nearest shelters and leaving a description of Alpine with them. You gave them your number so they could contact you if they had any information. Just before you got to the end of the list, your call was cut short by the person telling you that they were about to close. You looked at the remaining two on the list and they were both already shut.

You sighed, your stomach rumbling.

“You’re hungry,” Bucky commented. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. I guess there isn’t much else we can do tonight.”

Bucky shook his head. “Want me to order something?”

“It’s okay. I have some leftovers that I need to finish. And I’d better start working on my commissions.”

Bucky’s eyes brightened for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re getting commissions?

“Yeah,” you answered shyly. It was all thanks to him that you had been able to develop that aspect of your business and you were grateful. “It’s actually going really well. Keeping me super busy recently. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“Not really, it’s all you.”

“Well, thank you for believing in me.”

“Of course.”

You stood up slowly, as though your body was protesting the action. “I guess, I’d better…” you pointed at the door and your apartment beyond.

Bucky rose too, nodding. He walked you to the door and opened it for you. At the threshold you turned back to him.

“We’ll bring her home, Buck.”

He sighed, leaning against the door. He gave you a small nod, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe you.

“I’ll call you if anyone gets back to me. Now just try and relax tonight okay?”

“‘Kay,” he said quietly.

You couldn’t help it, you reached out and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. 

“We’ll find her.”

You spent most of the day checking your phone repeatedly. You had even taken to designing a Missing poster when Anita snuck up on you and called you out for procrastinating on company time. Sheepishly, you saved your file and re-opened your design documents. But you couldn’t focus, all that your mind was picturing was Bucky’s worried face. You were certain that he wasn’t sitting back waiting for your call. No, he was out there right now, searching for his furry friend— every alley, the spots she often frequented, calling her name until his throat was raw.

It surprised you how much you wished you were with him. Just when you had forced your mind to the idea you were working on, your phone rang. It was one of the shelters you’d called last night, you answered before the second ring.

“We had someone bring in a white cat with blue eyes this morning.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, if you’d like to come down and see her, we’re open until six today.”

“That’s great, that’s… we’ll see you soon!” you cried excitedly down the phone. Yelling a ‘thank you!’ before hanging up.

“You’re not getting any work done today, are you?” Anita’s voice startled you.

You gasped promptly followed by a sigh when you got over your surprise at her presence. “Sorry, Anita. I… I’m just so—”

Anita waved away your apologies. “You’re worried about your cat.”

You nodded, not bothering to correct her about who the cat belonged to.

“It’s a good thing I know you’re a hard worker.”

A spark of hope ignited inside you but Anita didn’t stop talking.

“Now, go find your pet.”

“Wait, really?”

Anita nodded.

“Oh my God, you’re the best!” You hugged Anita and rushed off before she had the opportunity to change her mind.

You grabbed your phone and bag and ran to your car, dialing Bucky along the way.

Now he was sitting in the passenger seat of your car, his fingers drumming lightly against the door handle. He looked like he hadn’t slept, or bothered to groom his beard in the morning.  The look on his face now was different, he was still tense, but this wasn’t just worry. It was anticipation. You glanced over at him as you drove to the address that your navigation system was directing you to. As you pulled up at a red light, you heard a faint whirring in his vibranium arm which usually meant that it was struggling to keep up with the quick fine movements he was making.

“You okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he wasn’t sure how to answer. “I just… need her to be there.”

Something in his tone made your heart ache. He had never really told you how much Alpine meant to him, but right now, he didn’t have to. It was all in his body language— his restless hands, his furrowed brows, the way his foot tapped restlessly against the car floor.

He wasn’t just worried about Alpine. He was afraid of what it meant if she didn’t come back.

“She’s a smart girl, Bucky,” you said, tightening your grip on the wheel as you pulled away from the lights. “Even if this isn’t her, we’ll find her. She’ll come home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice him giving a slow nod, but you weren’t sure he actually believed it.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then—

“She’s the only one that’s ever stayed.” He stared out of the window and his voice was low, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

It killed you to hear it. “Bucky…”

He shook his head, turning to you knowing that your eyes were on the road. “I mean it. People leave. Places disappear. Even my own mind—” He stopped short, swallowing thickly and sniffing. “But Alpine? She always comes back.”

And there it was. This wasn’t just about his cat. This was about something so much bigger. You knew he still carried that deep-rooted fear of loss, of abandonment, of waking up and finding everything ripped away from him again and again. Even if he’d never admit it, Alpine had become something constant in his life. And now, for the first time, she wasn’t there.

And momentarily, you felt a pang of guilt for walking away from him. You reached across the center console and squeezed his vibranium arm. It wasn’t much but you wanted him to know you were there for him.

“Then let’s go get her back.”

His fingers twitched under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. He just nodded.

The woman at the front desk looked up and gave you a bright smile as the two of you walked in. “You’re the ones who called about the white cat, right?”

Bucky nodded stiffly.

She motioned for the two of you to follow, opening the door to the back of the shelter. “She’s in the back— come on, I’ll take you.”

Bucky followed quickly, and you fell into step behind him, noting how tense his broad frame looked as he walked down the narrow hallway. As he turned his head to scan every cage, you caught sight of the haunted look in his eyes searching for every glimpse of white fur. 

You could feel his hope, the way it swelled inside him, something desperate. But then the shelter worker stopped in front of a kennel, gesturing at the creature curled up inside.

Your stomach dropped. The cat chilling inside on a ratty blanket was definitely not Alpine.

White fur, yes. Blue-eyed, yes. But this feline was small and far thinner. The poor thing looked like she had been through the ringer. And instead of lifting her head, perking up like she knew Bucky, she simply blinked— zero recognition in her timid eyes— before tucking herself back into a tight little ball as if your presence frightened her.

You heard Bucky’s breath hitch and you felt it— the moment his hope was shattered into a thousand pieces. His fists curled into fists, his muscles tightening again and after a moment he cleared his throat, but his voice stayed rough when he spoke. “…That’s not her.”

The shelter worker gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. We get a lot of strays that match similar descriptions.”

Bucky’s nod of acknowledgement was stiff as he stepped back. You could see him shutting down already, retreating behind that carefully curated mask he wore, tucking his disappointment away where no one could see it. But you weren’t prepared to let him push it all away, act like his feelings didn’t exist. As you stepped outside the shelter, you reached for his wrist gently, stopping him in his tracks.

“Bucky…”

He didn’t look at you, just keeping his gaze glued to the floor. His jaw was clenched so tightly that you could see the muscle twitching. “It’s fine. Maybe next time.”

It wasn’t fine. Far from it. You waited for a bit, giving him some space to take a breath. Letting the weight of disappointment settle in troubled waters. 

“She’s still out there,” you whispered, your hand still round his wrist.

After a really long pause, his body sagged a little and he exhaled an answer, “...Yeah.” His voice was hollow.

You gave his wrist one last squeeze before letting go. “We won’t stop looking.”

For the first time since you walked into the shelter, Bucky finally met your eyes— they were filled with gratitude and sorrow and something that told you that just maybe he felt a little less alone.

The ride home was quiet, far quieter than the drive there. Bucky wasn’t sulking, as such, but you could tell how hard he was trying not to feel disappointed, not to let this get to him.

You let him be for a while, walking beside him from the car back into the building. You stayed close, not wanting him to feel alone. He wasn’t the type to discuss his feelings just because he was hurting. As you reached the building, Bucky pulled the door open and stood aside to let you enter first. You stepped inside, stealing a glance at him over your shoulder, remembering the chivalrous manner in which he had always treated you. He had always been a knight in black and gold armor, but you now realized that he had never really taken off his armor for you. But today things felt different.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you nudged his arm lightly. “C’mon. I’m making dinner.”

Bucky glanced at you, one brow raising slightly. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. But I’m going to.” You shot him a look. “Unless you wanna sit in your apartment and stew all night.”

His mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to argue. But after a second, he sighed and gave a small nod. “Alright.”

That was as good as a thank you coming from him.

Cooking together turned out to be surprisingly easy. It felt as though the two of you were meant to be a team and he seemed to anticipate your needs. Bucky fell into a natural rhythm of chopping vegetables, his movements precise and swift, while you handled the more delicate tasks, adding the seasonings and spices.

There wasn’t much thinking involved, but it gave Bucky something to do. Something nice and simple. And it seemed that that was exactly what he needed.

At one point, you bumped your hip against his playfully as you passed by, smirking. “See? You do have other skills besides brooding and stealing my eggs.”

Bucky chuckled quietly and let out a small huff. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

Once all the ingredients had been stuffed into a casserole dish, you opened the oven and popped it in. Soon the aroma of garlic filled your apartment and you opened the window beside your fire escape to avoid having your apartment smelling for days.

Bucky sat down on his usual spot on the couch, absently picking at the label of his beer bottle while you tapped on your phone, answering an email from Anita. You had sat down much closer to him than you had done the last time you’d been together. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something lingering in the air between you— it was subtle, almost fragile that neither of you wanted to disturb.

It was Bucky who finally spoke first.

“You left work early today.”

It was an observation, not a question.

“Noticed that, did you?”

He tilted his beer bottle slightly, his piercing gaze quietly assessing you. “Yeah.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, well, the shelter called.”

His fingers stopped picking at the label. “So you left… for me?” There was a hint of hope in his voice.

A faint blush tinged your cheeks and you opened your mouth to answer but decided to close it again and reach for your glass of water from the coffee table. “For Alpine,” you said finally, taking a slow sip.

Bucky hummed softly, his lips pressing together, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t convinced. “You could’ve just texted me.”

You exhaled a soft laugh and rolled your eyes. “I’m worried about Alpine too, you know.” You picked up your phone and pretended to look through your notifications. “And… maybe I was a bit worried about you.”

When Bucky didn’t speak, you stole a glance at him. He was staring at you— not the brooding pout that normally graced his feature— no, this was a questioning look, like he was trying to figure out how much of that was true, how much you were willing to give him. But instead of pressing, he just nodded, looking back down at his bottle. “Yeah. Well… thanks.”

The simple word, spoken with low volume but carried so much meaning. It wasn’t just gratitude. It was relief. The moment stretched out between you, something that felt so warm and easy in a way that hadn’t existed between you for a long while.

“So, what about you?” you tilted your head after a few moments of quiet.

“What about me?”

You shrugged. “Any missions coming up?”

The question was innocent enough, but you felt Bucky bristle beside you. The warmth in his expression dimmed just a little. “Yeah.”

You hadn’t meant it as an accusation or a prod at your past conflict, but he looked like he was bracing for a fight. You didn’t want to push him away. “Gonna be gone long?”

“A week. Maybe a little more.”

It finally hit you. The worry, the restlessness— it wasn’t just that Alpine was missing. It was that Alpine was missing while he was on a time limit.

You sighed. “You don’t wanna leave without knowing she’s okay.”

Bucky let out a slow, shaky breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You took his hand in both of yours, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb and laid your head on his shoulder. You felt him melt under your touch, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding as he rested his lips against the top of your head and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I get it,” you murmured, without lifting your head from his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to go either.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched slightly beneath yours, but he did nothing to move his hand away. “Feels wrong,” he admitted. “Leaving without knowing she’s safe.”

You nodded against his shoulder, squeezing his hand just a little tighter. “We’ll find her,” you promised. “Before you go.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just sat there, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles, like he was grounding himself in the softness of your touch.

“Yeah…” he finally said, as if he wanted to believe you. “Thank you.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him. “For what?”

Bucky met your gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “For this,” he said simply.

The timer you had set on your oven when you put the casserole in beeped unceremoniously, breaking the moment of stillness between you. The warmth of Bucky’s hand was still imprinted on your skin and you were reluctant to let go. With a deep breath, you pulled yourself away and onto your feet. You went to the kitchen and grabbed some oven mitts before carefully pulling the steaming casserole out of the oven.

Bucky followed, silently opening the cupboard and pulling out some plates. There was an air of shyness between you, the weight of the tender moment lingering between you. But neither of you mentioned it further.

As soon as you ladled a generous helping into both of your plates, you sat down at the table. For a few moments, all that could be heard was the light scraping of your forks against the plate before you felt the need to fill it with some casual conversation. Bucky was relatively silent while you rambled on about an overly complicated brooch design that you were working on for a client. But despite Bucky’s reticence, things somehow felt comfortable.

Bucky was smiling softly at you while you imitated the small gentleman who was commissioning the brooch from you when he heard it.

A small, soft mrrp.

Your fork hovered midair as you frowned at him as you noticed Bucky’s expression change, his whole body tensing. You could see his relaxed features change to a look of alertness— like a startled rabbit.

“What is it?”

His eyes flickered toward the window, but he shook his head almost instantly. “I thought I heard…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face. “Never mind.”

Your heart clenched at the way his voice quietly deflated, how easily he shut down as he lost a hold on the hope he was barely clinging to. You watched as he forced himself to take a bite of the dinner you’d made.

This time you both heard it.

A soft thud just outside your open window, by the fire escape. Your head snapped towards the noise, your heart thundering in your chest. Bucky was on his feet before you could look back at him, his chair scraping slightly against the floor as he stood abruptly.

You followed behind him and there, perched just outside your window, was a fluffy, white, blue-eyed menace.

“Alpine?” you whispered, as if questioning the reality of her presence.

But Bucky— Bucky looked like the whole world had stood still. For one very long second, he didn’t move— in fact you wondered if he even took a breath— just staring at the small feline as though he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

As you both watched, Alpine hopped down from the windowsill with a graceful little leap, landing softly on the floor. She stretched out leisurely, completely and utterly unbothered by your shocked faces. Then she let out a long, slow meow— almost like she was announcing her presence, as if she hadn't just disappeared for days and driven Bucky out of his mind with worry.

He still hadn’t moved. His chest heaving while his fingers twitched by his sides. It was like he didn’t know what to do. Alpine rubbed herself against his legs, tail curling around him, her soft little meows now more insistent. That was all it took for him to melt. You heard him take a shaky breath as he dropped down to his knees, scooping up the cat with both arms and pressing her against his chest.

“Where the hell have you been?” he muttered, his voice rough with relief. He cradled her close, one hand stroking over the back of her head, down her spine. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

The feisty feline purred loudly in response, like she had done absolutely nothing wrong, rubbing her face against his stubbled jaw. You took a step closer, your chest tightening at the sight of him holding her so close, like he was afraid she might disappear again if he let go. Slowly, you reached out, scratching Alpine behind the ears. She let out a contented little sigh, and when you looked up, you found Bucky already watching you.

You smiled up at him, your cheek grazing across his shoulder. “Told you we’d find her.”

The smile on his face dropped, but it was replaced by a look of tenderness. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. He just nodded, moving his head a fraction.

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

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Posting schedule will be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays around 2.30pm EST / 11.30am PST / 7.30pm BST

[cutieeva]

Previous chapter

━━━━━━━━

“How could this be possible?” she whispers, breath uneven, eyes wild as the city outside the bus window blurs into streaks of grey and neon. Her fingers tighten around the metal pole beside her, knuckles paling. “My customer who likes me....is the actor Gojo. And worse—he’s also the stalker.”

The thought alone makes her head spin.

Her vision swims, her pulse pounding in her ears like a drumroll of panic. She stares straight ahead, barely blinking, as the bus lurches through traffic. Her stomach coils tighter with every stop it doesn’t make. Then—

A sudden hiss of brakes. The bus groans, jerks slightly, and she lifts her face, heart snagging in her throat.

Her stop.

Recognition snaps into her bones like cold water. She gasps and stumbles toward the doors, pushing through the shuffle of passengers. Her feet hit the pavement harder than she expects, and the first thing she does is breathe—deep and ragged, like surfacing from drowning.

“Nothing is going right,” she mutters under her breath, wiping sweat from her brow with trembling fingers. Her chest rises and falls too fast. The air smells of exhaust and dust and cheap fried snacks, but none of it grounds her.

She glances over her shoulder.

No red car.

No sign of him.

Her body sags with a relief so sharp it hurts, like unclenching a fist after too long. The absence of crimson metal makes her legs move faster. She doesn’t stop. Not until the streets begin to look familiar, the noise softens into the hum of home.

Safety.

Family.

The only place left where she might still outrun this nightmare.

━━━━━━━━

“What? The concert is today?” (Y/N)’s voice lifts in surprise, head snapping toward her sister.

The older twin nods with the enthusiasm of a game show host, her curls bouncing as she grins ear to ear. Dressed in a soft cream dress speckled with blooming roses, puffed sleeves hugging her arms and the fitted bodice cinching her waist just right, she spins once as if to show off. The fabric flutters like petals in spring air.

Before (Y/N) can say more, a gentle weight settles into her arms—her baby. The fourth sister hands him over with a knowing smile, and at once, the world narrows. His warmth presses into her chest, soft limbs curling instinctively, and she breathes him in—milk, talc, and that unplaceable scent that only belongs to her child. A calm blooms briefly in her ribs.

Then comes the rustle of glossy paper.

“See, see! Jealous?” The older twin’s voice chirps beside her, and suddenly a pair of ruby-shimmering tickets are flapping right in front of her eyes. They catch the light like foil, dancing mockingly.

(Y/N) blinks and recoils, then swats at them with her free hand. “Stop it.”

The tickets fall away like fallen leaves, and with them, her sister’s teasing grin. She crosses her arms in a huff, guarding her chest like a fortress. “Well, since you're being so grumpy, I guess I could let you come to the concert... Just say the word and I’ll buy you.”

(Y/N) exhales hard through her nose. Her brows tighten. Her mind is still reeling from the day—everything, still a blur, still burning cold in her memory. “No, thank you.”

Her sister snorts. “Ha! As if! I couldn’t bring you anyway. I was just messing with you. It’s already sold out.”

Laughter tumbles from her lips like a smug little melody, and (Y/N) doesn’t bother to react. She's still focused on the child against her, the weight of him, the soothing rhythm of his breath.

“Stop being a tsundere". Mutters the younger twin from across the room. She doesn’t even look up, too busy tapping away at her phone. She pulls on the last of her boots, her maroon off-shoulder top hugging her frame, paired with a form-fitting skirt that ties elegantly at the waist, red hues cascading like wine.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice asks.

A hand lands gently on her shoulder, and (Y/N) startles, breath catching before she turns her head. It’s her third sister—always the quiet observer, always watching. She stands with a touch of grace, her outfit pristine: a white long-sleeve blouse with ruffled trim cascading down the front like petals, a large blue bow tied neatly beneath the collar. The light blue skirt hugs her hips before flaring out at the knees, the hem dusted with lace like snow on glass.

(Y/N) blinks, caught mid-thought. “Hmm?” she hums, feigning ignorance, but her sister doesn’t let up.

The girl’s brow crinkles further, her smile—so delicate just seconds ago—fading into a line of worry. There’s something behind that look. Something familiar.

No. No. Not now.

It’s the same expression, the same quiet dread she wore back then—back when she asked, “Are you sure he’s the one?” And (Y/N), foolishly bright-eyed, said yes. Nodded like a fool in love, her heart thudding so loud she hadn’t heard the warnings in her sister’s voice.

Now her mouth dries. The guilt itches under her skin.

She swallows that memory down, lips parting to speak. “No… I’m not,” she admits, voice barely above a breath. “But let’s talk about it when you all come back in the morning, okay?”

That deepens the crease between her sister’s brows. She doesn’t smile again. Not this time.

Before silence can settle too heavy in the air, a new voice chimes in from behind.

“If you want, I can stay with you, you know.” The eldest steps onto the threshold. Black pants, oversized jacket, black shirt beneath.

But (Y/N) lifts her chin.

“No,” she says, firmer this time, holding her gaze. “Thank you again.”

Then she adds, gentler, “Mum and Dad are with me. What’s the worry?”

And finally, she lets her eyes fall to her son boy in her arms still nestled there, small hands resting against her chest. A quiet, growing smile blooms on her face.

“Even Dong is here to protect me.”

Their mother’s laughter rings through the hallway. She presses purses and clutches into waiting hands, murmuring goodbyes and be-carefuls, humming an old lullaby under her breath

And just like that, the moment passes.

But the weight in (Y/N)’s chest doesn’t.

━━━━━━━━

“Hm… hmm…". A soft hum weaves through the room like thread through cotton—tuneless, wordless, a melody stitched from memory and instinct. She sways gently, side to side, her hand patting Dong’s back in a rhythm older than language. He’s asleep, cheek smushed against the mattress, one arm flung above his head like he’s mid-dream, claiming the stars.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm, curling in her throat. He’s growing fast. His features are soft echoes of her own—her nose, her brow, the slight curl of his lips when he frowns even in sleep. A good thing, she thinks. He won’t wear that man’s face when he’s older. He’ll wear hers.

A quiet awe rises in her chest like sunlight warming the inside of her ribcage. It’s strange, divine, how much of a miracle it is—to have made him. With her own flesh. Her own blood. To have carried him inside her, to have screamed him into this world. To look at him now, soft and small and entirely human, and know: I did this. With no one else to take credit. Not really.

Mothers. They are gods in disguise. She understands now, deeply, the weight of that title. She hadn’t before—hadn’t cared to. But now, with Dong’s breath rising gently beneath her palm, she knows in her bones that a mother is not just a woman. She is a maker. A keeper.

Only… if it hadn’t ended this way.

If there had been softness on the other side. A husband who stayed. A father—. 

The doorbell rings.

A sharp, sudden sound, slicing clean through her thoughts like a knife through cloth. Her hand stills on Dong’s back.

She lift her gaze toward the clock, its hands poised at twelve pm, though the moon outside felt no different from any other hour in this hushed cocoon. "Who comes at this time?" she wonder, her thoughts moving no faster than the steady rise and fall of her child’s breath. One hand continued its slow, instinctive rhythm—pat, pat, pat—against the baby’s back, while her head rest in the crook of her palm, propped gently on the anchor of her bent elbow. She lay on her side, body curled protectively, mind floating somewhere between stillness and alarm.

The doorbell rang again.

It startle her—not in sound, but in persistence. Her eyes drift toward the open bedroom door, its light still glowing, the frame a silent witness to whatever waited beyond. "They’ll answer". she told herself "Mum or Dad will answer". But the bell rang once more, and again, louder this time—impatient, pressing, like a clenched fist against the quiet.

“Mama…” she called out, barely above a whisper.

No answer.

The baby stir in her arms, a small frown knitting his soft brow. Her breath hitch. "He’ll wake if it keeps up like this". Panic, tender and maternal, unfurl in her chest. She move slowly, delicately, rising from the bed with the care of one lifting a feather without ruffling a single strand. Her weight was barely a whisper on the mattress.

The doorbell—now a swarm of bees, angry and insistent.

She cross the room in silence, steps mute by instinct, and reach the door. Without hesitation, without breath, she pull it close—swiftly, surely letting it settle into its frame with a soft click, the sound of quiet defiance. A lock turned with finality. A shield against whatever waited on the other side. “Mum?” she calls, her voice a bit louder now, the sound fragile against the stillness. No answer. Not even an echo. Her chest tightens.

“Dad?” she tries again, stepping into the hallway. The lights are on—too bright, too normal—and yet the air feels wrong. The shadows don’t move the way they should. The living room waits ahead, lit and empty, and a chill creeps into her skin like cold water running along her spine. She stops at the threshold. There’s no one there.

Her eyes scan, sharp and quick—then land. A piece of white paper tucked under a water glass on the coffee table. She knows the loops and gentle slope of that handwriting before she even steps closer. Her mother’s penmanship—firm, graceful, a small comfort in this eerie stillness "I know you tend to forget things when you're immersed in something, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you're scared, not realizing we’re gone. We went to the hospital—your cousin is in, and your aunty needed support".

A smiley face—winking, drawn at the bottom like a quiet tease. "Don’t worry. It’s not serious. You know your aunty".  Yes, she does. Her aunt is a theater all on her own—drama in every syllable, especially when it comes to her only daughter. Relief slips into her like warm tea. She exhales slowly, the tight knot in her chest beginning to loosen.

Then—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell again. Louder. More demanding this time. A shrill note slicing through the quiet like a blade. She flinches. Reflexive. Her body pulled taut like thread about to snap. She spins around, the rhythm of her pulse climbing fast beneath her skin. Her feet move on their own, crossing the house with urgency now, bare soles pressing into the cold floor. She unlocks the wooden door—but not the metal one. That barrier still stands between her and whatever waits outside.

And then she sees him. Framed in the mesh of the metal screen door, faint shadows drawing lines across his face. White hair catching the porch light like frost in moonlight. Hands in his pockets. Tall. Still. Too familiar.

“Gojo?” Her voice cracks on his name. It falls out of her like breath, startled and disbelieving. His eyes shift, find hers, and soften. A smile curls slowly across his face, blooming where a frown had lived just seconds before.

“Good,” he says, voice low, carrying that strange ease he always wears like a second skin. “You’re home. I was getting nervous seeing the lights are on but no one answering.” The words feel harmless, but they rub her the wrong way—too casual, too present, too him. And he sees it. Of course he does. He always does. He notices everything. The twitch of her jaw. The flick of her gaze. The way she doesn’t step closer. He watches her like a habit he never could break—like an ache he never wants to let go. .

She narrows her eyes, gestures toward the curb where his car idles under the streetlamp. “Why are you here?” Her voice is sharp now, sharp enough to slice through the awkward peace between them. “Did you finally decide to quit the nice guy act?”

He doesn’t glance at the car. Doesn’t flinch. He just looks at her—steady, unblinking, as if her silence might open first. The light from the porch paints the angles of his face in a soft gold, but there’s tension in the line of his jaw, like he’s holding something in.

“Yes,” he says—barely audible. The word slips out like it’s heavier than it should be. His throat bobs in a thick swallow, and his gaze drops. Fingers curl inward, fisting at his sides, knuckles tight and white as though he’s trying to grip the words before they leave him.

“I missed you.” It comes out raw, the kind of confession that cracks the air between them. His voice quivers, and his hand lifts instinctively, brushing over his mouth like he’s trying to rub the sentence away.

“I missed you so much… every second.” He laughs once, but it’s breathless, hollow. “Every time. I couldn’t stop. Following you. Watching you. Just—” His voice falters again, frayed around the edges now. “I want to keeping you close to me. Even if you didn’t know.” The words come in pieces, disjointed, torn straight from the gut. When he looks back up, his eyes—those bright, glacial sapphires—are wide and gleaming, full of something that looks like ache wrapped in desperation. His fingertips rise and touch the metal mesh between them. A soft clink. The screen trembles faintly beneath the contact, and so does he.

“I want you… and—" His lips press together. A pause. His gaze flickers, roams, searching her face for something to hold onto before finally resting on her eyes again. “Please,” he breathes, “just give me a chance. Let me prove how in love you’ve made me.”

(Y/N) doesn’t move at first. She only listens—each word sinking deeper into a place she thought she’d locked shut. But all it does is echo. Echo and confirm. No. She was right. The deeper he pours, the clearer her footing becomes. She exhales, slow and quiet, and shakes her head. Her hair moves with her, strands catching light, swaying gently.

“No". She says firmly. “Please respect my decision.” There’s no anger in her tone. Only exhaustion. The kind that comes from learning the same lesson twice, only with different handwriting. She’s not going to fall into a trap just because the cage looks nicer this time. Even if comparing Gojo to her ex is like weighing stars against candlelight, their silver tongues shine the same way in the dark. And she’s done being dazzled. She begins to close the door. Her hand on the handle, her breath held quiet, almost mournful—until his palm slaps against the mesh again. A sharp rattle. The sound tears through the air, sudden, desperate. Metal hums beneath his fingers, quivering from the force of it. She flinches, the sound slicing straight into her spine.

“No—don’t,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of urgency. “Please. You’re not angry… you’re just hurt.” She pauses. Her body stills, muscles lock mid-motion, gaze lifting toward him—and in that moment, he sees it. The tremor in her hand, the flicker in her eyes. The pain she didn’t mean to show. His expression changes. Softens and hardens all at once, fury and tenderness held in the same breath.

“I knew it". he murmurs, as if confirming the inevitable. “Some bastard hurt you.” His jaw tightens. Skin pulls taut along the bone, tendons standing out like wires beneath flesh. Anger coils across his face, burning, coiled tight as a storm held back by teeth.

“But don’t worry,” he says, each word heavier than the last. “I’m not him. I’m not some sick bastard who breaks what he touches.” His fingers dig into the mesh again, clenching until the thin steel bites through skin. Blood wells up—thin, red lines across his knuckles. He doesn’t look at the wounds. Doesn’t even seem to feel them. His eyes are locked on hers, pleading, burning, unblinking.

And for a breath, she sees it. Not just madness. Not just obsession.

Belief. He truly believes he’s different. A savior cast into a story that doesn’t want saving.

A Romeo clawing at a love that never lived long enough to die. Her stomach turns. A thick, sour pressure climbs her throat, settles just behind her tongue. The kind of ache that has no shape but insists on being felt. She doesn’t answer. Just shuts the door—hard.

A thud that shudders through the frame, through her arm, through the room.

The silence that follows is brief.

Then Dong’s cry—sharp, startled—breaks through the stillness in front of her. Her breath catches. “What’s that?” she gasps at his question, already moving. Her feet thud hard against the floor, her legs weak and fast beneath her, arms clumsy with panic. The hallway blurs. She sees it even before she reaches the room—through the curtain’s thin veil, a shadow cuts across the window, moving like a breath exhaled from the dark.

And when she flings the door open. The lights are on. The curtains have been pulled wide.

And he is standing there. Dong is on the bed, small body twisted with fear, face wet and crumpled. His wailing louder in that tiny, cracking voice that always breaks her heart clean open. His brows are drawn together like he’s been stung.

And Gojo—his face is pale behind the glass, his expression unreadable under the moon-washed light. But his voice—

“You have a child?” He doesn’t even need to hear it. He sees it, and it’s enough.

“You have a child,” he repeats, like a revelation spoken to the night. His lashes tremble—fluttering like wings startled mid-flight. “But you don’t have a husband. The workers at the store… and your bare finger that told me everything.”

She doesn’t answer him. Her body moves on instinct. She rushes to the bed, arms scooping Dong against her chest like he’s all that’s real in the world. Her hands press the curtain closed in a swift, terrified motion, sealing the light out, the world out—him out.

“You’re a single mother?” He laughs. But it isn’t joy. It’s hollow, lopsided—like a laugh with a limp.

“More reasons to need me,” he mutters. “I could be… I can be a good father.” The lights go off behind the window. The shadow of him fades into a darker blur.

“You’re a child yourself,” she snaps softly, rocking Dong against her chest, his sobs dampening against her shirt. “You’re in your early twenties. And me?” her voice quiets, bitter and thick, “I’m old. Used. Worn. There are lines of girls outside your world, young and sweet and untouched. You don’t need me.” She strokes Dong’s back, hushes him gently as he hiccups into her skin.

“Nor my child.”

There is silence.

Then his voice cuts through it like cold steel.

“Yes. I don’t want him.” She jerks her head to the side, scoffing, lips curled in disbelief—until he continues.

“But to have you,” he says slowly, carefully, “I will accept him.” Her breath stutters. Her chest heaves with something jagged—fear or fury or something in between. She shakes her head, desperate to shed the crawling feeling under her skin.

“And isn’t it a benefit to you?” he continues, voice dipping lower, darker, like the shadow he’s become. “That I’m handsome. Rich. Famous?” A pause. “Don’t worry,” he says. His voice is no longer his voice. It is something darker, deeper. It drips with a promise too cold to be pretend. “I’ll kill anyone who looks at you the wrong way. I’ll finish them all.”

A shiver claws up her spine—slow and silent and made of ice.

And somehow, in that moment, she knows. He means it.

Silence lingers like smoke after a flame—thin, shifting, not quite gone.

Then a sound—faint footsteps brushing through grass—pulls at the edges of her attention. Her head tilts slightly, not daring to move more than that, alert as a deer in an open field. Another set of steps follows, but these drift away, as if the night is swallowing them whole. Still, she doesn’t turn toward the window.

She holds Dong tighter, his tiny heartbeat pressing into her chest like a secret trying to stay brave. Then—light. It pours in through the thin curtains from both sides, harsh and white and too sudden, slicing through the room like a breath held too long. Her gasp escapes before she can catch it, and she spins around too quickly—so fast her head reels, vision blurring.

She hears it then. The engine rumbling to life. The crush of tires over her yard. The bright flood of headlights swings across the wall, and then turns—fading, receding. He’s leaving.

The night exhales. The light disappears.

And with it, so does he.

At least for tonight.

Her knees give out beneath her, folding like the end of a long song. She sinks slowly to the floor, Dong quiet now in her arms—breathing, warm, safe.

But she feels nothing. Only the strange hum of disbelief. The tremble of adrenaline retreating. The hollowness left behind by fear that’s had its say and gone quiet. She stares ahead, the room still glowing faintly from the echoes of what just passed, and all she can do is sit there—numb and suspended—unsure if what happened was real.

Or if he’ll return. And when ?

━━━━━━━━

Sleep never touches her—not even the lids of her eyes. It passes over her like a wave that decides not to reach shore. Only Dong finds peace, curled against her chest, breath warm and steady, unaware of the storm that was and might still be. He sleeps through Gojo’s leaving, through the ache she doesn’t know where to place.

Her parents come soon after. They knock, gentle as always, but the concern in their eyes is louder than anything they say. Questions hover at the edges of their mouths—questions she knows she should answer—but her lips are a locked door, and she’s misplaced the key. They seem to understand. They sit beside her in silence, as if they, too, are attending a funeral only she can see.

The sun arrives like a conqueror. A sliver of gold slices through the sky, spreading fast—bold, burning, victorious. Morning lays its claim over the world, indifferent to the ruins it finds in her chest.

Her sisters come with it.

One by one, they enter the home with carefully placed expressions. She sees them all—not for what they show, but for what they try not to. There’s something hidden behind each smile, each blink, each sigh. She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t look too hard. Perhaps it’s mercy. Perhaps it’s cowardice. But isn’t ignorance a kind of kindness?

They gather at the breakfast table like performers called for one final act. Plates are set. Bowls filled. The air hums with unspoken things.

She couldn't eat before them. Not until her misery—coiled and heavy, spills out and stains the morning. But her lips stay shut. Her parents didn't press her as they weren't hungry either. Her mother speaks spoke softly of her cousin—how she is safe now, how she harm herself during a mental spiral but regained her senses at the hospital, apologizing to everyone for the chaos. A sweet girl, truly. (Y/N) loves her. And it breaks something deeper.

Then the chorus begins.

"Thank you for the food," Murmurs the third sister, a faint smile curling on her lips—thin, forced, and gone before it settles. She picks up her chopsticks with hands that tremble like tired leaves.

"Thank you for the food!" The older twin chirps, voice far too bright. Her grin stretches too wide, and she eats too fast, burning her tongue but pretending not to feel it.

"Thank you for the food," the eldest offers with a quiet nod, ever polite, folding dignity around her like a shawl.

"Thank you for the food," echoes the fourth sister, her voice distant, movements mechanical as she lifts her chopsticks. Her eyes stare past the table, past the room. Somewhere far.

"Thank you," comes a hush from the youngest twin, her gaze fixed on her phone, scrolling through a world that doesn’t ache like this one. Her plate is half-empty, though she doesn’t seem to taste what’s left.

(Y/N) watches them. Feels each gesture like a ripple through her chest. Then she lowers her gaze, exhales shakily, and picks up her own chopsticks.

She eats because it’s the only way to keep from unraveling entirely.

"What the fuck!"

The curse slices through the quiet like a thrown blade, sharp and uncharacteristic. All movement halts. Chopsticks freeze mid-air. Her father chokes on a piece of tofu. Her mother coughs politely, eyebrows darting upward. And every sister turns, wide-eyed, toward the youngest—because she never swears. None of them do, not unless the world is falling apart.

She doesn’t even look up from her phone as she continues, voice flat with disbelief. "Sister, why didn’t you tell us you were dating Gojo Satoru?"

The silence collapses into chaos.

A bowl clatters to the floor, soup splashing out in a spreading puddle. Another spoon drops. Someone gasps so loudly it almost sounds rehearsed. But no one moves to clean up. Their eyes are all on (Y/N) now, every pair of them holding something different—shock, betrayal, curiosity, and something else she doesn’t want to name.

She doesn’t speak. Not yet. Her heart begins to thud with a strange tempo, part fear, part dread.

The younger twin pushes her phone forward until it’s inches from (Y/N)’s plate, its bright screen demanding attention.

Hands trembling slightly, (Y/N) snatches the phone and pulls it closer to her chest like a secret, like a wound. And there it is—there they are.

Photos. Crisp and cruel.

One of him pulling her gently behind the mirrored pillar in her store, hand at her waist, body leaning close as if whispering something meant only for her. Another of his car trailing the bus she took home one evening, headlights glowing like eyes that never blink.

Each image is threaded with implication. Spun into a story not of danger but desire. Not surveillance, but love. A secret boyfriend unable to stay away from his secret lover.

The captions drip with romance. The angles lie in the most beautiful ways.

Her stomach turns. She can almost feel the world shifting, turning its lens toward her. Her sisters are still staring, voices rising in overlapping questions, but they sound muffled now, distant—as though she's underwater, or dreaming, or both.

The phone warms in her hand. Her baby stirs in the crook of her arm. And she just sits there, caught in a story that was never hers to tell.

"What? Are we talking about the Gojo Satoru we all know?"

The eldest sister speaks, but her voice doesn’t sound like hers. It quivers, stretched thin, like it's traveled through glass before reaching the air. Something warped. Something disbelieving.

"Then how many Gojo Satoru do you think there are?" the younger twin mutters, not even glancing up from her screen. "There’s only one. One and only."

Her tone is dry, sardonic. But it lands with the force of something final.

(Y/N) doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her mouth hangs open, dry as paper, eyes glued to the glowing screen like it’s hypnotized her. The photos don’t stop. They pile higher like snow, like lies, each one more invasive than the last—each one a still frame from a horror dressed up in lace.

And the comments—God, the comments.

Thousands, streaming beneath the post like an endless tide.

“Omg he looks so in love!!”

“They’re so cute together!”

“Slay girl, you got the KING.”

“About time he found someone.”

Not one ugly word. Not one doubt. Just blind admiration. As if this were a fairytale and not a goddamn trap.

And suddenly she can hear him again, his voice soft and certain behind her ear: “Isn’t it a benefit to you that I’m rich, famous, handsome? Don’t worry. I’ll kill anyone who wrongly sees you.”

Her fingers go cold. Her heart pounds too fast, too loud.

This isn’t romance. It’s orchestration. It’s madness painted with glitter.

A ping breaks through the spiraling quiet—a new notification flashing on her sister’s phone.

Instagram. From Gojo Satoru.

Posted now.

The younger twin doesn’t even ask. She grabs her phone like it's burning and taps with urgency. The screen opens. The air stills.

A picture.

Of (Y/N).

Taken from behind, in soft gold light, her hands raised as she snaps a photo of that evening sky with white birds. But the angle—crafted, deliberate—frames the towering billboard of Gojo’s perfume ad just over her shoulder, as if he’s the one she’s photographing.

The caption follows, heavy with illusion:

"We don’t have to take each other’s picture in secret anymore, love. Forgive my proud heart for wanting to show you to the world—that this man is taken, and yours truly." A red heart at the end.

Like a stab wound.

A noise escapes her—dry and panicked—as bile scorches the back of her throat. She doesn’t think. She moves.

She thrusts Dong gently but urgently into her mother’s waiting arms and bolts from the table, feet pounding down the hall as her stomach turns inside out. The door slams behind her. Her knees hit the floor.

She vomits.

Again and again until there’s nothing but breath and the roar of her pulse in her ears.

Behind her, voices rise—her sisters’ questions sharp and overlapping—but they crash against her like waves against stone. Distant. Drowned.

None of this feels real.

And yet her body won’t stop trembling.

Then—like some cursed thing answering the sickness in her soul—a ting echoes through the silence.

A single notification.

(Y/N)'s head lifts slowly, almost unwillingly, like she’s underwater. Her fingers are still clamped around the edge of the sink, white-knuckled and aching. She doesn’t remember holding so tightly. She doesn’t remember anything but the hollow twist in her gut and the acid in her throat.

The room is dark. Not gently, but suffocatingly so.

Only the phone glows—bright and ghostly—where it lies on the counter. A small rectangle of light in the gloom.

She doesn’t rush. She can’t rush. Her body is moving like it belongs to someone else now.

One step. Another.

Each footfall sounds too loud, like it doesn’t belong in her mother’s house, in this quiet morning, in this world.

She picks up the phone. Her thumb hovers. Trembles. And then she brings it to her face.

The light stings her eyes.

A message. From an unknown number.

"Let’s create a great nest of ours—and ours only.

Yours, truly Gojo".

FIN

[yoiisa]

hello! I just read your pining fics ab windbreaker boys!! can we also have that with sakura, suo, kiryu, sugishita and kaji if that’s okay? but with a crush that is very popular that even small little thing they do get fawned over? like they could be walking and people would say: “theyre so pretty!” “how cute” “I can walk them in any aisle!” cue the boys getting jealous + points if reader knows their crush on them yet rejects their advances every time in a playful way? Like wb boys would confess their feelings for the Hundred time and reader only say: ”awh how sweet!”

eeeee! ofc ofc! these ones might a lil short for each though since i'm doing multiple characters! also this prompt totally reminded me of Aoi and Akane from TBHK iykyk (>ᴗ•) !

➜ sakura haruka is already incredibly romantically dense, so i feel like having a crush on someone who's constantly being showered with flirtations and romantic advances just makes it worse ➜ i can imagine him being like really protective over you though in an overt way ➜ like he will actively tell people off/to leave you alone when their flirtations get to be a bit too much ➜ in my mind, the reason why the two of you haven't started dating is because sakura still has a lot of issues socially that he needs to work towards fixing before he can take on the responsibility of the relationship ➜ but you've promised to wait for him, and that's really all he could ever ask for, so cue a romantic limbo for the ages!

Saturday mornings always meant the market was a little busy, but you didn't mind it one bit. The hustle and bustle made you feel a lot more energized. However, there was one thing that was thing that was draining your spirit, and that was this middle school kid following you around and continuously pestering you for your number. You'd told him off multiple times, and he seemed to take the hint, but nope. You'd turn the corner and he'd be right there, with another cocky grin and a can do attitude that made you want to put your head in a wall. "Please! Just one shot!" the boy says desperately. "Here, where's your phone? I pull my number in-" "I told you no!" you say adamantly, "Now please leave me alone! How many more times do I have to say it?" "Please-" the boy reaches for your arm and his hand wraps around your wrist, but just as it does, a chill runs up that boys spine. Sakura appears, and looks ready to throw the boy into the nearest vendor's stall. His two-toned eyes are all fury and he growls, "She said no. Now beat it." The middle schooler rambles out an apology before turning on his heels and promptly diving back into the crowd, desperate to avoid Sakura's wrath. Sakura turns to you and gives you an unimpressed look. You meet it with a wide smile and say, "Thanks Haru!" Sakura's face burns and he shakes his head as if to try and dissipate the heat. He grabs the same wrist the guy had, but infinitely more gently. His thumb smooths over the skin and he gently leads you throughout the rest of the shopping trip, making sure to keep watch for any more creeps lingering about.

➜ suo hayato's honestly the most mature of the bunch, so i feel like you getting showered with attention wouldn't bother him that much ➜ at least that's what he'd like you to think ➜ honestly, i feel like suo would be a weird shield from all the comments directed at you. he would always hang out near you and try to distract you from the hoard of attention coming your way ➜ god forbid you pay attention to anyone other than him. he wants to be the apple of your eye, and he knows exactly how to do it ➜ if a guy is particularly persistent, suo will promptly take him to the side and as passive aggressively as he can ward that other person off ➜ see, he likes to pretend that he's all mature and stuff, and he definitely is in the show, but at the end of the day, he is a high school boy. he's got that immaturity in him too ➜ even if you lowkey eat it up . . .

"Suo?" you ask as he returns to your side. You'd been standing on a bridge and tossing some bread down to the fish in the water below when he walked up towards you. "What're you doing here? "I was just walking by and saw you, so I wanted to come over and say hi," he says, a soft smile gracing his features. "But you went to the bakery . . .?" you ask, but then Suo raises his hand and gently pats your head. In doing this, he also directs your gaze downwards by gently pushing on your head. Your eyes land on his hand, where he's holding a small bag with the bakery's logo on it. A baguette sticks out of the bag, and you can see the top of what looks like . . . strawberry cake?! "I wanted to feed the fish with you," he explains, " and they were having a sale on cake. Two slices for the price of one!You like strawberries, right? I got chocolate for myself." "Ahh!" You squeal and hug him, your eyes squeezing shut. He sets the cake down and hugs you back, his hands going to your waist "You're the best Suo, thank you so much!" He looks up just in time to see the poor soul wandering out of the bakery and sending him a withering look. He's holding his own bag, because you see, that kid initially wanted to pull what Suo's doing right now. The two of them had been in a race at the bakery, anxious to see who'd get checked out first and make it to you. By some stroke of luck, the other guy's cash register crashed, and Suo was first to leave. He'd made sure to flash the guy a . . . daring smile at the guy as he left, an invitation of sorts. Just try it, Suo said with his eyes. I dare you. But you don't need to know all that. Not while you're enjoying your cake!

➜ kiryu mitsuki has a bit of a playful personality, so i feel like he'd enjoy you teasing him back a little the most out of all the boys ➜ after all, he's canonically known as a ladies man, so you can't let yourself get drawn by some potential fuckboy! ➜ you've known kiryu since you were little, and occasionally would bring him some food for lunch. the first time it was a little scary since you were going into a place that had no girls, but everyone was super nice to you, so you got used to it by your third time going ➜ however kiryu knew a lot of the niceness was just because of how cute you are, and honestly you do too ➜ but it makes you happy seeing kiryu get riled up a little bit from all the attention you're receiving, especially since he's normally even keeled

"Ah! Y/N! Hey!" someone calls from behind you. Anzai and a few of his friends are walking with him. Anzai is waving at you and you slow to a stop in front of the classroom door. "Hi Anzai," you say sweetly, and you wave at his friends as they catch up to you. "Hi guys." "Wow! Is that another bento for Kiryu?" one of them asks, eyeing the small box in your hands. You nod. "It's just some sushi I got from a convenience store. I was super busy yesterday, I'm so sleepy~ I couldn't be bothered to cook anything at all!" "Wow Y/N, you're so hard working!" Anzai marvels, opening the door. You step inside, and all the attention falls on you. "You were so exhausted, but you still look so put together," his friends point out. "You're so cute!" "Thank you!" you say cheerily, running your hands through your hair. It falls perfectly back into place, courtesy of the amount of product you'd put in it to keep it healthy and strong. You shrug and sigh, "I try." "It's really paying off!" Anzai says with a bright smile. "Enough!" Kiryu calls from the other side of the class. Tsuguera and Nirei giggle at him, Sakura rolls his eyes. Suo just smiles at the pink-haired boy's attitude. "Y/N's here for me not you!" "A little possessive there, no?" Suo asks. Kiryu pouts and buries his face in his arms as he puts his head on his desk. "I'm hungryyyyy~" "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," you laugh. You wave Anzai and his friends bye before walking over to Kiryu and his friends. You set the bento down in front of him, and talk with his friends. Your smile grows a little as Kiryu links his pinky with yours.

➜ i think sugishita kyotaro is a little like sakura, but like, silent ➜ whereas sakura's more likely to verbally call the person out, sugishita will just loom ominously near you, and chase away anyone who wants to make a pass at you ➜ he's so doberman coded, it's honestly hilarious ➜ i think the one person he can stand that kinda behavior from though would be umemiya. he worships that man, so he'd just bite his tongue, and let umemiya just say whatever. ➜ he still gets mad though, so if he's a little more touchy later on, well, how can you blame him? ➜ after all, blushing, jealous sugishita is the cutest thing in the world!

You're sitting on the roof with Tsubaki, Umemiya, and Sugishita for a tiny tea party. Tsubaki and you organized it, and just brought your respective . . . people with you. "Hey, Y/N," Umemiya starts after eating a macaron, "did you do something different with your makeup?" "Yeah, I was gonna say something," Tsubaki says, pouring more tea in your cup. "I just tried a different blush," you explain. You touch your cheek, and quietly ask, "Does it look bad?" "No, no, no!" Umemiya hurriedly says, holding his hands up in defense. "It looks cute! It compliments you really well! Matches your eyes and stuff?" Sugishita sits up a little straighter at Umemiya's compliments and you laugh softly at his rigid posture. You look at Umemiya and ask, "Have you been getting into makeup lately, Umemiya?" The white-haired boy shakes his head and says, "Nah, I've just been spending too much time with this one." He rests his hand on Tsubaki's shoulder and smiles. "But seriously, you look gorgeous." "Thank you!" you say taking a sip of your tea. You look over and Sugishita out of the corner of your eye, and you freeze momentarily at the look on his face. His eyes are lidded and his face is flushed slightly. He nods and says, "He's right." It takes everything in Tsubaki and Umemiya not to combust right then and there. They feel like crying, as if they're proud parents. As the tea party continues, you and Sugishita link fingers under the table, and he scoots ever so slightly closer to you. Umemiya gives him a knowing look and smile, and Sugishita does everything he can to avoid his gaze for the rest of the party.

➜ think kaji ren's solution to all of this is to just put his headphones on you instead ➜ because in his mind, if you can't hear it, it never happens! but like . . . that's not true ➜ you refuse to keep his headphones on. first of all the two of you have different music tastes, and second of all, you like making him upset ➜ like everyone around him says, he's a cat! to a certain degree, messing with him is endearing ➜ so you don't actively encourage the flirtations you get, but you will lean into them just a little bit to get under his skin ➜ plus he's hot when he's protective

"Where are my headphones?" is the first thing he says to you when he sees you. "I gave them to Hiragi," you say, blinking at him innocently. "Why?"" A vein pops in his forehead and he snaps, "Why did you take them off." "My ears felt like they were bleeding," you whine. "You set the volume up so high!" "You could've lowered it!" "It's too much work!" "Y/N!" "Ren!" "What is wrong with you?!" "Why do you caaarreee-uh!" you protest cutely. Kaji stares down at you, his cheeks turning red. He stutters something incoherent, his voice raspy with frustration. You can't help but smirk as you stare up at him, knowing that now you've got him exactly where you need him to be. You cup his face in your hands and pull him closer to you. He freezes and his eyes go wide as you brush your cheeks with his thumb. "I'm playing," you giggle. "I know why, but seriously Ren, you don't need to worry. No one else is this fun to annoy." Kaji can't decide where or not her wants to kiss or kill you. His brain short circuits and he settles for something in between. His forehead falls against yours and he grumbles. "You're so stupid," he grumbles, a pout forming on his lips. "I know," you smile.

[gojoidyll]

to you, from us

iii. what my heart wants

gojo couldn't deny his heart. not with the way it thumps so loud every time he is near you. so he decides to avoid you. distance is a good thing, right?

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Gojo Satoru couldn’t believe it. Two months in and it finally hit him. The realization smacked him in the face hard when it all finally clicked.

The way his heart thumped loud when you were near. The way his back and hands felt all sweaty when he needed to or had to talk to you about something. Or when the way his words would get caught in his throat when you would look at him. He thought he was getting sick or that he was just coming down with something.

But none of that was the case.

Because he realized it one soft morning where there were no missions or tests, nor were there any training regimens either. He realized it when you softly brushed your fingers against his hair to get a stray blossom petal out from his soft strands. He realized it when you laughed and said he was too tall and that you were debating on getting a stool in order to reach his head, but were thankful that you’re tippy toes sufficed.

He realized that he was having a crush on you.

Him? Having a crush on someone? How god awful! And anyone forbid if his clan finds out about it. Sure, they typically stay out of his business, but the moment they hear he has even had the tiniest interest in someone? Marriage proposal. Right then and there.

So, he did the next best thing when the realization dawned on him. He avoided you like the plague. He sat far away from you in class, refused to stay near you during missions, didn’t eat lunch with you, and opted to create a class group chat without you in it.

He desperately hopes that with the new distance he was creating between you and him, that maybe (just maybe) the feelings he was gaining for you will dwindle out. (What he didn’t realize was that they would just get worse with each passing day…)

“Does he hate me or something,” you whispered to Geto one sunny afternoon, your lunch box sitting idly in your lap as you looked up at him.

Geto Suguru was not the Gojo Satoru whisperer, but he did at least know a little about the overpowered idiot and why he was acting that way. Anyone who wasn’t oblivious like how you were could see why Gojo was acting the way he was.

“He’s just being stupid, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

You frowned as you faced back forward and grabbed your juice box. You didn’t want the rift between you and Gojo to worsen. And you didn’t want him to hate you either.

Whatever you did to make him standoffish towards you, you were going to figure it out and fix it!

It should be simple, right?

[nottivagos]

notti's nightly thoughts (18+)

an: another one because i feel bad for not writing fics because of the heatwave in the uk has caused me to not being able to function 😭😭

'remember chéri, no touching yourself whilst i'm not here. you wouldn't want to face the consequences of being a bad boy, would you?'

charles was in torture. your words echoed through his mind, the image of you walking through the door after mumbling that into his ear, your breath hot as it fanned onto the shell, before you smiled, kissing him sweetly on the cheek, before looking over your sunglasses at him as you left for your business trip.

why would you do that to him! being without you was lonely enough, in the big house you both shared, but not being allowed to touch himself was even worse! charles huffed and whined as he tried to cope, he really did, begging for time to go on by but the images of you, naked, on top of him, muttering the dirtiest of things into his ear and your hands worked magic on his body haunted his dreams.

the dreams left him pathetic. small patches of damp forming on his boxers whenever he woke up in the morning, his length hard and throbbing underneath the fabric, just begging to be touched.

it's as if you just knew that he'd struggle all on his own like this, like a lost puppy without a bone. charles had barely survived the first week. he was at his limit, body yearning to be touched by you, his mind now circuited to shut off at your filthy voice in his ear.

so that's why he'd ended up in your large bedroom, rummaging through your laundry basket like some sick pervert, searching for something to get him off. something to make him feel the feeling he was craving whilst you were away, practically torturing him in itself. that's when he found a pair of your lacy panties, hidden away in the discarded, dishevelled and dirty washing.

lifting the underwear to his face, he inhaled your scent, his mind becoming fuzzy and body giddy even at the slightest sniff of your familiar smell. before crawling onto your large plush bed, he quickly discarded his sweatpants, throwing them to the side as he kept your panties in a death grip in his hand.

shuffling around on the freshly crisp linen sheets, he reached for a pillow, wedging it between his thighs as he sat himself on top of it. biting his lip, a sudden rush of regret and hesitation crossed his mind. should he really be disobeying you? you'd be back in a few days to relieve him anyways! but he was so desperate, his whole being craving you now more than ever.

charles’s mistake was starting to hump the pillow after he brought the panties back up to his nose. closing his eyes, his hips rolled against the plush, causing him to groan at the friction. a sudden rush of heat crawled up his spine as the anticipation turned into adrenaline which surged around his body.

he craved you badly. your panties only served as a drug to charles as his pre-cum soon caused a patch to form in his brand new boxers, ruining them like a messy puppy, but he just couldn't stop. he moaned loudly into the fabric, hips starting to jerk forward in a more erratic fashion as he chased his release whilst being immersed in his own little world of lust.

it's a shame that he didn't hear you coming through the door. a cancellation of meetings had left your little trip cut short, and you couldn't wait to see charles again. you trusted him on being a good boy, following your commands and not touching himself, because he always listened to you! but when you walked into your room to see him there, whining into your panties and he humped a pillow? my, my, was charles in for a fright.

"charles, what the hell do you think you're doing?" you asked darkly, eyes sharp and fixated on the now panting half naked man, as his wide green eyes and flushed cheeks were apparent due to his embarrassment and fear.

"a-amour!" charles exclaimed, dropping the panties onto the mattress as his cock strained in his underwear, not easily hidden by the pathetic way his tip was leaking, causing the fabric to be even wetter. "i-it's not what it looks like, mon ange! i just missed you so much!" he explained in a panicked frenzy, biting his bottom lip in shame as he pouted.

you scoffed, crossing your arms in disbelief. "not what it looks like, huh?" you questioned unamused. "seems to me like you couldn't follow one simple rule," you scoffed.

charles’s lip quivered as you walked closer to him, your steps cold and calculated as you crawled onto the bed. he gulped as his eyes glued to your's, completely frozen as you climbed on top of him nearly.

"you've been such a bad boy, charles," you whispered hotly against his face, words like thick tar as your thumb grazed over his burning apple of his cheek. "a disobedient puppy, in fact. i honestly thought you were better than this," you muttered, your spare hand coming to grasp at your panties.

"i-i'm sorry, chérie," charles whispered with a pathetic pout on his lips. "i got too excited. you need to understand that i needed you," he whimpered stupidly.

instead of responding to charles’s excuses, you slid yourself off of the bed, leaving charles frozen and still half hard, dazed. "get up, and come here," you commanded coldly, snapping your fingers to in front of you.

charles instantly responded, slipping off of the large mattress to you, standing in front of you like he was told to. "i can't believe i'm having to do this, charles. i thought you'd understood that not following my rules led to consequences, but here we are." you sighed, hands coming to wrap the panties around his mouth, creating a makeshift gag around his face as you tied it tightly around.

whimpering in protest, charles stood hopeless and powerless and you went over to your bedside table, before pulling out a collar tied to a metal chain. "if you're going to disobey me, you need to face the consequences, charles," you mumbled as you wrapped the leather around the man's neck, before tugging the collar so he was flush with your front.

"that's better. perfect for the disobedient mutt that you are," you added lowly with a wicked smile, tugging charles over to nearest post of your bed's bed frame, before forcing him onto his knees.

he whined in protest as you soon followed him to the floor, curling the chain around the metal, tying him to the post like you would to a dog. charles’s green eyes widened again as his breath caught in his throat, he squirmed, trying to tug on the collar, only causing him to choke in the process.

"i wouldn't try anything if i was you," you warned, lips hovering dangerously close to his temple, before kissing it tenderly despite the situation. "reflect on your mistakes tonight and maybe i'll untie you tomorrow," you said whilst standing up, causing the monegasque to look up at you with pathetically pleading puppy eyes.

"goodnight, puppy," you said with a devilish smile. "don't miss me too much," you added with a sadistic chuckle before leaving charles alone in your bedroom, chained to the bed like a misbehaving pet, exposed and left to reflect on his mistakes. <3

[imsogonesposts]

Take Me Away, To You

|| ao3 || Finnick masterlist || requests are open!! || an: based on the song "the very first night" by taylor swift ||

summary: When life in the Capitol gets to be too much, Finnick is there to help you through the hardships, and you with him. (wc: 1,959)

warnings: mentions of Finnick's forced prostitution, finnick gets a nightmare, i think thats it!!

You first met Finnick Odair at the annual Capitol party that was held to celebrate the newest addition to the Hunger Games victors. To celebrate you being the latest victor, winning the 68th Hunger Games at 16. 

Frankly, you would have rather been anywhere else than at the party celebrating you. Hiding under the covers in your bed trying to will the nightmares away sounded slightly more appealing than being in President Snow’s mansion for the party. After all, he was the reason you had these nightmares in the first place. Why you were forced into the arena, why you couldn’t close your eyes for too long without being transported back into that arena.

It was obvious to anyone looking hard enough that you weren’t enjoying yourself at the party. Not with your forced smiles or stiff posture. Except no one was looking hard enough- except for Finnick. 

“You don’t look like you’re having much fun,” he said as he walked towards you.

You could only shrug.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in god knows how long, so-“ you shrug again as Finnick lets out a small chuckle. 

“Fair point, sweetheart. I’d congratulate you, but this doesn’t exactly feel like the type of thing worth congratulating. Trust me, I’d know.“

You nod your head as you finally begin to recognize who you were talking to. 

“You’re Finnick Odair, aren’t you?” You asked with a small laugh. 

Finnick nodded his head in response, his smile faltering the slightest bit, barely noticeable to anyone not paying enough attention. But you were. “The one and only,” he smoothly replied.

“Does it get any easier?” You suddenly ask before pausing. “The nightmares, the memories, just…everything?”

You could see something in Finnick soften at your question. In his eyes, his posture, the way he looked at you. Almostlike he wished he could pick you up and go back to a time when you were never part of the Hunger Games. Never part of the cruel hand you’d been dealt. 

At the end of the day, you were both just kids, you didn’t deserve what you had been put through. And so, he told you the honest-to-god truth. 

“Some nights are easier than others,” he whispers solemnly, “but some nights are worse than others too. I mean, hell, my games were three years ago and I still wake up screaming sometimes.”

“So basically I’m traumatized for the rest of my life?” You ask, half jokingly, half serious. 

Finnick slowly nodded his head yes before picking up a napkin and writing something down on it, before handing it to you. 

“Here,” he said softly, “it’s my number. When you get set up at your place in the Victor’s Village, it should have a phone for you to use. That’s my number, so feel free to call me anytime you can’t deal with everything. I, uh, I’m not always home…the, uh, Capitol keeps me busy, but I promise you if I’m home, I’ll answer. Night or day, alright?”

You nod with a smile. “Thank you, Finnick, that’s very kind of you.”

Finnick could only smile back. A boyish smile that almost made your insides warm. “Us victors gotta look out for each other, right?” He asked, placing a hand on your arm, lightly squeezing it before releasing. “It was nice meeting you,” he says as he walks off. 

“You too!” You call out, holding the napkin close to your chest. 

***

You never realized just how many parties you would be forced to attend as a Hunger Games victor, even if you absolutely loathed them. 

However, there was always one person there who helped to make the parties the slightest bit more bearable. And that, was Finnick. 

True to his word, anytime you had called Finnick over the phone due to nightmares, PTSD, or just needing someone to talk to, he was there on the other line, talking to you until you felt better, calmer. And in turn, sometimes when the nights became too dark, too regretful, too fearful, Finnick would call you as well. 

Through your phone calls, you and Finnick became fast friends, and it was nice to have someone in your circle who knew exactly what you were going through. 

It was especially nice when that same someone promised to stick by your side during the overly-stuffy, overly-bright, overly-loud parties, so long as you wanted him to (you always did).

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Finnick whispered to you as he handed you your glass of champagne.

“Are we even allowed to leave?” You questioned as Finnick glanced around the room before taking your free hand in his. 

“All the other victors seemed to have left,” he whispered, leaning so close to you, that you could feel the ghost of his breath on your lip. He squeezed your hand, as if waiting for a response. 

“We won’t get in trouble, right?” You asked as Finnick shook his head no. 

“I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, sweetheart,” he responded, and something about the way he looked at you made you know he meant it, with everything inside of him. 

And so, you nodded your head yes. 

“Okay,” you whispered as he broke into a wide smile, gently pulling you behind him as he made his way to the exit. 

***

That very same night, you had stayed in Finnick’s hotel room to spend the night. Nothing had happened between the two of you, you had only talked until the both of you were too tired to say anything intelligible anymore before falling asleep. You on his hotel bed, and him, ever the gentleman, on the pullout sofa bed. 

That night, you had awoken to screaming. 

As you shot up in bed, fumbling to find the on switch for the bedside lamp, you saw Finnick’s shadow getting up and walking to the hotel room’s kitchen. When you finally got the light on, you were met with a slightly trembling Finnick attempting to pour himself a glass of water. 

“Here, let me,” you said, getting out of bed and walking to the kitchen to pour the water for him. 

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he whispered as he took the, now full, glass from you. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you stated truthfully, looking at him as he drank the water. 

His trembling had gone down slightly, but you could see the red rim around his eyes. It was obvious it had been a rough night for him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked as Finnick only shrugged. 

“Same shit that always happens,” he replied before setting the glass down in the sink. 

“Do you wanna sit, stand, lay down?”

“Sit,” he replied as you slowly put your hand in his, giving him just enough time to move away if he didn’t want to be touched right now. Instead, he only looped his fingers through yours, allowing you to walk him to the bed. 

As you and Finnick sat down, you heard him mumble “I’m sorry for waking you up,” as you began to cover him with the blanket. 

You shook your head no. 

“No, no, none of that. I’ve probably woken you up thousands of time, don’t worry about it.”

Finnick let out a small smile as he reached for your hand again, lightly squeezing it. There was a fluttering feeling in your stomach at his hold. 

“You wake me up too many times,” he joked, his eyes gleaming the slightest bit. 

You squeezed his hand back. 

“You practically asked for it. You said I could call you whenever I want,” you replied with a smile. 

“Yeah, and I regret it every night,” Finnick joked, a fuller, happier smile creasing his face as he raised his hand, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face, behind your ear. His fingers slightly grazing your face, sending small bolts of electricity down your body.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, dropping his hand as he lay down on the bed, facing the wall. 

“Can you even go back to sleep?” You asked as Finnick nodded his head yes. 

“If you’re comfortable with it,” Finnick started before taking a pause, “would you mind staying. Here? I think it’d help me sleep better. You can put a pillow between us if it’ll make you feel better.”

The way he asked the question almost sounded like he was scared. Scared to go back to sleep despite his earlier calm demeanor. Scared to face the horrors that plagued his dreams once again. Scared that he had made you uncomfortable. 

“Yeah,” you whispered as you moved to turn off the light. “Yeah, I can stay here.”

***

Truthfully, you never intended to fall in love with Finnick Odair. Sure, he was a (very) attractive guy, that much was obvious. But you never planned for what the two of you had to ever be more than a friendship. Until one day, you began having feelings for him that crossed the friendship line and had entered the romantic line. 

And luckily, he had had the same realization for you.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Finnick whispered to you as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

The two of you were on your way to another of the Capitol’s parties. This time to celebrate the winners of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. The “star-crossed lovers,” as the Capitol liked to call them. 

“And you look handsome,” you replied with a smile, moving to adjust the tie wrapped around his neck. 

He kissed your forehead as you attempted to fix his tie. “I love you,” he murmured against it as you smiled up at him, momentarily breaking your concentration to look up at him. 

“I love you too,” you replied with a smile before refocusing on fixing his tie.

Finnick places his hands on your hips with a sigh as he rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with nothing but love in his sea-green eyes. 

“I wish he could run away together,” he whispered to you. “Run away from the Snow’s stupid parties, from the Hunger Games every year, from our responsibilities. I wish we could have more moments like this. Moments to ourselves, moments just for us.”

His words almost stun you. You had always wished for the same things. For a quiet life with Finnick, one without phone calls when he was away, him asking if you knew just how much he missed you, one without the nightmares the two of you still occasionally had. One where you and Finnick could be just that. You and Finnick.

“Finnick,” you softly whisper as he shook his head no. 

“I know it’s stupid. To wish for something that we’ll never be able to do or have, but baby, I wish nothing more than for me to be able to give you a normal life one day. A happy one. Just us.”

It was as if Finnick had looked into your soul and said the very things you were too scared to ever voice aloud. 

“Maybe one day,” you whispered to him as you placed a hand on his arm, lightly squeezing it. “If they can let two people win the Hunger Games, then maybe one day, maybe soon, we could get a normal life to ourselves.”

Finnick wished he could pick you up and keep you safe in his arms as he took you away from the Capitol, from Snow, and from the Hunger Games. But for now, your words would have to suffice. 

“Soon,” Finnick whispered back as he moved to kiss you, his hands gently holding your face as he did. 

Soon couldn’t come fast enough. 

[strawberrysasuke]

Sasuke yelling at Naruto for supposedly upsetting the kids earlier when he got stabbed is really funny because that's just an excuse he's using to mask how badly Naruto getting hurt affected him.

In this scene, upon hearing that Sasuke's eye powers had been down for a while, Naruto immediately expressed concern, even stuttering slightly from how worried that info makes him, urging Sasuke take it easy.

In the next panel, the flames on Sasuke's shoulders are small, crackling quietly as he pinpoints the exact location and gauges the amount of chakra he'll need to get them all there. He's also in the midst of processing the feelings of concern Naruto conveys to him, and once it gets through, it instantly triggers him. The tiny flames grow to a roaring inferno behind him, coupled with that monstrous expression on Susano'o acts as a mirror showcasing the sheer gravity of Sasuke's anger. It's anger rooted in lingering worry, hurt, and guilt.

Naruto getting stabbed earlier clearly affected him so badly that he's still not over it. The lingering hurt is rendering him highly sensitive. In his perspective, Naruto's not playing fair here. The audacity to start grumbling at the sight of Sasuke merely over-exerting himself a little when earlier, Sasuke had to endure watching Naruto get hurt in a much worse way? He will not tolerate this LMAO

It's so funny that he uses the excuse 'don't upset the kids like that' to justify his outburst, and in the same panel we have a clear view of said kids, no hint of harboring any upset, instead busy being in awe of Susano'o.

In fact, even during that incident, said kids were either a) safe and completely unaware indoors, in Cho-Cho's case. Or b) initially distressed but soon got caught up in other upsetting occurences such as her dad also getting injured and her mom being kidnapped by the enemy, in Sarada's case.

The kidnapping that Sasuke could barely conjure up a meaningful reaction to, btw. He spends more time focusing on being shocked at the enemy's ability to use that jutsu than the fact that Sakura just fell victim to it. His tone is more aggravated when he's demanding why she showed up here than when she's in actual danger.

Yet when the strongest shinobi in the world suffers from a stab wound that he'll likely take seconds to heal from, Sasuke is in turmoil.

So Sasuke's claim of this stabbing incident allegedly weighing so heavily on the kids is quite faulty. Since you know who it did upset, severely? As evidenced by this look of pure, unadultered despair...

Upon finding out it was his katana that got marked too and he failed to realise, this tight-lipped look of guilt crosses Sasuke's face. Of course it wasn't really possible for him to notice such a thing and prevent it, but he still feels responsible. He holds himself to impossible standards when it comes to ensuring Naruto's safety.

I've seen another post point this out, too (thanks to op, i managed to find it! c: you can check it out here & here) - how the panel where the enemy's shurikens are shown to be targeting Sarada and we're lead to think Sasuke jumps in front of them for her sake, yet Naruto is also occupying a chunk of the frame right next to her.

Sasuke then blocks the incoming shurikens using his body as a shield. The only other incident of Sasuke's body 'moving on its own' like this is primarily associated with Naruto. During the Haku & Zabuza arc where we saw that his love for Naruto ran so deep that his body practically moved on its own to save him, even at the cost being his own life. To repeat this action at the heels of Sasuke agonising over failing to protect Naruto moments prior, it's clear what his primary motivaton here was.

Of course, Sasuke is someone who would protect his daughter and anyone about to become shuriken target practice, for that matter. But, it's the way he goes about it that gives it away. Using your body as a meat-shield is unbelievably reckless. Especially, considering the only other shinobi capable of dealing with this powerful, unpredictable enemy is momentarily incapacitated - Sasuke should be taking care not to injure himself. He could've, idk, done literally anything else to knock those shurikens away. He's a ninja with techniques like space-time ninjutsu at his disposal for goodness sake, yet he opts for the most reckless option. Witnessing Naruto get hurt completely eroded his rationality. Only Naruto is able to drive him to such means.

Hence why he's still so badly shaken up by it hours later to the point of blowing up at Naruto when reminded of it.

[hoiststowline]

_sunstreaker x reader

one | two | three

“I thought you were busy all week?” 

such a persistent caller left you heavily confused, mostly after glancing at the caller ID while attempting to carefully balance an armful of groceries. ungracefully, you pick up the call, knowing if you ignored it any longer you’d be dealing with rapidly dwindling patience and then some.

trying to muster a more lighthearted follow-up, you add: “Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, but you always somehow know to call at the worst time.” 

as if almost on cue, Sunstreaker scoffs on the other end, never one to be so easily troubled by your sarcasm. “What a greeting. Even worse, you say that all the time, y/n. It’s getting annoyingly old.” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Hello, Sunstreaker.” you present an amused laugh after it, displaying a jesting tone whilst backtracking. “May I ask why are you suddenly able to call when you spent an hour telling me not to this week?” 

upon reaching the door, you fumble around for your keys whilst propping your phone between your shoulder and ear. though you weren’t expecting an elaborate explanation, it was fair to question such an unexpected appearance. you always missed him when he was away, finding it was becoming increasingly difficult to watch him go, after being accustomed to each other’s company for so long. this time around, you actually had forewarning, knowing he was to be gone for an unknown timetable, so the blow was a little softer. 

not by much, but you planned to withhold such sentiments until his arrival back, if only to make it a little easier on yourself. 

“Don’t worry about it.” translates into something a little grander than his vague explanation, but you’d set that aside for the moment. any venture to try and pry it out of him, especially over the phone would lead nowhere, and only leave an agitated Sunstreaker in its wake. 

“Consider it not to be worried about.” you return, finally finding your key in your back pocket. “So, what’s up?”

“What are you doing?” without leaving room for a response, he adds on to his question rather quickly, ill at ease. “Right now.” 

“Trying to put my groceries away, one second.” once inside, your phone and keys land on the counter, then pivot to set the bags on the table. with both hands free, you switch the call to speakerphone to respond to his inquiry, delighted to possibly spend some time together. “Is there a reason, or just wondering?”

A grumble of frustration follows close behind your investigation, finally settling on: “Oh, what’s the term you use?”

curious, your head tilts to the side. not quite sure what he means given the zero context, you go to ask for more when he evidently remembers. 

“I’m on house arrest, and I’m bored.” 

your brow raises at the reasoning, unsure what to do with such delicate information. mostly because that’s seemingly all he’s going to provide, awaiting your reaction to his admission of wrongdoing. clearly, he had to have done something of offense, to be unable to leave the base and not allowed on the mission he had been originally tasked with. 

“Can I ask-” 

“No.” it's far too curt, scaring you somewhat that he knew what the next thing out of your mouth was. 

treading carefully, you try again. “Okay. I can try to be over soon.”

“Soon?” Sunstreaker complains, seemingly displeased with your proposed compromise.

in a sing-song voice, you gently toe the line of poking fun. “Take it or leave it.” 

“You’re so lucky that I can’t leave, or else I’d be outside already.” his agitation lingers moderately, even before your teasing, so clearly whatever or whoever put him on house arrest had done the deed of pissing him off. “Hurry up.” 

without intending to, you wore his restraint down to the very last ounce, hardly a hello as he asks what took you so long upon arriving. 

“You and consequences really don’t get along.” you hum, watching with vivid levity as he throws his hands up, either in exasperation or defeat. 

“Has anyone ever gotten along with consequences?” Sunstreaker seethes, looking over his shoulder your way. “I was going crazy here by myself, I wasn’t looking for a lecture from you either.” 

feeling a twinge of guilt, you hastily reply. “Sorry. I didn’t-” 

“I know.” and he means it, striving to come across as sincere.

trying to evade an approaching awkward silence, you try to change the subject swiftly. “You’re here by yourself? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“What do you mean?” he now turns in full, looking down to meet your gaze, confusion apparent.

“Every time I’ve been here, it’s been busy.” you hum, observing the empty command center. “Not that I’m here a lot. What, is this the third time?”

“Fourth.” he winces to himself, knowing he answered that far too quickly to appear casual. “And you’ve only just realized that? This ship is so small, it makes it feel so crowded all the time.” Sunstreaker deadpans, beginning down the hallway, a path you were only somewhat familiar with. 

“Is that why you like creeping around my house at four in the morning?”

Sunstreaker jolts, his shoulders jumping to his helm as he nearly stumbles in surprise. “You’re still on about that? I was telling the truth, you’re so annoying.”

“I just happened to put two and two together,” you hum, trying to fall in stride beside him but failing miserably. “I knew there was a reason you liked hanging around my place, I just had to figure it out.” 

though still entirely too inquisitive to the reason why Sunstreaker was put in whatever the cybertronian equivalent of time-out is, you were satiated in keeping him company. you could understand his frustration, whether or not the punishment was deserved, and it wasn’t very often that Sunstreaker asked something of you. 

he strong armed his way into a lot of things, finding himself in situations that he’d rather forget than try to reason and sift through. for someone who at first was disgruntled with your untimely friendship, Sunstreaker really did enjoy doing as much as a twenty-something foot tall mech could do for you. it was just as he had said earlier, he was going crazy here by himself. 

in a roundabout way, he was asking you to join his company after a survey of the situation, finding that he never had the place to himself and didn’t know what to do with such a circumstance. 

at first, it was mildly irksome to discover that he really never asked for what he truly wanted, coming to find that a lot of what he says has a double meaning. perhaps that’s why he always found himself in trouble, because others hadn’t taken the time to delve a little deeper into his mannerisms, taking everything at face value. maybe that’s why the both of you became fast friends, because you were willing to take a step back and analyze his words, not immediately vexed at his talking in circles. 

Sunstreaker hardly requested anything of you, so such a small plea could never be turned down. 

“Yeah, well, me and my big mouth.” 

in turn, you falter, stopping short to try and figure that one out. Sunstreaker doesn’t give you the time to do so, continuing forward towards his quarters and promptly leaving you behind. 

“What?” you press, scrambling after him. “Did you get in trouble the other night?” 

he laughs dryly, suddenly unable to look your way at all. “Trouble? No.” 

“You’re lying.” 

he freezes, promptly trying to assure himself it’s because he’s now in front of his berthroom door, but his subconscious reveals the truth to him without being cued.

“Says who?” he counters, punching in his code a little too aggressively. “You don’t know what goes on here.” 

“You’re right.” those words he doesn’t hear regularly, if at all. Sunstreaker can’t even recall the last time someone agreed with him, even if over something so trivial. 

“I don’t know what goes on here, but I do know when you’re lying. You always have that weird laugh when you do.” 

finally, he moves to meet your eyes. “Weird?” 

you shouldn’t be surprised that’s what he decided to take from your observation. 

the exterior door panel moves over in one fluid motion but neither of you make any move to enter, standing eerily still in the chilly hallway. 

“Please don’t- just, don’t get in any more trouble. Especially if it’s technically my fault.” 

“Your fault?” Sunstreaker snuffs, waving a servo dismissively. “No, it’s not. And who’s to say I wanted to go on that stupid mission anyways. Maybe this was my plan all along.” 

with a small smile, you effortlessly repay his teasing. “I don’t think so.”

“Whatever,” stepping to the side, he gestures you inside with a subpar and unenthusiastic motion. “I don’t have to convince you. It’s a miracle you even came when I asked.” 

“Why is that a miracle?” 

entering the room, you walk about halfway inside before turning around to face him, tilting your head backward. “I wanted to come.” 

following right behind you, Sunstreaker falters to reply, uncertain of what such a loaded statement could mean.slowly, he moves his helm toward you, peering down your way with a facade of confusion. “You did?”

you shrug, trying to fight the tightness that arrives in your chest upon catching the way he looks at you. “Of course I did. That’s what friends do.” 

right. friends.

[coldgoldlazarus]

I think one shortcoming of the Bohrok-Kal arc was how the Toa were handled. I don't actually object to the basic premise of "their recent victories, the subsequent post-Bohrok peace period, and their Nuva upgrade have given the Toa big heads and put them on a bit of a power trip, here's the Kal to slap them with some perspective again", it's a pretty reasonable direction for the arc.

Giving the Nuva powers only to take them away again is a bit of a silly choice, feels like there should have been something softball-ish as another arc first, to let them show off their new power and further contribute to the bigheadedness. But I can still excuse it for like, toy release story year structure reasons.

But I think what could have been better is the way the power trip exhibited - mainly in that it was pretty uniform for all of them. "I am all-powerful now, I am awesome, let's have a contest over it! Also I don't need you losers anymore, I can protect my Matoran and my Matoran alone, on my own. Go me!" There's lots of good to be said for the OOC Is Serious Business of even Gali going "eh, maybe Unity's run it's course and we can split up fine", sure, but all the same it does feel kinda... flat, for lack of a better word, coming from all of them.

I think it would be fun if that like, ego trip showed itself a bit differently for all of them, based on who they are as characters, you know? Bringing out their worse sides or even twisting their positive traits into something negative.

Onua becoming an overprotective mother hen, smothering the Onu-Matoran in his efforts to help out wherever and whenever possible, trying to find an outlet for his new strength while also failing to let his Matoran live their own lives. Not meaning to be condescending or downplay the Matoran's capabilities, but definitely coming off that way because his instinct to help is getting curdled into assuming he knows better.

Lewa, always the most free-spirited, becoming an absolute cryptid who nobody can find when they actually need or just want him around, but always shows up with badly-considered "pranks" on the Le-Matoran when least expected or convenient. The "pranks" being surprise tornadoes. (What do you mean you were in the middle of a delicate crafting project, wasn't it awesome and funny to be flung a half-mile in the air out of the blue?)

Pohatu's happy to just sit back and celebrate the assumption they've won for good; and in the meantime keeps trying to drag the Po-Matoran into very lopsided Kohlii games or other contests, misjudging his strength and accidentally thrashing them around or kicking them halfway across the desert, and then being confused when nobody wants to play with him anymore. :(

Meanwhile, Nuju finds himself in the surreal position of needing to tell someone to relax and not worry about the future so much, just live in the present for a bit. Kopaka's the only one who doesn't trust the peace at all, knowing Makuta's still out there and up to something - but getting so paranoid and workaholic that he's jumping at shadows, refusing to rest despite running himself ragged trying to get to the bottom of a nonexistent crisis, and then being in no condition to notice or respond properly when the Kal do finally arrive and show their hand. Obviously he knows better than everyone else, and obviously he's too powerful to need to worry about stupid things like 'self-care'.

Gali's finally content to leave the others to their own devices, but instead starts micromanaging and harassing the Ga-Matoran, making mountains out of molehills with minor arguments in her attempts to solve them. Generally being well-meaning but stressful to be around, especially when she starts resorting to intimidating shows of power to get the Matoran to listen to her.

And Tahu having the most straightforward power trip - ironically his usual issues with his temper are mostly in the background for a change, because he's feeling great! But lowkey having a whole "Worship me mortals!" moment and thinking he's so badass he's practically as good as Mata-Nui, better even because he's actually awake and can do badass things like the badass chad he is. And only Jaller's practiced people-management skills and politely firm refusal to put up with this nonsense, is standing in the way of Ta-Koro becoming festooned with an obnoxious amount of overly-top-heavy flexing statues of Omega Tahu commissioned from Po-Koro.

Meanwhile, I've talked previously about how I'd want the Kal to have more diverse personalities and be an early indicator at the hidden depths to the Bohrok, but also thinking it would be funny to also make them more like, demonstrably effective at good teamwork than the Toa are (with the Kaita-on-Kaita battle being a culmination of that) when they are in the same place, despite being split up most of the time. Similarly, picturing a scene of Nuhvok-Kal accidentally imparting genuinely good leadership advice to Tahu while berating him, after wiping out Tahu's attempted Tahnok-Swarm plan.

So there's both the thematic angle of power, popping the Toa's ballooning egos with the reminder there's bigger dangers out there, while also succumbing to that power fallacy themselves in the end; but also not just the usual "we have to work together" but a good wake-up-call via demonstration of what that should look like.

[ranneondeeznuts]

[ LOVE ME BACK 10X MORE... ]

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SYPNOSIS. Ivon has always been such a crier since birth. Even his parents thought so. So, even if he loves you so damn much, why does it seem like you love a weird guy like him even more? Gender-neutral! Reader! WARNINGS! Reader is much worse than him. Pathetic Yandere. Kidnapping and drugging. Stalking. Obsessive Behavior. Weird stuff by our yandere boi. Stockholm Syndrome. Mentions of Masturbation (From Ivon). Mentions of suicide. WC. 1.4k

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Ivon was a pathetic crybaby.

It got to the point even his own parents got sick of him.

So, it wasn't uncommon when people called him a crybaby. In fact, he was called it so much that he can't even recall the last time someone called him by his name properly. But it didn't matter. After all, at least he had some attention, even if it was negative as hell.

By now, you can probably conclude he was a huge loser who's mom and dad didn't love him enough.

Insult the mole under his mouth and he'll start sobbing.

Because when he was young, he quickly grew to realize how much crying bought everyone's attention. His parents were busy on work and chores? A cry will let them rush beside him. No one wants to be his friend? Just fake a sniffle and they'll comfort him.

But that quickly shot back at him.

Not only was it grabbing too much attention, he was just doing it too damn much, that it wasn't even impressive anymore. One can only wonder why he still does it.

In truth, it's just the only thing he's good at.

If he doesn't do it, no one will turn their heads for him anymore. So he'll do it. Good or bad.

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Imagine his surprise when you told him to man up.

He was being bullied again, so, of course, he cried. He got your attention, which was surprising since you never paid attention to anyone before, much less, someone that can be considered a stranger like him.

You didn't tell him to continue crying, to assure him everything's gonna be alright. No, you didn't.

"Stop crying. A pretty face like that shouldn't be wasting tears for those nobodies."

He swore he felt something snap. Before he knew it, he cried even more. Not for attention, not for the insults.

They felt more like happy tears. It was a genuine compliment.

"Hey, what did I just say?" He snapped back to reality when he heard you mutter to him in almost a threatening way. You were glaring at him, and he had to gulp back his saliva down his throat, "S-Sorry…"

He watched you walk away, admiring your figure. You actually told him to be brave. Well, correction, to 'man up' and stop crying, but close enough.

Soon enough, Ivon started following you. Well, following you was a kind enough to sugarcoat stalking.

He worshiped every pen, pencil, and eraser that you gave him during class. He wasn't really lacking any materials, rather, it was a poor excuse to talk to you, but can you blame him? He hasn't had this much comfort in years! It was the first time where someone actually told him to not cry and man up.

At first, it started small, like following you around campus and keeping all of your stuff in his closet. But, not long after, it escalated into following you home and stealing everything that came from you (that includes every strand of hair that leaves your body).

He loves you too much.

Doesn't matter if you make him cry.

He'll cry for you.

He won't cry for you.

Just love him.

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You've had your eye over Ivon since he first came to class. He was cute. Very, very cute.

You never really spoke to him since many people said he was just an annoying crybaby. Really? That was stupid, but you didn't want to look like a fool. But that didn't stop you from stalking his socials. You were always staring at him. Gradually, you memorized his schedule, his lunch, and printed out his photos to stick them into your wall to admire him.

You don't know why you liked him so much, but you didn't bother. He was quite pretty.

Until, one faithful encounter, you got to class pretty early and some weird jock was throwing crumbled paper at him, continuously saying things like crybaby or weirdo depressed kid. It was such a pitiful scene that you had to stop yourself from physically cringing.

So, you swooped by and became the hero, insulted the jock in his face to leave his ass alone. Once he did fuck off, you patted his back, "Hey. Look at me," you ordered and put your hands to his cheeks to forcefully let him face you (gently, of course).

When you finally saw his face properly, scrunched up in tears, you felt your heart skip a bit. He looked prettier. You wanted to lick the overflowing water escaping his eyelids. That's when you finally snapped out of it.

"Stop crying. A pretty face like that shouldn't be wasting tears for those nobodies."

You swore that in those eyes, you saw them lit up. His cheeks blushed a bit and in a blink of an eye, he cried even more. As much as your heart beat faster, you told him to stop even harsher anyway.

You felt quite bad. But, hey. Crying did make him a bit more uglier. The tears just made his beauty shine. A bit confusing but you'll get there.

However, you saw him almost everywhere after the encounter. And oh boy, you weren't complaining.

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Oh, your room smelled heavenly. It was exactly like you. Cozy, warm, and beautiful. He didn’t mind taking your underwear or two. You wouldn't either, since you had many more.

This lasted for over a week.

He would be home early, just to sneak into your house, sniff and bathe your scent while hugging your blankets. He sometimes had to clean up the mess he made after doing his business, looking at your pics while sniffing the very blanket that you use to sleep at night.

He can't let his beloved hate him. Oh no. He'll kill himself if they did.

While prancing around your room, hugging the cute pillow that had your scent, he bumped into your bookshelf and dundundun-

A fucking diary. Your Diary.

He never really bothered looking into your bookshelf since he didn't want to ruin the touch you had and its pages. But the goddamn urge to just take that diary with him and open it, just to know every little secret you had.

Slowly but surely, he took the diary and opened it. It was normal for a few pages, until…

"That Crybaby was cute."

Ivon swore he felt his saliva stuck onto his throat. It's gotta be him! Is it..? The more he read, his breathing and heartbeat increased. You loved him! He was right all along! It was normal, until the pages were filled more and more of him.

"My Ivon looked good today as always."

"I hated seeing him cry. But his tears made him prettier."

"I swear to god if someone made him cry more,"

"I love him. I love him."

"Ivon, Ivon, Ivon, Ivon-"

"It seems like I came home early too," He froze and stopped reading, hearing the familiar voice. He turned around and he swore he saw an someone better than an angel. It was you.

"You thought I haven't seen you, my love?" Your chuckle made his fucking dick twitch. "Always behind me. Always breaking in, stealing my undies," you approached him and Ivon gulped,

"Come here," You opened your arms to take him in a hug. He felt like the heaven's gates were opening. Without hesitation, he rushed to your embrace. He started crying again, "I-I'm so sorry… P-Please don't hate me..!" He spoke through pathetic sobs

You quietly shushed him, "Oh, baby. I'm not mad… Far from that," He felt his shoulders relax. You laid him in his bed and once again, you put your hands to his cheeks to let him look at you. And before he knew it, his lips were on yours.

It was the best kiss he had on his entire life.

It lasted for a couple more minutes until you pulled away, making him whine. "I've always loved you," you smiled. "I-I love you too…" he muttered and sighed in content.

But after all of this, you weren't gonna let him get away.

"Sorry for this, dear…" In a blink of an eye, you put a drugged handkerchief on his mouth and nose. His eyes widened in shock, but the drug took effect and he began to lose his senses. "Sleep well, dear…" was the last thing he heard from you.

You looked down at his unconscious body. It was unethical, yes. But now…

You're not letting him out of your sight.

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[raynewolferune]

It doesn't take long for Bruce to figure out that the homeless teen's meta power is simply an "off-putting aura". Unfortunately, being aware of that fact does nothing to combat the effect of the boy's powers. Bruce had tried. So had Dick and Tim and Jason and Cass. But none of them could power through the effects of the kid's powers long enough to approach and try to figure out a way to help him.

They really should have let Damian try sooner.

But even now, months and months after realizing the child was only off-putting, Bruce was barely holding himself back from swooping on to drag his youngest away from the unknown teen that Damian was speaking with.

He certainly hadn't been able to stop himself from looking into the child's potential criminal activities either.

Hours upon hours of pointless stalking and research with nothing to show for it. Bruce knew all of his children had been doing the same. The homeless teen seemed to be aware of their presence too.

That just made the paranoia worse.

They really should have let Damian try sooner.

Damian as Robin spoke with the boy in question in the park below under the watchful eyes of Batman and Nightwing. Robin had a soft smile on his lips as the teen gestured happily with a wide (eerie) grin. The youngest Bat had already handed over several food staples and supplies to the teen without issue. A feat none of the others had managed yet.

" - if there wasn't so much smog here you could really see it." The teen babbled happily, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet in excitement. Batman fought back the instinctive wave of disgust that welled up.

"I'll have to look the next time a mission takes me out of the city." Robin agreed, nodding. "Perhaps you could recommend some locations for an optimal experience?"

The boy clapped his hands together in excitement. Bruce wrestled back the sudden rage and violent impulses that sparked in him with a clenched jaw.

"Anywhere in the northern Midwest is pretty good," he said, eyes sparkling with happiness. "The more rural the better of course but really anywhere out there where the air is less polluted would be a good start."

"I'll take that under advisement." Damian nodded, eyes flicking towards Bruce's spot on the roof briefly before adopting a more solemn expression. "I regret to cut this short but it seems I am needed elsewhere."

The teen deflated slightly, shoulders slumping. "Oh, yeah, that makes sense. You're all probably really busy. Maybe I'll see you around though?" He asked hopefully.

Batman bit back an automatic growl at the suggestion. It's just a meta aura. He reminded himself. There isn't actually any reason to want to rip that thing apart. Child. That is a child not a thing.

"Yes," Damian agreed with a smile. "We shall meet again soon."

Ever since the portal accident, Danny has always seemed a bit… off, to other people. But even before that, he’d always been seen as a bit of a weird kid. The people of Amity Park were, even at the start, a bit used to it.

The people of Gotham, however, were not.

If anything, they were the opposite. Living in the ‘city of crime’ had built within them keen survival instincts. Instincts that went on full blast in the halfa’s vicinity.

Most simply avoided him. Homeless shelters turned him away. Jobs, even the less than legal ones, hesitated to hire him. Sometimes people would even call the cops if he stuck around in any one place for too long.

Not even the city’s mysterious vigilantes trusted him. He sometimes caught glimpses of their masked eyes following him from the shadows. Watching. Waiting for him to show his true colors.

Or maybe he was just hallucinating. He couldn’t be entirely sure. He didn’t dare transform and risk bringing down further suspicion on himself, nor could he ask anyone to corroborate for what he saw either. So instead, he just curled further in on himself. Surreptitiously using his powers to steal the bare necessities for himself and avoiding everyone.

Not even during the worst of the anti-ghost sentiment in Amity had Danny felt so alone.

[babydollshifter]

How I Manifested My SP After a Year of Struggle, Chaos & Misunderstanding the Law

(buckle up, this is a lil wild)

Let’s start with the fact that… I didn’t even know this guy. I had never spoken to him. Not once. I just randomly started crushing on him one day — and honestly?? It was so random that I wouldn’t be shocked if HE manifested me first. I was minding my business.

My friend used to know him, so I’d been hearing stories about him for like… two years? And I knew we went to the same school, but I’d never seen him until suddenly—BOOM. There he was. Real. Breathing. Cute. And I was like “ok wait why is my heart doing things??”

Naturally, I spiraled. I started stalking his TikTok reposts (don’t do that, it’s not cute) and realized we liked the same stuff. He seemed fun, lowkey goofy, just my type. So the crush got worse. But here’s where I messed up: my mindset? Absolute garbage.

I kept thinking, “He’s too shy. I’m not good enough. He’d never like me like that.” I was literally setting myself up to fail. I messaged him once — got nothing back. Because duh, I was already assuming he wasn’t gonna answer. I knew about the Law of Assumption, but I didn’t really understand it. I’d visualize him, then be like “but what if it never happens” five seconds later.

Every day I thought about him. Every day I got mad that it wasn’t working. I kept saying I was manifesting him but deep down I was still waiting for proof. Still doubting. Still lowkey begging the universe to show me something.

Took me a YEAR to realize the problem was me. I was saying “he’s mine” while still looking at the hallway like a heartbroken NPC every time he walked by. I had to change that.

So I did. I stopped looking for signs. Stopped stalking. Stopped overthinking. Every time he popped into my head, I was like “yep, he’s already mine, moving on.” And I finally started believing it. I worked on myself, built up my confidence, and didn’t even try to “manifest” him again.

And guess what? HE messaged ME. Outta nowhere. Apologized. Explained stuff. Total plot twist moment.

I wasn’t even shocked. I was like “well, finally.” Because once you actually believe you’ve got it, it has to show up. That’s how it works.

AND NOW??

We’re literally perfect. Like not even being dramatic — he treats me so well. He always checks in, sends me memes, compliments me out of nowhere, and actually listens when I talk (10/10 bare minimum KING behavior). He flirts with me like we’re in a teen movie and makes me feel like I’m the only girl on earth. He’s soft with me in private but funny and chill around others. AND he remembers the smallest things I say?? Ugh.

We joke around, go on little walks, sometimes just sit in silence and it's still perfect. It’s not forced. It’s not stressful. It just clicks.

The version of him I wanted? He’s literally that now. And honestly, I’m not even surprised — I became the version of me who had this. That’s the real secret.

So yeah. Don’t give up. Don’t spiral. Stop begging the hallway to make eye contact. Act like it’s already yours — and then it is.

Now go live your Wattpad story.

[acanthasdreams]

an eligible bachelor - charlie dalton  ₊˚⊹♡

Uploading bc it’s the first thing I’ve written that I actually finished. Thank you to the people that replied to me on the Dying Poets Society community board as well ! Also I dunno what the fanon idea of charlie is just yet (im new), I’m just going based off vibes, aura, and other (few) fanfics I’ve read.  Warning: May have used “smirked” like 1000 times. Pls be nice 2 me. xo, acantha

🐇 . *. ⋆·˚ ༘ *༄

Charlie Dalton was laying on his bed, smoking a cigarette while his stuck up roommate Richard Cameron wasn’t there. Cameron would occasionally participate, but when he was knee deep into playing the tradition, honor, discipline, excellence student bullcrap, Charlie knew wouldn’t hear the end of it for smoking in their shared dorm. 

He had decided to skip the usual Friday evening study with the boys. 

He’d studied enough, he thought. Meeks had already helped him memorize all the necessary Latin phrases anyways. They now seemed to be constantly repeating a loop in his head

Amo, Amas, Amat…Agricola, Agricoli…

All Charlie wanted to say was blah, blah, blah.

So he took the rest of his day to rest, smoke a cig, read a dirty mag….something to chill him out. And of course, he was waiting for you. 

His childhood friend, you were the only person he could actually rely on outside of school. As children of two good business partners, you’d both found friendship amongst the fancy business dinners his parents and yours would host. It was safe to say you’d known each other long enough for him to call you up whenever he had the urge to, which was as often as he could.

You lived nearby and attended Henley Hall so of course he’d find any reason to bother you, asking you to sneak into his school, calling you up, or hanging out on weekends. Now three weeks into the new school semester, he needed to see you in person to have someone on the outside of Hell-ton to talk to. You were busier this year, and he hadn’t seen you much since the summer in which you’d spent the majority of your time together. He was getting withdrawals.

But of course, you almost always put up with his antics. His ways of finding rebellion in conformity was the small taste of rebellion you needed in your otherwise mundane life.

So here you were, skipping through the Welton corridors trying your best not to get caught by a Professor- or worse Mr. Nolan himself. Your casual clothing, that was definitely not up to the Welton dress code for males, was covered with Charlie’s Welton coat. It wasn’t cold enough yet to wear, but it’d have to do with helping you blend in when there were still boys roaming the school, settling in to start the weekend after a long week of rigorous classes.

Finally walking past the recognizable row of doors that made up the dormitories, you take a chance to more swiftly enter a familiar door. You let out a sigh of relief over making it safely, you lean back against it looking at the boy in question, who simply smirked up at you.

“Look what the cat dragged in” He greets, a cigarette hanging from his lips like an old pirate would with a pipe.

You blow a raspberry, taking off and tossing his coat at the end of his bed. All the walking mixed with the adrenaline of sneaking into his school made you warm.

“The cat being you, Charlie Dalton…Though I’d say you remind me more of a puppy dog.” You greet back, getting comfortable in the room you’d been in many times. Tapping his leg with your fingers, he moves his legs for you to sit before laying them casually over your lap.

“A puppy dog?? Ouch…you wound me, darling.” He says, pretending to be hurt as he holds his hand to his heart. But his lips were curled in amusement, inciting a small laugh from you. You pat his leg again, seeming to be quite settled in.

“Okay, okay…so what was the emergency you were calling me about, huh? Cameron irking you again or what?” 

“He usually is. Latin class is too. But,” He lets out a sigh as he puts out the cigarette on the metal headboard of his bed,“Can’t a guy just wanna see a pretty gal?” 

He leans over to ruffle your hair and you respond with a soft giggle, smoothing your hair back down.

“You see me far too often, Charlie…” You almost blush a little at him calling you a pretty gal, almost. “You know, my mother is actually starting to worry about your influence on me.”

It seemed you’d unintentionally spent the majority of the summer hanging out with Charlie, sometimes just a little bit past curfew. It was something your mother was not exactly keen about since it was often just you and him alone. Not proper for a young lady, she’d said.

Now it’s Charlie’s time to blow a raspberry, it seemed to be something he picked up from you and your reactions to him.

“I am a perfectly good influence on you, missy. Maybe your mother should worry about your influence on me.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at you, a dramatically serious expression on his face. 

You both knew you had little influence on the free thinking, go-with-the-flow soul Charlie naturally was.

“Sure she should worry…who knows what I could put you on next. Today it’s cigarettes and pipes, tomorrow marijuana.” You act guilty, shaking your head slowly while holding back an amused smile.

“Do you actually know where to get marij-” 

“Charlie!” You playfully smack his arm and he laughs, raising his hands in defense. 

“Kidding, kidding…” Knowing him, you weren’t entirely sure how true that was.

“On a good note,” He starts, his cocky smirk coming back to his face. He seemed to even puff out his chest a little as he shares, “I know your father really likes me. He says nicer things to me than even my own father does to my face.”

I find yourself snickering as he seems to be extremely proud of his reputation with your dad. You had to admit, he was right. Much to your mother’s dismay, your father was constantly bringing him up at dinnertime, “how’s the Dalton boy”, “I heard this from his father”, “such a bright boy that Dalton”. You already heard from Charlie himself a lot, your years of friendship had him invading your life even when he wasn’t there. Your father loved him, and Charlie used it to the best of his advantage. It was really the only reason your father didn’t scold you for your summer shenanigans.

“I’ve heard, Charlie. Trust me” You chuckle to yourself just thinking about it, but you both knew exactly why. “I’m sure he thinks that the more he hypes you up to me, the more likely I’ll be to swoon for you.”  

Charlie lets out a chuckle with that, but anything relating to swooning had him back to his cocky act quite rapidly.

“Like I need him to hype me up, I know you swoon for me everyday darling. Who can resist all of this.” He puts his hands behind his head as he leans against his headboard, lifting a brow and smirking. 

The smirk was an ever present characteristic of him, since the moment he’d turned 15, he seemed to have mastered it. It amused you, probably his most charming characteristic.

“Oh, I’m swooning right now.” You roll your eyes before pretending to swoon, lifting a hand to fan yourself from his swoon-yness. That gets him laughing, the way you’d play along with him. He realized a long time ago that you didn’t realize how charming you were, but it was fine with him, only because that meant he got to appreciate how natural you were at it in secret. 

His laugh fades out, instead staring right at you. His smirk appears on his face yet again, an air smugness in it. 

“I guess your father’s plan worked after all then.”

The plan, both your father’s plans actually. They’d been scheming since they realized how close you’d gotten, which for fathers was actually not too long ago. Probably a year now.

“Ah, yes…turning you into an eligible bachelor in my eyes.” You snort amusedly, your eyes diverting from his own before the butterflies begin fluttering in your tummy.

It had become no secret to you and Charlie that your dad’s had been planning for a “union of families”, when you’d eavesdropped on them talking after a dinner party. They were good business partners, and longtime friends. With their children already being so akin to each other, it seemed the light bulb had gone on in their heads. 

But you knew Charlie. 

While he went along with what his father wanted, he only did it because he had to. Wellton, an ivy league future, business school. You knew that deep down, he wished to do something he wanted to do. Figure himself out, be a teen. Seize the day, as his new teacher had told him on the first day of his class. 

While you played around with the idea of being future Mrs. Dalton in your head, a thought formed from a crush that had been deeply stuffed away in your heart since you’d found out about your fathers plans. The inkling of anxiety over that plan told you that he secretly hated the idea of being pushed onto you. Maybe not because of yourself, but because it was yet another thing written into his future by his dad.

The last thing you wanted was to continue denying him a chance to write his future for himself, even if it meant pretending you weren’t on board with the expectation you’d both wed each other. Allowing it to continue being something you joked around about.

“Well, babe, I already am an eligible bachelor.” Giving his signature smirk, he puffs out his chest again and runs his hands through his hair dramatically, looking suave. 

This makes you laugh softly, but quickly your smile falters as you keep thinking about it. Charlie, being more perceptive than one would expect, notices this and nudges you softly on the shoulder.

“What? Am I that terrible of a possible husband?” He says jokingly, trying to keep up the playful atmosphere.

You chuckle lightly in response, trying not to ruin the mood. “No. You’re not…you’re a good friend, Charlie.” 

The atmosphere still seemed to change at your genuine compliment, Charlie’s own heart seemed to bloom, and he didn’t know what to do with that. He had never known what to do with it, pushing down his own feelings with the same idea that you didn’t want to be with him. 

Funny, since he was the one to flirt with you first, constantly trying to get your attention. He loved having your eyes on him, and only him.

He mustered a playfully toned comment.

“You make me blush.” He says, giving a much more authentic smile to you with a hand to his heart. Truly, it had skipped a beat. Knowing you saw him as a good friend was good, even if he wished it was more.

Silence seemed to fall between you, a comfortable one it seems as you lean your head back on the wall. Both of you seem to ponder it, the thing. But none of you knew what to say.

Finally, you’re the one that speaks up, “How would you feel if our dads plan worked?”

Another beat of silence.

“I know you don’t like doing what your father wants you to do, what he plans for you.”

Your eyes dart Charlie’s face, searching for an answer. He was looking at you pretty intensely, seeming to ponder the idea more deeply.

This is the first time you’ve seen Charlie seem so serious, and he was with reason. He knew what you meant to say, and it’s something he had thought about since the summer you two had shared ended.

Would he mind if you had fallen for each other, outside of your fathers pressure? 

Charlie grabbed the pack of cigarettes laying beside him and opened it, and placed one in his mouth. Though he didn’t light it up, it was more of a comfort thing. He was never one to be so serious, and this was both your feelings you were talking about. The last thing he wanted to do was say the wrong thing. 

And honestly, he adored you. More than he could ever say. Why else would he want your presence so constantly?

He hummed for a moment before speaking.

“I don’t like doing what my dad wants…” He admitted, his voice seeming quieter than usual as he takes the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. “But honestly…this is the first time I feel like I wouldn’t mind. Honestly, it’d be more of a personal decision”

His smirk returns, this was his way of seizing the day. He didn’t want to waste time going around the topic any longer when he knew deep down that you were the only girl he’d ever thought about, as flirty as he was generally. His gaze returned to you, And he was happy he did, because his answer had made your cheeks turn pink. You seemed almost flabbergasted by his answer. 

He’d willingly be with you.

“You wouldn’t mind?” You seem almost confused, but he seemed all too casual about it now that he’d seen how adorable you looked at his honest answer. 

He was choosing honesty today.

“I wouldn’t…I’m eligible, your father likes me, you’re a pretty girl.” He lists off, seeming sure of himself. He adjusts himself, removing his legs from your lap to scooch closer to you. His hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and your heart seems to flutter out of your chest. His heart did as well, but he was much too suave to let it show. 

“Seems like a winning hand to me.” 

It seemed…like his actions left you speechless. You were able to speak eventually, cracking a small smile.

“Seems like the winning hand was our father’s, in the end.” You say in a jokingly sardonic way, chuckling softly. 

“And the losing hand of your mothers.” He snorts right back. “Point is, I win in some way or another.”

He couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t when it seemed like the perfect moment. 

Damn it Charlie, just do it, he thought before leaning in to steal a soft kiss from you. He’d always wondered if the gloss you wore was flavored. It smelled of cherries, and as he learned- it tasted like it, too.  The kiss was surprisingly tender, his hand still on your cheek. You eventually collect yourself enough to kiss back, your heart soaring. It was too early for a full blown make-out session though, so you both pulled away after a few moments. 

Dalton felt way too smug with himself about it, very proud of his ability to be assertive for once, after almost two years of crushing on you. You, on the other hand, could only give him a shy smile and looked away.

“I did not know this was how this evening would go…” You admit meekly, unable to meet his eyes after the kiss you shared. 

“That we’d seal the deal of you becoming Mrs. Dalton? Honestly, me neither, but…” He shrugged, his hand going to your chin to force you to look at him, “Carpe diem.” 

He leaned in again, but this time almost full blown tackled you into yet another kiss. Albeit, it was much more passionate than the first time. You couldn’t help but get lost in it, wrapping your arms over his shoulders, letting his hands into your hair to hold you in place. 

You’d have to find a way to thank Mr. Keating for this moment of carpe diem sometime, but you didn’t have a chance to process the pondering on that at the moment.

It was the most magnificent moment.

“Dalton- everyone is asking why you- oh!”

Pulling away with eyes wide and cheeks red, you look to the doorway to see someone who was equally as red-faced as his hair.

“Damn it, Cameron!” Charlie tossed his pillow at him, standing up to push his back out of the door, “We’re having a moment in here, please!”

He closes the door behind him, looking back at you, you were still in complete shock over being caught. 

“I think that’s my queue to head home, Charlie.” You say sheepishly, chuckling in embarrassment as you get up and begin putting his coat back on. The sun could be seen as it was beginning to set outside the small dorm window anyways. 

Charlie’s little heart almost stopped beating, he wished to spend more time with you after this new development of your relationship. And his want was a lot, with how clingy he already was. But you were right, Cameron had ruined the mood enough. He mentally cursed Cameron even more.

“Fine.” He let out an exasperated sigh, but then quickly put on a satisfied smirk on his face, grabbing you by your sides, “But we’ll finish this another time, future wife.” 

That made you laugh, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek. You’d done it once or twice before, and after the kisses of today, they still felt extra special. 

“I’ll see you later, Charlie.” Putting the hood of the coat on, you slipped out of his room ready to sneak your way back out of Wellton...the things you did for this boy. 

Charlie was sure you’d taken his heart with you… and for once, he was happy his dad had already pre-approved of you as part of his future. He’ll take business school if it means he’ll get to take care of you comfortably.

🐇 . *. ⋆·˚ ༘ *༄ 

“I went in- and they were all over eachother- and…!”

Charlie Dalton was determined to strangle his roommate as he walked into the dormitory lounge. 

“Cameron.” He said through grit teeth as he walked up to the group. Apparently, Cameron was already spilling about what he’d seen in their dorm to the rest of their friends. Way to keep his business private.

Everyone was already teasing him about it, making smoochy noises, and holding him back from an expulsion waiting to happen. 

“Oh shut up Knox, like you don’t want to make-out with that Chris girl.” The boys all laughed at this, Knox seemed to shut up real quick though (it was true).

“So, what did happen with her Charlie?” Asked Neil, who patted him on the shoulder in a proud manner. He of all people had seen the development of this crush over the years.

“Heh…” Charlie couldn’t help the smugness to come back, the feeling of her lips still lingered on his and it made him feel like a real man.

“What can I say boys…I siezed the day.”

The boys gave him sounds of cheer and pats on the back, impressed by him taking Mr. Keating’s message so deeply into his heart. 

“Are we still studying trig-?”

“-You don’t get it, do you Cameron?” Charlie rolled his eyes.

“...What?”