#and even when she warns them about danger

[fushitoru]

chapter 6: the house party a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you are bedridden, recovering from your wound, when gojo delivers season-changing news. the house party that follows buzzes with tension, and an unexpected arrival that sends ripples through the ton (7.4k)

a/n thank you as always to the pooks @/sinn-clair for beta reading this <333 i'll see you after the chapter is over!

prev. the fall | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Gentle Reader,

One query occupies this Author's mind, be it ladies or mamas alike—what exactly are Miss Itadori and Lord Gojo up to in the countryside? Perhaps a trifling dalliance of hearts, or will the ton bear witness to a scandal uncovered when they arrive for the house party? After having arrived a week early—and positioned as the diamond of the season—one must guess that if all goes well and Miss Itadori plays her cards right, she will be showing off her new surely lavish diamond engagement ring. Yet, she must take great care, for to err in this delicate matter would be to jeopardize a most significant match with Lord Gojo. Only time shall tell the outcome of this intrigue.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Upon waking, the physician informed you that you had been unconscious for some days. Though no immediate danger threatened you, it had been long enough to send both families into a state of great disquiet. It seemed that even before you’d regained full awareness, a servant—who had gasped upon hearing your feeble request for water—had swiftly spread the news, for not a moment later Yuji burst into the room.

“SISTER!” he exclaims, hurtling his way towards you with heavy steps. You flinch in your position on the bed at the sound of his loud voice. “You are awake! Mama seemed like she would faint, Choso had almost popped a bloody vein, he looked like he was about to challenge Lord Gojo to a duel—”

“Yuji! My dear,” you had to shout, interrupting the boy’s ramblings, giving him an uneasy smile. “Lower your volume, please. I might faint back into unconsciousness due to the strain, and this time you will be the one dueling Choso.”

The pout Yuji adopts is akin to a chastened hound as he grabs a chair to sit next to you. You take this moment to surveil your surroundings, now with a clear headedness granted to you that hadn’t been granted before. There were fresh flowers adorning a vase on the table on your bedside, and you seemed to be wearing a shift, cleaned and changed out of your dirty and mud-ridden dress. There was a gauze surrounding your head, and you could feel some similar cloth on your ankle.

You turned to your brother. “Now then, what were you saying?”

He perks up. “Well, you’ve been in quite a state, dear sister! It’s not every day you’re injured before breaking fast. Choso practically spat his tea when he heard! And, of course, Duchess Gojo has been endlessly apologetic. Between Mama, Choso, and me, we’ve all been in quite a state. I daresay you’re hardly known for clumsiness—although you do have your moments on horseback.” At the memories seemingly pooling themselves in his mind, Yuji sniggers while you shoot him a look to not be testy. “And Gojo has been nothing short of attentive. No doubt the man’s come in to change your flowers more than the doctor’s visited you. He’s so caring, he even cares for a worm like you!” 

You ignore Yuji’s jab, instead forcing yourself not to be gripped by the fact that Gojo had been so…attentive to you. Of course, it was as an indirect result of his sheer vexing nature that you were bedridden in such a manner, so it should not set your heart aflutter like a foolish girl. But your traitorous heart seems to hate listening to reason. 

You begin to nod slowly. “And how many days have I been out? When is the house party?” Taking a gander at the windows in the room you were situated in, you could see the moon and star’s light filtering the curtains. You weren’t sure if it was the evening or night or completely early in the morning.

He looks up to the ceiling, as if calculating something, brows furrowed. “Today.”

Groaning, you put your head in your hands, playing with your hair as it falls through the gaps of your fingers. “Mother is going to kill me.”

“Oh, indeed,” Yuji replied with a hum, stretching his arms in a cat-like yawn. “Now, I must get back to my rest. The servants were gossiping near my door, so I thought I’d see for myself that you weren’t dead.” He kissed you on the cheek before heading to the door. “Sleep, sister, for I expect Mama will tire you endlessly come morning.”

Later, a gentle nudge at your arm and a few soft “Miss! Wake up!”’s roused you from sleep. You opened your eyes to find a maid hunched over you, relief clear in her expression as you met her gaze with a drowsy squint. “Miss, Lord Gojo requests your presence. May I allow him in?”

With a nod, you fought off your annoyance at having been disturbed. The maid, visibly flustered, hurried to admit Gojo, who soon approached with quiet footsteps. As you propped yourself up, arms crossed, you gave him a mildly reproachful look. “Gojo, you’ve roused me from my slumber. I trust this is a matter of utmost importance—-” you began, then trailed off as you took in his expression.

He was taut, as though his very sinews were wound tight. Standing rigidly, his jaw clenched, his gaze flitted everywhere but to you. Troubled, you tried, “Gojo?”

At the sound of his name, he looked sharply at you and seemed to gather himself. “Ah… forgive me.” He took a seat and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, artificial. “How is your recovery?” You eye him suspiciously. His leg is moving up and down anxiously, the action minute in a way that makes you think he’s not aware of doing it. The tight and strained smile on his face seems uncanny, his concern seeming out of place. “Well, as much as it can be for me bleeding out pints and pints of blood from my head,” at that, you note that he subtly flinches, “but all is well!” You spread out your arms and give him a dazzling smile, and his eyes follow. “I’m sure my mama and my maid are itching to rush in here to prepare me for the house party.” Giving him a playful glare, you continue, “And just for the pain you caused me, you ought to have two dances and a few pastries prepared tonight.”

At that, he looks at you for a quick glance before quickly turning away, seemingly collecting himself. In what you could observe in his previous expression, you were surprised to see yearning present in his blue eyes, filled with feelings that perplexed you. Gojo was acting very odd.

Then, he drew in a measured breath, his jaw clenched as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. He finally looked at you, a shadowed intensity in his gaze that made your heart beat faster—not in the way it used to when his eyes sparked with wit, but with a sense of foreboding.

"Miss Itadori," he began, his voice lower, lacking the familiar, teasing cadence. "I must apologize for the trouble I have brought upon you. I was… heedless, perhaps even reckless, and it seems I have caused you nothing but suffering."

You frowned, confusion beginning to bubble beneath the surface as he paused, clearly struggling to continue. He seemed almost pitiable, looking down at his hands, which were tightly woven together, his knuckles pale. But pity was not a feeling you had patience for. Not now. Not with Gojo of all people.

"Trouble?" you repeated, folding your arms. "I do believe that's an understatement, my lord. A mere misstep, surely?"

His eyes flicked back to yours, the corner of his mouth tugging in a grim semblance of a smile. "Understatement or not, it remains the truth," he replied, his voice nearly a murmur. "I cannot in good conscience continue this… attachment we have formed. The position of courtship our mamas have placed us in. For I fear it is you who stands to lose most dearly if I remain by your side."

You stiffened, his words crashing over you like a cold wave. "Attachment?" you said, bitterness coloring the word. "Do not dress it up with such kind words, Lord Gojo. An attachment is something formed with care, with respect—qualities you seem to find inconvenient."

He winced but did not break eye contact. "I will not argue with you," he said softly, voice steady in its regret. "Perhaps I am no master of attachments, nor have I ever claimed to be. But know that I had never wished to see you harmed—"

"Harmed?" you interrupted, your voice growing louder as anger swelled within you. "Is this some twisted apology, then? A show of remorse for the inconvenience of your whims?"

Gojo opened his mouth to respond, but you did not allow him the chance.

"How very noble of you, Lord Gojo," you continued, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all this time, to simply say, 'Forgive me; I shall now remove myself from your life,' as if that makes up for the chaos you’ve brought upon me? As if I am but a pawn to be moved at your discretion?"

His face softened slightly, as if he were seeing something in you he hadn't fully expected—a quiet resolve beneath your anger, a dignity that refused to be bruised. "No, Miss Itadori," he said quietly. "I do not wish to see you as a pawn. After all, from what I understand is that you do not know what you desire—and I would only be exploiting that. I only… I only wish to relieve you of the burdens I seem to bring."

You laughed, the sound bitter and laced with fury. "Know what I want? As if you do, dropping pretenses with commoners and putting on your mask for the ton. And relieve me? I don’t think you understand what it is you’ve done, Gojo."

This conversation was dangerous. The emotions you hid under the air of nonchalance were steadily bubbling up, and it seemed that now, your sentiments were threatening to boil over at the sheer audacity of Gojo breaking off this arrangement, of what the ton would think today if he were to be avoiding you like the plague.

He flinched at the sound of his name on your lips, spoken with such venom. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he made no move to respond, simply watched as you gathered your thoughts, your gaze piercing.

"All this time," you said, each word sharper than the last, "I was led to believe there was something more to your attentions. And now, you simply wash your hands of it? You think yourself a gentleman for doing so?"

"Miss Itadori," he said, his voice strained. "I am—"

"You are a coward," you spat, and his eyes widened, the faintest hint of pain flashing in their depths. "Yes, that’s right. A coward, for trying to protect yourself under the guise of protecting me. All this talk of 'relieving me'—do not act as if your decision was made out of kindness." (a/n: OH NO SHE DIDNTTTTT)

"Do you not understand?" he interjected, a sudden fierceness in his voice, his composure beginning to slip. "This is not some petty whim, nor a game. My intentions… they were never meant to bring you harm, but they did. And I cannot bear to see it continue."

"Bear to see it continue?" you repeated incredulously. "Do you think I am some doll, some trifle to discard at your convenience?"

"That was never my intent!" he exclaimed, voice rising in frustration. "If you would but see reason—"

"Reason? From you?" you laughed bitterly, barely able to contain the fury welling up inside you. "Your idea of reason is nothing more than self-preservation, Lord Gojo. How convenient it must be to absolve yourself of guilt by deciding I am better off without you."

He fell silent, the anger in his face ebbing, replaced by a kind of desperation. "You do not understand," he said, quieter, almost pleading. "If I were to stay… if I were to court you in earnest, it would not be the life you think it to be."

"Then let that be my choice to make," you shot back, crossing your arms. "But no—this is not about my well-being, not truly. It is about you, Gojo. It has always been about you."

A tense silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft, uneven breaths that escaped both of you. For a moment, neither dared to speak, both caught in the tangled emotions that hung thick in the air.

Finally, Gojo looked down, his eyes shuttered, his voice weary. "Then hate me, if you must. But I am done with this charade."

"Hate you?" you repeated, the word tasting strange on your tongue. "No, Lord Gojo. Hatred would imply I care enough to feel anything toward you."

Your entire body seethed with fury, every muscle trembling with the strain of keeping yourself upright, sitting on your bed. You couldn't storm out—not with your wounded leg refusing to bear even a fraction of the anger swelling within you. Instead, you pushed yourself up on shaking arms, glaring at him with such venom that he instinctively stepped back.

"Get out," you spat, the words laced with ice, your voice rising as if to fill the entire room. "Out! Now, Gojo—leave me this instant!"

He froze, his shoulders tense as he looked at you with something unreadable, but he made no move toward the door.

"I said leave!" you shrieked—your voice shrill—the strain of it making you nearly lose balance, but you didn't care. Hot tears stung your eyes, and you bit them back, forcing yourself to breathe through the betrayal clawing at your chest. "Take your false apologies, your noble pretensions, and get out of my sight. Go, and never, ever darken my door again."

His mouth opened, as if he might say something—perhaps even something that might soothe the jagged edges of your heart. But your furious gaze dared him to try.

With a pained expression, he finally gave a nod, stepping back toward the door. He lingered for a moment, one last helpless look crossing his face before he turned away, leaving without another word.

The door clicked shut, and you were left alone, shaking with fury, your breath ragged. Your eyes were still on that door, your heart racing, as though expecting him to come back, to take it all back, to be the man you'd witnessed yesterday. But deep down, you knew he would not return.

The first glimmers of morning filtered through the heavy drapes as you stirred awake, still dazed from the events that had left you bedridden. The memories of Gojo’s departure settled heavily on your chest, like a stone dropped in a lake, rippling outward and disturbing any possibility of calm. Your mind drifted over the previous night’s argument, replaying words, and then, with a cringe, the heated moments where you felt every last ounce of self-restraint slip from your grasp.

A small part of you reasoned that you may have been rash—that your anger and hurt had overtaken good sense. After all, it was you who deemed your and Gojo’s match impossible. So why were you so hurt?

Before you could linger on these thoughts, there was a soft knock at your door. 

"Come in," you murmured, propping yourself up gingerly.

What followed soft footsteps was Choso, his gaze warm and steady as he entered, carrying the ease of familiarity that only he could. As he approached, he pulled a chair beside your bed and gave a faint smile.

Choso stepped in quietly, his face softened by a rare smile as he approached. “Awake at last,” he said gently, taking a seat beside you with the care one might afford a delicate flower. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep through the entire house party."

He reached out, his hand resting on the crown of your head, fingers slipping through your hair in a soothing rhythm. The fondness in his touch eased the last of the stiffness in your frame, a balm against the soreness both physical and emotional.

“You worry too much,” you muttered, allowing yourself to lean into the comfort he offered, your voice softening as his hand continued to gently scratch at your scalp.

“You look better today,” he said softly, continuing his familiar, soothing rhythm with his fingers. “Though, I’ll admit, you gave us all quite a scare.”

You managed a small smile, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly under his touch. “I suppose I was overdue for a bit of excitement,” you murmured, though the attempt at levity felt thin, even to your own ears.

Choso’s hand stilled momentarily, and his gaze grew searching as he looked at you. “What truly happened yesterday?” he asked, his voice low with concern. “There’s more here than an unfortunate fall, isn’t there?”

You stiffened slightly, glancing away from him. “It was nothing,” you replied, willing your tone to sound convincing. “Just… an ill-timed accident. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

But Choso was not so easily deterred. He watched you closely, his brow furrowing with worry. “You’ve always been a poor liar, sister,” he murmured. “If something happened, you know you can tell me. I only want to understand.”

The quiet earnestness in his tone gnawed at you, and for a moment, you considered confiding in him. But the idea of revisiting last night’s turmoil felt too raw, too immediate. “I’m fine, truly,” you insisted, meeting his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster. “It was… nothing that can’t be mended with rest.”

Choso’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers resuming their gentle tracing along your scalp as if that alone could soothe whatever burden you were carrying. “Well,” he finally said, his tone filled with fond exasperation, “I won’t press you. But I trust you’ll speak of it when you feel you are ready.”

You gave a slight nod, grateful for his restraint. The quiet between you was comforting, grounding, as he continued his rhythmic motions, easing your thoughts in a way that words could not.

After a long moment, he broke the silence again, his tone lighter this time. “On a more cheerful note,” he began, a faint smile playing on his lips, “you’ll have another visitor tomorrow.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though a part of you already guessed who he meant.

“Yes,” he confirmed, a knowing glint in his eye. “Sukuna received word of your injury and set off at once. He’ll be here by morning.”

You let out a small breath, a mixture of relief and trepidation filling you. “Tomorrow, then,” you repeated, feeling a hint of warmth at the thought. “It seems my brothers cannot resist making a fuss.”

Choso chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s what we’re here for. And perhaps Sukuna’s presence will help you feel a bit more at ease during the house party. He’ll see to it that no one bothers you unduly.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the thought of Sukuna’s reassuring, if overbearing, presence lifting your spirits slightly. “Well, at least there’s that to look forward to,” you murmured, and, with a soft sigh, leaned back against your pillows, letting Choso’s calming presence ease the lingering shadows of last night’s ordeal, even if temporary.

For you had a beast of a social gathering to deal with today, the same one where the ton would descend upon the outcome of your match, ready to laugh at you: the house party.

“He what?” 

You flinched, scowling as you clutched your ears. Nobara’s shrill voice was not helping your recovery, nor were her rough combs through your hair; but alas, beauty has a price, and it’s one you’re reluctantly willing to pay. You oh-so terribly wanted to politely decline the formal invitation, but it seemed that the moment you woke, your mother was dead set on getting you ready for what she thought was your engagement party. Little did she know that her not so future in law had gotten rid of you as if you were a stray animal latched onto him, but who were you to burst her bubble?

Perhaps you ought to dread the inevitable fallout from your mother when the truth emerged, but you consoled yourself with the thought of drowning your sorrows in champagne tonight, delaying her wrath for at least a little while. Besides, the prospect of Sukuna’s impending arrival tomorrow brought you some comfort; his unruly nature often served as a distraction from your own troubles.

You sighed heavily, meeting Nobara’s furious gaze in the mirror. “He merely said he wished to absolve me of any trouble he had caused.”

“Good riddance!” Nobara shrieked, her hand furiously waving around the hair brush in a way that made you wary, for it would not be pleasant for it to make contact with your already tender head.  “He was never the one for you to pursue, for he lacks the honor of a true gentleman! And yet—oh, heavens!” She gestured at you accusingly with the brush, her tone turning sharp. “Why, pray, do you appear so disheartened?”

You open your mouth immediately, indignant and expecting your wit, your usual ally, to conjure a response for you, only to be left open-mouthed when it came up short. Nobara seemed to sense your hesitance, opening her mouth to unleash yet another accusatory and reprimanding remark, but you quickly moved to fill your silence. “I suppose I am just…offended that he dare reject me, the diamond. The ton will seize upon this dissolution with glee. They shall revel in my supposed failure, for it will be indicative of my failure to the Queen.”

Nobara arched a brow, her skeptical silence speaking volumes. She clearly wasn’t convinced, and before she could level another charge against you, a knock sounded at the door.

“Sister, are you decent?”

“Enter, Choso,” you called out, hastily adjusting the neckline of your pale pink gown and straightening the strand of pearls around your neck.

Nobara opened the door, though she made no attempt to soften her posture. The hairbrush remained firmly in her grasp, poised like a weapon, and Choso cast it a wary glance as he stepped inside. His presence brought a sense of calm, even as his expression betrayed some inner turmoil. He hesitated for a moment before moving to sit at the edge of your vanity, his gaze flickering between you and Nobara.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious of his silence. “Well, brother? Out with it,” you urged, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness.

He sighed, clearly reluctant. “Very well,” he began. “Pray, hear me out. You know I have never hidden my disapproval of Lord Gojo.” At the sound of that name, you flinched, though you quickly masked it with a curt nod. Choso continued nonetheless, his tone steady but earnest. “In light of recent events, I have taken it upon myself to form…a contingency plan of sorts.”

Your curiosity was piqued, though Nobara snapped at you to sit still as she continued combing through your hair. “Go on,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Choso leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as though to ensure Nobara wouldn’t interrupt. “I have had the pleasure of conversing at length with Duke Nanami.”

You arched a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “The Duke Nanami?”

“Yes,” Choso confirmed. “He is an esteemed gentleman of considerable character, and, as fortune would have it, he is not currently pursuing anyone this season.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Choso’s intent was clear, and the weight of his proposition settled over you like an unexpected storm. Nobara, meanwhile, had stilled entirely, her hairbrush forgotten in her hand as she turned to gawk at your brother.

“Is this,” she began, her voice disbelieving, “your solution to Gojo’s appalling behavior? To thrust her into the path of another?”

Choso shrugged, unbothered by her skepticism. “A better match by far, I would argue. The Duke has no such inclinations to trifling or dishonor.”

You sighed, leaning back as the tension in the room thickened. “And what makes you so certain the Duke would even entertain such an arrangement?” you asked, your voice tinged with a weariness you hadn’t intended to show.

Choso gave you a small smile, his hand reaching out to pat your shoulder. “Leave that to me, dear sister. For now, focus on enduring tonight’s ordeal. Tomorrow, you may take comfort in Sukuna’s arrival—and in the knowledge that your prospects are not as grim as they seem.”

You exhaled, unsure whether to feel gratitude or exasperation, as Choso rose from his seat. Whatever plans he had in motion, they would unfold in time. For now, you could only prepare yourself for the chaos that awaited.

Gojo had outdone himself. Truly, magnificently outdone himself.

From the moment you entered the house, your hand resting lightly on Choso’s arm, the stares began. They weren’t the polite glances reserved for new arrivals at such gatherings—these were sharp, lingering, and accompanied by a cacophony of whispers that only heightened your unease.

You straightened your back, chin held high, determined not to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing your discomfort. But it was impossible to ignore the way every eye seemed to follow you, every head turned to observe as you passed. Whatever it was that had stirred this interest, you were certain Gojo was at the heart of it.

Feeling the oppressive smog of stares, you knew where you could find solace: the drinks table, where you could down a flute of champagne alongside your stress. And right as you excuse yourself from Choso’s hold, who is now looking in the general direction of some men—particularly a gaggle of men that included Lord Geto and Duke Nanami, who were looking at something in the direction of the dance floor with interest. As you walk, you take in the scene: a beautiful chandelier, and red drapings and coverings embellished with gold, a bloody alternative to the Gojo icy blue. You’re not sure why today’s ensemble of colors didn’t include blue, but you believe it is fitting for what’s going to happen to you after this party is over and your mother finds out about the elephant in the room. 

And as you glance longingly at the couples gliding across the floor, their movements synchronized with the lilting strains of the orchestra, your breath catches.

It is then that you see him.

Gojo Satoru is spinning a girl across the dance floor, his coat tails trailing like ribbons in the air. His lips move as he speaks, the tilt of his head paired with that too-familiar smirk. His partner laughs at something he’s said, a soft sound that reaches you even from this distance. You could almost identify her—there is no debutante in the ton you have not cataloged, no rival whose dossier you do not possess—but tonight, it does not matter. She is just a blur of chiffon and curls, another face in a sea of women enthralled by him.

Your chest tightens as you take in the scene, a memory unspooling unbidden.

Is this what your first dance with Gojo had looked like to others? Did you appear as enraptured as this girl, your steps as confident and sure beneath his lead? You remember his light touch at your back, his questions whispered so quietly you doubted even the orchestra could eavesdrop, his eyes full of a charm so practiced it felt like a spell cast just for you.

And yet now, the spell is broken.

He is steering her—steering everything—with such ease that it almost makes you laugh. Were he not so infuriating, you might have admired his grace, the way he seamlessly dominates both the conversation and the dance. His amusement is evident in the quirk of his brow, the corners of his mouth curling with every word she utters, no doubt answering his questions with meek enthusiasm.

She is simple. You can tell from the way he looks at her, the way he pauses before replying as if translating his own thoughts into something digestible for her. The way she beams at him—unaware of how deeply he calculates every move—is almost endearing. Almost.

He is drawing the same conclusions he did of you. Simple, lacking substance. 

The thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

But then the girl laughs again, a little too loud, and Gojo’s expression flickers for just a second—long enough for you to notice. His smile tightens, his gaze sliding briefly across the room as though searching for something more stimulating. It is instinctual, this glance, and his head tilts in such a way that you know it will land on you if you linger a moment longer.

Your heart stutters in protest, your legs already moving.

Punch table. Right.

As you near it, you grab the closest drink and down it one sip, desperate for the cool of the liquid to calm both your throat and your heated mind, furious with thoughts and anxiety of those around you. And it was just as you begin to set down the cool glass that  in your periphery comes the man who soon tests your resolve.

“Miss Itadori,” a voice drawled behind you, the unmistakable lilt of smugness weaving through it.

You turned, and there stood Naoya Zen’in, his grin as unctuous as ever. He bowed slightly, though the gesture felt more like mockery than courtesy. “I must say, you are positively radiant tonight.”

You inclined your head ever so slightly, each movement deliberate. “Mr. Zen’in. How kind of you to say.”

He grinned, and the sight was unsettling, a serpent preparing to strike. “Radiant, yes. A pity Lord Gojo has finally come to his senses and moved on. I thought the two of you might actually prove interesting.”

Your stomach churned, but you kept your expression serene. “I fail to see how my affairs are of interest to you, Mr. Zen’in.”

“Oh, but they are,” he said, stepping closer, his voice lowering as though he were sharing a confidant’s secret. “Everyone is watching, you know. Wondering why Lord Gojo is…otherwise occupied tonight.” He tilted his head, motioning discreetly toward the mantle, a few meters away, where Gojo stood, entertaining and welcoming another lady.

Your eyes betrayed you, flicking briefly in that direction. Gojo’s figure remained in your periphery, still close enough to notice but far enough to be unattainable. You tore your gaze away, unwilling to feed Naoya’s glee.

Naoya leaned in, his tone growing more audacious. “Quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you agree? Though perhaps it’s for the best. You have much to offer, Miss Itadori—breeding hips, for one.”

The words hit you like a slap, your mind reeling in fury and disbelief. Your breath hitched, but before you could muster a scathing retort, something else caught your attention.

Gojo’s hand, resting casually against the column, tightened into a fist. The movement was subtle, but unmistakable—a barely contained tension that you might have missed if you weren’t already attuned to his every breath, his every twitch.

Still, you refused to look directly at him. Whatever he felt, it mattered not.

“Mr. Zen’in,” you began, voice icy and measured, though the rage burned beneath the surface, “your comments are as inappropriate as they are unwelcome. I suggest—”

“Sister.”

Choso’s voice interrupted like a lifeline thrown to a drowning sailor. You turned to see your older brother approaching, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as they darted between you and Naoya. He came to your side, his imposing presence creating an impenetrable wall between you and the unwelcome intruder.

“Mr. Zen’in,” Choso greeted with a curt nod, his tone laced with a warning. “I trust you’ll excuse my sister. She and I were just about to take a turn about the room.”

Naoya’s grin faltered, but he recovered quickly, stepping back with a mocking bow. “Of course. Do enjoy your evening.”

Choso wasted no time, offering his arm to you. You took it gratefully, your legs unsteady as he guided you away from the scene and toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice gentle but firm, as though bracing himself for a truth he might not like.

You nodded, though the words escaped you. Your hands trembled slightly, and Choso placed his over yours, steadying you. “I saw the way you looked,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “At Lord Gojo.”

Your breath caught, but you said nothing, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your brother’s steps.

“Whatever he’s done—or hasn’t done—you are worth far more than his regard,” Choso continued, his tone resolute. “Do not forget that.” A pause. “Are you all right, Sister?”

“I am fine,” you lied, though your trembling hands betrayed you.

The evening only worsened from there.

More and more, you felt the weight of curious glances, the whispers growing louder as the night wore on. The absence of Gojo’s attention did not go unnoticed—least of all by your mother, who approached you and Choso with a determined expression, her fan snapping shut with a sharp flick of her wrist.

The warmth of the ballroom’s lights could not thaw the ice that slipped down your spine as your mother approached. Her movements were poised as ever, but the tightness in her lips and the fury barely hidden in her eyes told you everything. She stopped just short of you, her fan snapping shut with a sharp click that made you flinch.

“Explain,” she hissed, her voice low enough to avoid drawing the attention of onlookers but sharp enough to carve into you.

Your breath caught in your throat. You glanced towards Choso for reinforcement, but his furrowed brow and subtle shake of his head told you he would not intervene—not yet.

“I… don’t understand, Mother,” you murmured, though the words tasted hollow even as you said them.

“Do not toy with me, child,” she snapped, her tone still hushed but more cutting. “The entire room is whispering. Where is Lord Gojo? Why has he not so much as glanced in your direction tonight? Why is he—” Her eyes darted to the waltz floor, where Gojo had just excused himself from yet another partner. “Why is he dancing with others while you stand here like a forgotten debutante?”

The words hit like a slap, and you flinched again, your gaze falling to your gloved hands. You wanted to speak, to explain, but the lump in your throat grew larger with every second.

Her voice softened but grew no less fierce. “What have you done?”

Your chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, you considered telling her everything—about the garden, about Gojo’s words, about how utterly humiliated you had felt. But then the heat of the ballroom pressed down on you, the glances from curious onlookers prickling your skin like needles.

You couldn’t. Not here.

So, you said nothing.

The silence between you stretched thin, your mother’s patience fraying with every passing moment. Finally, she straightened, her lips pressed into a pale line. “This is how you repay all that has been done for you?” she whispered, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Do you even comprehend what this will do to your prospects? To this family? You have disgraced yourself, and worse—you have disgraced me.”

Her words left you hollow, the guilt settling into the spaces where indignation might have taken root. Still, you could not look up, nor could you summon any defense.

Your mother’s fan snapped open again with a sharp flick, the motion more violent than graceful. “We are leaving,” she declared, turning abruptly on her heel. “Now.”

Choso stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against your elbow as if to steady you. You dared a glance at him, finding his gaze steady and quietly supportive. It was only his presence that kept your legs moving as you followed your mother toward the grand doors.

The weight of the room’s collective gaze bore down on you with every step. The music swelled in the background, mocking you with its cheerfulness. As you neared the exit, your feet faltered.

And then you saw him.

Gojo.

He stood near the edge of the dance floor, his posture uncharacteristically tense, his jaw clenched tightly, his usual easy confidence dimmed. His head tilted slightly, his eyes cutting through the crowd to meet yours.

Your breath hitched. In his gaze, you saw regret—yearning, even—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

But it didn’t matter.

You tore your eyes away, your jaw tightening as a steely resolve settled over you.

You would not break.

Not here. Not now. Not for him.

As you stepped into the cool night air, you drew in a deep breath, willing the ache in your chest to dissipate. Gojo Satoru had taken enough from you. Your heart, your dignity—no more.

If he thought you would crumble, he was mistaken.

He would regret this, you vowed silently.

And you would make certain of it.

The morning that came in a few days was no less disheartening than the night of the house party. The morning sun filtered weakly through the gauzy curtains of the drawing room, casting pale, lackluster patterns on the carpet. Even the sunlight seemed hesitant, as if it knew it had no place in the solemn atmosphere that hung over your family.

Even Yuji was solemn as you all sipped on your tea, the drawing room oddly quiet as you reflected in the aftermath of the past few days. The events of the house party still loomed over you. Your family’s hasty departure had been punctuated by the sight of your mother in whispered conversation with Duchess Gojo, their faces tight with the bitterness of dashed expectations. You had no doubt they had commiserated over your perceived recklessness and Gojo’s insolence, lamenting how the perfect match they had orchestrated had unraveled before their very eyes.

You had borne it all in silence.

But now, in the cold light of morning, your resolve felt brittle.

Your hands tightened around your teacup as you stared into the amber liquid, your reflection rippling with each shallow breath you took. Independence? That word felt hollow. You had fought for it, yes, but at what cost? The ton’s whispers had already begun. You could feel their weight pressing on you, suffocating in their judgment. The laughter and speculation at your expense would echo through parlors and ballrooms for weeks, if not months.

And yet, deep down, there was a spark of defiance. They thought this was your undoing. They thought you would crumble. But they had no idea.

"Why does it feel like we’re mourning?" Yuji muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but the sarcasm was unmistakable. "It’s not as though anyone has died."

Your mother’s sigh this time was louder, sharper, and followed by a pointed glance in his direction. “Yuji, do not jest,” she snapped. "This is no laughing matter."

Choso, who had been reclining with one arm draped lazily over the armrest of his chair, sat up straighter. “Mother,” he said cautiously, his voice soft but steady, “I think it’s time we address what’s truly troubling you.”

Her handkerchief stilled in her lap. For a moment, the room was silent again, the tension thick enough to choke on.

“Troubling me?” she repeated, her tone icy. “You think I am troubled, Choso?”

“Everyone is troubled,” Choso replied, his gaze flicking briefly to you. "But perhaps if you said what’s on your mind, we could all breathe a little easier."

Your mother’s lips thinned as she sat up straighter, her shoulders stiff. “Very well,” she said sharply, “if you must know, I am ashamed.”

The word hit you like a slap, even though you had expected it. You gritted your teeth, staring down at your tea to hide the flush of anger and embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“Ashamed of what?” you asked quietly, your voice tighter than you intended.

“Of you,” she replied without hesitation. “Of the scandal you have brought upon this family. Do you think your actions have no consequences? Do you think the ton will simply overlook your…” She hesitated, clearly searching for the most cutting word. “Your antics with Lord Gojo?”

You felt Choso stiffen beside you, his protective instincts clearly flaring, but you held up a hand to stop him. You wouldn’t hide behind your brothers—not this time.

“I have done nothing wrong,” you said, your voice low but firm. “Gojo and I made a mutual decision that we were incompatible. We—”

“You humiliated yourself!” she interrupted, her voice rising. “And by extension, this family. Do you think people are speaking of him? No! It is you they ridicule. It is your name they sully.”

Your chest burned with anger and hurt, but before you could retort, Yuji shifted uncomfortably, muttering, “This is getting out of hand…”

“You think I care about their opinions?” you snapped, finally lifting your gaze to meet your mother’s. “The ton has always been cruel. They would find a reason to gossip no matter what I did. I refuse to live my life pandering to their expectations—”

“And look where that refusal has left you,” your mother interrupted, her voice shaking with fury. “Unmarried. Ruined. Who will have you now?”

You flinched, the words cutting deeper than you thought possible. Your lips parted, but no words came out. What could you possibly say to that?

The silence that followed was deafening.

Until a voice, smooth and amused, broke it.

“Now, now, Mother. I know you’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, but let us not turn your theatrics onto our dearest sister.”

All heads turned toward the entrance, where a figure lounged against the doorway, his presence commanding without even trying. There he stood—Sukuna, your brother, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who had kept you waiting for days. Both you and Yuji involuntarily gasped in excitement, while Choso only shook his head in amusement and crossed his arms.

He strode into the room with an air of nonchalance, his tailored attire immaculate, his smile one of mocking amusement. His gaze flicked to your mother, then to you, lingering for a moment as if to appraise the damage left in her wake.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly, the corners of his mouth curling. “I trust I’ve arrived in time to save you from a most tiresome sermon.”

Your mother bristled, but her voice faltered, her ire now redirected. “Sukuna, this is hardly the time for your irreverence—”

“And yet here I am,” he interrupted, dropping into a chair with the kind of ease that only Sukuna could muster. He leaned back, his sharp gaze softening just slightly as it fell on you. “I thought you might appreciate a reprieve. You seem to have had enough lectures for a lifetime.”

You could feel tears welling in your eyes. You had severely underestimated how much you missed your elder brother, seeing his presence stir a fondness and comfort you hadn’t felt ever since he left for Europe. And it seemed that your brothers shared your sentiment; Yuji was basically on his haunches, doing everything he could not to leave his chair to tackle Sukuna, and Choso barely holding in an amused smile. 

“Still causing chaos wherever you go, I see,” Choso said dryly, though there was no malice in his tone.

Sukuna smirked. “Someone has to keep things interesting.”

Your mother huffed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she rose from her seat. “I refuse to be made a fool in my own home. Sukuna, do try not to corrupt your siblings further while I attend to matters of actual importance.” She swept out of the room with her usual imperious grace, leaving a silence in her wake.

As soon as she left, you left your chair to basically jumping on him, hugging him tightly as he reciprocated your hug with wrapping his big arms around yours with equal fervor. “Kuna,” you whispered, burying your face into his chest as the tears started flowing. His presence surrounded you, offering you a comfort and familiarity that the eventful weeks, ever since your debut, hadn’t offered

Sukuna looked down to you with a raised brow as he patted your head affectionately. “Well, that was entertaining. Now, who’s going to tell me what truly happened while I was gone?”

prev. the fall | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n hi everyone!!! so i lied and said the update wasn't gonna take as long #womaninmalefields BUT thank you for your patience <3

so uh....we are now gonna enter the arc with DRAMAA. there will be yearning, there will be angst, and soon after, there will be fluff. idk if anyone needs to hear this, but, again, this series will have a happy ending. if anyone is sad, don't worry. i'm going to make gojo grovel <3

SUKUNA IS BACK SUKUNA IS BACK what do we think?! spoiler alert this is what sukuna will wanna do to gojo after reader spills the tea

THANK U FOR READING!!! rest assured reader a BADDIE there will be some showing ankles and lowering bustlines to start our reputation era and infuriate gojo but u didnt hear that from me !!!

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

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@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[o-batll3]

lena request! reader and lena are in an established relationship but play for different countries. during a match between their countries, lena injures reader badly (ankle or hamstring injury). lena is sorry about it but reader is upset at her. angst but happy ending when reader forgives her?

i don’t know how to make it stop - l.oberdorf x reader

warning : just angst with happy ending

masterlist

the roar of the crowd was deafening, flags waving in a sea of vibrant color, national anthems echoing through the packed stadium. it was the World Cup quarter-final, a match that promised intensity, determination, and skill. y/n stood on the pitch, heart racing with excitement and nerves. this was the kind of game she had always dreamed of playing, the kind of challenge that pushed her to the limits. she caught lena’s eye across the field - her girlfriend, but also her rival for the next ninety minutes.

they had shared moments like this before. they were both professionals, used to putting their relationship aside when the whistle blew. but there was lena a tension that lingered beneath the surface. lena, playing for her country with the same fierceness that y/n played for hers, was not going to hold back. nor would y/n. they both knew what was at stake.

the game started off at a furious pace, each team pressing hard, neither willing to give an inch. the stakes were high, and the tension built with every passing second. y/n was playing some of her best football—quick, clever passes, bursting runs into open space, her energy filling the team with hope. lena was everywhere, a shadow in midfield, intercepting passes and driving her team forward. every time they collided, every challenge they shared, there was a spark of something electric, something both familiar and dangerous.

and then it happened.

it was the 68th minute, and y/n made a darting run into the open, the ball at her feet, defenders falling behind. she could see the goal, feel the moment, the chance to change the game in her favor. but she barely registered the movement on her left before lena’s foot came out in a desperate slide, an attempt to block her progress. y/n twisted to avoid the challenge, but her ankle buckled, giving out underneath her. a sharp pain shot up her leg, and she went down hard, clutching her ankle with a scream.

the referee’s whistle blew. lena was already there, hovering over her, panic in her eyes, her face stricken with horror. y/n’s own heart was pounding, not just with the agony that shot up her leg but with the harsh realization of what had happened.

“y/n, oh my god,” lena’s voice was broken, her hands reaching for her. but y/n’s pulled away, her expression filled with raw pain and shock.

physios were rushing onto the field, lena pushed back by y/n’s teammates as they encircled her, creating a barrier between them. lena was shouting something, but y/n couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in her ears, the pain that clouded her mind. she knew, even before they touched her ankle, that it was bad. the stretcher was brought out, and the looks of pity, the sympathetic nods from the trainers, were all too telling. her world cup was over.

she was out.

the crowd’s cheers were still echoing in y/n’s ears, even as she lay in the treatment room. the adrenaline was gone now, leaving only a dull ache in her ankle and a far sharper pain in her chest. her dream—everything she’d worked for—was ripped away in a single, brutal moment. she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears back, trying to push away the image of lena’s face, the horror that had twisted her expression just after the tackle.

she heard the door open, and her heart lurched when she saw lena standing there. lena’s eyes were wide, filled with remorse, but all y/n felt was anger—blazing, hot anger that burned away the sympathy she might have felt. she couldn’t look at lena without seeing the tackle, without hearing her own scream of pain over and over again.

“y/n,” lena started, her voice unsteady. “please, just let me explain.”

“explain?” y/n’s voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “what is there to explain, lena? you tackled me. you didn’t even hesitate.”

lena’s face paled, her bottom lip trembling. “i was trying to win the ball. it was instinct—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“well, congratulations,” y/n spat, eyes flashing with fury. “because you did. you ruined everything.” her voice broke at the end, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded, hated the tears that blurred her vision. she didn’t want lena to see her like this, broken and devastated.

lena stepped closer, but y/n pulled away, shifting painfully on the treatment table. “i’m sorry,” lena whispered, and y/n could hear the desperation in her voice, but it only fueled her anger. “i never wanted this, y/n. you have to know that.”

y/n’s hands clenched into fists. she wanted to yell, to throw something, to make lena understand the depth of her hurt. “do you have any idea what you’ve taken from me?” she said, her voice shaking. “this was my chance, lena! my chance to prove myself on the biggest stage! i trained for this. i bled for this. and you—you took it away. you didn’t even think.”

tears were streaming down lena’s face now, her shoulders shaking with the effort to hold back sobs. “i know, i know,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so, so sorry. if i could go back, i would”

“but you can’t!” y/n interrupted, the anger swelling until it choked her. “you can’t take it back! i’m out, lena! i’m out of the world cup, and i don’t get another shot at this. it’s over. and it’s because of you.”

the silence that followed was suffocating. lena’s face crumpled, and she took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself like she was trying to hold the pieces together. “i love you,” she said, the words sounding so small, so fragile in the heavy quiet of the room. “please don’t hate me. i love you, y/n.”

y/n wanted to scream. she wanted to shout that it wasn’t enough, that lena’s love couldn’t fix what was broken, that she didn’t have the right to stand there and cry after what she had done. but she couldn’t find the words. instead, she turned away, her voice icy and distant.

“just leave,” she said. “i don’t want to see you. right now”

lena didn’t move at first, rooted to the spot like she was waiting for y/n to change her mind, to call her back. but when y/n didn’t, when she kept staring at the wall with her jaw set and eyes hard, lena’s shoulders slumped, and she left without another word. the door closed softly, and the emptiness swallowed y/n whole. it broke a piece of y/n, knowing that lena wouldn’t be there like usually would to help her through something rough, but her mind didn’t want to see her, all she wanted to do was isolate herself.

y/n barely left her room for days. she couldn’t bear to see her teammates, couldn’t stomach their pity or their attempts to comfort her. all she could think about was the sound of her ankle giving way, the burning pain that had shot up her leg, and lena’s desperate face in the aftermath. her phone was full of missed calls and unread messages from lena, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at them. she was so tired of the apologies, of the guilt. they didn’t fix her ankle, didn’t change the fact that she was sidelined, watching her dreams crumble from the shadows.

she lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, hating the silence and how it left her alone with her thoughts. every time she closed her eyes, she was back on that field, feeling the grass give way beneath her, hearing the sharp whistle of the referee and the stunned gasps of the crowd. sometimes she felt like she couldn’t breathe, like the weight of everything was pressing down on her chest until she was drowning.

and then, a week after the injury, there was another knock at the door. y/n knew it was lena. she’d felt it like a pulse, like some invisible thread still connected them even though she wanted to cut it clean. for a long moment, she didn’t move. she thought about ignoring it, letting lena stand there until she gave up and went away. but something made her get up, her feet moving almost without her permission, and she opened the door.

lena looked awful—eyes red and swollen, dark circles under them, like she hadn’t slept in days. her face was pale, her mouth drawn into a tight line, and when she saw y/n, something broke in her gaze.

“please,” lena said, her voice raw and unsteady. “i can’t—I can’t take this silence anymore. just tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this.”

y/n stared at her, the anger and hurt rising like a tidal wave. “you can’t fix it, lena!” she shouted, her voice cracking, the emotion spilling over at last. “don’t you get it? this isn’t something you can just make better with an apology. you ruined everything!”

lena flinched, but she didn’t look away. she took a shaky breath, stepping into the room as if she belonged there, despite the pain between them. “i know,” she said, her voice breaking. “i know i messed up. i know i took away something you loved, something you fought for. and i hate myself for it, y/n. every single second, i hate myself for it. but i can’t stand losing you, too.”

y/n’s hands were shaking, the tears streaming freely now. she wanted to stay angry, to hold onto it because it was easier than feeling the deep, aching sadness that lay beneath. but seeing lena like this, so utterly broken, cracked something inside her.

“i hate you,” she choked out, the words barely more than a whisper. “i hate you so much for what you did.”

lena’s face crumpled, but she didn’t turn away. “i know,” she said, and her voice was so full of pain that it made y/n’s heart twist. “and if that’s what you need—if you need to hate me—I’ll take it. just don’t shut me out. please, y/n.”

the room was spinning, y/n’s emotions too tangled to untangle. she took a step forward, and then another, until she was standing right in front of lena, her breath hitching. they stared at each other, and the anger, the sorrow, the grief—they all collided, bursting out of y/n in a sob as she collapsed into lena’s arms.

“i’m so mad at you,” she cried, burying her face in lena’s shoulder. “i’m so mad, and i don’t know how to make it stop.”

lena held her tightly, her arms wrapped around y/n like she was afraid she might disappear. “i know,” she whispered, pressing her face into y/n’s hair. “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere. i’m so, so sorry.”

for a long time, they just stood there, holding onto each other as the storm of emotions raged and slowly settled. y/n’s sobs quieted, her breath evening out as the weight she’d been carrying began to lift, just a little. it wasn’t fixed. it wasn’t over. but in lena’s arms, the anger didn’t feel quite so overwhelming. and for the first time since the injury, y/n allowed herself to hope that maybe—just maybe—they could find a way forward, together.

SEND REQUESTS I NEED IDEAS

[demonpiratehuntress]

clowns

taglist - @kabloswrld

OPLA!Zoro x F!Reader

summary - clowns are terrifying, and your first encounter with one leaves you traumatised. lucky for you, you have a big strong swordsman as a boyfriend.

warnings - CLOWNS (yes they should ALWAYS be a warning and yes Buggy scares me), you and Zoro are/were both pirate hunters

a/n - i count myself lucky i don't have circuses where i live, because if i ever see a clown i will run the other way

Not only did you not expect to join a pirate crew, but you far from thought your first encounter as a "crew" would be facing your worst nightmare.

The minute you saw the bright red nose and funny make-up, you stiffened. Your eyes went wide and you became unresponsive, like you couldn't hear them talking or feel Zoro's subtle protective touches. You were too focused on the clown in front of you, terrified to your core.

"What's wrong with her?" Buggy noticed your stare, and waved his hand in front of your face. "Can she hear me?"

Zoro growled and put himself between you and the clown pirate, "Eyes on me, Binky." He knew that wasn't the clown's name, but Luffy's mistake would serve him well in getting Buggy's attention off you.

Sure enough, the clown scowled and looked at him, "Buggy! It's not that hard to remember!"

You were relieved that the clown was no longer focusing on you, but just the sight of him was rattling you to your core. While he was distracted, you took it as your opportunity to turn and run.

Now let it be said that you do not run easily from anything. You and Zoro were pirate hunters, or had been until you'd been roped into this, and you had faced some nasty, dangerous threats. You were hardened, and almost nothing shook you.

Except clowns.

Funny how the one thing you steered clear of found you first the moment you aligned yourself with others.

Before you could get far, some of his circus freaks grabbed you and brought you back. The clown was still talking about himself, but chuckled when his goons brought you back into the tent.

"What's wrong, pirate hunter?" He sneered. "Scared?"

"Hey!" Luffy beat Zoro this time, "Leave her alone."

And things went downhill from there.

You were, for some reason, separated from the group. So was Luffy, but that's because Buggy was interrogating him. Nami and Zoro had been escorted somewhere else, leaving you on your own in another side room, panicking and growing more and more nauseous. To make matters worse, Luffy started screaming from wherever he was.

A while later, the clown walked into your room.

Your eyes went wide, and you struggled against the rope holding you to the wooden beam.

"I'm surprised," he spoke, "You have a reputation that made even some of my men nervous. And yet...you can't even look me in the eye." He stopped right in front of you, "Why's that?"

You tried your best to look away, turning your head sideways and finding something else to focus on. You couldn't speak, and you were trembling. Nothing had ever shaken you like this, ever. But clowns for some reason...you couldn't handle them.

"Is it the nose?" He asked mockingly, although he sounded a bit annoyed at the mention of his large appendage again. He forced you to look at him, gripping your chin in his gloved hands. "Hmm?"

"Leave me alone," you managed to get out through gritted teeth.

"Your captain isn't being very cooperative," he ignored your request, "So I have a lot of time to spend here with you."

"Why me?" You tried to glare, but you knew you looked scared. Because you were.

"Fear is a good motivator for telling the truth," he finally let go of your chin, walking around you and sizing you up. "Your friends will be tough to convince, but you...you don't like clowns, right? I'll leave you alone if you tell me where the map is."

"Do your worst," you breathed out, a little shakily, but you were determined not to cave. Not for this idiot.

He growled, and in an instant he was in front of you again, holding a knife to your throat while putting his frightening face right up in yours, "Tell me where it is!"

The sound you let out was something between a squeak and a yelp, fear once again overcoming your body at the clown's proximity. It wasn't so much the knife pressed against your jugular, it was the fact that your worst fear was inches away from you. You clenched your fists, trying to control your shaking, but it didn't work. And he was amused by your terror.

"I'm going to check on your captain," he stepped back, "If he doesn't give me an answer, I'm coming right back here and I promise I'll leave a scar." Then he left, and you could breathe again.

But that's when the tears came.

You didn't really sob, you just stayed there crying silently. Your body trembled, mind numb with fear and shock. His face was burned into your mind, and shutting your eyes only made your panic worse.

That's how Zoro found you, tied up and shaking with glassy eyes.

"What did he do to you?" The swordsman asked when he cut you loose, grabbing and squeezing your arms gently. "(Name), what did he do?"

You just shook your head, unable to speak, and sought his comfort by burying your face in his neck and crying even more. The more you shook, the angrier he got. But he held you for as long as you needed, knowing Nami would be okay with finding Luffy on her own. You were Zoro's priority.

You finally let go a few minutes later, wiping your face, "Let's go help the others."

He nodded, guiding you out the room.

The trauma stuck with you for a few days after the three of you escaped him, evident one night when you woke up sweating and shaking. Zoro was a deep sleeper, but he had a sixth sense reserved just for you, so he was woken up by your outburst.

Zoro wasn't good with words, but he was definitely good at comforting you through actions. He never had to say anything, he just wrapped his strong arms around you and you were slowly soothed. You just had to lean against his chest, enveloped in his arms, and you would slowly calm down. His gentle kisses atop your head also helped, his affection never failing to get your mind off whatever was worrying you.

In Syrup Village, you spotted a poster of the clown pirate and started hyperventilating. Zoro immediately turned you away from it and cupped your cheeks in his hands, making you look at him.

"Hey, focus on me," he told you, "Just me. I'm here. You're fine." He used a gentle, soft tone, one reserved just for you.

You tried to breathe, eyes locked on his face, concentrating on his warm brown ones that held so much concern for you. The eyes that always comforted you with just a look. Slowly your breathing evened out, and Zoro embraced you, this time not caring that you were in public.

"You're okay."

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath, "Thanks, Zoro."

He just nodded, giving you one last forehead kiss, "If we ever see him again, I'm going to cut him up and throw him in the ocean."

You managed a weak smile, grateful to have such a protective boyfriend. His actions always proved how devoted he was, even if they were a little violent. You wouldn't have it any other way.

"You do that."

[marysfics]

Through the Dust

Alexia Putellas x DownhillRacer!Reader

Status: Ongoing

Other Chapters: click here

This is a multichapter fic, and trust me, you’re in for one wild ride. Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Grief, Kisses.

Word count: 1.8k

Chapter 6: ''The Brink of Something Real''

A few weeks had passed since the mountain cabin, and things had settled into an almost comfortable rhythm. You and Alexia had stayed in touch, messages and calls filling the spaces in between your busy schedules. She was back in Spain now, her pre-season training ramping up with the team, but even then, you could feel the connection between you two still lingering, soft and unspoken. You weren’t rushing into anything, not yet. You both needed time to figure out what it all meant—whatever "it" was—but there was a comfort in knowing that she was there. That you were talking.

You couldn’t say no when they asked you. It was an opportunity you’d dreamed of—an event that had long been seen as a men’s-only challenge. But now? It felt like everything had changed. And while the course scared you more than you cared to admit, it also pushed you to the edge in a way nothing else had. This was your chance. But, as always, the nervous buzz of competition made it hard to keep your mind focused on anything else.

Before the race, Alexia had called you. She’d been insistent, her voice a mix of teasing and something softer underneath.

"I’m watching, you know," she’d said, almost defiantly, like she was challenging herself to be there. "I’m dragging my mother and sister in front of the TV to watch you."

You had to laugh, picturing her usual unflappable self being so... invested. "Are they even into downhill racing?" you asked, a teasing smile on your lips.

Alexia’s chuckle filled your ears. "My sister is asking more questions than I can answer, and my mom keeps raising an eyebrow at me. She doesn’t get it, but... I think she knows it’s important. She sees me getting all nervous."

You felt a soft heat in your chest at the thought of Alexia’s family watching you. Nervous? You smiled, pushing aside the flutter of excitement and anxiety that came with it. "Tell them to keep their eyes peeled. I’ll show them how it’s done."

A little later in Alexia's apartment, Alexia was sitting with her arms crossed, her legs bouncing restlessly. She kept glancing at her phone, waiting for the race to begin. It was strange for Eli and Alba, having Alexia—who had never shown much interest in extreme sports—suddenly insisting that they watch a dangerous downhill cycling race. Eli had her reservations, but when Alexia had insisted so strongly, she knew something was going on.

"Why are we watching this again?" Alba asked, eyeing the screen with confusion as she adjusted the pillows on the couch. "Since when do you watch things like this, Ale?"

Alexia didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on the screen where the pre-race interviews were playing. She had a nervous energy about her that Eli couldn’t ignore, the way her daughter’s foot tapped restlessly against the floor. It was clear to Eli that this race was more than just a race for Alexia.

Her eyes narrowed, a knowing look passing between her and Alba. “You’re nervous,” Eli said softly, watching her daughter closely. “Why? What’s going on?”

Alexia froze for a moment, her lips pressing together as she looked at her mom, but then her gaze drifted back to the screen. “I’m not nervous. I just… want her to be safe. It’s her last race of the season, Mom.”

Alba leaned in with interest, still oblivious. “Safe? Who are you talking about, Ale? You barely even know the riders."

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? You never watch anything like this, Ale. But now you’re glued to it?” She paused, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “It’s about more than just the race, isn’t it?”

Alexia’s face flushed slightly, and she avoided her mother’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, but the slight blush creeping up her neck told Eli everything she needed to know.

Alba looked back and forth between them, her curiosity piqued. “What do you mean? What’s going on, Ale?”

Eli watched Alexia, sensing the moment of truth. Finally, she broke her silence, her voice soft but teasing. “Ale, are you seeing someone from this race?”

Alexia’s face turned bright red. “Maybe,” she mumbled, but it was enough to send Alba into a state of shock.

“Oh my God,” Alba gasped, her eyes wide. “Are you dating someone from the race? What is this? You’ve never been like this before!”

Alexia let out a small groan, her face still flushed. “It’s not like that, okay? She’s planning to visit soon. After this, she’s got the off-season. She’ll come here, and… we’ll see how it goes.” Her words were rushed, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, but there was something undeniably soft in the way she said it.

Eli smiled warmly at her daughter, sensing the subtle shift in Alexia’s energy as she spoke about you. "Well, it sounds like you’re really fond of her," Eli said, her voice gentle but knowing. "It’s nice to see you like this, Ale. I haven't seen you this excited about someone in a long time."

Alexia’s face flushed again, a little more this time, and she glanced at the TV where you were making your way toward the finish line. "It’s just... different, Mom. She’s different. I just... feel good when I talk to her." Her voice trailed off slightly, as if unsure of how to explain what she was feeling, but the sincerity in her words was clear. "And she’s been through a lot, too. I respect that."

Alba tilted her head, still processing the information. “Wait a second. Are you telling me you’re seeing a woman, Ale?” The question was blunt, but there was no judgment in it, just the curiosity of a younger sister trying to make sense of something new.

Alexia opened her mouth to respond but hesitated. There was something about this moment, a quiet realization that maybe she didn’t need to hide it anymore. She looked over at her mother, then back at Alba. "Yeah," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I think I am."

Eli let out a soft sigh, her smile widening as she nudged Alba playfully. "You’re looking at her like she’s grown a second head. Relax, Alba. Your sister’s allowed to have a life outside of football."

Alba blinked, clearly still processing, but she finally shrugged. "Okay, fine. But you have to promise me something, Ale."

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You better introduce us to her when she comes to visit," Alba said with a grin. "I want to know everything. You can’t just drop this bomb on me and leave me hanging!"

Alexia laughed, the tension in her body easing. "I promise," she said, her voice softening. "You’ll meet her soon. And you can ask all the questions you want, okay?"

Alba gave a satisfied nod. “Good. But seriously, Ale, I’m kind of in shock right now. My big sister is dating someone from downhill cycling? What even is that sport? How did you end up with someone so... different?"

Alexia let out a small laugh, trying to shake off the teasing but feeling a little flustered. "It’s just a sport, Alba," she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. "It's actually pretty intense. You'd be surprised."

Alba raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. "Intense? You mean, like, you just race down a mountain on a bike at insane speeds and call that 'intense'?" She let out a dramatic sigh. "Sounds like something out of a movie. Are you sure you're not falling for someone who’s just trying to get themselves killed?"

Eli shot a look at Alba, a quiet warning in her gaze, but Alexia couldn’t help but laugh again. "I wouldn’t put it that way, but… yeah, it’s a bit crazy. But there’s more to it than just the danger. It’s about skill, control, knowing yourself, your limits. It’s a lot like football, in a way," Alexia explained, though she wasn't sure if her sister really understood.

Alba crossed her arms, still skeptical but clearly intrigued. "I guess. But what’s she like, Ale? Like, really like? You’ve got me curious now."

Alexia hesitated for a moment, her thoughts wandering back to you. She was still processing everything that had happened since they'd met—how you’d slipped under her guard so easily, how your laugh made her stomach flip. "She’s different," Alexia said finally, her voice softer now. "I can’t even really explain it. She’s real. And there’s something about her that’s… refreshing."

Alba looked at her older sister, clearly seeing how this conversation was affecting her. "Uh huh," she said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "I bet she’s got you all twisted up in knots."

Alexia rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "Maybe."

Meanwhile, as the race continued on the screen, Alexia’s attention was mostly on you. You were approaching the final stretch, and every twist, every jump, every corner, had her on the edge of her seat. Her heart pounded harder as you got closer to the finish line.

She glanced over at her mother and Alba, who were sitting on either side of her, both of them oblivious to the quiet storm of nerves swirling inside her. Alba had a knowing look on her face, but she didn’t say anything more. Instead, she turned her focus back to the race, watching the way you maneuvered through the last few hurdles of the course.

Suddenly, Alba leaned forward, eyes widening. "Wait a minute… that’s her, isn’t it?" she asked, pointing at the screen.

Alexia’s breath caught in her throat as she watched you in action. It was one thing to hear about the race, another to see you in your element, your confidence and determination shining through every turn.

The way you held your line, how you pushed through the hardest parts without hesitation, made something in Alexia’s chest tighten. She could almost hear your voice in her head, that same soft but firm tone you had when you said you’d be okay. But now, watching you race, she realized just how much she cared, how much she hoped you would cross that finish line without injury, without trouble.

As you made the final push and crossed the finish line with the fastest time, Alexia let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. It was more than just relief—it was pride. You’d done it. And something deep inside her shifted.

Alba, still watching intently, leaned back with a grin. "Well, looks like Ale’s in love," she said, her voice teasing but light.

Alexia, still holding her breath from the race, turned to her sister. "What?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Alba’s eyes gleamed. "Come on, Ale. I’m not blind. You’ve got that lovesick look in your eyes. I can tell. That’s her, isn’t it?"

Alexia's face went bright red, and she turned away quickly, her heart hammering in her chest. "I’m not... I don’t know," she mumbled, her words tripping over themselves.

But Alba was persistent. "You definitely know. Don’t even try to deny it." She glanced at their mom, who was watching with amusement.

"Mom, tell her. She’s totally into her."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

End of chapter 6.

[team-118]

in case this year I come back and stay

8×08 wannabes coda, 661 words, pov eddie, on ao3

Eddie was thirteen, he thinks, the first time he felt the little tug in the base of his spine. In the middle of the night, the living room floor had been littered with sketches and calculations in Eddie’s messy handwriting. He'd pulled his dad down to sit next to him and explained, boldly and proudly, how his design worked. A miniature replica of the oil pumpjacks Ramon worked with in the field, it was sure to earn a gold ribbon at his upcoming science fair, and his dad's approval to boot.

But his dad's eyes had glazed over, a little, and he'd run his finger over the design before saying, "Eddie - son, well -" and he'd exhaled, long and deep. "I'm sure a regular lever and pulley would do just fine."

And there it was, the little tug. No, it said. You're wrong. I'm pretty sure you're wrong. I want to try it my way.

Eddie had heard that little tug out all the way to California. Come on, it said, and Eddie packed a suitcase and his son and drove until he saw the ocean. This way, it whispered, and Eddie applied to the fire academy. Quickly, it insisted, and Eddie followed it 40 feet under and then back up to his family. The tug led him into danger, but it also led him out. Sometimes, Eddie thinks, it's the only thing that's been able to keep his heart beating this long. It sounds like dumb luck - but it feels like something else.

Things don't go well when Eddie ignores the tug. He hates thinking about it. Careful, it says, and when Eddie doesn't listen, the dark circles around his eyes match his uniform at Metro Dispatch. Hey, it warns, but Eddie tells it to shut up and then he's sitting in his truck in Bobby's driveway with the words "hundred something bodies" ringing in his ears. His eyes look wild in the rearviews. Eddie, it snaps, but he tunes it out and clasps Buck's shoulder and tells him to call Tommy. It doesn't make the twist in his gut go away.

Eddie sits on the cold hardwood floor of his barren living room and signs the last few papers to solidify the move on a zoom call. The base of his spine is numb. If he was paying attention, he's sure that would hold true for the rest of him, too. He hasn't felt a tug in months. All he can hear is static.

"I'll, um, see you later," he tells Buck when he collects his key. He feels nothing but hollow. Bobby raises his eyebrow, sitting across his desk in his office with resignation papers in hand, and Eddie goes see-through. Hen and Chim corner him in the locker room and Eddie’s eyes glaze over.

He drives to El Paso in silence, knocks on his parents' door in the middle of the night. "I'm sorry," he tells them, and it feels flat and rehearsed even though he’s pretty sure he hasn't said that to them since Shannon passed. They exchange a long look, and all Eddie can think is Chris is behind that door. Chris is right behind that door. "I'm sorry, you were right." They let him through.

Eddie sits at the dining table in a house he swore he'd never return to. "Chris is asleep, of course," his mom tells him, a little miffed. She leaves him with a cold glass of water and a pillow for the couch. He gives her a tight smile and tries not to think about the morning.

He's swaying on his feet, about to pass out when his eye catches on something shoved to the back of the bookshelf. Coated in a thick layer of dust, it's almost unrecognizable in the darkness, but Eddie thinks he would know it anywhere: a gold ribbon from a science fair in 2005.

Eddie, he feels, from the base of his spine. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

[rootedinrevisions]

Through the Wreckage

SUMMARY: When a devastating tornado tears through town, Tyler Owens faces his worst nightmare: the woman he loves is missing. Tyler is thrust into a desperate search through the wreckage to find her. As the storm's aftermath unfolds, it forces him to confront his fears, regrets, and hopes for the future.

A/N: So got inspired for this after watching Twisters earlier today. Just the anguish that we saw from Tyler when he realized Kate was driving into the tornado made me wonder what would happen if the person he loved was missing or in danger. Hence where we ended up here.

WARNINGS: Destruction (ie: a tornado hit so damaged buildings, smoke, dust, sparks, etc.), Blood, Minor Injuries.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The tires screeched as Tyler pulled up to the scene, gravel crunching beneath his truck. He barely shifted into park before throwing the door open and jumping out. His boots hit the ground with a thud, and the first thing his eyes locked on was the building—partially collapsed, its front wall completely gone. The inside was exposed like a broken shell, with beams hanging at jagged angles and smoke or dust curling into the air from where drywall and bricks had crumbled. His heart sank like a stone in his chest. This wasn’t good.

Behind him, Boone’s truck came to a stop, followed by Dani, Dexter, and Lily piling out of their vehicles. Tyler barely registered the sound of their voices calling his name as they ran toward him. His world had narrowed to the destruction in front of him, and one thought pounded in his mind: She’s in there.

Pulling his phone from his pocket with shaking hands, Tyler checked the last location pinged from your phone. His stomach twisted. It matched this address. He swallowed hard, the weight of dread pressing down on him as his eyes scanned the crowd of people that had been pulled from the building and huddled together on the other side of the street. His pulse quickened as he searched for you, desperate for even a glimpse of your face. But you weren’t there.

“Tyler, man, slow down,” Boone said, gripping his shoulder as he came up beside him. “Let’s figure out what’s going on—”

“She’s not out here,” Tyler cut him off, his voice tight and raw. “She’s not with them.” He gestured toward the crowd of people being tended to by paramedics. 

His chest heaved as the realization hit him like a freight train: You were still inside.

Without another word, he turned and made a beeline toward the first responders standing near the edge of the debris. His strides were long and determined, his jaw set in grim determination as he ignored Boone’s calls to slow down. 

The closer he got, the more chaos surrounded him. The air smelled of smoke and damp concrete, and the sound of crackling debris mixed with shouts from firefighters. But none of it mattered.

“Did everyone get out?” Tyler shouted, his voice hoarse as he reached the nearest firefighter. “Did you see a woman—about this tall, light hair?” He motioned frantically, his green eyes darting around. 

He already knew the answer from their hesitant expressions, but he refused to accept it.

“Sir,” one of them started, stepping forward, “it’s not safe—we weren’t able to get to everyone.”

“Where. Is. She?” Tyler growled, his frustration boiling over. His voice cracked, raw with fear and desperation. “Her phone’s still pinging from here! I need to know if she made it out!”

Another firefighter shook his head grimly. “We’re still doing sweeps, but the building’s unstable. Most of the front wall came down in the collapse. We can’t risk—”

“Bullshit!” Tyler snapped, cutting him off as he took a step toward the wreckage.

Boone and Dexter were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms to hold him back.

“Tyler, don’t,” Boone urged, his voice low and firm. “You can’t go in there, man. It’s not safe. They’ll handle it.”

“She’s in there!” Tyler shouted, wrenching free from their grip. His voice cracked as he pointed toward the ruined building. “I know she is, Boone! I’m not waiting around while they do their sweeps!” His voice was shaking now, and for a moment, the raw emotion broke through his resolve. His chest heaved, his shoulders trembling as he ran a hand over his face, trying to block out the fear clawing at his mind.

The building groaned, a deep, unsettling sound that warned of further collapse. Tyler’s eyes darted toward it, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. 

If you were inside, he wasn’t about to stand by and let the clock run out.

“I’m going in,” he muttered under his breath, and before anyone could stop him, he broke into a sprint toward the wreckage.

“Sir! Stop! You can’t go in there!” a firefighter yelled, his voice sharp with authority.

Another called out, “It’s too dangerous! The structure’s not stable!”

But Tyler didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. The sound of boots pounding behind him told him Boone or Dexter was probably trying to catch him, but he didn’t care. All he could see was the shattered entrance ahead, the gaping maw of destruction that had swallowed you whole.

As he crossed the threshold, the air inside hit him like a wall—thick with dust and smoke, making it hard to breathe. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, squinting to see through the haze. The floor was littered with debris—chunks of drywall, splintered wood, and jagged shards of glass. Wires hung loose from the ceiling, some sparking as they dangled.

The creak of shifting metal echoed through the space, and Tyler froze for a moment, his eyes darting upward. A beam groaned overhead, threatening to give way. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to move, stepping carefully over a fallen section of wall.

“Darlin’,” he shouted, his voice hoarse and strained. “Where are you?”

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the wreckage, his eyes darting from one pile of debris to the next. The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional crackle of sparks or the distant shouts of first responders outside.

“Come on, darlin’. Give me something,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. He tried to focus, to ignore the dread clawing at the edges of his mind.

Tyler’s boot crunched on something, and he looked down to see a broken picture frame, the glass shattered across the floor. Around it were scattered papers, children’s drawings, and a few books covered in dust. He swallowed hard, the small remnants of normal life a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

Pushing forward, he weaved through the destruction, stepping over overturned chairs and avoiding the sharp edges of broken furniture. The air grew hotter the deeper he went, the faint smell of something burning making his stomach churn.

And then he saw it.

A shoe.

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized it—your shoe, half-buried beneath a pile of rubble. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees as his shaking hands reached for it.

“Sweetheart?” he called, his voice breaking. He tossed aside chunks of drywall and splintered wood, the sharp edges cutting into his palms. Blood smeared across the debris as he worked, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to you.

Finally, he uncovered your leg, and his heart seized. You were pinned beneath the debris, your body motionless. Dust and grime streaked your face, and your hair was tangled with bits of plaster.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers were gentle, but his hands shook uncontrollably.

Leaning closer, he pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, searching desperately for a pulse. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. And then he felt it—a faint, fragile beat beneath his fingertips.

Relief flooded him, and a choked sob escaped his lips. 

“Thank God,” he breathed. “I’ve got you, darlin’. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred faintly, your head shifting against the debris that cradled it. The faintest groan escaped your lips, so quiet he almost missed it. Tyler froze, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes shot to your face.

“Darlin’?” He said, his voice trembling with equal parts hope and fear. He cupped your face with one dirt-streaked hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s me. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Your brow furrowed slightly, and your lips moved, though no sound came out at first. He leaned closer, his ear inches from your face.

“Ty...” The broken syllable fell from your lips like a lifeline, and his chest ached at the sound of it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fluttered weakly, just barely cracking open, but it was enough. Enough to send relief crashing over him in a wave so powerful it left him dizzy.

“Oh, thank God,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He squeezed it gently, willing his strength into you. “Stay with me. Keep those eyes on me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

You tried to say something else, your voice a faint whisper he couldn’t quite make out. He shook his head, tears pricking his eyes as he crouched lower to meet your gaze.

“Don’t try to talk,” he urged softly. “Just save your strength, darlin’. I’m getting you out of here. Just stay with me, okay? That’s all I need you to do. Stay with me.”

The faintest flicker of a nod came from you, but it was enough to shatter the fragile composure he’d been clinging to. His free hand pressed to his mouth as he choked back a sob, his chest heaving with the weight of his fear and relief.

The building groaned again, a deep, ominous sound that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew he didn’t have much time. He slid his arms beneath you, cradling you against his chest as he stood.

With you in his arms, Tyler turned toward the exit, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around him. All that mattered was getting you out of here alive.

Tyler adjusted his grip on you, holding you closer as he stepped carefully over the uneven ground. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The air inside the building was suffocating. Smoke and dust hung thick like a heavy fog, clawing at his lungs with every breath. His throat burned, and each inhale felt like dragging sandpaper across raw skin. He coughed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before forcing them open again. He couldn’t lose focus—not now.

Sparks rained down from a severed electrical wire overhead, the sharp sting biting into the exposed skin of his arms. He flinched, gritting his teeth as the acrid smell of singed fabric filled the air. 

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and desperate as he looked down at you. “We’re almost out of here.”

Your body shifted slightly in his arms, and a soft, raspy cough escaped your lips. Tyler’s heart jumped at the sound. Panic surged through him, as he saw how shallow your breathing was.

“You still with me?” He called, his voice cracking. “Hey, can you hear me? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You coughed again, your eyelids fluttering briefly but not opening. A weak, almost inaudible groan escaped you.

“That’s it,” Tyler said, his tone urgent but soft like he was coaxing you back to him. “You’re doing good. Just keep breathing for me, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

He stumbled slightly as the ground beneath him shifted—a section of flooring sagging under the weight of the debris. Tyler’s knees buckled for a moment, and he tightened his grip on you, his heart racing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, steadying himself before pressing forward.

The building groaned around him, the sound of metal twisting and concrete cracking growing louder. He could feel time running out.

Another section of ceiling collapsed behind him, sending a fresh plume of dust into the air. Tyler ducked instinctively, shielding you as debris rained down. A sharp edge grazed the back of his neck, and he winced, but he didn’t stop moving.

The exit was just ahead—a faint sliver of light visible through the haze. Tyler pushed toward it, his legs trembling with exertion. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as the lack of clean air began to take its toll.

His steps faltered, and he coughed violently, nearly doubling over. For a moment, he thought his legs might give out, but then he felt a small, trembling hand against his chest. Your hand gripped weakly at his shirt, your head lolling slightly against his shoulder.

“T-Tyler...” you rasped, your voice barely audible. 

His breath hitched, and he forced himself to keep moving. 

“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Just hang on.”

The exit grew closer, but the smoke thickened, clawing at his throat and lungs. Tyler stumbled again, his knees hitting the floor as his body screamed for oxygen.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head as he clutched you tighter. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the way his legs trembled beneath him.

The light from the exit grew brighter, and he could hear the distant shouts of first responders outside. They sounded muffled like he was underwater, but it gave him just enough hope to keep going.

Sparks rained down again, burning his exposed arms and neck, but Tyler turned his body to shield you, hunching over as he pushed through the final stretch. His back felt like it was on fire, the fabric of his shirt sticking to blistering skin, but he didn’t slow down.

Finally, he broke through the haze, stumbling out onto the pavement. The fresh air hit him like a punch to the chest, and he gasped, his knees giving out as he sank to the ground.

“Help! Somebody—” he coughed violently, his voice raw and barely audible. “Somebody help her!”

Paramedics rushed toward him, but Tyler’s focus was on you. Your face was pale, streaked with dust and sweat, but your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He reached up to brush a trembling hand against your cheek, his fingers stained with soot and blood.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re safe now.” He whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes. 

Tyler cradled you in his arms, his knees rooted to the pavement as the chaos of the world around him blurred into background noise. His only focus was you.

Your head lolled weakly against his chest, and your breaths were growing more shallow and uneven by the minute. A fresh wave of panic crashed over him as your eyelids fluttered, threatening to close.

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice trembling. “No, no, darlin’, stay with me. Look at me.”

Your eyes opened slightly, your gaze unfocused as you struggled to lift your head.

“I… can’t,” you murmured, the words barely audible.

“Yes, you can,” he said, his tone firm but full of emotion. “You’re not quittin’ on me now, you hear me?”

You coughed softly, your body trembling in his arms. Tyler adjusted his grip, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the pain and the fear.

“We have plans, remember?” His voice cracked as he spoke, tears welling in his eyes. “Dinner tonight, just you and me. You told me you wanted to get dressed up, and said I needed to wear that tie you like. I’m not lettin’ you out of that, sweetheart. You still owe me a dance.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but it quickly faded as your eyelids grew heavier.

“And the church,” he continued, desperation lacing his words. “The little church your parents got married in. We’ll get married there, just like you’ve always wanted. You can wear that lace dress you talked about, the one you saw at the boutique last spring.”

You made a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and your fingers twitched weakly against his chest.

“And kids,” Tyler added, his voice breaking completely now. “Two–hell, however many you want. We’ll give ‘em the best damn life, I promise you that. Just… just stay with me, darlin’. Please.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, glassy but fixed on him.

“Three or four?” you rasped, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Tyler let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him like a flood. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt from your cheek.

“Yeah, three or four is perfect, darlin’,,” he said, his forehead pressing against yours as his tears mingled with the soot on his face. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just tell me the names you’ve got picked out, and I’ll make it happen.”

You gave a weak, tired smile, and he could feel the slight rise and fall of your chest against his. But your body still felt too limp, too fragile in his arms.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your gaze flickered once more, but before he could plead again, the paramedics swarmed around you.

“Sir, we need to take her now,” one of them said urgently, but Tyler’s arms tightened instinctively around you.

“I’m not leavin’ her,” he said fiercely, his eyes wild as he looked up at them.

“We need space to help her,” the paramedic insisted, their tone gentle but firm.

Tyler hesitated, his heart warring with his head as he realized he had no choice. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You hang on, you hear me?” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Reluctantly, he let them take you from his arms, his hands trembling as he watched them load you onto the stretcher. His heart clenched painfully as he saw your pale, dust-streaked face disappear behind the blur of paramedics working to save you.

* * * *

The waiting room of the hospital felt like a void. Time moved differently here, stretching out each second into an eternity. Tyler sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. Boone, Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat nearby, their voices low and subdued as they tried to offer support. But Tyler didn’t hear them. His mind was stuck in the chaos of the collapsed building, the sound of your ragged breaths, the weight of your fragile body in his arms.

He stared at the double doors down the hallway, willing someone to come through them with news. Good news. Any news. His burned skin throbbed beneath the bandages the ER nurses had wrapped around him, but he didn’t care. The only pain that mattered was the fear clawing at his chest. The fear of losing you.

“T,” Boone said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong. She’s gonna pull through.”

Tyler nodded absently, his throat too tight to respond. He wanted to believe Boone, but the image of you lying so still, your face pale and streaked with dust, was seared into his mind.

The doors finally swung open, and a doctor stepped into the waiting room. Tyler shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Tyler Owens?” the doctor asked, glancing around the room.

“That’s me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The doctor smiled softly, and Tyler’s knees nearly buckled with relief.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “She inhaled a lot of smoke, and there’s some bruising from the debris, but no major injuries. She’s going to be okay.”

Tyler exhaled a shaky breath, his hands dragging down his face as the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

“Can I see her?” Tyler asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “She’s awake, but she’s still weak. Try to keep it short for now.”

Tyler nodded, barely hearing the last part as he followed the doctor down the hallway. His boots echoed on the tile floor, the sound somehow both grounding and surreal.

When he stepped into your room, his chest tightened at the sight of you. You were propped up in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask resting lightly over your nose and mouth. The faint beeping of the monitors was a comforting reminder that you were still here, still breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard him, and despite the exhaustion etched into your face, you managed a small smile.

“Hey, cowboy,” you whispered, your voice muffled by the mask.

Tyler’s lips curved into a smile, and he pulled a chair up to your bedside, sitting down with a sigh of relief. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“I’ll try,” you teased weakly, your fingers giving his hand the faintest squeeze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Tyler’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes drinking in the sight of you as if to convince himself you were really okay.

“I meant what I said out there,” he finally murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

You frowned slightly in confusion. “What part?”

“All of it,” he said. “The church, the kids, everything. I want it all with you, darlin’. I want to marry you, and I’ll wear whatever you tell me to.”

You laughed softly, the sound raspy but real, and Tyler’s heart swelled.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, your smile softening as tears welled in your eyes. “I want it all too, Tyler. I always have.”

Tyler leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s start with dinner,” he said. “Soon as you’re out of here, I’m takin’ you to the nicest place in town. No storms, no distractions, just you and me.”

Your fingers tightened around his as you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Deal. Can we have Italian?”

For the first time in hours, Tyler let himself relax, a small smile playing on his lips as he whispered, “Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

FIRST

CHAPTER TWO: DINER

synopsis: dinner with the Skywalker family becomes tense when Anakin's lingering glances and flirtatious comments about you blur the lines, leading to a drunken performance that upsets Padmé. What should have been simple becomes dangerously complicated.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, mild flirting in front of his wife

words: 1.6k

a/n: hello there, I am really happy with your receptiveness to this idea, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. I'll take this opportunity to let you know that there will be some hotter things happening, but we'll go through a little slow burn along the way (but not so slow, lol)… thanks again, and happy reading ;)

CHAPTER TWO: DINER

The dinner had been strange. You were already on edge, meeting the entire Skywalker family for the first time while keeping up the fragile lie of being Luke’s girlfriend. Lying wasn’t your strong suit, you had agreed that Luke would answer any relationship questions to not cause any suspicion. You kept the stories simple, only a date of the start of dating or a place, which you two already have gone, fearing you’d trip over more elaborate details.

Luke being late only made things worse. You tried to keep your nerves in check, smoothing invisible wrinkles in your light blue summer dress—a simple design that, to your surprise, drew a lingering glance from Anakin. You met his eyes and quickly looked away, unsure why his gaze left your skin tingling.

The awkward silence stretched until Padmé’s gentle voice broke it. “You must be Luke’s girlfriend. I’m glad to finally meet you,” she said with a polite smile, though her eyes seemed distant, the warmth not quite reaching them.

Anakin added, voice laced with playful sarcasm, “Though Luke didn’t mention you existed until two days ago.” Padmé elbowed her husband. “Hey,” he murmured, smirking as he leaned back in his chair.

Padmé's soft chuckle felt more like a well-rehearsed mask than genuine amusement. “Ignore him, dear. Let’s sit at the table while we wait for the kids.” Her suggestion carried a hint of formality—like an actress on a stage, maintaining appearances.

You followed them, feeling like an outsider intruding on an unspoken drama. The dining table, set for six, had two chairs on either side, with Anakin taking one end and Padmé the other. A trivial detail, but one that made your brows knit. Twenty-five years of marriage, yet they chose to sit so far apart?

Anakin’s eyes locked onto you, his intense blue gaze both assessing and amused. A faint, almost secretive smile played at the corner of his lips. “So, tell us…” he began, his voice deep and inviting, yet sharp as a blade. “You made the first move, huh? ‘Cause, let’s face it, Luke doesn’t have an ounce of attitude.”

Padmé’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly, her eyes darting toward her husband, but she said nothing.

“What, dear?” Anakin continued, tone casual but with a teasing edge. “We both know our son didn’t even have the guts to say his order was wrong. It was always Leia who did it for him.” His eyes flicked back to you, glimmering with something between curiosity and mischief. “Let alone asking a pretty girl out…”

Heat flushed your cheeks. It was a throwaway comment, surely not meant seriously, yet the word “pretty” lingered, stirring a whirlwind in your chest.

Padmé’s spoon clinked softly against her plate, her gaze fixed downward. He shrugged, an air of indifference cloaking him. Yet, when he looked back at you, there was an intensity—a fleeting moment where his mask slipped. You couldn’t tell if it was defiance, regret, or something else entirely.

The charged tension between you and Anakin dissolved like mist with the arrival of Leia and her boyfriend. Padmé's face softened, a genuine smile breaking through her composed exterior as she hugged her daughter. For a moment, the warmth felt real, unforced.

Anakin’s voice, however, sliced through the atmosphere, sharp and bitter. “Ah, still you, Han. I was hoping Leia’s taste might have improved now that her brain is fully developed.” His tone dripped with sarcasm, and he made no effort to hide the disdain etched in every word.

Leia shot her father a glare, but Han’s smug grin didn’t falter. He extended a hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Always a pleasure, father-in-law.” The greeting oozed sarcasm, a barely veiled challenge.

Anakin’s eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as he gripped Han’s hand, his knuckles white. The firm shake—a trick he’d perfected in the army—conveyed all the contempt he couldn’t say out loud. Han’s smirk faltered for a split second, his fingers flexing as he pulled his hand back. He masked the pain well, but you caught the flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

“Where’s the boy?” Han muttered, shaking out his hand subtly, scanning the room for Luke.

“Here. Sorry I’m late.” Luke’s voice broke the tension as he slid into the seat beside you. Relief flooded through your shoulders. You hadn’t realized how tightly wound you’d been until his familiar presence settled next to you.

“I almost thought I’d have to keep your girlfriend entertained while you were gone.” Anakin’s voice, soft yet edged, drew your gaze. His smile seemed innocent, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed something else—a quiet, knowing challenge.

Your heart stuttered. There was something about the way he looked at you, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through your façade. Like he knew exactly how he unsettled you, and took a quiet pleasure in pushing just enough to watch your reaction. You glanced away, trying to steady your breathing.

Padmé’s polite voice broke the silence, a thin thread of calm against the undercurrent of tension. “Now that we’re all here, shall we have dinner served?”

You forced a smile, nodding, but your mind was elsewhere. You had expected dinner to be calm. A sweet mistake, you realized too late.

As the courses were served, the conversation flowed naturally, wine glasses refilling with a quiet, unnoticed regularity. Leia shared news about college and her efforts to establish a student league. Luke chimed in about his progress in his engineering internship, and Padmé’s pride shone through her warm, attentive smiles. She spoke about her projects in the Senate, her tone composed and confident—a stark contrast to the simmering tension in her eyes whenever Anakin refilled his glass.

Han joined in, detailing his venture with Lando Calrissian. You listened, suspicion tingling at the back of your mind. Something about his elaborate plan didn’t sit right; it sounded too slick, too legally ambiguous. You said nothing, sipping your wine, letting the conversation wash over you. Anakin noticed your quietness, his piercing gaze lingering on you more often than it should.

“Oh, please, let your girlfriend talk a little, Luke… indulge us with your voice, dear,” Anakin drawled, his voice already hoarse and slurred from the alcohol. His eyes, sharp even through the haze of whiskey, locked onto yours. “What’s your major again?”

You swallowed hard under his intense stare, the heat rising to your cheeks. A sip of wine helped steady your nerves. You answered softly at first, but as the alcohol worked its magic, your voice gained confidence, words flowing more freely.

“Tell me more, dear,” Anakin urged, leaning forward, chin resting on his hand, eyes fixed on you as though you were the only person in the room. It was intoxicating—the way his attention pinned you under its weight. You knew it was the drink talking, but it still sent shivers down your spine.

He kept you in his focus, each question drawing you in deeper. But when his questions drifted to teasing—like what you wore to work—Padmé intervened, a strained smile barely concealing her frustration. She ordered dessert, trying to regain control of the evening.

The fragile calm didn’t last. Anakin, more energized with each drink, pushed back from the table and grabbed a microphone from the small stage in the dining room.

Leia and Luke exchanged worried glances. Padmé’s eyes widened in alarm. “What is he doing?” you whispered to Luke, but he just shook his head, jaw clenched.

Anakin’s voice, thick with whiskey, echoed through the room. “Feel my heat taking you higher, burn with me, heaven’s on fire!” He sang with an intensity that made the room shrink around you. His voice, rough yet commanding, filled every corner of the space. Padmé rubbed her temples, clearly embarrassed, but Anakin didn’t care.

“Come on, Padmé, don’t be boring. You loved this one…” His eyes flashed with a wild, rebellious light. “Paint the sky with desire, angel, fly—heaven’s on fire.”

You watched, heart pounding, as he prowled the stage, the lyrics rolling off his tongue like a promise. It was wrong—so wrong. The family’s discomfort was palpable. Yet, before you knew it, your head was nodding gently to the rhythm, drawn in by the raw magnetism he exuded.

Anakin noticed. His gaze locked onto you, a slow, dangerous smile playing at his lips. “I got a fever raging in my heart, you make me shiver and shake.”

The world narrowed to the space between you. The intensity of his stare sent heat flooding through your veins, your breath catching in your throat. How could a man be so intoxicating?

“Baby, don’t stop, take it to the top, eat it like a piece of cake.”

Your cheeks burned. It felt like a private serenade, a message only for you, even with everyone watching. You knew it was reckless, dangerous even, but in that moment, you were caught in the undertow, unable to look away.

Padmé’s voice cut through the haze. “That’s enough, Anakin,” she snapped, the sharpness of her tone slicing through the air. Leia and Luke exchanged uneasy glances, tension radiating between them.

Anakin ignored her, eyes still locked on you. “I’m getting closer, baby, hear me breathe. You know the way to give me what I need.” The words felt like a confession, a challenge, an invitation.

Padmé stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed,” she announced, her voice brittle. She walked out without another word. Leia and Han followed, the air thick with unspoken conflict.

Luke touched your arm, guiding you toward the exit. You stumbled slightly, your pulse still racing, Anakin’s voice lingering like a phantom touch. As you left the room, you could still hear him humming, his presence a storm you knew you couldn’t outrun.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

maybe an insecure G!P donna x reader?

angie and reader have basically grown to be friends (bc reader has been working as donnas maid for a very long time) and angie brings up the idea of reader being with someone (a woman) with a penis and the reader gives an off reaction, so when reader comes onto donna, she sort of freaks and doesnt know what to do or say in response to readers advances.

(but it obviously ends good)

Yesss!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!!

Fears

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, Donna being Donna, fluff

Word count: 8,124

Summary: Why? Why she hides her feelings?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

The silence, broken by the sound of cutlery, a dim light illuminating the table, that gloomy mansion... It could certainly seem that, like every night for some time now, you were having a romantic dinner with her. But even though all your senses, your feelings told you, whispered to you confirming that you were right, the reality was confusing and mysterious, as always.

There were no kisses, hugs or confessions; it was just you and her. It was a connection that was sometimes very visible and other times you couldn't even perceive.

You weren't a friend, a confidant, a lover, no. You were a maid looking for a way to stop being one, without finding a hidden corner, a secret passage to her feelings, to her heart.

Discreet, but at the same time endowed with a confusing joy for living, you spent the first years of your youth doing what all girls your age longed to do, looking for love. But your interests were far from those of a small majority, from what was expected of a villager, or rather, from what was the norm and not an exception.

Like the cliché of a romantic and dramatic novel, you fell in love with who you shouldn't have and you gave your first love to a stupid girl, thus becoming the worst mistake of your life.

Disappointment and deception were your first lessons, and you learned them too well. With a broken heart and a family on the brink of poverty, you decided to find a way to get away from it all. Being away from the village and at the same time earning some money seemed impossible.

Mother Miranda, the Lords, the Black Gods… they were your captors, the reminder that you would never get out of that place. The Duke, the village merchant, an entity somewhat kinder than the Gods or Mother Miranda seemed like a good solution to your problems.

For a 20-year-old girl like you, it wasn't difficult to aspire to any of the jobs that this extravagant man offered, but what you didn't know was that you wouldn't be an assistant or a merchant, but… a maid.

You were terrified, but you had to help your family. There was no time to think about fears, about what could happen, you simply accepted. Of course you would get away from the village, but the place you were going to was much worse than the memories of a failed love.

Nobody knew exactly who or what Donna Beneviento was. She was a Lord, descendant of the founders of the village, the youngest of her siblings, a doll maker... You didn't know anything else. You knew her mourning figure, the veil that covered her face, the sinister doll that always accompanied her, but the rest was just rumors.

They said she was a very sick, dangerous woman, who could make you suffer your worst nightmares without lifting a finger; they said that entering her territory was like death itself, a journey without return that no one could explain clearly. The reason? Just like the end of life, no one had ever returned to talk about it.

Barely speaking, she accepted your presence as a useful nuisance. You couldn’t hide your fear, the tremors of your body when you had her near. The rumors were present every day in your head and every night you wondered if it would be the last.

But time passed and nightmares didn’t haunt you. You couldn’t feel comfortable in her presence, in her elegant steps and glances through the black fabric, but you got used to it.

Donna was a strange woman, withdrawn, sick, and had no interest in you, in your presence or in your work, at least at first. Time was in your favor, as you began to stop shaking and accepted that you would continue to be in that place, that you wouldn’t disappear in that waterfall.

You did everything a maid did: clean, do the laundry, prepare your mistress a hot tea every afternoon... You did everything, except cook. You didn't know exactly why the lady in black was reticent in that regard, but you did know that you would never cook as well as she did.

Time again settled that strange coexistence, and conversations stopped being simple words or timid gestures, to let the words flow little by little. Of course, the attitude of the Angie doll was completely different from that of her owner, in fact, many times you prayed to the Gods for her to leave you alone.

Accustomed to your new life, you began to pass each of the challenges you set for yourself, knowing what to say to Donna to make her look at you or respond, and how to deal with that sinister puppet.

One afternoon, without warning, the lady in black pulled the veil from her face in front of you, leaving you pinned to an old chair. The people who said that a monster was hidden under that black cloth had never seen one in their lives. Donna was a truly beautiful woman, with a face damaged by selling her soul to the Gods.

Her face was damaged, yes, but not her beauty. Finally seeing the face of the mysterious woman laid the foundation for what was a chain of events that would continue until that very day.

She knew how to smile, she did it often. Her pale skin blushed with your compliments; her soft hands caressed yours from time to time, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

Your heart wasn’t oblivious to all of that, to those changes in your way of seeing things, in the way in which little by little, you began to see Donna.

That cowardly girl from the village abruptly left your thoughts, pushed by the constant image of the smile of the lady in black, by those timid and apparently innocent approaches. Denying it would be foolish; your heart had chosen, had chosen to fall in love with Donna Beneviento.

What could have been a new illusion in your life mutated unintentionally into a constant longing, into much more intentional approaches, into caresses that you began to provoke.

Donna seemed more than satisfied with your hands in hers, with a sweet smile, with a loving gaze staring into yours.

Again, it seemed like a love story worthy of a novel, but you should have already known that fiction was just that, fiction.

The tension was constant, the silences between you always seemed to precede a kiss, a confession, a confirmation that it was really happening, but it never did.

Donna, who at first seemed to want to get closer, moved further and further away. She seemed just as in love as you, but something told her to stop. When you were close to her, when you couldn't do anything but kiss her, she moved away with any stupid excuse.

Close, far, close, very close, and very far. She never said anything, never confessed the feelings you saw in her eye. You just settled for that special friendship, that tender relationship that maybe was just that.

The fear of misinterpreting things, of making a mistake and losing what it took you so long to achieve, made you deflate, but not give up.

If she was scared, if she needed you to wait for her to gain enough courage to tell you that you weren't fooling yourself, of course you would. You would wait for her until she was ready, whatever it took.

“It's delicious,” you said, blinking in pleasure at the food, earning her beautiful smile back with a slight nod.

“Grazie, (Y/N),” her hoarse voice replied. “But it's not the first time you've tried lasagna.”

“I know, but it's always delicious,” you said amused, shaking your head, searching your mind for the right way to stop silence from reigning again. “Someday I'd like to learn how to make it.”

Donna looked at you and smiled again, looking at you curiously.

“You... do you want me to teach you?” she asked in a cautious whisper, as if she didn't believe your words, as if deep down she knew that all you wanted was to hear her voice.

“Yes... well, if you want, of course,” you said, looking down to continue with dinner. “If you don't want to teach this clumsy maid how to cook...”

“No, no, no, um...” she said nervously, with the words coming out of her mouth with difficulty. “I didn't mean to seem rude. It's just that it surprised me. No one had ever asked me to teach them how to cook.”

“Well, I have,” you said jokingly, rolling your eyes adorably and making her nervous again, holding her gaze.

“Actually... I haven't gotten involved with many people so...” Donna murmured, wiping herself with a napkin. “I mean, with no one really and... Ugh...” she sighed nervously, looking down.

“Has no one ever told you that you cook wonderfully?” you asked curiously, to which she simply shook her head.

“I've always cooked for myself,” she explained. “You're the first person to try my dishes.”

“It's an honor,” you whispered, bowing shyly. “You're also the first person I've worked for as a maid, so it's a tie.”

“Yes,” she sighed, sipping some wine to hide her blush. “You're also very good at cleaning and… you leave clothes sparkling clean and…”

“The washing machine does that,” you joked, gesturing with your hand.

“Yes, but… I mean, you're a good maid and… Ugh, I better shut up,” Donna muttered, frowning.

“No, please, I like listening to you,” you said with a serious tone, making her smile discreetly.

“(Y/N), why did you decide to serve me?” she asked with a slightly different, distrustful voice. “I know your parents need the money but… Why me? You could have been more comfortable in the castle.”

“To be honest, the Duke offered me the job,” you whispered, with the demons of your past stalking you. “I'm not going to lie to you, Donna, at first I was a little scared with the idea of ​​coming here and…”

“With me,” Donna added, with a hurt sigh and a dark look.

“Well, yes,” you said sincerely, drinking from your glass. “But I couldn't refuse, I… needed to get out of the village and if I tell you the truth, I never believed in rumors.”

“Did you need to get out of the village?” the lady asked curiously, arching her eyebrow. “Perché?”

“It's a long story,” you murmured, relaxing your expression. “I don't want to be boring by telling you about my misfortunes.”

“Oh, no, please, tell me,” Donna said, blinking curiously, with a look that you couldn't deny anything to. “I'd like to know.”

“Okay…” you sighed, taking a breath and turning your eyes away from hers. “Well, it turns out I fell in love with a girl from the village,” you began, remembering worse times.

Donna nodded impatiently, giving her full attention.

“I thought she was wonderful, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen and, well, all those things you think about when you're in love,” you said, playing with the delicious food. “I'll just say that her family was very… traditional, they didn't look kindly on their little girl having anything to do with a poor girl like me, especially a with a girl.”

“I don't understand,” she said, shaking her head, not missing a detail of your sad story. “Why not?”

“Well, I guess there are people like that,” you sighed, controlling the sudden moisture in your eyes. “The issue wasn't what her family thought, I didn't care, but she did.”

“Oh,” Donna sighed, looking down, sensing the end of that story.

“Yes...” you said, shaking your head. “You know what? I thought love could overcome all that nonsense and prejudices. The truth is that knowing that wasn't the case was what hurt me the most.”

“Don't you believe in love?” the lady asked, innocently.

You couldn't help but smile, smile when you looked at her, seeing her bright eye giving off curiosity about what you felt about love.

“I thought I didn’t but... I was wrong,” you said, trying not to be too obvious.

“Have you found someone?” she asked abruptly, clenching her fists in a suspicious, nervous way. “Who?”

“I'm still not sure,” you whispered with melancholy, knowing that Donna would never, ever think that that someone was her. “I envy you.”

“Envy?” she asked, shaking her head with a strange look.

“You, the Lords,” you said, shrugging. “You aren’t judged, you can do whatever you want.”

“Um, well…” Donna murmured, frowning. “But that's not…”

“I wish Mother Miranda had adopted me too. It would be great to be completely free and also have powers. You're very lucky…”

“Lucky!?” the lady shrieked, hitting the table with her fist, scaring you with her abrupt attitude. “Lucky, you say?”

“That's the way I think,” you said confused, taking your hands off the table, noticing the trembling of her body. “You're a powerful woman, no one tells you what to do.”

“You have no idea, (Y/N),” Donna hissed, getting up slowly, threateningly. “You just talk nonsense. You don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'm sorry, have I offended you? I thought that…” you said nervously, fearing for the tranquility of that night.

“Would you sell your soul to the Gods to feel free? Do you realize what you're saying?” she asked in an accusatory tone, pointing at you with her finger.

“You did it,” you said strangely, crossing your arms.

“Yes,” she said coldly, leaning towards you. “I paid the consequences. You don't know what she did to me…”

“She offered you a gift, one more chance, eternal life, that sounds good to me,” you answered sincerely, a grave mistake, since the lady was increasingly nervous, her body trembling with anger.

“A gift…” she sighed, with a nervous laugh. “Look at me!” she shouted, pointing at the deformity of her face. “Do you think this is a gift!?”

“Donna…” you sighed, moving your hands to try to calm her down. “I've told you many times that it doesn't matter, you're beautiful and…”

“Sei una stupida…” the brunette hissed, clenching her teeth. “You don't know what it's like to look like this, you don't know what that gift did to me, what it did to my body…”

“Body? What's wrong with your body?” you asked confused, looking her up and down. “You have a beautiful body, what…?”

“Nothing, forget it,” she whispered, controlling her breathing and closing her eye.

“Donna, what…?” you asked, getting up and bringing your hand to rest on her arm.

“I said forget it,” the lady growled, pulling away from your hold with an annoyed gasp.

“But…”

“Forget it! Porca puttana! Lasciami!” she shrieked angrily, kicking the floor and turning with a sob, disappearing down the elevator hallway.

“Donna…” you sighed, frustrated by that argument, one that you had unintentionally provoked. “But what did I say?”

“Nonsense, as always,” a shrill voice said, the Angie doll, who approached you with a comical step.

The puppet was always jealous of your presence, at least for a while. Little by little you managed to gain her trust. Sometimes you wished you had that complicit friendship with the lady and not with that rebellious mix of porcelain and wood.

“I haven't said anything bad, right?” you asked curiously, letting yourself fall into the chair and resting your hand on your forehead. “I just wanted to praise her.”

“Praise her? Well, you're really bad at it, silly,” Angie mocked. “Anyway, I hope you haven't forgotten our game session tomorrow.”

“What? How can you be thinking about that?” you asked annoyed, while you looked at the hallway. “I screwed up things with Donna, again, help me.”

“Help yourself, silly maid,” the doll snapped at you, tilting her head. “You can start by keeping that mouth shut.”

“What did I say? Angie, do you know what she meant?” you insisted, looking for an explanation for the lady's behavior. “Look, I know Donna is embarrassed by her looks, but I thought she was over that and…”

“She wears a damn veil every time she leaves the house. Do you think she's over it?” the puppet hummed. “Um, lasagna…”

“Well, she doesn't wear it with me,” you muttered thoughtfully, staring into space. “I don't understand what that was about, I thought…”

“Stop thinking so many things, silly girl, and pick this up, I'll deal with your mess,” Angie said, patting your back and getting off the table, walking towards the elevator. “Big mouth!”

“Hey! But…” you protested, shaking your head and growling in frustration. “Damn…”

With no other options, knowing that it was going to be a rough night for your lady, you decided to obey the doll, which mysteriously seemed to be the more rational part of the lady when she lost her mind.

You were never allowed to deal with those horrible crises and psychotic attacks, but you were convinced that you would eventually be able to, although that night didn't seem like progress at all.

In silence, mulling over what your unforgivable mistake could have been, you did your maid's work, cleaning the dishes in the kitchen under a deathly silence, a silence that betrayed a distant sob coming from the lady in black's room.

You knew Angie was with her and that you shouldn't worry too much, but a second sob prevented you from going up to your room and caused your legs to move on their own towards the bedroom.

“A-A-Angie... I can't take it anymore...” you heard the lady sobbing, whom you could see through a crack.

Donna was at her dressing table, her head buried in her hands, faithfully accompanied by the only friend she ever had, and that wasn't you.

“Come on, come on, she didn't mean any harm,” the doll said while you listened. “She has no way of knowing that…”

“That's the problem, Angie,” the lady said, raising her head a little. “Cazzo… she doesn't…”

“Hey, hey, Donna, relax… I'm convinced that if you tell her…”

“I can't tell her! Don't you realize? She would never understand, she would leave and I would… be alone again…” Donna said, making you frown, not knowing what they were talking about, but sensing that it had something to do with you.

“Well, I think she would understand. She's nice, I'm sure…” the doll said, with a petulant tone.

“No!” Donna shrieked again, with a completely broken voice. “No, Angie, I can't keep her away from me, I... she...”

“You're almost as stupid as she is. That's nonsense, Donna,” Angie said, in a mocking, dangerous tone. “Let me take care of that.”

“Cosa? You?” the lady asked, shaking her head. “Angie, don't you even dare to...”

“Leave it to me, my dear Donna, we’re friends,” the doll said.

You didn't want to risk listening any further and you disappeared with a subtle step, wondering over and over again what was going on.

Fantasizing, tossing and turning in bed, you imagined what that secret could be. Logic and your hopeful heart whispered dangerous theories in your ear, whispered that maybe, just maybe, she had feelings for you and that the mere fact of acknowledging it was a torment for her.

The reasons? You didn't know. It could be because of her status as a Lord, because of the irrational fear of a relationship, or because she considered you a silly maid who couldn't feel the same.

It was definitely nonsense. You were madly in love with Donna, nothing could change your mind, but there was something you could do to change hers.

The shy and slightly submissive attitude you always had with her wasn’t going to serve to get results, you would have to be more direct, subtly force her to stop being afraid, to say something you already knew, that she knew. But you would have to be cautious and not take hasty steps.

Everything you thought or believed was pure conjecture from a stupid girl in love. One wrong step and everything would end. You would lose that wonderful woman, that woman you were longing to love.

“Donna,” you said the next morning, entering the workshop with an innocent smile, pretending that nothing had happened.

“Mm,” she murmured, focused on an almost finished doll, without looking at you.

“How pretty,” you whispered tenderly, looking over her shoulder at the creation.

The lady couldn't help but smile, handing you the doll so you could see it closer, satisfied by your compliments.

“It's almost finished,” she said with a distracted look as you gave it back to her. “Do you want something, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, well…” you said somewhat nervously, trying to search in your mind for the strategy you had already rehearsed. “Hey, I was thinking about yesterday…”

Donna lowered her gaze, suddenly tensing her whole body and breathing with difficulty.

“I don't want to talk, go away,” she said, with a dangerous hiss, moving away from your proximity.

“Oh, wow,” you sighed in a sad tone, pouting. “I thought you were excited to teach me how to make lasagna…”

“Mm?” she murmured again, frowning and looking at you briefly.

“Don't you remember? It seemed like you wanted to teach me,” you insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder, one that she glanced at, but didn't move away. “Well, if you're not in the mood, I won't bother you anymore.”

“Un attimo, (Y/N),” she interrupted, getting up from the chair when you were about to leave the place, playing nervously with her hands. “I-I'd like to teach you.”

“Great,” you said with a bright smile, putting your hands on your hips.

She smiled back, nervously nodding.

“Um… let me finish this and…” Donna sighed, with a different glint in her eye, one that betrayed interest, almost excitement.

“Hey, not at all!” Angie shrieked, also entering the workshop. “Don't you know what time it is, you silly, silly girl?” she asked, demanding an explanation.

“Well…” you said, glancing at the clock.

“It's playtime, silly maid! Have you forgotten?” Angie told you, insistently hitting your shin.

“Angie, Iasciala estare,” Donna sighed, glaring at the doll. “I'm going to teach her how to cook.”

“That's fine,” the doll said, nodding and walking towards her owner. “But first things first, Donna, she has to play with me.”

“Angie…” the lady growled, with visible impatience.

“No, um… it doesn't matter, Angie is right, playtime is sacred,” you said amused, with a childish tone, bringing a bold hand to the lady's cheek, which trembled with the contact. “That way you can finish that pretty doll…”

Donna blinked when she lost contact with your skin and opened her mouth to say something, but the words didn't seem to want to come out of her lips, so she just nodded, bringing her own hand to the place where yours rested.

You smiled satisfied, turning around and leaving a petrified lady behind you as you walked with Angie through the basement.

“Let's see…” Angie whispered, rummaging through an old drawer where she kept her favorite games.

Throughout that year, playing with the doll had been just another part of your routine. You couldn't deny that it was fun deep down, and as loud and irreverent as Angie was, you considered her something very, very close to a friend, a special one, of course.

“How about chess?” you suggested, taking out the board as you sat on the floor.

“No!” Angie shrieked, destroying your ears. “Cards, cards...”

“Cards again?” you asked, rolling your eyes as the doll pulled out a deck of cards.

“Yes, but not just any cards...” Angie murmured in a mysterious tone. “Let's play Angie poker.”

“Angie poker? You just made that up, didn't you?” you joked, laughing amusedly.

“Shut up, you silly, silly,” the doll protested, placing the deck in front of you.

“How do you play?” you asked while shuffling.

“It's like normal poker, but…” she explained, sitting on the floor.

“But,” you whispered in an intriguing, curious tone.

“If I win, you'll have to answer a question, whatever it is, and you'll have to tell me the truth,” the doll commented, making you frown.

“A question?” you asked, distrustful.

“Yes, silly, a question. If I win, I'll ask you a question and you'll answer honestly,” the puppet said again while you sighed, somewhat nervous.

“What if I win?” you asked, shaking your head.

“That's not going to happen,” Angie mocked, hitting the floor with one hand. “Come on, come on, deal.”

As expected, the doll didn't take long to win you over, no matter how hard you tried, you would have to answer her.

“Okay, you win,” you said, throwing your cards reluctantly and crossing your arms. “Come on, ask.”

“Mm, well...” Angie whispered, rubbing her hands. “First question, silly, silly, have you only been with girls?”

“It's an easy question,” you murmured thoughtfully. “I had some boyfriends when I was a teenager, but you could say that I have,” you answered without hesitation.

“Interesting,” Angie commented, studying your gaze. “Well, (Y/N), come on, another round.”

You laughed, arching your eyebrows at that fun game. Well, it wasn't so fun when you had defeat in front of you again.

“I have the same,” you protested at the doll's sinister laughter.

“Yeah, but my card is higher,” Angie mocked. “You lost again, silly, next question.”

“Ugh,” you complained, shaking your head. “Go.”

“Well… you said you had a boyfriend…” Angie murmured, with a more discreet tone than usual. “Have you ever touched a penis?”

“What?” you said, eyes wide, heart completely stopped. “Angie, what kind of question is that?”

“It's my question, answer it, loser,” Angie said, unfazed by what she had asked.

“Hey, that…” you whispered discreetly, looking around for more ears in the room. “That's none of your business, I'm not going to answer.”

“Coward, huh? Those are the rules, silly,” the doll said in a dark voice.

“No, not a chance,” you said, refusing flatly. “Ask something else.”

“No, I want you to answer that,” Angie said impatiently. “Come on… we're friends, friends talk about those things.”

“Angie, I don't think…” you whispered nervously, biting your tongue.

“Answer, maid, or I'll tell Donna that you think her lasagna is crap,” the puppet threatened, looking at her hands cockily. “You don't want that, do you?”

“Oh, you wouldn't dare…” you hissed, narrowing your eyes.

“Try,” the doll crooned, making you refuse again, which caused Angie to get up and walk past you. “Donna! Look what she said…!”

“Shh!” you hissed nervously, grabbing her arm and pulling her away. “Shut up, damn,” you growled, knowing you had nothing to do against her.

“Answer me,” she demanded again, freeing herself from your grip.

You growled again, squeezing your eyes tightly and rubbing them with your hand.

“Okay, okay,” you said in a discreet whisper. “I'm not going to give you a concrete answer. I just say that I experimented.”

“Oh…” Angie murmured, laughing amused. “Did you like it?”

“That's another question,” you said in a dark tone, wanting to throw the irreverent puppet into the fireplace.

“Oh, come on, you'll never win,” Angie said, leaning towards you. “You know it, look, I have all the aces.”

“Damn…” you swore. “Angie, what did I say about cheating?”

“Silly,” she mocked, making you hiss again and look away. “Come on, answer, did you like it?”

“I'm not going to answer that, what are these questions about?” you said annoyed and embarrassed.

“Curiosity,” Angie said dryly. “Come on, yes or no?”

“Ugh…” you sighed, wishing time would pass faster. “Well, it was different, but I never got as far as…”

“Would you like to do it again?” Angie asked, with a less mocking tone, as if she was serious.

“Okay, that's enough, I've played with you, now...” you said, getting up from the floor, ready to flee to Donna's company, to a shelter without Angie.

“Donna! (Y/N) doesn't like your lasagna at all!” the doll shrieked, making you grab her roughly, covering her moving mouth.

“Will you shut up? What's all this about?” you asked nervously, unable to put the pieces together in your mind, you wish you had done it before.

“If you don't answer, face the consequences,” she threatened again, making you twist your hands, imagining that between them, there was a wooden neck.

“You're...” you hissed, crossing your arms and giving up. “Well, no, Angie, I don't like boys.”

“I don't talk about stupid boys, silly,” the doll corrected, signaling you to sit back down.

Reluctantly, you obeyed, letting yourself fall to the floor.

“No? So what are you talking about?” you asked in a cold, annoyed and slightly embarrassed tone.

“You know…” Angie whispered, getting closer to your ear with a childish giggle. “Penises…”

“Ugh,” you said blushing and shaking your head.

“What if…? I don't know. If it wasn't a man, but a woman… would you like her penis?” she asked again, making you blush even more and raise your eyebrows.

“But, Angie, that's not possible, unless it's some kind of voluntary change, I once met someone who…” you explained, trying to find some rationality in that absurd conversation.

“I'm not talking about that, silly,” the doll said, interrupting you. “I'm talking to you about... well, what if it was an involuntary change?”

“Okay, I don't understand anything, what are you trying to tell me?” you asked, losing patience, finding multiple explanations in your head, some of which you didn't pay the attention they required.

“I mean, silly, silly... I'd like to know what you would think if... well, if you were in love with a woman, but she had a penis, not by her own will, but because of... the Cadou...”

“Cadou? What is that?” you asked.

“That doesn't matter now, silly, what matters is your answer,” Angie said, as if she had said something she shouldn't.

“You haven't asked any questions.”

“Because you don’t let me talk,” protested Angie. “Well, if you were in love with her, what would you do? Would you reject her just because she has a penis?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t. If I loved that woman I wouldn't care about anything else,” you answered from the heart, without even thinking about what it would imply, the meaning of those strange questions. “Seriously, what is Cadou?”

“I'm the one who asks the questions,” Angie said, with a slightly more nervous tone.

“They are very strange questions,” you said nervously, looking at the clock from time to time to end that torture.

“Don't be a whiner, come on, the last one,” the doll said, giving you a strong slap on the back. “And tell the truth, silly... I know when you lie to me.”

“How scary,”

“Shut up and answer: You love my Donna, don't you?” she asked in a low, kind tone, very different from the rest of her impertinent questions.

Of course you got nervous. The doll's statement was true, terribly correct, but you didn't know that she could even sense your feelings.

It was clear, the conversation from the night before was about you, but… if Angie wanted to know, why beat around the bush? Why such strange questions if that was what she really wanted to ask? It didn't make sense, no sense at all, unless…

“Gods, Angie, is it true? Does Donna have a…?” you asked, open-mouthed, blinking in confusion. “Gods, that's why…”

“Hey, that's not my question,” the doll protested. “I didn't say anything, do you hear me? You’re just drawing your stupid conclusions.”

“Angie, but, but, but how is that possible?” you asked curiously, stopping the doll from running away by grabbing her by the arms. “I don't understand anything.”

“I've already told you, silly, silly, when Mother Miranda adopted my Donna, her face isn't the only thing that changed,” the doll explained, then covering her mouth. “Oh, shit, I shouldn't have said that…”

“Hey, hey, wait, wait!” you said chasing Angie, who naturally ran away terrified by her mistake. “Hey, I do, I love her and I don't care about…!”

Your screams were of no use, as your mind was occupied with your thoughts. Suddenly, everything started to make sense.

 The doll maker's insecurities went far beyond her face, and you had no idea. Slowly, memories of your encounters began to fall on you, encounters where Donna would always back away when your bodies got close.

It wasn't an easy issue to understand. Surely she did have feelings for you, but her insecurities were too big, how could she expect you to fall in love with her if she probably thought you wouldn't like her body?

Poor Donna, it must have been terrible for her to think that you would never love her, that all she could do was discreetly walk away when you pretended to do the opposite. How could she confess her feelings? She couldn't be hiding it from you forever and as long as you found out... well, she would think you would leave, that you would be disgusted.

The revelation was strange, yes, but it wasn't anything especially surprising in a place like that. You were totally honest with Angie, you didn't care at all. You loved her, with a scar, without a scar, with a penis or without it.

It was an important step to begin to understand her feelings, but your mind understood it as the last step, as the green signal that indicated you could run as much as you wanted, that the path was clear.

You had been wanting to declare your love for her for a long time, wanting to kiss her, to feel her. Surely that is why you decided to end the tension at that very moment, and act, to force her in a certain way to admit that she felt the same for you.

To do so you would need some improvised strategy, to rescue some of that extroverted and daring personality you once had and you knew was somewhere. In addition, you had a unique opportunity for it, a great cooking lesson.

“That's it... gently,” she indicated while you cut the dough to form some perfect lasagna sheets, with a tender smile and a subtle purr. “I know I can buy it ready-made, but I like to do it this way.”

“Mm, it's much better if you do it with your own hands, isn't it?” you asked as you shook the flour off. “I hope I'm a good student.”

“Of course you are,” Donna whispered, giving you a tender smile as she moved away from you a little, stirring the sauce. “But pasta isn't everything. The main thing for a good lasagna is the…”

The lady froze when you approached from behind, grabbing her waist to stand on tiptoe and look over her shoulder. She trembled, speechless, but she didn't move away, she didn't take your hands off her body, innocent hands with not so innocent intentions.

“Mm? What, Donna?” you asked in a honeyed voice, as she moved gracefully so your hands would move on their own, away from her.

“T-The sauce,” she said, looking away and nervously stirring the appetizing contents of the pan.

“Yeah, sure, the filling is the most important thing, isn't it?” you asked pretending to be distracted, making her blink again, nodding slowly.

“Y-Yes…” she sighed. “Look, come.”

You smiled more widely as the lady left you some space to stand next to her, pointing at the pan.

“Mm, it smells wonderful,” you sighed, getting a little closer, shamelessly invading her personal space, leaving her no room to back away. “Can I try it?”

She just nodded, watching how your body brushed against hers, how your breasts brushed her arm in an intentional movement, with the wooden spoon shaking in her hand.

“Here,” she whispered frowning and offering you the spoon.

“Can you give it to me?” you asked, blinking childishly, not looking away from her confused eye.

“Em… va bene,” she murmured, dipping the spoon into the sauce and bringing it to your mouth while you held her hands, moaning in pleasure at the taste of the meat.

“Delicious,” you whispered, licking your lips sensually and making poor Donna look away, nodding.

“Ti piace?” she asked, moving away again, pretending to look for something in a nearby cupboard.

“Mi piace, mi piace,” you answered amused, chasing her slowly, standing behind her again. “What are you looking for?”

“Um, spices, yes, spices,” she said nervously, rummaging through the drawers.

“Parsley? You've already put it, haven't you?” you asked, looking at the jar she picked up, turning her hand with yours and taking a step towards her body again, being terribly close.

“Yes, but, but…” Donna murmured, seeing how her defenses fell, how your proximity completely deactivated her, just as you expected. “It's just that…”

Without thinking twice, you acted, directly, forcefully, bringing your lips closer to hers, catching them in a sweet, but deep kiss, which made the lady in black drop the jar as your lips consumed hers.

You pulled away with a curious look, seeing how her eye was wide open and her jaw dropped. She wasn't able to say or do anything, it seemed like she had been paralyzed. You could take advantage of that.

“Donna, the parsley,” you said pointing to the floor and bending down in front of her to pick up the jar, going up slowly, very slowly. “Be more careful, it could have broken,” you whispered, with a smug smile, handing the parsley to the motionless lady and moving away to leave her alone, at least for a moment.

It was the best kiss of your life, but it was also one that got no response. You fought inside yourself not to kneel down and confess your love, not to repeat the wet actions of your lips again.

You decided to tone down the euphoria a bit and continue cooking as if nothing had happened. Donna was nervous, terribly nervous, but she tried by all means not to lose her composure.

That lunch was the most tense of your life.

Silence reigned as always, but the looks were different. A tender smile decorated your face as she watched you, trying to decipher your actions, the reason for that stolen, treacherous kiss.

She didn't say anything, but neither did you, at least until, after eating, you decided to continue with your approaches, taking advantage of the fact that the lady was trying to distract herself by reading on the sofa.

You sat very close to her, her dress brushing against yours and, comically, she cleared her throat, moving away a little, but being chased by you until she was cornered.

Suddenly Donna put her book aside and sighed, looking at you briefly and shaking her head.

“Why did you do it?” she asked with a hoarse voice, a nervous whisper.

“What?” you asked, pretending to be confused, playing seductively with your hair.

“You kissed me,” she murmured after a few seconds of silence, avoiding looking you in the eyes. “Why did you do it?”

“You didn’t like it?” you asked, pouting. “Because I think you did…”

“I asked first, (Y/N),” Donna said, in a stern tone, frowning as she clenched the fabric of the couch in her fists.

“I don't know, I wanted to know how your lips felt,” you purred, resting your head on your hand. “I've been wondering that for a long time.”

“So, so... what's your verdict?” the lady asked shyly, slowly falling into your trap.

“Mm, I don't know. Maybe I'll have to give you another one to check it out,” you joked, getting closer again while she laughed shyly, with an obvious blush on her cheeks. “Unless you didn't like it.”

“I...” Donna murmured, shaking her head and closing her eye tightly. “I-I wouldn't mind if you kissed me again.”

“Mm, okay,” you said amused, getting closer to her lips, kissing them softly, letting her hands caress your face while she experimented, caressing you with her lips in a tender, but shaky way.

“W-Wait, (Y/N),” she said, slowly moving away and brushing your hair away from your face. “We shouldn't do this.”

“Why?” you asked in a more serious tone, far from joking. “Donna, I'm tired of enduring this tension between us... I know you feel the same way as I do... You can't refuse to admit it.”

“You're my maid, and it's not right,” she said, crossing her arms with a nervous gasp, looking at you comically out of the corner of her eye.

“It's not because of that, and you know it,” you said, taking her hand and pulling it towards you. “Donna, why do you insist on hiding?”

“(Y/N), look, maybe, maybe you're right and maybe I'm... madly in love with you, but it can't be possible,” Donna finally acknowledged, squeezing your hand in hers. “Don't ask why, tesoro, just... just accept it, okay?”

“No, I don't accept it,” you said seriously, with a brusque tone. “Stop hiding, my love… I, listen, I…”

“You don't understand, you're not capable of understanding it,” she hissed, moving away from you and passing a hand over her forehead.

“Kiss me again, Donna, please…” you begged, pushing away her fears, confusing her again with a deep kiss, one that she returned as you noticed how a tear ran down her cheek.

It was a different kiss, wilder, deeper, one that silenced the voices in her mind, that fear she had of not being loved, those insecurities. Your hands went to her face, to her hair; they went down her body slowly, not giving her time to think about what you were doing.

She stopped, but only for an instant, before continuing with those panting, hungry kisses, while your hand rested on her leg, moving up little by little.

“Basta, basta,” the doll maker said pulling away and placing a hand on your wrist. “Don't go on, per favore,”she sighed, embarrassed.

“Donna, stop... being afraid,” you whispered, wiping away one of her tears, hissing at the brunette's grip on your wrist. “Listen to me, I know everything, I know why you hide, I know why you ran away from me when I came near, I know why you deny yourself the desire you have to love me…”

“What? How do you…? Ugh, cazzo…” she hissed, pulling away and getting up from the couch. -Angie, vieni qui!”

“Shh, it's okay, Donna,” you said, lowering her back onto the couch little by little while she trembled in embarrassment. “She just wanted to help you.”

“Help me? But you, you know it and…” she stammered, breathing heavily.

“I'm here, kissing you, don't you see, darling?” you asked, caressing her cheek, guiding her to look at you. “Donna, I don't care, I love you just the way you are.”

“It wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault!” she screamed furiously, while you fought against her demons.

“Shh, I know, I know,” you whispered affectionately, nodding slowly. “I know, Donna…”

“I didn't want this to happen to me… I just wanted to have someone, a family… to stop being the crazy Donna Beneviento but… I, I became a… a mons…”

“No, don't even think about saying that,” you cut her off abruptly. “You're a wonderful woman, Donna, you really are and I… I love you, I love you and nothing can change that, nothing, do you hear me?”

“But I'm not what you're looking for,” she protested, shaking her head.

“Mm, do you even know what I'm looking for?” you asked amused, making her laugh shyly. “No, right? Then… let's stop fooling around, stop holding back, stop being afraid and let us to love each other.”

“(Y/N)…” Donna sighed, unable to stop your lips, which silenced hers again while your hand returned to the desired place, caressing her leg slowly, following the rhythm of her kisses.

“Shh, don't talk. Let our bodies do it,” you purred in her ear, pushing her chest gently so that her back rested on the couch.

Everything was already said, everything was clear, she loves you, you loved her, there was only one last thing left to do: an act of love, an act that would demonstrate the reality of your words, of your feelings.

Kisses began to calm the silence, small gasps replaced her complaints and fears and her hands lost control, wandering over your dress, grabbing your back, pulling you closer, much closer.

Your legs climbed over her hips as you fought the gasps, her wandering hands clawing, clinging to your clothes. Your mischievous hand moved up her leg, making her breathing quicken as you approached her shame.

You laughed on her lips as your fingers ran over her covered, but very noticeable erection. There was no doubt that she wanted it, that she wanted you in a wild way, you didn't know to what extent she did.

“You're beautiful,” you whispered to calm her nerves, to let the caresses on her dress not be uncomfortable, but quite the opposite.

She didn't answer, she looked at your hand with doubts, but it didn't take long for her to kiss you again, to stop thinking, to let herself be carried away by all those longed-for sensations. Not afraid to go fast, to quench the thirst for love that your body had throughout that year, you continued to stimulate her little by little, grabbing her gently, causing terribly erotic moans to vibrate on your lips.

“Wait,” the lady said, nervous and excited, when your hand went inside her skirt to free her shaft and expose it to you. “Wait…”

“Shh, allow me,” you said putting a finger on her lips while your hand did its job, freeing her hard erection, making you feel her hot skin between your fingers. “I know I'm going fast, but I can't hold back the desire to love you… Oh, wow, not bad,” you said amused, looking down while your hand made soft movements up and down.

“Don't look at it,” she complained, looking away, closing her eyes to avoid seeing your lustful actions.

“Donna, you're perfect, your whole body is perfect and I want it,” you said sweetly, knowing that she wouldn't be able to complete that impure act and freeing yourself from your own underwear, climbing a further on her body.

“(Y/N), I…” Donna said, enduring the pleasure of your fingers caressing the tip, of the soft and inexperienced movements you made to align her erection with your wet entrance.

“Shh…” you moaned again, letting the heat of her shaft pass to your entrance, to rub against it, to play cruelly with it until you lowered your body slowly, introducing it inside you and closing your eyes at the sensation.

“Oddio…” the lady moaned as she felt how she slid into you, how your walls, so unaccustomed to it, adapted as you lowered yourself more and more, until she was completely inside. “Così buono…”

“Mm,” you moaned, enduring that discomfort you felt at the intrusion, dancing slowly, very slowly on her hips. “Oh, Donna… it's just perfect.”

“Can you move? Please,” she asked you, trembling with the pleasure of feeling your warmth, of being inside you in a unique and special way.

You nodded once your body got completely used to it, going up and down, feeling how it slid, how the hands of the shy and insecure Donna traveled to your hips, marking the rhythm of your movements.

“Yes, Donna…” you moaned, feeling an overwhelming heat, pleasurable and unmatched sensations, dancing, going up, going down, squeezing her erection with your slippery walls, accompanying those obscene sounds with soft moans.

You had wanted to do something like that for a long time, wanting to give yourself completely to Donna, no matter how. The pleasure you felt was shocking, unbearable at a certain point, especially when the soft movements of her hips began to get out of control.

Her shaft throbbed inside you, calling, demanding a release that you complied with by pulling back, trembling, squeezing her inside you with a moan that was going to traumatize the elusive Angie.

“(Y/N), I can't… hold it…” Donna moaned, her nails digging into your skin, just before her own release erupted inside you, warming you up, covering you with the wet caress of her seed. “Oh, cazzo…”

“Wow, that was fast,” you joked, moving with her still inside you, giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

“I'm sorry, I…” she said, visibly embarrassed.

“Don't worry, Donna, I was saying it to me too. I think we've been hiding what we felt for a long time,” you replied, caressing her cheek

“Yes, we have…”

[writerfromshikahr]

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Kisses and Boat Rides - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

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The gondola glided through Treviso’s quiet canals, far from the city's bustle. The waterways were bathed in warm light, the reflections flickering across the rippling water. Lucanis sat across from her, the gondolier tactfully silent as he steered them into the more secluded routes.

Rook ran her hand along the boat’s edge, her fingers trailing close to the water. She glanced at Lucanis, her expression a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"You don’t strike me as the sort of man to indulge in long boat rides, Lucanis. Should I be worried?"

"Worried? Only if you hate quiet evenings with good company."

Rook arched a brow, leaning back with her arms crossed. The subtle sway of the gondola made her movements relaxed, though her eyes remain sharp.

"So, what’s this about then? Plotting to take out a member of House de Riva to piss off Viago?" she smiled sweetly.

"If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have arranged this, too much effort," he smirked in reply. "No, I thought you might enjoy this…being with me, alone."

Rook blinked at his tone, her teasing faltering. She glanced around the canal, the peaceful glow of lanterns and the distant hum of the city creating a rare moment of calm. For once, she had no clever retort.

They approached a small alcove, tucked under a canopy of flowering vines. The gondolier halted the boat gently, giving them the illusion of being the only two people in the world.

Lucanis reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped bundle, "I saw this in the market earlier. Thought of you."

Rook’s brows furrowed in confusion as she carefully unwrapped it. Nestled inside was a delicate pin in the shape of a curled-up cat, its silver surface catching the faint light. She took in it's beauty, her fingers brushing over the tiny, intricate details—right down to the little paws and the flick of the tail.

"You… noticed." she said with a soft smile, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I’ve seen the way you stop to pat every stray cat in Treviso. Or Minrathous. Or anywhere. Hard not to notice, seeing as though I'm the one waiting for you."

"It’s perfect. Thank you." Rook huffed a quiet laugh, her thumb still running over the pin.

Lucanis hesitated for a brief moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of what he was about to do, his expression unreadable. Then, with a fluid motion, he shifted forward, resting his arms on his knees and closing the gap between them. Rook's breath caught as he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against hers. The gondola swayed gently, and the faint sounds of water filled the silence between them. He leaned in, giving her time to pull away, but she didn’t. When his lips met hers, the kiss was soft, deliberate, and impossibly tender.

"Tell me to stop," he said softly, though his voice carried no intention of retreating, his hand at the back of her neck pulling her even closer into their new found intimacy. Rook hungrily returned his kiss, giving him all the permission he needed.

The world around them seemed to still, the quiet lapping of water fading beneath their heartbeats. When they finally parted, neither moved far, their foreheads resting against each other as their breath mingled in the warm night air.

"You’re dangerous, Rook, this could end badly" he warned, but there was no bite in his statement.

Rook tilted her head, "Didn’t you once tell me you always know what you’re doing?"

The warmth in her voice broke through his defenses, and Lucanis couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him, "So you were listening," he replied, voice laced with a dry humor, leaning back on his seat.

"Sometimes I do, especially when it's coming from a dashing rogue who has a penchant for coffee and many other desirable skill sets."

"Desirable skill sets? You haven't seen many of those….."

"Yet…" she cut him off with a smile.

Lucanis raised a single eyebrow at her teasing tone, "I'll keep that in mind and when another occasion arises for me to show off my "talents", I'll make sure were not on a boat, maybe somewhere more comfortable, private, to explore how capable I can be."

Rook looked down at the dark water, hoping the shadows would hide the flush on her cheeks. He had a way of saying absolutely nothing one moment to saying all the right things the next. It was perplexing, frustrating, and deliciously romantic, all wrapped up in one.

The gondolier, sensing the change in the atmosphere, resumed steering them slowly through the canal. Rook stared down at the pin in her hand, she glanced back up at Lucanis, who was watching her with a quiet intensity.

"You really are full of surprises," she said softly.

Lucanis’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, one that seemed reserved only for her. "Not surprises. I'm just finally noticing what matters."

The gondola continued its quiet journey and two Crows from different Houses had made a contract of their own that evening—one forged not with coin and daggers, but in stolen kisses and unspoken promises.

[yourstarstruckbeloved]

first glimpse of red

in which seishiro nagi veers dangerously close to the path of nihility.

content/warnings: 1.1k words, blue lock x hsr au??? cross fandom fic— this is not a shipfic!!! acheron is here purely as a guide, a LOT of discussion of nihilism and pointlessness and such, like two mentions of death, acheron might be ooc warning, if there’s anything i missed pls let me know

author’s note: i’ve been OBSESSED with the idea of nihility follower nagi— well, not an emanator since emanators of nihility technically can’t exist, so at least whatever acheron is. this is me trying to coherently put it all into words <3

seishiro nagi rubs his eyes and stretches, yawning as he does so. he boots up his PC once more, and shuts it back off when he realises that even playing another game would be too much effort. nagi is tired. sighing as he closes his eyes, seishiro nagi slumps on his chair. the time blurs into monochrome. 

reason.

what reason did nagi have to do anything at all? why does he wake up in the morning just to go back to sleep at night? he immediately discards the thoughts from his mind, concluding that it would be a hassle to think about them anymore. and unknowingly, he finds himself walking a step closer towards the edge of the looming blackhole in the horizon of existence. nagi isn’t someone who spends his time dwelling on matters like this— he’d much rather get to the root of a problem as quickly as possible and cut it right off, so it would never grow to be a bother again.

nagi doesn’t know what path he treads on. all he knows is he tends to choose those with easy exits and no catches. what does he even want? it just so happens that the easiest path nagi finds himself to be able to tread on is one of listless monochrome. a lot of people have asked him why he finds everything to be a hassle. he shrugs and says that he doesn’t know. it’s true that he doesn’t, but it’s not like he’s ever bothered to find the answer to the question. and it’s not like he’s asked himself why he doesn’t bother.

nagi doesn’t care. he’s been this way for as long as he could remember. 

he meets a purple haired woman in his journey through IX’s landscape. acheron is someone that accidentally stepped into the path of nihility and ventured a bit too far into IX’s shadow. for a fleeting moment, nagi wonders why she couldn’t just have steered course away from nihility, but realises he doesn’t care that much about the answer.

pointlessness.

it finally dawns on him, why he thinks of everything as a hassle. the answer had always been with him, he never had to go look. all of nagi’s actions stem from wanting to eradicate all burden and hassle from his life. he recounts this to acheron, and she comes to the realisation that she and nagi probably weren’t cut from the same cloth; they were two individuals on vastly different courses of life, that happened to intersect at this very moment. unlike acheron who happened to be thrown onto this path completely by accident, nagi seemed like he was destined to follow nihility since birth. he’d always found everything pointless, enough to feel disengaged from everyone and everything around him to some degree, at least. 

but then again, unlike acheron, nagi has an easier exit from this path than she does. she’s carved this one singular path for herself out of the hardest stone, in a resolve to reach the light beyond the black disc of nothingness, and to guide people who cross paths with her by making them pick a certain choice that she offers.

well… calling it a choice offered by her would be putting it in the crudest and vaguely inaccurate terms. she’s not the one steering their lives, even for this fleeting moment; she could never take credit for such a thing. she simply shows people possibilities, and lets them decide for themselves which one they’d like to walk towards.

nagi can articulate now that the basis of his attitude to most things in life is because of the pointlessness he associates with everything. so, what now?

but then this leads acheron to question if nagi truly was someone born for nihility, or if he was just another one of the poor souls that was led astray and accidentally ended up on IX’s monochrome path; because, well, no one’s point of existence could truly be to pursue nihility— anyways, it’s not like the answer to that question matters, she surmises.

there is nothing left for nagi to do in this reality except for think, and so he does. why did he keep pressing on until this moment despite the pointlessness of his existence? well, he wouldn’t say he particularly pressed on to live— had death come knocking on his door, he would’ve followed it out with a shrug of his shoulders. do you keep living despite the pointlessness of it all, or do you actively try to find meaning in your actions?

cut that out, the answer to that question is pointless— humans keep living on, regardless of their answers.

slowly, the pieces of the puzzle come together. some pieces are still missing, but he gets the wider picture. in a first, he asks acheron why humans strive to keep living despite the void of meaninglessness that the universe is based upon. she tells him that red is the colour of existence, and that it will be the first colour that will bloom, only for a fleeting moment in this monochrome universe. she asks him if he would roam in search of that first streak of crimson or if he would pick up a brush and paint it into existence. and when a choice is made, it shall reappear once more. in other words, will you search for meaning, or will you create meaning for yourself?

nagi wonders why her question wasn’t about following the halo of light at the end of nothingness— isn’t acheron a guide to those who walk this path? almost as if she hears his thoughts, she clarifies that it would be a pointless question for her to ask. his mouth opens to question her once more, but the word why? gets caught in his throat, as the realisation hits him like a speeding truck. every life is destined to end with the nihility, no matter what— it’s almost like a primal instinct, the way every being is naturally drawn to the light beyond the nothingness. perhaps, that is why a life that edges closer to death fervently approaches nihility, and further aspires to reach the end of it. so, will you strive to fill your life with meaning, or will you willingly thrust yourself into the meaningless pursuit of the primordial light, like acheron has?

he understands now. he picks up a paintbrush that lies fallen at his feet, streaks and blotches of red trailing with its bristles. he walks, but acheron doesn’t care to discern whether he’s walking towards the blackhole or not. she smiles wistfully, slashing her blade and tearing apart the spatio-temporal fabric of the horizon of existence. seishiro nagi wakes up in a cold sweat, finding himself in front of his PC once more, the words you died plastered in big red letters on his screen.

[justwritedreams]

Truth be told | Jeno

Jeno x Reader

Genre: fluff, a tiny angst 🤏🏻

Word count: 1762

Warnings: a terrible roommate

Note: Well hello guess who's back 🤗 if y'all are wondering if this is based on real facts, yes it is 😃

Summary: Jeno knows how to make you forget about the outside world.

⪢ NCT Masterlist

"Oh crap.” Y/N stopped halfway up the stairs, looking irritably at her bag. She was constantly moving her hand around in search of something, which made Jeno stop behind her and look at her curiously. “I forgot my eye drops.”

“You can get it, I’ll wait here.” He said as she turned to look at him guiltily.

It was very cold that night and they were late for Chenle’s birthday party.

But well, Jeno and she hadn’t seen each other in so long and finally that day her roommate was far enough away for them to enjoy their time together. And completely forget about the outside world and their commitments.

It wasn’t on purpose.

“We’re really late.” She reminded him, the strong wind blowing against her body, making her squint her irritated eyes because of her contact lenses.

“And I’m not going to let you have an itchy eye later because of Chenle. What’s two more minutes?” He asked, smiling slightly at her, who just nodded. “Let him wait.”

They were already half an hour late.

Y/N wanted to bite her boyfriend’s cheeks, he was particularly irresistible that night with his turtleneck and black jacket.

She loved that man so much, anyone who passed by could clearly see it in her eyes.

“I won’t be long.” She warned before climbing the steps again and stopping to rest her hand on his shoulder and place a quick kiss on his lips.

Jeno was tempted to pull her by the waist for two reasons: he wanted to get rid of the cold of that night with the heat of her body and because Y/N’s lips tasted like strawberry yogurt. 

But he didn’t do it or else they would really irritate his friend.

She almost gave up on going out when she ran back to her warm apartment. Who had decided to go out in that winter?

In a hurry, Y/N barely remembered where she had left her eye drops, whether inside the toiletry bag she took to work or in the middle of her bed, so she searched in both places and found the bed, which was a mess since Jeno had decided to tickle her earlier and they rolled around in bed laughing.

She sighed as she remembered the scene but didn't get lost in the memories since he was waiting for her outside.

Unfortunately, not alone like she had left two minutes ago.

Her roommate was standing too close to Jeno who was on the same step with his hand in his jacket pocket, Y/N took a deep breath, completely ignoring that little piece of her mind that warned her of a certain danger.

"Sorry for the delay, I didn't remember where I left it." She caught their attention as soon as she approached.

Jeno took his hand out of his pocket to grab Y/N's waist and bring her closer, causing her roommate to take two steps back and change her expression.

From a feline ready to pounce on a scared kitten.

Jeno rolled his eyes discreetly when the girl looked at Y/N.

“Are you going out, Y/N?” the girl asked and Jeno looked up at the dark sky while biting his tongue. 

He wanted to give her an answer that wasn’t even remotely polite.

“Yes, to celebrate a friend’s birthday.” Y/N explained with a smile and her roommate looked at the two of them with a pleading expression.

If she questioned something one more time, Jeno would…

“What were you looking for?”

…Curse her until the next generation.

He wanted to yell the word condom to embarrass the girl, but he wouldn’t be rude to his girlfriend.

It wasn’t worth it anyway.

“Shall we go?” Jeno interrupted the not-so-unexpected interrogation and Y/N nodded, remembering the time.

“Yes, please. Bye.” She said goodbye to her roommate and they started down the stairs.

“Bye. Bye Jeno.” the girl said and he just swallowed hard and nodded while keeping Y/N by his side.

There were few people who could get on his nerves, but his girlfriend’s roommate was about to join that list.

She wasn’t just loose, she was invasive, indiscreet and unnecessary. She wasn’t the least bit pleasant to be around.

And when Y/N wasn’t in the same room, she made a point of getting closer than she should to Jeno and laughing like a hyena, besides blinking more than usual and trying to look sweet like Y/N but always failing because Jeno saw her real intentions behind that good girl act.

She was a snake ready to strike.

He never complained directly to Y/N for two reasons: he knew how to cut off any kind of flirting and because he didn’t want to make his girlfriend insecure, much less worried.

He would never leave her to be with a girl so low who didn't care if he was the boyfriend of someone she called her "friend", he knew it wasn't a true friendship on her part.

Y/N had much more serious problems than worrying about her boring roommate.

But it was clear that this was bothering him more than usual, of course it would be the girl had practically thrown herself at him on the stairs complimenting him and the perfume he wore, she had even tried to caress his hand that was on the railing, so he took it away.

And the stiffness in his shoulders and the clenched jaw didn't go unnoticed by Y/N who stared at him attentively until he drove away from her street.

When Jeno took a deep breath for the third time in less than five minutes, she knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked sweetly. “Something happened.”

“What? No.” He glanced at her, a little surprised.

“It wasn’t a question, Jeno.” She replied a little more firmly and crossed her arms. “I know you. More than I know myself.”

He pondered. He didn’t want to have that conversation now when they were so happy but there was no way to escape.

What could happen the next time he had the unfortunate coincidence of meeting that annoying girl? 

He could imagine exactly the scene she would create. He had to protect Y/N from that.

“I hate your roommate.” he replied, breathing through his nostrils. “She questions you about everything, acts like you’re obligated to give her explanations and take her anywhere with you.”

Y/N blinked several times, she had never heard Jeno speak in that serious tone.

He wasn’t like that with anyone.

“What did she do?” Silence. “Jeno.”

He took another deep breath and parked the car so he could look at her. Only then would she see the truth in his eyes.

“It’s not the first time she’s made indirect comments to me behind your back, I always cut her off, but today… She managed to irritate me.”

“Indirect?” Y/N questioned. She needed to hear that.

“She flirts with me, Y/N. All the time when you’re not around and when you are she has that sly expression, saying how lonely she feels.”

Y/N held her breath.

Okay, her roommate wasn’t the best company in the world. Several times she was tired from work eating and the girl would knock on Y/N's bedroom door to talk about nothing important when all she wanted to do was stay in silence.

Besides that apparently she wasn't a fan of headphones and even knowing that Y/N worked at dawn, she would listen to music loudly while Y/N was sleeping.

And there was also the fact that she wanted to go to Y/N's family's house every time she went once a month, she didn't even have time to talk to her parents because her roommate had to talk about how difficult her life was.

But hitting on her boyfriend? It was a bit too much.

"That's why you're avoiding going to my home when she's there." she concluded and saw Jeno nod. "What did she say today?"

"Babe, you don't..."

"If you don't tell me, I'll get out of this car, walk home and make her talk." she warned firmly and Jeno knew she was brave enough to do that.

“She said I smelled too good to be alone outside and that if I wanted company, we could come in. Then she tried to caress my hand.” Jeno felt his stomach churn with disgust and his heart sink when he saw his girlfriend change her expression.

She was angry and clenched her hands into fists so tightly that her fingertips turned white.

“That bitch!” Y/N shouted, panting. “It’s okay for her to take my clothes, even my food, but she also wants my family and now my boyfriend? Oh but she’s going to listen to me because I’m going to talk…”

She made a move to get out of the car, but Jeno stopped her, holding her by the face and making her look him straight in the eyes.

“You don’t need to waste your time with that girl, that’s what she wants, to create problems between you and me.”

“She’s flirting with you. Behind my back!” she said indignantly.

“And truth be told, she has no chance with me because I love you!” Jeno spoke a little louder and Y/N stopped, feeling her eyes water. 

It wasn't the first time she heard those three little words from Jeno, but every time she heard them it was like it was the first time because he always spoke with the same sincerity and desire. 

"Do you think saying that will calm me down?" It was obvious that it would. 

Jeno smiled widely and rested his nose on her cheek, seeing her instantly give in.

"Maybe it won't." He blew against her skin and she slowly closed her eyes. "But this will." 

Jeno didn't wait another second to taste his girlfriend's sweet lips again, in a quick and voracious kiss, making her sigh against his lips. 

She felt so safe being in his arms that she didn't even remember the anger she felt seconds ago. 

The power he had over her with just one kiss was incredible. 

That only didn't last longer because Jeno's phone started ringing loudly. 

Y/N laughed when she saw Jeno's red lips were stained with the lip gloss she was wearing as he looked on reluctantly to stop kissing her. 

He took his phone out of his pocket.

"Damn, it's Chenle." 

They had even forgotten about him.

[taintedpompom]

Bessie smiled, turning around, just a bit too quickly, her bosom grazing Kanaya's face ever so slightly as she wandered off. Strangely the womans shirt felt a little damp.

Jade on the other hand, relaxed into Kanaya, muscles untensing under Kanaya's touch and praise. "Bessie isn't." Jade said, gesturing to another larged hipped lady. "They are all using fake names during their shift. It's some sortof roleplay. I've seen them when the shift ends they are actually quite demure." And much smaller. "The uniform flatters them somehow."

She smirked. "You should see the one with the bell."

Jade spread her legs slightly, letting some of the pressure in her breathe a little. It also pushed her into Kanaya more, which didn't help... but it was fine, ebbs and flows. Throbs and grows.

In hindsight Jade questioned some of her teacher's mantras. But it did make her feel a little more composed.

"Oh your work." Jade sighed as Bessie slid over, dropping 4 large glasses on the table, two a beer stein filled with a funky smelling white liquid that was as thick as yogurt, and the other two, long slender caramel glasses, that, flared out wider and wider at the top, almost like a coupes glass. The woman smiled her tail (?) swishing as Jade lifted one of the steins and swallowed a large mouthful of the mixture of protein and nut powders (And so much more, though Bessie wasn't telling!) "I did it."

Truth be told Kanaya's work was easy. More then easy it literally vanished as soon as she left on her vacation. Even before that, when Jade was dealing with the back work, all she had to do was approach some dangerous and disappointed looking punks and vagrants and warn them about smoking in public or other minor misdemenors. They didn't even protest. They just asked when the "Hot one" would show up again.

Which, admittably, hurt Jade's feelings a little.

Goody Two Huge

Jade walked down the hall. Everyone knew it even those from the other end. It was the boots. Their heavy metal heels clacked on the ground. It was the scent, the cloying waft of herbs that announced her arrival, forcing nostrils to flare and drink deeply of the honor students aroma, even as it overpowered their senses.

It was her.

Jade bristled as she strutted. She was actually in a good mode but she bristled anyway. It was hard not to, her old outfits her precious tyedies, were all tattered and every inhale caused muscles to push against this confining uniform they painted on her. To snap and bare herself before the world. Which she didnt ACTUALLY want to do. She liked the pressure... but it was so WEAK. Everything felt weak now. Like it would snap around her fingers if she pushed. Like it wanted to snap. There was a bubbling tension sinking down her stomach, lower if she was honest, that told her to let it. And she crushed it beneath her boot, feeling that urge pop beneath her mental power.

Still the tension was there, that welling feeling of pride that needed to preen... and yet, the women staring at her, quivering before her... well she didnt want to call them subpar... but they were hardly sophisticated. They tittered over her muscles and hanged off every word and threatened her precious composure... but they didnt get it. She needed...

Jade grinned. The light reflecting @galactophorousaeolistic form in her ruby glasses. The long goth punk in red. Her oh so disobedient servant, wandering off and forcing Jade to carry her own burdens.

Jade immediately made a beeline towards her. The relatively petite woman effortlessly cutting a beeline straight to her prey.

FRIEND. Her FRIEND. Who owed her. Who will be owned by her. But still hers friend.

Jade smiled braces glittering gold around her teeth as she craned her neck up. "Kanaya I missed you. You should have called."

[iamumbra195]

Ashlyn Spider-woman AUs are genuinely so funny because this girl would hate it so much.

She already has to deal with sensitive hearing now she has to worry about super strength, spider senses and sticky hands that only relax when she's calm which is like never because how on Earth is she supposed to calm down when she can punch through walls without breaking her arms and can practically sense everything within a mile-radius?!

The sensory overload would be painful as hell too.

If it was set in the canon universe, I think she'd tell her parents and they would all work together to figure out her powers. They'd probably use all the junk in the bus graveyard to gauge how much she could carry and how strong she was overall.

Over time, she'd probably get used to her powers, maybe even find some of them fun. Sticking to the ceiling and just chilling there for hours without all the blood rushing to her head was kinda nice and seeing her dad's reaction to her sticking to the ceiling for the first was entertaining. Plus, the powers made her even more flexible and she's into ballet. This girl would love being able to jump super high.

But she only really uses her powers at home where she feels like she doesn't need to hide it anymore. I don't think she'd feel the need to ever become a spider-woman. They'd managed just fine without her before and Alto was a pretty boring town. She wasn't a superhero anyway. I don't think her parents would ever want her to put herself in danger like that either. Plus, they don't their daughter to get attention from any unsavoury people or the government. They were both in the military after all. They knew how corrupt and messed up the government could be and they didn't want Ashlyn anywhere near it.

But then the new school year starts and there's a weird new kid that makes her senses prickle with unease. In fact, almost everything about her first day back at school makes her uneasy. The new kid. The shoe that almost took her head off. The new teacher. The field trip. The new kid.

Aiden just won't leave her alone and it was irritating. He was loud and talked too much as well. Still, her dad wanted her to give it a shot and it couldn't be that bad. It was just a field trip, she'd been to plenty of those.

Although the last field trip she went on was the reason she ended up with her superpowers... She really didn't want to go. Especially with Aiden constantly pestering her about it. Agreeing to go felt like losing. Urgh.

She ends up going and at first, it's not bad. All until a woman offers to give them a free tour of a 'haunted' house. Ashlyn doesn't want to go. Something about the whole situation was making her uneasy. But the others all wanted to go so she went with them. The uneasy feeling along with the phantom noises that kept getting louder made it even worse, sweat collecting in her palms and the urge to flee only getting stronger.

So when she sees that creature and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, she doesn't catch her reaction fast enough, hastily taking a few steps back.

"Ash?" Aiden said and there was a hint of concern in his voice. The others were all staring at her with varying looks on their faces, from concern to irritation. It wasn't real. She needed to calm down. It was just a hallucination. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

But what if it was, the paranoid voice in her mind whispered. She had superpowers, who's to say that demons or ghosts couldn't be real?

She shook the thought away, tearing her eyes away from the creature and taking a deep breath before turning back to her classmates. She was being ridiculous. "Sorry, I thought I saw some-"

She was paralyzed in place when she saw them staring past her with terrified expressions, senses blaring with warning as a cold, slippery hand wrapped around her arm.

It was real.

And it was right behind her.

[fluffypotatey]

you ever think about how MK never gets a chance to really define himself?