#and now he’s scrambling to make it right | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brunchable · 1 day ago

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𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 3 ]

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Game of Cat and Mouse. Bucky being stubborn as shit. Summary: Things have turned awkward. You and Bucky hasn't spoken with each other for a few days now. But is the much needed space making things better or worse? A/N: Sorry this took so long lmao. My boy got sick and needed my undivided attention my poor baby but he's better now thank god. A/N: I honestly don't know how to top-up the previous parts but shit, I need them to connect to a deeper level first before jumping into full on smut okay? maybe in the next part. The song sums up the whole fic to be honest lol.

You’d become a master at memorizing Bucky’s schedule, knowing exactly when to leave your apartment to avoid any chance of running into him. But lately, it seemed like Bucky had developed the same strategy, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence around the building had become increasingly scarce. It was almost as if he was avoiding you instead.

Today, though, you decided to switch things up by taking the stairs. Sure, it was three flights down, but anything was better than the awkward tension of waiting for the elevator and possibly bumping into him. You clung to the faint hope that the odds would work in your favor, that the stairwell would be empty and uneventful.

But as you descended, the sound of footsteps echoed from below, growing louder with every step. Your stomach flipped, an irrational hope bubbling up before you could quash it. Maybe it’s not him, you thought, though deep down, you already knew better.

Rounding the corner, your heart sank and raced all at once. There he was—Bucky, just a few steps below you, pausing mid-step with his hand gripping the railing. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something guarded, his jaw tightening as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice softer than you’d intended. “Hi.”

His lips pressed into a tight line before he offered a stiff nod. “Hey,” he replied, his voice low, carefully neutral.

You stared at each other for a beat too long, the air between you thick with unsaid words. He looked almost annoyed—not at you, but at the situation, as if running into you had thrown him off his game. And maybe it had, because for the first time, it wasn’t you avoiding him. It was him avoiding you.

“So…taking the stairs now?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed a hint of tension, a wall firmly in place.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Yeah, um… decided to switch things up. Exercise, you know.”

He nodded once, his grip tightening briefly on the railing before loosening again. “Right. Exercise.”

Another awkward silence settled over you, the sound of distant voices from above faintly filling the void. You shifted on the step, clutching the railing a little too tightly, your mind scrambling for something to say—something that wouldn’t make things worse. But before you could speak, Bucky cleared his throat and took a step to the side, making way for you to pass.

“Alright,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, hesitating for a moment before you stepped past him. “See you.”

As you descended the stairs, your pulse pounded in your ears, each step feeling heavier than the last. You risked a glance back, only to find him already climbing upward, his shoulders tense, his head down. The image lingered in your mind, the sight of him retreating, the weight of his silence pressing down on you like a stone.

You reached the bottom landing, gripping the railing as you let out a slow breath. Part of you wanted to turn around, to call after him. But the words stayed stuck in your throat, tangled up with your own doubts and fears.

If he didn’t want to talk, you wouldn’t force him. But that didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to bear.

× × × ×

You arrived at work, your mood sour and your thoughts tangled up in that awkward encounter with Bucky on the stairs. The usual morning chatter of the office greeted you. Trying to focus, you went to your desk, arranging your things in a futile attempt to bring some order to your day.

But then you heard them—Trish and Amy, huddled at the corner near the coffee machine, voices low but still clear enough to reach you.

“I just don’t get it,” Trish was saying. “It’s been days, and there’s still no new uploads from SergeantBarnes. Maybe he’s got a new project or something?”

“Or maybe he’s seeing someone?” Amy added with a conspiratorial tone. “I mean, think about it. He’s been off the grid lately. That’s got ‘new fling’ written all over it.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to block out their conversation. It was the last thing you wanted to hear today, and every word just stoked the frustration simmering inside you. You took a deep breath, attempting to rein in your annoyance, but they just kept going, their words grating at you.

“Honestly, it’s like he’s gone quiet for no reason,” Trish went on, sounding genuinely disappointed. “What am I supposed to watch while I’m waiting for Dan to finish his gaming marathons?”

“Is that all you two talk about?”

You couldn’t help it; something inside you snapped. Before you knew it, you turned around, your voice sharper than you intended.

Both Trish and Amy blinked in surprise, their expressions shifting from confusion to embarrassment. You continued, unable to stop yourself now that you’d started.

“You both have partners, for crying out loud. Do you really need to spend every second gossiping about some guy online?”

They exchanged glances, clearly taken aback. “Jeez, sorry,” Trish muttered, looking both defensive and a little hurt. “We didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“It is when we’re supposed to be working,” you replied, more irritated than you’d intended. “Maybe keep the fan talk out of the office? Or, I don’t know, find a hobby that doesn’t involve obsessing over someone else’s life?”

Silence fell as they looked at you, wide-eyed and a bit stunned. Realizing how harsh you’d sounded, you took a step back, immediately feeling a pang of regret. But the frustration from this morning was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize just yet. Instead, you turned back to your desk, jaw clenched, hoping the tension in the office would dissipate as the day went on.

At the end of your shift, the weight of the day felt heavier than usual. The tension with Bucky hung over you like a cloud, lingering in your thoughts despite your best efforts to shake it off. It shouldn’t even be this deep—so why were you so affected? It’s just a casual thing, you reasoned with yourself. We’re barely even… whatever this is.

Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to move on, the thought of Bucky—the way he’d looked at you, the frustration and hurt in his eyes—gnawed at you. You found yourself mentally bargaining, trying to find some middle ground, some way to keep your guard up but let him in a little, too. Maybe if I didn’t overthink it… if I just let it be whatever it is, I wouldn’t feel this way.

As you gathered your things, ready to head out, Trish and Amy approached with hesitant smiles.

“Hey, you okay?” Trish asked gently, her earlier excitement replaced with genuine concern.

You managed a small, apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” you said, glancing between them. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you both. Just… a rough few days.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging a quick look before Trish turned back to you.

“No worries, but hey, if there’s something bothering you… maybe we can help? What do you say to grabbing some dinner with us? We can talk or not talk about it?”

Amy’s face lit up as she chimed in. “Yeah! You shouldn’t have to stew over whatever it is alone. Come on, let us treat you to some comfort food.”

Their unexpected warmth and support tugged at something in you, and you felt the weight on your shoulders ease just a little.

With a small smile, you nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice. Thanks, guys.”

They grinned, and without missing a beat, each linked an arm through yours on either side, leading you toward the door as if they were determined to help you shake off every ounce of stress you’d been carrying. As you walked together, their chatter filled the air, and you let yourself settle into the easy companionship, hoping that maybe tonight would give you the reset you needed.

× × × ×

Across town, Bucky was pouring everything he had into the punching bag in front of him, each hit landing with a force that reverberated through his whole body. The gym was nearly empty, giving him the space to unload, each punch fueled by the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him for days. His jaw was clenched, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he moved, his muscles tense and coiled with pent-up energy. The sharp sound of his fists colliding with the bag echoed through the room, filling the silence as he worked to dump every complicated thought he’d been grappling with.

He had no reason to be as affected as he was, but the whole situation with you had hit him harder than he expected. He’d thought he could brush it off, ignore the strange ache that crept up every time he thought about your last conversation, but it stuck with him.

After a final, powerful jab, Bucky took a step back, breathing heavily as he let his hands drop to his sides. His mind was still a storm of thoughts, the adrenaline from his workout doing little to clear his head.

When he wasn’t working off steam in the gym, Bucky’s day-to-day was far less chaotic than most people would assume. As an automotive engineer at Ford, he spent hours each day under the hood, designing, testing, and refining high-performance engines. His focus had always been on innovation, on precision, on building something that could withstand any test. It was work he loved—real work, with real meaning, where every bolt and every part had a purpose.

The other job, his work in front of the camera, was different. It was an outlet, a separate side of himself he’d chosen to explore. People saw it for what it was on the surface, but it never felt like the core of who he was. You, however, had somehow managed to blur the lines between the two worlds in a way that left him unsteady. And for the first time, he found himself wondering if keeping his other job had been the right one.

The memory of your face—surprised, hesitant, almost wounded—came rushing back to him, making his chest tighten with something more complicated than he was prepared to face.

Why did it matter so much? She’s just my neighbor, he thought.

He sighed, pressing his gloved fists to his forehead as he tried to shake off the ache that had settled there. For now, all he could do was keep hitting, keep moving, hoping that maybe, at some point, the weight of it would finally start to lighten.

Later that evening, Bucky found himself in his kitchen, mindlessly stirring a pot on the stove. The rhythmic motion and steady bubbling should have been enough to distract him, but his thoughts kept drifting—inevitably back to you.

He remembered the first time you’d crossed paths in the building, how you’d barely glanced at him as you carried a pile of boxes through the hallway. It had amused him, how determined you were to act unaffected, especially after that sudden recognition flashed in your eyes. That little double-take when you realized who he was had been priceless. He’d leaned into that reaction ever since, throwing little teases and comments just to see your reaction, to see the way your cheeks would flush or how your gaze would flit away, only to sneak back.

There was something refreshing about the way you seemed to care so little about the reputation attached to him—so different from others he’d met. And maybe that was why he couldn’t resist teasing you, why he went out of his way to bump into you, to throw in a bit of banter just to see if he could make you smile or throw him a comeback.

But he never expected it to go beyond that. He didn’t expect that somewhere along the line, those little interactions would turn into something he looked forward to. And now, somehow, it had gotten tangled up with feelings he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Bucky stirred the pot a little too vigorously, and a few drops splashed over the edge, hissing as they hit the stovetop. His hand stilled as he sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up all over again. This is my fault, he thought, jaw clenching slightly. I shouldn’t have come onto her too strong.

He hadn’t realized he was stirring so absentmindedly until the pot suddenly began to overflow, the liquid spilling over the edge and sizzling against the hot burner. With a muttered curse, he quickly grabbed a towel, lifting the pot off the heat and wiping up the mess, the sharp smell of burnt food pulling him out of his thoughts.

As he turned off the stove, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make things right with you.

× × × ×

After a long day, you found yourself standing outside Bucky’s door, nerves twisting in your stomach. Just apologize, you told yourself, trying to gather the courage. Get it over with and clear the air. But as you stared at the door, words rehearsed in your mind, you found yourself hesitating. You’d been standing there so long that you’d lost track of time, each second stretching as you cycled through a list of possible things to say, none of which seemed quite right.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock when a light, feminine laugh floated through the door, catching you off guard. You froze, your hand mid-air, as the laughter was followed by a familiar deep chuckle. Bucky’s.

"Alright, alright,” you heard him say, sounding more relaxed than you’d ever heard him with you. There was a warmth in his voice that sent a pang through your chest, the kind that came from comfort, closeness.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you didn’t miss me,” the woman teased, her tone playful and affectionate. “I know you. You’re never this nice to anyone else.”

You swallowed, something tightening in your chest as you listened.

"Alright, guilty," Bucky’s voice softened, almost shy. "Guess you’ve always been a bit of a soft spot."

Your heart twisted, her words and his response echoing in your mind, each line pulling you deeper into a sense of unease. Soft spot? Nice to her in a way he wasn’t with anyone else?

Your mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and your cheeks heated as your throat tightened. You felt silly for standing there now, silly for even considering coming over to apologize. What were am I doing? Of course he's with someone.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and panic flared. You turned, bolting toward your own apartment, fumbling with your keys as you heard Bucky’s door open behind you. Just as you managed to close your door, you caught a glimpse of him glancing down the hall, his gaze lingering on your door with a curious look.

Bucky’s sister, Becca, caught him glancing toward your door, she raised an eyebrow, nudging him with a knowing smile.

“What’s up with you?” she asked, a touch of teasing in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky gave his head a quick shake, trying to dismiss the worry that had settled there.

“Yeah, yeah… it’s nothing. Just thought I saw something,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on your door before he finally turned back to Becca.

She didn’t look convinced. Folding her arms, she tilted her head, giving him a look that only an older sister could manage—the kind that saw right through any attempt to hide.

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little off tonight, Bucky. I don’t think it’s nothing.”

Bucky held up his hands defensively, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he tried to brush her off.

“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing. Now go home, seriously,” he insisted, ushering her toward the elevator with a slight push.

Becca rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it for a second.

“Right. Nothing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she gave him a knowing look. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, a bit more forcefully this time, though he couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go on before you start reading my palm or something.”

Becca laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said as she stepped into the elevator, though she gave him one last pointed look as the doors began to close. “But, Bucky? maybe figure out what you want before you drive yourself crazy over it.”

With that, the doors shut, leaving Bucky standing in the quiet hallway, he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he glanced back toward your door.

Later that night, Bucky found himself slumped on his couch, phone in hand as he stared at the search bar. He let out a huff, rolling his eyes at himself as he typed: signs you’re into someone.

The results loaded quickly, and he clicked the first article, skimming the list with a mixture of skepticism and, admittedly, nervous anticipation.

Sign #1: You can’t stop thinking about them.

He paused, frowning at the screen. “Okay, that’s… kind of obvious,” he muttered, mentally ticking off that box with a begrudging sigh.

Sign #2: You go out of your way to see them.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at his phone, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“That one’s just stupid. I mean, we live in the same building. I don’t go out of my—” He paused, remembering all the times he’d “accidentally” found himself in the hallway when you’d get back from work, or when he’d gone to the laundry room at oddly specific times. “Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes.”

He kept scrolling, and the list grew more absurd—do you get jealous when they talk about other people? Do you go out of your way to impress them? By the end of it, he’d mentally checked off nearly every box, his expression morphing into a blend of reluctant acceptance and amusement.

Bucky sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him.

“What am I, sixteen?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Here he was, a grown man, looking up articles about crushes and ticking off boxes like he needed some random website to validate what he already knew.

But as he sat there, he realized it wasn’t the checklist itself—it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he felt like this. Like he actually cared about where things went, enough to drive him to ridiculous measures for some kind of clarity.

With a sigh, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of realization settling in. Bucky stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, letting out a deep sigh before grabbing his phone again and pulling up his contacts. Scrolling down to “Steve,” he hesitated for a beat before tapping the call button.

It rang twice before his friend picked up with a cheerful, “Yellow?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. “Hey, punk.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was light, clearly amused. “What’s up? It’s been a while since you called just to say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I… actually had a question. Kind of. For… a friend.”

“Oh, a ‘friend,’ huh? Sure, I’m listening.” Steve chuckled on the other end, and Bucky could practically hear the grin in his voice.

Bucky cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch.

“Right. So, uh, hypothetically speaking… how do you know if, you know, if you’re into someone? Like, in a way that’s… not just friendly?” His words tumbled out, each one feeling more absurd than the last.

“Your ‘friend’ wants to know how to tell if they’ve got a crush, huh? Didn’t realize we were back in high school, Buck.” Steve snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Bucky sighed, feeling his face heat up. “Look, if you’re gonna be annoying, I’ll just—”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” Steve said quickly, though he was still chuckling. “Okay, seriously. Well… I guess if your ‘friend’ can’t stop thinking about her, or if he finds himself looking for reasons to be around her, that’s usually a sign. Or if he’s, you know, protective, feels that weird jealousy thing… you know how it goes.”

Bucky was silent for a second, swallowing as he mentally ticked off each of Steve’s points. “Right. Yeah. Hypothetically, that makes sense,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“And,” Steve continued, now sounding suspiciously entertained, “if your ‘friend’ is calling up his actual best friend in the middle of the night to figure it out… well, that might be a bit of a giveaway, too.”

Bucky groaned, falling back into the couch with a scowl. “Alright, alright, I get it. Thanks, Steve.”

But Steve wasn’t finished. “Hey, Buck? If you’re asking for yourself—which we both know you are—maybe just tell her how you feel. You’re not as subtle as you think, and if she’s worth this much thought… she’s probably worth the risk, too.”

Bucky was quiet, swallowing the mix of nerves and excitement that Steve’s words stirred up. “…Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

× × × ×

The next morning, you were practically sprinting down the hall, head ducked and heart racing, when you heard him call out, “Hey! Y/N—wait up!”

You didn’t dare look back, only quickened your steps, praying he’d let it go. But his footsteps grew closer, and just as you reached the lobby, you felt a hand gently graze your shoulder.

With an awkward yelp, you dodged sideways, almost colliding with a potted plant as you called over your shoulder, “Sorry, Bucky—gotta go! Late for work!”

You bolted through the doors, ignoring the bewildered look he gave you as you disappeared into the morning rush.

You turned off your phone completely, just to avoid the constant notifications. His messages had started out simple—Hey, can we talk?—but quickly escalated. Each ding had become a taunt, a reminder that, even though he seemed persistent, there was no other reason to face him now. You left your phone off for nearly a full day, and by the time you turned it back on, there were over a dozen missed calls and messages waiting for you, each one a pinch of guilt you tried to ignore.

And just when you thought you’d mastered the art of dodging, fate had other plans.

Untik one bleary-eyed morning, as you rushed out of your apartment with a coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off the other shoulder, you came face-to-face with Bucky at the end of the hallway. There was no escape route this time; he was standing right in your path, his arms folded and an expression somewhere between concerned and utterly frustrated.

You tried to step to the left, but he mirrored you, stepping right into your path.

You shifted right, and he stepped left, blocking you again.

You both paused, sizing each other up. Then, in unison, you both moved left, only to collide shoulders. You exhaled in frustration, darting to the right, but he sidestepped with you again.

“Bucky, please,” you groaned, your patience wearing thin, feeling the minutes tick closer to being late. “I have to go.”

His eyes softened just a little, but he didn’t budge. “Not until you stop running away from me. Can we just talk?”

You scowled, giving him one last sidestep to the left, only to be blocked again. With a frustrated sigh, you finally did the only thing left: you placed both hands on his chest and gave him a firm push, slipping past him before he could react.

“I’m late,” you muttered, not looking back as you all but jogged down the hallway, leaving Bucky in the wake of your retreat, his gaze following you with an expression that told you he wasn’t giving up. Hell no.

× × × ×

Until one day, when you were in the middle of work, a receptionist from the ground floor called up to tell you that someone wanted to see you. Curiosity and irritation flared as you made your way down, a frown already forming on your face. And the second you spotted him—standing in the lobby, arms crossed, looking as frustrated as you’d ever seen him—you felt your heart drop.

You turned on your heel, muttering to yourself, “Unbelievable…” But before you could make it far, he called out.

“Y/N!” His voice echoed across the lobby, and you turned back with a glare.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?” you hissed, stepping closer so your conversation stayed private, though part of you just wanted to get him out of the building before anyone noticed.

His jaw was set, his gaze determined. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Nothing should have happened between us. Let’s just… leave it at that.”

He frowned, visibly taken aback by your bluntness.

“How can you say that?” he demanded, his voice low but intense.

Your throat tightened, but you held your ground.

“I need to get back to work,” you said, not meeting his eyes. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you once again.

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I’ll wait right here until you clock out if that’s what it takes. We’re going to talk, Y/N.”

You groaned, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Bucky, go home.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he took a seat in one of the lobby chairs, crossing his arms and settling in as if he were prepared to stay all night. Despite the receptionist’s raised eyebrows and curious glances from passing employees, Bucky stayed put, a stubborn expression on his face that only grew more determined with each hour that passed.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried to focus on your work, but every so often, curiosity and frustration got the better of you. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself messaging the receptionist, unable to resist asking, “Is he still there?”

The reply was quick and confirmed what you feared: “He hasn’t moved. Just sitting there, staring at his phone.”

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt despite yourself. “Could you… maybe offer him a drink or something? He’s not going to leave, is he?”

The receptionist’s response was amused. “Already tried. Said he’s fine, but he appreciates it.”

The next day, he was there again, seated in the same chair, his arms crossed and his expression set like stone. This time, he came prepared—there was coffee waiting on the front desk with your name on it. When Trish and Amy teased you about the mysterious admirer, you convinced them to sneak out the back exit with you after work.

The day after that, he stepped it up. Roses. A beautiful arrangement of vibrant blooms appeared on your desk, the receptionist delivering them with a knowing smile. Your coworkers were relentless, whispering about your "secret boyfriend" and giving you sly grins every time they passed your desk. Again, you dodged them and Bucky, slipping out the back exit before he could catch you.

But no matter how much you avoided him, Bucky didn’t give up. Each morning, he was there, as stubborn as a mule—or more appropriately, as stubborn as Bucky Barnes. His persistence was unwavering, his resolve impossible to break.

Finally, on the fourth day, the receptionist herself came up to your floor, pulling you aside with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone friendly but firm, “you’ve got to talk to him.”

Your stomach twisted as you glanced at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection.

“Your man. He’s down there again. Same chair, same determined look. And he’s got flowers. Again.” She folded her arms, her expression softening slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he’s been here every day for the past four days. He’s polite, patient, doesn’t bother anyone, but... it’s obvious he’s waiting for you.”

Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of her words settle over you. “He’s not my—”

“Y/N.” She cut you off, giving you a pointed look. “Just talk to him. If for no other reason than to put him out of his misery. I’ve worked here for five years, and I’ve never seen anyone that persistent. Trust me, most guys wouldn’t even wait an hour.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s... complicated.”

The receptionist chuckled, shaking her head. “Aren’t they all? But the way he’s sitting down there, looking like a kicked puppy one minute and a stubborn bulldog the next? That’s not complicated. That’s someone who cares.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t let something good slip away just because it’s messy.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest. You peeked toward the elevator, debating whether you could sneak out through the back again. But deep down, you knew she was right.

Bucky was waiting. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your things, bracing yourself for what was bound to be another conversation you weren’t sure you were ready for.

× × × ×

You stepped into the lobby, your pulse quickened. There he was, sitting exactly where he’d planted himself hours ago, looking a little rumpled, maybe even tired, but every bit as determined as ever. His gaze lifted the moment you appeared, and for a second, his whole expression softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Relief, warmth, maybe even something more—it was all there, clear as day, and somehow it made this moment feel… different.

Bucky rose, a small, boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he approached. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, letting the silence between you speak. The noise of the lobby faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet, invisible bubble.

You forced yourself to stay steady, trying to keep the upper hand. Arms crossed, you raised an eyebrow at him. “So… you camped out here all day?”

His smile turned a little sheepish, but there was no hint of apology in his tone.

“Told you I’d wait. Figured you’d come down eventually.” He took a half-step closer, his voice soft and warm, laced with that casual mischief that made it impossible not to smile.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the smile creeping up. “Could’ve just… I don’t know, texted? Called? Like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to make your heart trip over itself.

“I tried that, remember? Didn’t seem to work on you.” He shrugged, completely unfazed. “So I figured I’d go old-school. Sometimes persistence pays off.”

“Persistence,” you muttered, pretending to sound exasperated. “You mean showing up uninvited?”

Before Bucky could answer, the unmistakable chatter of Trish and Amy echoed from the elevator behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat. Oh no. Absolutely not.

Without thinking, you stepped closer to Bucky, practically pressing yourself against him as you yanked your bag off your shoulder and lifted it up like a makeshift shield to block both of your faces.

Bucky froze, his body stiffening at your sudden proximity, but his expression quickly shifted to pure amusement. His lips twitched as he looked down at you, your bag wobbling precariously on the side of your faces.

“Um… what are you doing?” he whispered, his breath brushing against your forehead.

“Shhh!” you hissed, tilting the bag slightly to peek over it. Trish and Amy were slowly walking toward the front doors, their voices growing louder. “Just… don’t move. They can’t see me with you.”

“And why’s that?” Bucky asked, his voice low and teasing, though he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned down a fraction, his face hovering closer to yours. “Afraid they’ll get the wrong idea?”

“No, I’m afraid they’ll get the right idea,” you snapped under your breath, glaring up at him.

His eyes sparkled, and his grin widened. “Oh, really? And what idea would that be, sweetheart?”

“Bucky,” you warned, the heat rising in your cheeks as you tilted your bag higher, completely covering his smirking face.

But Bucky didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he seemed more amused, his gaze dropping to your face like you were the most fascinating thing he laid eyes upon. His voice softened, the teasing edge replaced by something warmer.

“You know, you’re really bad at hiding.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating lightly against you. “Not gonna lie, this might be the highlight of my day. You, using me as a human shield. Very flattering.”

“Oh shut up,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, betraying the way your pulse was racing.

Trish and Amy finally passed by, oblivious to the two of you tucked against the corner. You let out a breath of relief, slowly lowering your bag. But before you could step away, you realized how close you were—Bucky’s face mere inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

His voice dropped, soft and almost reverent. “You can hide from them all you want. But you can’t keep hiding from me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare back at him, caught in the pull of his gaze. The noise of the lobby faded again, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“I told you,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly gentle. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You tried to ignore the thrill of butterflies that his words sparked. “Like I said, there’s nothing to talk about, Bucky. We should just keep our distance from each other okay?”

He took a steadying breath, his brows drawing together, his voice losing that playful edge.

“How can you just decide that?” he asked, his tone almost pleading. “You don’t even know…”

You shifted, heart pounding. “Because I know you’re already seeing someone else. I don’t need to be another complication in your life.”

He blinked, visibly taken aback. And then, just as quickly, his face softened, an incredulous, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him.

“Seeing someone else? Where did you get that idea?”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you tried to hold your ground. “I—I heard her, okay? When I was at your door the other day. The laughing, the… the way you sounded with her…” You bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh.”

He let out another breathy laugh, shaking his head as if you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“Y/N… that wasn’t a date. She’s not—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of exasperation and utter amusement. “She’s my sister.”

Your mouth dropped open, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “… what?”

“Yeah, my sister, Becca. She was just in town visiting.” He gave you a look of pure, amused disbelief, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “God, you really thought I was seeing someone?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” you muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Bucky’s smile softened, and he took another step closer, until there was hardly any space between you.

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Instead of. . . I don’t know? Avoiding me like the plague?”

You tried to summon a retort, but your heart was racing, your thoughts jumbled by his proximity and the way his gaze seemed to hold you captive.

Bucky chuckled, the sound soft and full of affection as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“All this because of a misunderstanding?” His voice was low, his hand lingering, fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out why you’re dead set on ignoring me.”

You managed to look up at him, heart pounding as you searched his eyes, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

“There’s only one person I want to see,” he murmured, his hand dropping from your face and now brushing against your arm. “And I thought I’m making that pretty clear?”

Your mouth opened and closed then opened again, “Okay. . .”

“Okay. . .” Bucky chuckles and steps back, “Shall we. . . restart?”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face, and a warmth bloomed in your chest at his invitation. You’d spent so many days tangled in your own assumptions, convinced things between you were over before they even began, and here he was, offering an olive branch with that disarming smile.

“Restart?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat as you met his gaze.

He nodded, his expression softening even more. “Yeah.”

You gave him a small, hesitant smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

Bucky’s grin widened, relief and something warmer sparking in his eyes. “Great. Let’s go home?”

“U-Uh, sure.”

× × × ×

The streets were alive with the hum of the city—cars rushing by, distant chatter from groups of people, and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. But despite the liveliness around you, there was an unspoken tension in the air.

You noticed the way women’s heads turned as you passed, their gazes lingering a little too long on Bucky. It didn’t help that he looked effortlessly handsome, his casual outfit somehow drawing more attention than it should have. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, but another part couldn’t blame them.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. His focus remained on you, his stride matching yours, though there was a slight hesitation in his step.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing up at him as you adjusted the bouquet in your arms.

He let out a soft hum, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice low.

“About?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally spoke. “About that night.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you instinctively looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you.

“I thought we weren’t going to bring that up,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both unease and curiosity.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” he replied, his tone steady but gentle. “I don’t like leaving things unresolved, Y/N.”

When you finally reached the corner of your block, you slowed your steps. Bucky noticed, his own pace matching yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The two of you moved to the quieter steps of your building, sitting side by side. The soft hum of the city buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely. Your bag rested on your lap, your face soft under the streetlights, but the tension in the air was anything but light.

Bucky broke the silence first, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” he started, his voice low but steady. “That night… I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.”

You blinked, turning to him in surprise. “Mad at yourself?”

He nodded, his jaw clenching for a moment before he continued. “Yeah. I thought I’d scared you off, made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was just… using you.”

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet, the ache in his voice tugging at something deep in your chest.

“Bucky, it wasn’t just about you,” you admitted quietly. “It was me, too. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if I could handle…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Handle what your life looks like.”

His head tilted slightly, his blue eyes softening as he looked at you. “Because of my job,” he said gently, not as a question, but a statement.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat.

“It’s hard, Bucky. I hear my coworkers talking about you—about SergeantBarnes—all the time. They don’t know it’s you, but it’s constant. They treat you like… like you’re this fantasy, this unattainable thing. And it’s not just them. It’s everyone who sees you online, who only knows that part of you.”

He stayed silent, letting your words settle, his gaze never leaving your face.

“And then there’s me,” you continued, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t want to be another name on a list or someone who gets overshadowed by… by the version of you that everyone else thinks they know.”

Bucky leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his head to look at you. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.

“I get that,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “And I hate that you feel that way. But Y/N, you’re not another name on a list to me. You’re not someone who gets lost in all of that… noise.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling in your chest. His patience today, his persistence—it wasn’t the action of someone who saw you as fleeting or inconsequential. It was the effort of someone who cared, deeply.

Bucky sighed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’ve kept my work and personal life separate for a reason. It’s always been easier to compartmentalize, to keep everything from bleeding into each other. But now? Now I realize that I didn’t think about what would happen if someone—if you—became significant to me.”

Your chest tightened, his words chipping away at the insecurities you’d been holding onto. “Bucky…”

Bucky turned toward you fully, his blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache.

“If I told you that I want to spend every day and night with you—not just because I like you, but because you’ve become the one constant person I can’t stop thinking about. If I told you that you’re my sanity when the world feels like chaos, my laughter, my desire, my comfort, my day and my night, my cold and heat—If I told you that, would you think that translates to only wanting you as ‘one of my girls’?”

Your breath caught, the raw honesty in his words shaking you. “Bucky…”

“I know my job makes things messy,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was almost ashamed. “But I get it—I get why it’s hard for you. I hate that it’s something that puts distance between us.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I’d do whatever it takes to make this easier for you.”

Your throat tightened, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to speak.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to change who you are for me,” you said softly.

“It’s not about changing who I am,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose something.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hands fidgeting as he leaned back against the step, staring up at the night sky for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’m gonna be really honest with you, Y/N,” he started, his voice low, hesitant. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about the… other stuff yet. It’s not as simple as just walking away. I’ve got contracts, commitments—it’s not something I can just drop overnight.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, appreciating his honesty even as the knot in your stomach grew.

"And that means... what exactly?" you asked, even though deep down, you already knew.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he let out an exasperated chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Do you really want me to say it? Do I have to say it?”

You didn’t flinch this time, your voice cutting through the tension with unsettling clarity. “It means you have to keep having sex with other porn stars… right?”

Bucky winced at the bluntness of your question, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground as he wrestled with what felt like shame.

You sighed heavily, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead as you shut your eyes tightly. Your mind was spinning, your emotions tangled in a knot you couldn’t untie. Out of all the men that could catch your interest, why did it have to be him?

“You are the most complicated guy I’ve ever met,” you said, letting out a short, humorless laugh that carried no amusement, only exhaustion. “Oh my gosh, I honestly don’t even know—” You paused, your voice faltering as you opened your eyes and looked at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “How would you make it easier for me, Bucky? How?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips parted, his gaze flickering over your face. He was clearly thinking, his mind working furiously to find a solution, any solution.

"Do you… not like the idea of me with other women?" he asked tentatively, his tone cautious.

You snorted, narrowing your eyes at him. "That’s a stupid question, Bucky."

"Just say yes or no," he pressed, his gaze intent.

"Yes, I do not like the idea," you snapped, your tone sharp with irritation. "But I can’t prevent it, can I?"

Bucky took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. Then, his next words came out carefully, almost testing the waters.

“What if. . .you do it with me?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief flooding your expression as his suggestion hung in the air.

Slowly, a startled laugh escaped your lips.

"Are you joking? You’re out of your mind if you think I’d showcase my body to the world like that!"

"I’m not saying you have to," he said quickly, his hands raising defensively. "I just thought… maybe it’d feel different. Less like I’m with strangers. Maybe it’d feel like I’m with you."

"Bucky," you said, your voice heavy with disbelief, "that’s not a solution. That’s… whatever that is, it’s insane."

His shoulders sagged slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots in frustration.

“I know it sounds insane,” he muttered, his tone rough. “But I’m trying to find a way to make this work. To make this easier for you.”

You shook your head, letting out a long breath. You stared at Bucky, your frustration and disbelief simmering just beneath the surface.

“Me… doing that with you? Just so I can handle this better?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But I hate the thought of you being upset every time I have to perform. And yeah, maybe it’s a selfish thought, but if it were with you… at least it’d feel real. Like it means something.”

You bit your lip, his words tugging at something inside you. But the idea of putting yourself in front of a camera, of having your body displayed for the world—it made your stomach churn. "Bucky, that’s not… I don’t know if I could ever do that. It’s not me. It’s not what I want people to see of me."

He nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I get that," he said softly. "But if it’s the only way to make this easier for you… I just thought—"

"You thought what?" you interrupted, cutting him off. "That I’d suddenly be okay with the idea of putting my body out there for millions of people to see? That I’d somehow be okay sharing you like that, even if it’s just on-screen?"

Bucky flinched at your tone, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want you to share me. I don’t want any of this to be a problem for us. But you don’t trust that I’m serious about you, and I’m just trying to find a way to show you."

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spinning. He wasn’t wrong—it was hard to trust, hard to believe that someone with a job like his could be serious about anyone, let alone you. But his suggestion… it wasn’t the answer. Was it?

For a moment, you considered something that had never crossed your mind before. The idea was ludicrous, insane even, but it lingered in the back of your thoughts like a whisper. Your lips parted hesitantly, the words tasting strange on your tongue as you said them.

"If I agreed… hypothetically," you started, your voice faltering slightly, "would I… would I have to show my face?"

Bucky blinked, taken aback by your question. For a moment, his expression softened, a mix of relief and regret washing over his face.

“It’s only a suggestion. . . you don’t have to do this, if you’re uncomfortable." he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I just… I threw it out there because I’m desperate to find a way to make this work.”

You exhaled, shaking your head.

“I don’t know. But the thought of you with someone else… it makes me sick. And now I feel like I’m stuck, like there’s no winning in this situation.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with understanding. You could see him weighing his next words carefully, as if they could tip the balance in either direction.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft yet steady. “You know what? Forget I said any of that,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s too much for tonight. For both of us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I��m serious. I don’t want you to feel like this has to be some big, impossible decision right now. We’re both exhausted from this conversation, and I don’t want to mess it up any more than I already have.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in your chest. He was giving you an out, a way to step back from the overwhelming weight of it all, and you weren’t sure whether to thank him or cry.

“How about this,” Bucky said, leaning forward slightly, his tone softer now. “Let’s just… hit pause for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll do something normal. Something simple. Let’s go on a date—no heavy talks, no complicated feelings. Just us.”

Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity in his gaze. It wasn’t an easy fix, and it wouldn’t erase the doubts or the fears that still lingered between you. But it was a step forward, a way to reconnect without the weight of everything else pressing down on you both.

“A date?” you asked, your lips twitching into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile growing a little. “Somewhere fun, somewhere we can just… breathe. No drama, no cameras, just you and me.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so easy.”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. “That’s because it can be. We don’t have to solve everything at once, Y/N. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest loosen ever so slightly.

“Alright,”you said, your voice steadying. “Tomorrow, we’ll go on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was warm and genuine, and for a moment, the weight of the evening lifted.

"Awesome," he said, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now, let me walk you up. Can’t let you carry bag on your own."

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet. As the two of you walked back into your building, the night air seemed a little lighter. Although at the back of your thought, a question lingers. Should you agree to his suggestion?

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld @eternalwinters @am-3-thyst @vaneyvfs

@mochiclouds @yesiamthatwierd @skywalker0809 @19jammmy @quinquinquincy

@morganlolitta @openup-yourmind @urbanleftovers @fallout-girl219 @awenita

@red22wolf @lostboys1987girl @tenmaabnesti @elloredef @daddylorianisastateofmind

@leighta @formulas-bitch @waywardhunter95 @cereal6666 @gg-trini

@ohdrey89 @theboysfanficmaker @clintsupremacy @whatislovevavy @okeypoteto

@lilynotdilly @byunleedy @mrsalexstan @jamesbarneswife @chiseplushie

@antiartemis @imagoddessinmystories @let-it-sn0o0ow @mostlymarvelgirl @crdgn

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hanniebaeee · 2 days ago

Text

Crushed

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: sexting, SMUT MDNI

Genre: campus au! (college romance), collegemates to lovers, fluff, smut

Summary: Your best friend Jennie has the biggest crush on Changbin. Changbin likes her too, but they're way too shy to talk to each other. Then there's Hyunjin, Changbin's best friend. And it looks like you and Hyunjin will get together before they do.

a/n: I craved a nice flirty college romance - Hyunjin is 99% flirty menace and 1% human in his one 😋

You had only one person to blame for this situation you're in right now. Jennie Kim. Your best friend. Her and her stupid crush on her dream boy, Seo Changbin.

The library was quiet, as usual. You were casually scanning the titles of books, trying to find that one book you've been chasing for weeks. But suddenly you felt a presence behind you, a little too close for comfort.

Turning around, you found Hyunjin (Changbin’s best friend), leaning casually against the shelf, his eyes fixed on you. There was something about the way he was looking at you - like a predator sizing up his prey.

"Hey," he said, his voice smooth and low, as if he hadn’t just materialized out of nowhere and cornered you between two rows of books.

"Uh, hi?" you replied, more of a question than a greeting.

Hyunjin’s lips curled into a smile, and he stepped closer, just enough to make the space between you feel way too small.

"So, I was thinking," he started, his tone so casual it was almost suspicious, "you've been acting kind of mysterious lately. Like, there's something you're hiding."

Your brain went into overdrive. Oh. So this was about Jennie’s crush. You knew this was an interrogation, disguised as flirting. And damn, Hyunjin was good.

"Mysterious? Me?" you laughed, trying to sound nonchalant. "You’re imagining things, Hyunjin."

"Am I?" he teased, leaning in just a little more. "Because I can’t help but notice you always seem to look my way. It’s flattering, really."

You had half a mind to just tell him it had nothing to do with him. Just so see that damn smug look fall off his ridiculously gorgeous face. But you can't do that to Jennie. So you resisted.

I think you’ve got the wrong idea," you said, taking a small step back, only to bump into the bookshelf behind you.

Hyunjin didn’t back off, though. In fact, he seemed to take your retreat as a challenge.

"Oh? So you’re saying you’re not interested in me at all?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully.

Your mind scrambled for a response, desperate to get out of this increasingly flustering situation.

"Well, you are kind of nice to look at," you said with a little laugh, hoping to throw him off his path. "But definitely delusional."

"Smooth," He said, chuckling softly.

"Oh please," you shot back, quickly slipping past him and you ran for your life, mentally cursing Jennie.

The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual lunchtime chatter, but at your table, the conversation was anything but calm.

“Jennie, I swear your stupid crush is going to get me killed, like real soon,” You said, trying to catch your breath from all the running. “He was just so close…and he looked so good, oh my God!”

You felt your cheeks heating up just talking about it, and you quickly covered your face with your hands.

“And you still didn’t crack? I’m proud of you!" Jisoo cackled.

"Me too," you said, smiling sheepishly. "But honestly, if he had pushed a little harder, I don’t think I could’ve held it together."

Jennie on the other hand was still pouting over the fact that Changbin wasn't making a move on her.

You sighed, reaching over to give her a comforting pat on the back.

“It's gonna be ok, Binnie’s shy, and it's so obvious he likes you!” you said with a smile.

“I just wish he would do it sooner! Because my fantasies are running wild now!” Jennie sighed and you and Jisoo burst out laughing.

Just then you see the boys come into the cafeteria, engaged in some animated conversation.

"Well, I know that if Hyunjin asked me out, I’d just say yes. I mean, he’s way too yummy to let go." You say with a shrug.

Heeseung leaned casually against the wall, chatting with you. You both were laughing at something he said, totally unaware of the storm brewing in the distance.

Hyunjin and Changbin were strolling into the building, when Hyunjin stopped mid-step, his eyes narrowing as his eyes fell on you and the handsome guy near you.

“WHO. IS. THAT.”

Changbin sighed and took in deep breath like he’s asking the universe for strength.

“Bro, keep it together. You’re acting like she’s already your girlfriend.” He bit out.

“She IS my girlfriend. She just doesn’t know it yet.” Hyunjin fumed. “IS SHE LAUGHING AT HIS JOKE?!”

Changbin groaned as he said, “Don’t do this here. Please.”

“No. Absolutely not. Look at him. He’s too... smiley. Too close. He looks ALIVE.” Hyunjin said, his fists clenched.

“He’s literally just talking to her. Calm down.”

“That’s how it starts. Next thing you know, he’ll be proposing marriage.”

“Oh my God.”

And you were getting really good at this. Were you a psychic? Because you sensed the heat of Hyunjin’s glare before you even saw him.

When you turned around, he was standing there like a statue, looking like he was about to do something dramatic. You cleared your throat awkwardly, giving Heeseung a polite smile and saying a quick bye before walking towards Hyunjin.

And Hyunjin didn't even bother hiding his jealousy. His eyes were glowing with possessiveness as you pretended not to notice Hyunjin’s feral energy.

“Hey, Changbin,” You said, giving him a sweet smile.

Changbin chuckled and gave you a friendly salute.

Hyunjin just stood there, jaw clenched, eyes still locked on you. You finally turned your attention to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Hi, baby,” You purred, and that was that.

Hyunjin completely glitched - his eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

Baby?! BABY?! Did she just call me BABY?! Oh my god. Oh my GOD. Is this real? Is this heaven? Is she teasing me? No, she’s not teasing me. SHE MEANS IT. She knows I’m hers. She knows I’d DIE for her. Oh god, she’s smiling. WAIT - DON’T GLITCH, HYUNJIN. SAY SOMETHING BACK. BE COOL.

Oh yeah, the internal monologue Hyunjin experienced was hilarious.

Changbin burst out laughing, slapping Hyunjin on the back as he watched him short-circuit in real-time.

“You okay there, Hyunjin? You’re looking a little... red.” Changbin teased, and Hyunjin snapped out of it trying and failing miserably to look in control.

“Fine. Totally fine.” He said, his eyes narrowing at you.

“You sure? You look a little…flustered?” You asked, knowing exactly what's in his mind.

“I’m not flustered. You’re flustered.” Hyunjin shot back, and Changbin laughed harder.

“Aha, sure,”

Jennie didn’t even want to be in the gym, but Jisoo had convinced her that working out might help her stop obsessing over Changbin. Ironically, that plan flew out the window when she turned a corner and there he was, in all his sweat-soaked glory, lifting weights.

She froze, holding her water bottle so tightly against her chest.

Changbin didn’t notice her at first, and Jennie was trying to quietly flee the scene, when she tripped over her own bag. Right into his chest.

In true K-drama style, Changbin’s reflexes kicked in, and he caught her around the waist before she could hit the ground.

“Are you okay?” Changbin asked, his eyes wide as he glanced down at her.

But Jennie? She's dead. D-E-A-D. With his hand still on her waist. What a beautiful way to go.

“Uh..yes..fine..totally fine..thank you…OH GOD.” Jennie rambled, trying to move, but her limbs are jelly.

Changbin, who had no clue what to do with his life now that the world’s most beautiful girl is in his arms, just stared at her.

“Um...be careful?” He managed to mumble.

“YES. BEING CAREFUL. DEFINITELY. BYE.”

She bolted out of the gym before he could say another word, leaving Changbin standing there, still replaying the moment in his head.

----

Jennie was still shaking as she walked with you and Jisoo towards your dorm, past the football field later that day. You snuck at glance at the field because you knew Hyunjin would be there, for his daily practice sessions.

And as suspected, Changbin and Hyunjin were there, their team jerseys clinging to their sweat-slick bodies.

Hyunjin spotted you instantly, and his eyes locked with yours from across the field. With a grin, he puckered his perfectly plush lips and threw you the sexiest kiss. It was so dramatic and slow, and so… Hyunjin.

You felt your face go crimson as Jisoo and Jennie lost it next to you, clutching their stomachs in laughter.

“Oh my God, STOP!” You hissed at your friends, walking faster.

Hyunjin, now thoroughly pleased with himself, smirked and added insult to injury by winking at you like the cockiest man on Earth. He jogs back to his position satisfied, knowing he’d just melted your brain.

Changbin: You're so extra.

Hyunjin: Unapologetically so. And? It worked. Did you see her blush?

Changbin: You live in your own little fantasy world, don’t you?

Hyunjin: Call it what you want. It’s only a matter of time.

Changbin: Bro, you’re something else🙄

Hyunjin: Thank you. I try😎

You were sitting at your usual table in the library, nose buried in your notes. The atmosphere is quiet, serene - until you smell a certain spicy cologne.

You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. You signed as he slid into the seat across from you with all the stealth of a tiger.

“Fancy seeing you here, baby girl.” You cringed so hard at that nickname, and glanced up, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Do you even know where the books are in this place?” You asked flatly, because you honestly didn't believe that he did.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair and said, “Don’t need books when the prettiest thing in here is sitting right in front of me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you might have sprained something. But he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with that infuriatingly smug expression.

“I missed you. You know I can’t go a day without saying something completely inappropriate to you.” He said, his tone so unfairly sexy.

You pointedly ignored him, and he just tilted his head with a teasing glint in his eyes. You snapped your notebook shut, glaring at him, though your heart was racing.

“Fine. Hand it over.

“What?”

You held out your hand and said, “Your phone.”

He looked completely surprised for a moment - genuinely thrown off - before his smirk returned. And he dug his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and placed it in your palm.

You quickly typed your number in and slid the phone back across the table. Leaning in slightly, your lips curved into a sly smile.

“There. Now you can text me whatever you want without ambushing me in public.” You whispered, and Hyunjin stared at the phone in his hand, then at you. His cocky demeanor was replaced by something softer - almost boyish, for a moment.

“You just give me your number?�� He said, like he really couldn't believe that just happened.

“Don’t make it a big deal now. Just use it wisely.” You said with a smirk, and grabbed your things.

Throwing him a cheeky wink, you walked away, leaving him completely smitten.

“Oh, trust me, baby girl. You’re going to regret this.” He called after you, earning a sharp glare from some of the other students.

----

You were curled up in bed, cozy under your blankets, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Just as your eyelids started getting heavy, your phone buzzed.

Hyunjin: You awake, baby girl?

You sighed, already knowing this isn’t going to end peacefully.

You: Barely. What do you want and can you please stop calling me that?

Hyunjin: To ruin your night. Obvious, isn’t it?

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling. Of course.

You: Hyunjin, it’s midnight. Go to sleep.

Hyunjin: Can’t stop thinking about you.

You: What about me?

And that was all the invitation he needed to go full throttle.

Hyunjin: About how you looked at me in the library today. About how you bit your lip when you handed me my phone, like you knew I won't be able to get that off my mind.

Your eyes widened, the air suddenly feeling too warm.

You: What are you even talking about?

Hyunjin: Don’t play coy, baby girl. I’m imagining you right now. Your hair messy on your pillow, wearing some cute pyjamas. Or maybe nothing at all. Which is it?

You groaned, dropping your phone and covering your face with your hands. This man. This man. You shouldn’t engage - you knew you shouldn’t - but your hands betrayed you as they picked up the phone and typed.

You: Hyunjin. It’s. Midnight.

Hyunjin: And yet, you’re still texting me back. You could’ve ignored me, but here you are. Why is that, hmm?

You bit your lip, glaring at the screen, but before you can respond, another message comes through.

Hyunjin: Bet you’re blushing right now. Maybe squeezing your thighs together too. Tell me I’m wrong.

Your jaw dropped.

You: You’re delusional.

Hyunjin: Am I? Or do you secretly enjoy how much I want you? Because I do. Every damn second. I’m losing my mind thinking about you under me, moaning my name, pulling my hair. And you know what’s worse? I know you’ve thought about it too.

You pressed a hand to your face, your heart pounding as your body reacted to everything he was saying. Damn him.

You: Hyunjin, I swear to god.

Hyunjin: Swear to me later. Right now, just admit it.

You exhaled sharply, fingers hovering over the keyboard, debating whether to shut this down or let him win. But the next message sealed your fate.

Hyunjin: Baby girl, I’m so hard right now. And it’s all your fault.

You tossed your phone onto the bed and pressed your face into the pillow, muttering curses under your breath. You and your brain debated if this was a good idea one last time. Because you could barely resist this man.

Finally, you grabbed your phone and typed back, your pulse racing.

You: You’re impossible. You know that, right?

Hyunjin: Am I?

You: Goodnight, Hyunjin.

Hyunjin: Sweet dreams, baby girl. Hope I’m in them.

You tossed your phone aside again, sinking back into your pillows, exasperated. You hated how much he affected you. Like how you were actually squeezing your thighs together. You were in so much trouble.

You tossed and turned for around fifteen minutes, Hyunjin’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record. He was hard? Well, it felt cruel to leave someone as hot and devoted as Hyunjin to suffer didn't it? You're so kind hearted. You're doing this because you're kind. Ok.

With a frustrated groan, you grabbed your phone. Your heart raced as you opened your conversation with him. This was a terrible idea. But the temptation was too strong to ignore.

Your fingers trembled as you typed a message.

You: Have you… solved your problem yet?

You hit send before you could chicken out, putting your phone down on the bed and burying your face in your hands. What are you doing?

The response came almost immediately, making your stomach flip.

Hyunjin: Oh? Couldn’t sleep without knowing, huh?

You bit your lip, already regretting this.

Hyunjin: And just so you know, I haven't solved it yet. Wanna help me?

You choked on your own breath. Against your better judgment, you typed back.

You: How exactly am I supposed to do that?

The pause before his next message felt like an eternity. When it finally arrived, you almost dropped your phone.

Hyunjin: Start by telling me what you’re wearing right now.

You stared at the screen, heat rushing to your face. This was ridiculous. You were wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, but somehow, telling him that felt scandalous.

You: An old t-shirt and shorts. Nothing special.

Hyunjin: Bet you look so damn cute. But you know what would look even better? You without it.

You: Hyunjin.

Hyunjin: What? I’m just being honest. Now tell me something else. Are you touching yourself while you think about me?

Your jaw dropped for the hundredth time that night. This man.

You: Excuse me?! No, I am not!

But you pressed your thigh together, your arousal burning through you.

Hyunjin: Why not? You should.

Hyunjin: Close your eyes, baby girl. Imagine me there with you. My hands on your thighs, sliding up under that shirt, my lips tracing your neck…

You gripped your phone tightly, your heart pounding out of control.

You: Hyunjin, stop.

Hyunjin: Shh. Just listen. You’d be so perfect beneath me, squirming, begging me for more. I wouldn’t stop until you were screaming my name, completely undone.

You let out a shaky breath, your entire body on fire. You’d never done this before - sexting someone, that is. And never let someone get under your skin like this, either. But Hyunjin? He was intoxicating.

You: I hate you for this.

Hyunjin: Liar. You love it. You love how much I want you, how I can’t stop thinking about you. Tell me I’m wrong.

And you couldn’t. You couldn't tell him he was wrong because he was absolutely right.

You: You’re infuriating.

Hyunjin: And you’re incredible. Now, do us both a favor and get some rest, baby girl. I’ll be dreaming about you.

You sighed, staring at the screen, unsure whether you wanted to scream, laugh, or throw your phone across the room.

You: Goodnight, Hyunjin.

Hyunjin: Goodnight baby (And I did solve the problem, thanks to you.)

You: omg, go away🙈

You groaned, putting your phone away for good and burying yourself under your blankets. Hyunjin has officially invaded your night and you knew he’ll be all you could think about until you saw him again.

The next morning, you found Hyunjin leaning casually against a wall in your department building, with his hands shoved in his pockets, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

It’s the intensity in his gaze that hit you first. The way his eyes trace over you with a slow, deliberate sweep, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Slept well?” He asked, his voice so smooth, you could've slipped on it.

You froze, feeling the heat rush to your face and down your neck. He knew what he did to you - he’s savoring it. The way your body reacted to his presence, the way your heart raced in his vicinity.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Hyunjin took a step towards you, his eyes darkening further. You felt your breath hitch, the space between you crackling with tension. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I'm exactly where I need to be.” He whispered.

His voice was so low, so commanding, you almost forgot how to breathe. Every inch of you was on fire from the way he was looking at you.

“What do you want, Hyunjin?”

“You. I want you.”

He took another step closer, his body touching yours, and you could feel the raw energy pouring off of him.

You couldn't move - the heat in your body was suffocating, and every inch of you was trembling. You weren't sure whether you wanted to run or pull him closer.

“I hate you.” You whispered.

“You can hate me all you want, baby. But you’ll still be thinking about me tonight. You’ll still be wanting me.” Hyunjin said, and he takes a step back, flashing you a smile.

Not a grin or a smirk. A beautiful, genuine smile.

You tried to swallow your desire, but it was impossible. With a final look that sent a shiver down your spine, he turns and walks away.

----

You lay on your bed that night, the silence suffocating, the thoughts of him flooding your mind. You were tempted to grab your phone, but you hesitate.

No, you told yourself. You’re not doing this again.

But then, almost as if on cue, your phone buzzed, sending a shock straight through your body.

Hyunjin: Thinking about me?

Hyunjin: I know you want this. I can see it in your eyes. You can’t deny it anymore.

You: What do you want, Hyunjin?

A moment passed.

Hyunjin: I want you, baby. I want to hear you say it. That you want me too.

You did want him. You’ve wanted him from the moment you met him, even though you were terrified of where this was headed.

You: I want you, Hyunjin.

Hyunjin: Good girl.

You: What now?

Hyunjin: Now, you let go. Trust me. I’ll be with you the entire way.

You felt the heat between your legs, the aching need that’s been growing ever since you saw him earlier. You slide your hand beneath your shirt, letting your fingers trace down your body. You gasped, not expecting it to feel this good.

Hyunjin: Touch yourself for me. Slowly.

You followed his command without thinking, your fingers ghosting over your skin, moving slowly in sync with his words.

Hyunjin: That’s it. Keep going. I want to hear you. I want to know exactly how you’re touching yourself. Can I call you?

You almost drop your phone. But you're so gone, you text a quick yes.

And he called.

“Baby? Go on now, don't stop.”

There was silence as your fingers slid through your warm wet folds. It has never felt this good before. You could heart Hyunjin’s soft gasps and grosns too. And everytime you made a sound, you could hear Hyunjin's breath shake or he'd exhale loudly.

“I’m close, Hyunjin. So close.” You moan softly, breathlessly.

“Let go for me, baby… let go,”

And you did. You let go. Every muscle in your body tightened, and you couldn't help the moan that escapes your lips as you come undone, your body trembling from the force of it. You whispered his name softly.

And almost immediately you heard him curse under his breath, a breathy moan leaving his lips. You were both gasping for breath, and that's all you could hear just then.

You smiled to yourself, knowing full well that this was only the beginning.

----

The sun was barely up, casting a soft golden glow over the field. You made your way toward the football field, your mind buzzing with anticipation. Last night was still fresh in your mind, and you couldn't wait anymore.

As you approached the field, you spotted him. Hyunjin was in the middle of practice, his body glistening with sweat. His focus is on the game, but his gaze flickered toward you for just a second, before he offered that cocky, irresistible smile of his.

You didn’t even need to speak. You just raise a finger and gesture for him to come over. The smile that spread across his face was everything.

You watched as he waved to Changbin and then jogged toward you. His damp shirt clung to his chest, the sweat dripping down his neck, and your pulse quickened as you realized how much you’ve been craving this moment.

When he reached you, he stood tall, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours. He was breathing heavily, but he still grinned and said, “You came to see me?”

You didn’t answer him with words. Instead, you took him away towards the back of the bleachers, pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, and before he could even react, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was hot, to say the least. His lips moved with yours, needy and rough. You could taste the sweat on his lips, and it only makes you crave him more. He moaned softly into your mouth as you deepened the kiss, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. The taste of him had your head spinning, making you dizzy with desire.

He pulled back slightly, breathless but still grinning. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, and you realized that you’ve caught him off guard. He wasn't expecting this.

“Did you miss me, Hyunjinnie?” You whispered against his lips.

“You have no idea.”

You pulled him in closer again, your lips brushing against his again. His eyes flickered with hunger.

You raised an eyebrow, fully aware of what you were doing to him.

“I'll be right back, don't move.” He said, turning and sprinting towards the field, and he was back in five minutes, his backpack on his shoulder.

“Your place or mine?” Was all he asked.

Yours was the closest, and you both were running now, all giggles and bright eyes. Stumbling into your dorm room, you pressed your body against his, your lips finding his again.

This time, the kiss is slower - more raw. The world outside disappears as his hands roamed down your body, pulling you closer to him. His touch was possessive and needy, as if he’d been waiting way too long for this.

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping you tightly as his lips left a trail of kisses down your neck. You moaned softly as his hands slipped under your shirt, grazing your skin, sending shivers through your body. Your fingers tugged at his jersey, trying to get it off, desperate to feel more of him.

He did it for you, taking it off and tossing it aside, revealing the toned muscles of his chest. Without warning, he lifted you off the ground, and you, though surprised, wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

You fell back onto the bed together, his body covering you with his weight, and it felt so warm and safe. He kissed you again, and you could feel the bulge in his shorts pressing against you.

His hands moved with urgency, yanking your shirt off, and his lips were on your skin, kissing everywhere he could. The sensation of his lips on your skin, the heat of his breath - it was almost too much to bear.

He pulled off your pants and panties, impatiently. And you reached for his shorts, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled them down, eager to feel him. His breath hitched as you pushed them down, your fingers grazing his skin, and when your eyes met, you saw the hunger in his gaze.

“So beautiful-” Hyunjin was struggling to be gentle.

Hyunjin’s hands slid up your thighs, pushing your legs apart as he positioned himself between them. His lips found yours again, and you kissed him back, your hands fisting into his hair, tugging him closer.

Your eyes met and you nodded slowly, as he positioned his length at your entrance. As soon as he entered you, both of you let out a breath of relief - finally. The pressure was overwhelming. His pace was slow at first, teasing, until you’re begging for more.

“Hyunjin… please. Faster.” you moaned, and he smirked down at you, his pace picking up. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he moved in and out of you with an intensity that made you whimper. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling beneath him.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby.” he growled, as your body arched up into him, your nails digging into his back as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge.

He watched you as he moved, and you knew he was enjoying the sight of you unraveling for him.

“Hyunjin... don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He grinned, his hands moving to your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as he thrust into you deeper, faster. Until finally, you couldn't take it anymore. Your entire body shook as your orgasm hit you hard, and you whimpered his name.

Hyunjin followed right after, his grip tightening on your hips as he moved even faster.

“Ah fuck-”

He pulled out just in time, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, as he spilled all over tummy. His head dropped to your chest as you both came down from the high.

The silence that followed was deafening for a moment before he looked up at you, his expression softening.

“That was… perfect.” he said, a beautiful smile lighting up his face.

You smiled back, and pulled him back down into a lazy kiss, your lips lingering as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

Later that evening, you held Hyunjin’s hand tightly as you approached the cafe where your friends were waiting for you both. Despite trying to keep things casual, you were both grinning like idiots.

Inside, your friends were crowded around a table, already halfway through their drinks. Jisoo spotted you first, narrowing her eyes and nudging Jennie. Jennie looks up from her coffee (behind which she was hiding, trying not to look at Changbin) and immediately froze.

Jisoo leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, smirking as she watched you and Hyunjin make your way over.

“Hi!” you chirped, waving excitedly.

“Hi,” Jisoo says dryly, her gaze flicking to your intertwined hands. “Are we pretending this is news, or...?”

Hyunjin smirked as he said, “Well, just to make it official...”

Jennie choked on her coffee, coughing so hard that Jisoo had to slap her on the back. Changbin just grinned.

“You don’t say,” Jisoo deadpanned. “And here I was, thinking you were just two extremely close friends, eye fucking each other every time you're in the same room.”

Hyunjin, entirely unfazed, said. “Yeah, sure. Friends. The kind of friends who-”

“Ok, let's sit!” You said quickly and Hyunjin slid into a chair at the table, yanking you down onto his lap.

You tried to wriggle off his lap, but he tightened his grip.

“There’s an empty chair right there,” you hissed, glancing at the unoccupied seat across the table.

“I don’t see it,” Hyunjin said innocently, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your friends groaned, but also looked really happy for you both.

As the table dissolved into chatter and laughter, and just then, Changbin cleared his throat.

Loudly.

Everyone turned to see him shifting awkwardly in his seat, his ears noticeably red. He looked around the table like he’s bracing himself for battle.

“I, uh...” Changbin started. “I have something to say.”

You and Jisoo immediately exchanged knowing grins, while Jennie stared at him in confusion.

Changbin glanced at Hyunjin, who gave him an encouraging nod. Then, he locked eyes with Jennie and said, “Jennie, I like you. A lot. And I've wanted to ask you this for so long…will you...um...would you like to go out for coffee sometime? Just us?”

The table fell silent. Jennie froze (again) like a deer in headlights, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. Her eyes darted to Jisoo, then to you.

“Before you think about running,” Changbin added quickly, “just know that Hyunjin is on standby. He’ll tackle you if you try.”

Hyunjin leaned back smugly, his arm still draped around you.

“He’s not kidding. I’d do it in a heartbeat.” Hyunjin teased.

Jennie’s jaw dropped as she gasped,“You - what?!”

She glared at all of you, her face turning bright red.

“You guys are insane,” she muttered, but looked back at Changbin, who was still watching her carefully.

And then, in a voice so soft it’s barely audible, she said,“Yes. I’d like that very much.”

The table erupted into cheers. Jisoo clapped happily, and you threw your arms around Jennie, who was still too stunned to react. Changbin grinned, looking like he just won the lottery.

The atmosphere was warm, full of laughter and love, and as you glanced around the table, you couldn't help but feel content.

Hyunjin’s arm tightened around you, his lips pressing against your temple.

“Told you we’d get here,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of affection.

You smiled, leaning into him. “You were right.”

And you were glad he was.

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin smut #skz smut #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader

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annievrse · 1 day ago

Text

It Only Hurts This Much Right Now / Act I

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader Summary: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine. Takes place pre-time skip. W/C: 15k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Dressrosa spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, is organised into scenes, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: panic attacks, anxiety, descriptions of injuries, blood, passing out, trauma (Luffy), and Law has his death tattoos pre-time skip because I said so.

Labyrinth Trilogy Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

��Run! Now!”

Your legs move of their own accord, your mind screaming against your captain’s request. Bartholomew Kuma’s Paw-Paw Fruit had your crew disappearing off the Sabaody Archipelago one by one.

With ragged breathing and a burning chest, the further you get from the grassy patch, the more your heart clenches in agony. Your family is gone, and you don’t know if they’re dead or hurt, and the thought of them being in that state has you clutching your chest.

“Luffy!” You scream as he vanishes from sight, your voice broken, but there is nothing you can do. The Devil Fruit you’d eaten as a child feels useless against someone of this calibre, so you run, just as your captain told you to.

The island is in an uproar of violence and fear; the only place you know to go is to the Sunny. The Straw Hats’ dear ship, who’s been waiting for its crew’s arrival, only to be left abandoned when you run directly into the back of someone.

You stumble backwards, the sudden stop causing your legs to give out from underneath you. You land on the ground, a sharp pain in your tailbone sending shockwaves through your spine. Breathing rapidly, you scramble to stand, but not before a hand clasps around your throat.

“Who are you?”

The voice is deep and commanding, and you spit your name out quickly. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out the vague outline of a large man, his fiery hair sticking out in all directions. With exhausted muscles and the little strength you have left, you claw at the man’s hand, his grip tight around your neck. The man scoffs and lets you fall to the ground, the second impact on your spine hurting more than the last.

“Kid, leave the poor girl alone.”

You rub your temples with tender fingers where a deep pain in your skull threatens to explode.

Kid? Where had you heard that name before?

Your voice comes out as a whimper, your body on the cusp of failing you. A warm liquid drips from your hairline, and you pull your hand back, your fingertips crimson. Panic rises in your veins, and you’re reminded of the terrible fate your crew faces. A dull ache on your side stops you from standing, but you try to do so anyway with no success.

“Hey, you’re with the Straw Hats, right?”

Tears collect on your waterline at the sound of it, and your brain focuses on one key component – Straw Hat.

“Come with me.”

Spluttering nonsense, you try to think through the rapid rise and fall of your chest, your inhales raspy, and your exhales short. Your body doesn’t feel like your own, and as tears roll down your cheeks, you wish Kuma had given you the same fate.

“Calm down,” The voice mumbles, hands finding purchase under your armpits to lift you off the ground. “Panicking will only make it worse.”

“M-my crew, they’re gone.”

“Gone?”

You choke on a raggedy cough, your thoughts disordered. With a tightening chest, you nod. “Can’t breathe.”

The man calls something you can’t hear, setting you back on the grass. The sudden threat of Kuma out there and possibly coming for you next has you crawling away from the man, who has his back to you, talking to someone in an orange jumpsuit. Blood drips from your head onto the grass below you, and your arms struggle to hold you. Coughing out sobs, you keep dragging yourself further from where you know Kuma is.

“Hey.”

“Leave me alone,” You rasp. “He’s coming.”

“Who?”

“Kuma,” Your heart tightens as your lips form his name. “He’s going to kill me next.”

“Fuck.”

And before you reach the trunk of a Yarukiman Mangrove, you’re lifted off the ground and thrown over someone’s shoulder. And despite your feeble attempts at hitting their back, you aren’t getting down.

“Don’t take me to Kuma, please,” The plea burns your tongue as you sob, your limbs thrashing. A sharp pain shoots from your side, and you wail out. “Please, get me away from here.”

“You’re safe, you’re free now.” Usually, you’d need proof if a strange person told you something with so much certainty; instead, you nod, and your eyes close of their own volition, exhaustion overpowering your common sense.

— Scene 2 —

You wake with a start, gasping as you sit up. Fear claws at your consciousness and leaves goosebumps in its wake. You don’t dare speak a word. Squinting into the bright overhead lights, you realise you’re in a bed, a thin blanket pooled around your waist. An IV protrudes from your arm, and you shiver at the feeling of it inside you.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Your head snaps to the other side of the room, where a tall, lean man stands over a desk. You tilt your head at his appearance, familiarity picking at your mind. It isn’t until he turns around that you gasp. It isn’t his fur hat or patterned jeans that make you recognise him, but the deep steel of his eyes.

Trafalgar Law.

You’d seen him inside the human auctioning house where Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon, thinking nothing of him. Sure, he was a rookie pirate with a higher bounty than your captain, 440 million berries, but he’d done nothing to prove his worth to you.

You stare at him as he walks over, his steps lazy. Trafalgar Law’s blood runs cold, and he’s nothing short of sadistic; at least, that’s what Shakky told you. The man before you now seems to stalk you like you’re his prey, but his voice is surprisingly full of something close to friendliness when he speaks.

“You had a panic attack, and you were severely dehydrated, hence the IV,” You blink at him, your brain processing why Trafalgar Law is standing at the end of the bed and not a doctor. “You have a deep gash on your scalp and one on the left side of your torso, too.”

Your hand lifts to your head unconsciously, your fingertips meeting gauze. It’s obvious there’s some form of pain suppressant coursing through your veins since your body is light and your mind isn’t nearly as sharp as it should be. You curse yourself for being so weak.

“Best try not to touch it.”

Frowning, you lower your hand, feeling the same white fabric around your stomach. This time, you can see the dark splotches seeping through the gauze. Your lips smack softly at the dryness in your mouth, and Trafalgar gestures to the glass beside you.

“Wanna tell me your name?”

You mumble your reply, watching him warily as you sip the drink–-water. The room is quiet, save for the muffled sound of metal clanging.

“Where am I?” You mutter, holding the glass between your hands.

“My ship, the Polar Tang.”

Your stomach clenches with panic. “Why am I here?”

“Your crew was attacked by Bartholomew Kuma. Do you remember?”

Nodding, your eyes sting at the memory.

“You found me and begged me to take you away.”

Your gaze hardens as you set your eyes on him. “I didn’t beg.”

“Believe me, you did.”

Setting the glass onto the bedside table, you rip the blanket off and stand from the bed, noting the discomfort of your side.

“I know you,” You say. “You’re the guy who did nothing as my crew freed the slaves from that auction house.”

Tilting his head, Trafalgar says nothing, though his expression is standoffish. You stand there, your body shivering involuntarily. Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed.

“Drop me off at the next port.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “No, can do; we’re not leaving Sabaody for a few weeks.”

Your eyes dart around the room, noticing the lack of windows.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Trafalgar says, irritation dripping from his tone. “But there was nowhere else for you to go.”

You shrink from his piercing gaze and wrap your arms around your body, being careful to avoid your injury. “How long have I been here?”

“You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?”

You don’t dignify him with an answer and wait for him to reply.

“Two days.”

Two days? “I have to leave. My crew needs me.”

“You’re no good to anyone like this,” Trafalgar shakes his head and raises his palm before you. “Besides, you don’t even know where they are.”

You feel like screaming and crying and throwing up all at the same time. It’s not fair.

“I mean,” He smirks. “You could always ask Kuma where he sent them.”

You narrow your gaze at him. “That’s not funny.”

Trafalgar throws his hands up in false defence. “Never said it was, sweetheart. However, you can’t do anything but stay here and recover.”

You think it over. What he says is true, but that doesn’t mean you must be useless. His nickname washes over you after you go through your options, and you roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Sweetheart?” He laughs, turning away from you. “I think it’s perfect.”

You want to retort, to yell at him for patronising you at a time like this, but are interrupted when a large something rushes through the door.

“Captain,” The polar bear says, wiping sweat from its forehead. “Kid needs to talk to you.”

Your first thought is Chopper and how excited he’d be to meet another talking animal. Your second thought is far more depressing, and you swallow the emotion lodged in your throat.

Trafalgar sighs and waves his hand at you. “Change her bandages.”

The bear salutes and walks toward you as Trafalgar leaves. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You tilt your head, knowing better than to ask questions.

“Oh,” It looks down at itself and laughs nervously. “I’m Bepo.”

“Bepo…”

“I’m a navigator.”

A familiar feeling rises in your chest. “A navigator, huh?”

“Yup, I navigate the sub,” He scratches behind his ear. “Who are you?”

You smile and tell him your name, slotting that you’re on a submarine in the back of your mind. “I’m a seamstress for the Straw Hats.”

Bepo’s eyes widen. “Captain said we had a guest, but I didn’t know you were a Straw Hat… Anyway, do you mind if I change your bandages?”

Your walls go up, and you glance at the white fabric around your torso. “Uh–”

“Captain had to sew you up,” Bepo says solemnly. “It was a deep cut.”

You nod and reluctantly drop your hands by your sides.

“Let me just— over here,” The bear stammers before rushing to the opposite wall. Usually, you can stitch yourself up. Before Chopper had joined the Straw Hats, you were the one to aid the crew. Zoro’s laceration across his abdomen, thanks to Dracule Mihawk, was your most significant job.

So, when Bepo returns with a fresh roll of gauze and scissors, you quickly take it from his hands. “I can do this.”

“You sure?” He asks carefully, his teeth showing as he cringes.

You swiftly remove the old bandage, unroll the new one, and apply it just as briskly. When the gauze is tightly wrapped around you, you notice Bepo watching in astonishment.

“Are you hungry?” He splutters, eyes still trained on your torso. You guess he’s not the best with blood.

Your stomach rumbles at the sound of food, and Bepo laughs softly. You cover your stomach as you feel your cheeks warm.

“Penguin made rice balls, Captain’s favourite. You’re welcome to have some,” Bepo says, walking to the door. He seems to have forgotten about your injury.

You nod, but before following, you stick your hand out. “Can I take this out?”

The bear turns around at record speed, his eyes honing in on the needle sticking out of your wrist. “Uh, Captain might kill you.”

You pull your hand to your chest. “Why?”

“Captain does all the medical stuff; he’s a doctor. He wouldn’t want to take it out, b—but if it’s uncomfortable, I can take it out for you.”

“He’s a doctor?”

Bepo nods. “And a surgeon.”

His large paws hold your hand delicately. “Okay, this is fine.”

You give him a wary look, letting him take it out despite the fact you can do it yourself. “You’ve never done this before.”

“I-I have, just not on people,” He splutters. “Captain makes me practice with fruit.”

Smirking, you watch the needle slide out from under your skin.

“Done. Let’s go.”

You shake your arm before inspecting the area. Bepo is already in the hallway when you decide to follow him.

“This is the infirmary, obviously,” He says, then points to the other end of the hall. “That’s the Captain’s quarters.”

You nod, though you doubt you’ll need to remember the layout since you’re leaving soon.

You follow Bepo up the stairs as he talks about the submarine, how it works, how he navigates underwater, and how it doesn’t implode. It’s all very fascinating, and you can tell Bepo is passionate about his job on the Polar Tang, but you can’t help but think about your own navigator—

“—and this is the kitchen.”

— how she knows the weather patterns like it's a part of her, how she draws her maps with such detail that it shocks you every time you get your hands on one, how you gossip with her until your cook pesters you to try his new dish.

And then you’re being introduced to the Polar Tang’s cook, and it feels like an iron grip on your esophagus.

“This is Penguin,” Bepo says, pointing at a guy wearing a hat. You give him a wave, though it's half-assed, and you regret it immediately.

“Hi,” You smile, trying your best to push the memories out of your head and make up for the lazy greeting.

“Rice ball?” He asks, handing you said food on a plate.

You take it graciously, thanking him for the snack.

“How’re you feeling?” A new voice calls. You turn to see another man with a hat, but his sunglasses make him different from Penguin.

It takes you a second to swallow the rice. “Been better.”

“Oh, that’s Shachi,” Bepo says before turning to the man. “Would be nice if you introduced yourself.”

Shachi shrugs and returns to his own rice ball.

“I’m here too,” A large man mumbles.

“Jean-Bart,” Bepo gasps. “He’s new. Just joined.”

You nod, finishing your rice ball.

“I see you’ve met some of the crew.” Trafalgar’s voice makes you freeze. You wipe your lips and turn to face him. There’s a katana propped on his shoulder, and you take a moment to study it.

Zoro’s face and stupid laugh pop into your head, and then you’re chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Trafalgar says, leaving the kitchen. You tug your eyebrows together and follow him.

“I’m leaving soon.”

He ignores you and continues down the stairs and past the infirmary. From Bepo’s description of this floor, the only two rooms are the clinic and the Captain’s quarters, and considering Trafalgar is the captain, you deduce that you’ll be close to him.

The thought makes you cringe.

He stops before the final door and opens it.

“Ikkaku stays in the other room.” He says it like you know who that is and ushers you inside. “She’s away at the moment.”

Stepping inside, you realise there are more doors. Three are on the right, and two are on the left in the smaller hallway. He stands close behind you.

“Your room is through the second door on the right. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going into Sabaody tonight.”

And when you turn to ask Trafalgar Law if this is some kind of joke, he’s gone.

You should put a bell on him.

The women’s room is more extensive than you expected, considering there’s only one woman onboard. You peer around corners and keep your footfalls light as you explore, not wanting to snoop in Ikkaku’s stuff accidentally.

There’s an empty room next to the bathroom. Stepping inside, you realise that the warm light of the bedside lamp and the half-full bookcase in the corner make it seem almost homey. The bed is lush when you sit and run your fingertips over the quilt. What is going on?

Despite being alert, the comfort of the room allows you to let your guard down, and the feeling alone makes you want to close your eyes. Only for a moment do you let yourself pretend everything is fine. Luffy runs laps around Sanji as he prepares the fish he’s caught. Nami and Robin are lounging on the deck, and Zoro’s asleep against the mast. Franky’s tinkering with something under the deck with Usopp, and Brook keeps them company with his violin. You’re sitting on the railing of the Thousand Sunny with your legs swinging back and forth as you chat with Chopper, fixing a patch to the underside of his hat where one of Usopp’s inventions blew it off his head.

It was meant to be a sleepless dream, yet you fall victim to the clutches of darkness and dreamless sleep.

— Scene 3 —

You feel sick. Your mouth is dry, and your head is full of cotton. The last thing you remember is laughing at Chopper’s attempt at imitating Sanji.

The isolated room is a punch in the gut, a harsh reality that beats the dream in your head to a bloody pulp. You swallow thickly and sit up from the bed. You don’t know the time since a submarine has no windows, and the actuality of where you are is a cruel reminder of your situation.

You rub your eyes with your sore knuckles hard, ignoring the countless stars that cloud your vision when you drop your hands to your lap. There’s no sound from outside the door, and when you really concentrate, there’s no muffled noise from the level above either.

You groan at the dull throbbing of your side but forget about it when your eye catches on a white jumpsuit hanging from the door handle. You endure the disgust that coats your tongue.

Before you know it, you’re up and snatching the suit from the handle. You swing the door open, not bothering to care that it slams against the wall, and make a beeline to the infirmary. You only know he’s in there because the overhead light is on.

Trafalgar has his hat off and a lab coat on. He’s pulling a latex glove onto his hand when you enter.

“What is this?” You spit, holding the jumpsuit up. Trafalgar’s head turns toward you, his face barren of any emotion. “I’m not one of your pirates.”

“When you’re on my sub, you wear it.”

Scoffing, you throw it onto a cot. “I’m a Straw Hat.”

“You’re on my ship.”

“Against my will.” You know it’s unfair, but the words spill from you anyway.

Trafalgar shakes his head, a small laugh falling from his lips. He returns to his work before him on the metal table. “I’m not arguing with you right now. How’s your wound?”

You ignore his question. “Well, when can you fit me into your busy schedule to argue, Traffy?”

His unamused glance sends shivers down your spine, but he doesn’t bite.

“It’s a safety precaution.” He says, lifting a jar to his face to inspect it.

You look down at your clothes and the gauze around you and sigh. Your head is still fuzzy from your nap, and fighting him will get you nowhere, you can tell that much. It’s safe to say that Trafalgar Law gets under your skin, and not just because he’s a surgeon.

“Not happening,” You shake your head and step back. “I’m not a part of your crew.”

“As you’ve said,” Trafalgar utters, his voice tinged with irritation. “Fine.”

Your face softens at the finality of his tone.

“But when you’re wandering around Sabaody, don’t come running to me when someone attempts to cash in the bounty on your head. You stand out.”

You smile, your pride overpowering any other emotion for a second. “You’ve done your research.”

“370 million berries,” He states, turning around. “But I have yet to see why.”

Your expression sours, and you spin toward the door to leave. “Goodnight, Trafalgar.”

He says nothing as you swipe a new gauze roll from the shelf next to the entrance and shut the door behind you.

“Asshole,” You mumble, flexing your hands to stretch out the fists you didn’t realise you’d been sporting—perhaps it’s best that you didn’t lose control of your powers in front of him. The walk back to your room is short, choosing to go to the bathroom before heading back to bed.

After poking around in the bathroom for an hour, you exit with a towel around you, again noticing the lack of noise on the ship. It is eerily silent as you redress in your old clothes, but once you’re done, you see a new set of clothes on the bed.

When did they get there?

You hold the new top, noticing the size is slightly off. Sighing, you move your fingers in a certain way to change the width and length of the garment. “Sew.”

Seams pop, and new ones are made until the ill-fitting clothes resize to fit you perfectly. You hum in contentment and place them on the chair in the corner of the room.

You wrap your wound with new gauze, thanks to the roll you stole earlier, but the pain suppressants are wearing off, and the pain is beginning to seep through. Your gaze catches on the new clothes, and despite the bloodstains and dirt patches on the clothes you wear now, you decide you feel more comfortable in them than the foreign ones in the corner.

Laying on the bed, your eyes close almost instantly. The emotion you feel from earlier and the spat with Trafalgar has tired you. You thought it’d be difficult to fall asleep in such ghostly silence, but when the blanket covers you, you’re dreaming about your crew again.

—

It’s only slight, but the knock that comes from outside of your door startles you. You’ve been awake for hours, picking through the books on the shelf and thinking about how you were leaving Sabaody when it happened.

Your name is low on his lips when he speaks it, and your heart jumps at the sound of it.

“Come in.”

The door opens slowly, like Trafalgar’s nervous about what he’ll find.

“How’re you feeling?”

You glance at your stomach and shrug. “Achy.”

Trafalgar nods, standing awkwardly in the doorway, one of his hands digging in the pocket of his jeans. “I brought you some pills for the pain.”

The bottle is small, but it's full of medication. You thank him, screwing the cap and emptying two into your palm. The air is thick with tension, but not the good kind. What he said earlier in the evening still rings in your mind.

“I’ll show you why my bounty is so high when I’m ready, okay?”

Trafalgar eyes you warily. “Okay…”

“Thanks for bringing these,” You gesture to the tablets in your palm, trying to diffuse the tension. “Maybe I’ll be able to sleep properly.”

“You’re having trouble?” Trafalgar scratches his chin halfway out the door.

“Not bad,” You lie, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just nightmares and stuff. About Kuma and my crew and drowning in a submarine.”

You don’t know why you’re talking to him like this, exposing your fears, like he’s a Straw Hat, but something about his mellow demeanour is comforting. His shy eyes and shadow of a smile starkly contrast to the man you spoke to earlier in the night.

“Well, I know that this submarine isn’t going to sink, spring a leak, or implode, so you can scratch that off your list of fears.”

His good-natured humour surprises you despite his cold look. “Take two every four hours, and the pain should be almost absent.”

You nod, realising he’s talking about the medication. Taking the glass from the bedside table, you wash the pills down.

“Goodnight, Trafalgar.”

“Night,” He murmurs, whispering your name afterwards.

You open your mouth to say something else, anything else, when he beats you to it.

“By the way,” Trafalgar says, his voice oddly soft. “The situation with your crew will only hurt this much now. As the days pass, it’ll get better.”

He shuts the door behind him, and you stare at it like he still lingers there.

You can’t help but believe him.

— Scene 4 —

Bepo looks at you oddly from across the table.

It’s the next morning, and he’d informed you the day before in his tour that breakfast was at eight am sharp. It wasn’t until you heard the first sound above you that you’d studied the clothes given to you with such caution that you thought yourself ridiculous before sighing and putting them on. You’d shoved your feet into your shoes and trudged upstairs to the dining room, where Penguin shovelled various foods onto your plate without asking your preference and sent you to the table where you sit now.

“What?” You ask Bepo, moving pieces of your breakfast around your plate.

Bepo jumps at your voice, suddenly finding the fish before him extremely interesting. “Nothing.”

Twisting your lips, you feel bad for catching him off guard. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” The navigator shakes his head. “It’s just that you’re not wearing a boiler suit.”

“Oh,” You mumble, looking down at yourself. Maybe you should’ve worn your own clothes.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Bepo interjects quickly, noticing the look on your face.

“Yeah, never a bad thing,” Shachi comments from the other end of the table.

Bepo gasps. “Ignore him.”

You give him a small smile.

“It's just that the only person who doesn’t wear one is Captain Law. It’s just odd seeing someone else aboard not wearing one, is all.”

“Alright,” A familiar voice says from the doorway. “We’re going onto Sabaody. Get your shit together and meet out the front.”

You watch the Heart Pirates scramble to finish their meals, stacking their plates beside the sink as they exit the room. Soon enough, you’re sitting at the table on your own.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Trafalgar says. “Just stay close.”

“I’m good here,” You don’t turn to look at him. “Not looking to cause any problems.”

He sighs. “Do you need anything?”

You think it over, deciding to take his question literally. What you need is to get off this island and find your crew, to get to the Sunny and go to Fishman Island, like the original plan. Instead, you’re on a submarine, docked on the island where your crew went missing without knowing how to get them back. Your words are bitter as they leave you, but you don’t regret them.

“What I need is impossible for you to get.”

“Are you always this melodramatic?”

His quip surprises you. Your chair scrapes against the metal floor as you stand. You narrow your eyes at him as you walk to the sink and put your plate on the top of the stack. “Are you always this big of a dick?”

“Only when someone is being difficult. It’s not hard to accept help, you know. Or is that against the rules of the Straw Hats?”

You blink at him in shock, your voice low as you approach him. You can feel the power of your Devil Fruit tingling under your skin. “You know nothing about me or my crew.”

“Yet, I can read you like a book,” Trafalgar laughs, looking down at you. “I see you fit in the clothes fine.”

“Are you done?” You scowl, your fingers moving into their usual position when your powers are in use. It’s difficult to control yourself around him. At least you got your answer as to where the clothes came from. You don’t have it in you to thank him right now.

Adjusting the katana on his shoulder, Trafalgar sighs, lifting a finger to move the needle that materialised before his nose. “Let’s get out of here, hm?”

You gasp at the sight of one of your needles, regret swimming in your eyes. The needle vanishes like it was never there as you grab hold of your ability. “I’m so sorry.”

He turns around, ignoring your apology. “I see.”

“See what?” You ask, breathless at your lack of control. Your feet carry you after him, seemingly having a mind of their own.

“You ate a Devil Fruit.”

You don’t care that he’s leading you outside. “What if I did?”

When the breeze hits his face, Trafalgar stops, and you almost run into his back. “I want to see what it does.”

You swallow thickly. “No.”

Being outside, on Sabaody, makes your chest hurt. You try to push down the emotions clouding your vision and circle Trafalgar to stand before him.

“No?”

You nod once. “I’m not a circus animal.”

“You say you’re not a lot of things, sweetheart,” He says. “When can I hear about something you are?”

His words are honeyed, and you refrain from shivering. “I am pissed off at you.”

His eyebrow quirks up at you. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Ignoring him, you turn. “I’m going to get some supplies, don’t follow me.”

“I thought you were good here… but, unfortunately, sweetheart, I wasn’t planning on it,” Trafalgar mutters. “Just stay low, okay? There are pirates and marines everywhere. No matter where you are, they’ll be there too.”

You acknowledge his warning and turn to leave, but the call of your name from his lips has you glancing over your shoulder.

“Try not to open your wound, okay? Don’t need you dying on me.”

— Scene 5 —

When Trafalgar told you there were marines everywhere, you thought he exaggerated. Surely they wouldn’t be around every corner, store, on every rooftop…

Now, you know better than to doubt his judgment. The screaming of civilians and the sound and vibration of explosions have your heart leaping every few minutes in fear.

“Shit,” You curse as you jump into another alleyway. A group of Marines run past, and your heart beats in sync with their footsteps.

A trip to the town is more complicated than you thought. Shoving your hand in your pocket, you fish out fifty berries and whine silently when you realise how little you have to spend.

You don’t want to, but Nami’s tips on stealing and bargaining cross your mind. Thieving on Sabaody Archipelago seems like a foolish thing to do—there’s no way you’d get away with it with all the Marines on duty. Rolling your eyes, you step from the street and onto the main strip.

When nobody jumps you, you make your way to the closest store. It's dark inside the building, but you use that to your advantage and slide various small items into your pockets. The aisles are empty; the only person in sight is the cashier, an elderly man with horns.

Trafalgar’s words swim in your mind as you wander down the aisles.

Don’t need you dying on me… I can read you like a book…

His mood swings give you a headache; you’ve only known him a day. You couldn’t imagine having him as your captain. Despite Luffy’s carefree attitude, he’d never get smart like that, and he would never call you melodramatic. Hell, he wouldn't even know what melodramatic means.

The thought of your own captain has your stomach sinking, but then your skin is burning at the sheer audacity of Trafalgar Law. Bepo seems to have a high tolerance for his captain, and you guess that skill only develops with time. You scowl at the thought of spending more time with Trafalgar than you have to. You sure hope your crew makes it back here soon.

But, your mind is so focused on the captain of the Heart Pirates that it isn’t until you’re at the counter, paying for three rolls of gauze and a box of rice cakes, that the newspaper beside the counter catches your attention.

PORTGAS D. ACE TO BE PUBLICLY EXECUTED

You stare at the headline. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Ace. Executed.

“Miss?”

Blinking once, you drop the berries onto the counter, snatch the newspaper from the stand, and run out of the store with it pressed to your chest.

No, no, no.

At a time when your captain needs you most, you’re not there. No tears well at your waterline; only panic has you in its steel clutches.

You sprint back to the Polar Tang, your legs burning and your mind racing. You don’t dare look at the paper again until you're safe in the room you’re staying in. Throwing it on the bed, you finally look over the details.

The World Government has captured Fire Fist Ace…. The renowned pirate Blackbeard has been invited to become a Warlord…the execution has been set to be at Marineford in one week…

Shaking your head in disbelief, you refuse to believe the printed words. You scrunch the paper in your hand and fly from the room into the infirmary.

Trafalgar is nowhere to be found.

“Please,” You plea as you run up the stairs and into the kitchen. “Hello?”

The Polar Tang is empty.

Your voice echoes off the cold metal, and you sink to your knees. A sharp pain rolls through you, and you look down at your stomach to see the bandages soaked in blood. The sight makes your head feel light. Your heart rate rapidly inclines, and the kitchen spins before your eyes, the adrenaline coursing through your veins tapering off. With shaky hands, you unfurl the newspaper.

Where’s Trafalgar now? Where are the words he spoke to you last night? It only hurts this much right now? It’s not getting better, only worse. Why would he lie?

Despite your racing thoughts, the only name on your mind and tongue is Luffy before you pass out, and your head hits the metal floor of the common area with a dull thud.

— Scene 6 —

“I’m starting to get Deja vu, sweetheart.”

You groan when you hear his voice.

“I thought I told you not to die yet,” Trafalgar mumbles, urgency in his tone. “Never mind, the war’s started.”

War?

“What war?” You slur, squeezing your eyes shut against the overhead lights. You feel exposed, and when you peer down at your body, you see a blue gown covering you.

“Your body has undergone immense trauma, both physically and mentally,” He ignores your question. “It's been a few days since Bepo found you bleeding out in the kitchen.”

You blink, covering your eyes with your hands. “What’s going on?”

“You were comatose, close to death. You’re stable now, but I thought I told you not to reopen your wound and—”

“Not with me,” You sit up, your eyes still hurting. “With the war.”

Sighing harshly, Trafalgar sits on a chair beside the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. You turn to look at him, noticing his sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows. On his arms lay stark tattoos, the ink trailing down to his hands and then his knuckles.

EATH

You open your mouth to ask about its meaning but aren’t quick enough.

“Whitebeard’s at Marineford. We’re on our way there now.”

You furrow your eyebrows, finally comprehending the grinding and clanging of metal around you. “Why?”

“Portgas D. Ace’s execution is today.”

The name makes you lurch, and you scold yourself for thinking about asking Trafalgar about his tattoos. How foolish.

“What’s wrong? Is it your wound?”

“He’s Luffy’s brother,” You whisper, dread flooding you. “Why are we going?”

Trafalgar gives up on your health when he realises you won’t tell him anything about it, but the information that Luffy is Ace’s brother catches his attention. “It would be a shame for a rival to die this early.”

“Rival? Ace is a rival?”

Trafalgar lets out a humourless laugh. “Monkey D. Luffy is a rival.”

You’re speechless. Wholly and utterly silent at his declaration. Your mouth opens and closes as you try to form the words your brain wants you to say but to no avail.

He shrugs when he sees you attempt to say something. “We’re pirates, or did you forget that?”

The idea that you could be here for shifty reasons hits you all at once. Sure, you’d thought about it when you woke up the first time, grateful that a pirate was willing to save you, to put their life on the line to help another pirate. But you were a fool for thinking it was out of the goodness of his heart.

That’s why it all spills out when you open your mouth this time. “Why keep me alive, then? I’m a pirate from an opposing crew with a bounty of over three hundred million berries. Why not kill me and cash it in?”

“You could be useful.”

“Useful.” The word is bitter on your tongue. Useful, not as an addition to a pirate crew, but as a weapon to wield against the people you love. Who was that man from your first night here? Does he exist under the facade of Trafalgar Law? Or was it all a lie?

“You know…” He ponders, running his tongue over his teeth. “Leverage.”

“Huh,” You smile fakely, disdain morphing your expression. “So, that’s all I’m good for?”

“Right now? Yes.”

Your hand flicks up before you know what you’re doing. The act of sewing his lips shut fills you with such jubilation that you can’t help but smile a genuine smile. The black thread of your power has Trafalgar rising instantly, the chair he was on flying out behind him.

“You may be Trafalgar Law,” You say lowly. “But I’m not a pawn.”

Trafalgar claws at his lips before sticking one hand out. A blue dome covers the room, and you feel an odd sensation in your chest. It feels as though your heart is being ripped out of your chest. You scream in agony, most likely ripping the stitches in your side as you clutch at your breast. The IV needle in your hand tears through your skin, and your blood spills onto the gown you wear, soaking through it.

Trafalgar gestures wildly at you, screaming through his closed lips as the threads tighten. You’re unknowingly making them taut, suffocating him. He staggers, the trolley that houses the surgical equipment rolling away as he falls to the ground. Scalpels and scissors clatter to the ground, the infirmary turning into a place of chaos.

His face is red, close to purple when you see it, a blue cube with a fist-sized organ inside it. Your heart.

“What the…” Your brain seems to forget the pain when you see your lifeline in the hand of Trafalgar Law.

You’re in such a state of shock that you loosen and remove the thread from his lips, your body falling limply onto the pillows behind you.

“What the fuck?” His voice is hoarse. “Are you insane?”

“Are you?” You ask pathetically, still trying to process what you just witnessed.

He doesn’t answer, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lungs trying to take in as much oxygen as possible. He leans his back against the cupboards, his legs bent in front of him. The blue cube hangs from his fingertips behind his knees.

You yelp in surprise and paw at the empty slot in your chest.

“Give me my heart back,” You don’t know what you’re saying. How could he have your heart?

Trafalgar pushes himself back to his full height, his breathing still ragged but quiet. “What Devil Fruit did you eat? They’re not strings, that’s impossible.”

“What?” You ask absentmindedly, still occupied with the phenomenon of your open chest.

“What are your powers?” He presses, staring at you.

“The Sew-Sew Fruit.”

“Sew-Sew Fruit…”

“I have thread and needles and shit, okay,” Your breathing starts to go rigid. “Where’s my heart?”

“You suffocated me, that’s—”

“Trafalgar!” Tears roll down your cheeks. “Where is my heart?”

His body goes still, and the terror in your eyes is enough for him to lift it and slot it back into your body. The sound of blood rushing through you is loud, and you can feel the blood in your veins. The first beat of your heart back in your chest is painful but quickly dissipates as your body recognises it as its own. It’s an experience you never want to endure again.

You scramble away from him, climbing onto the floor and pressing your back against the furthest cabinet.

“Careful of your wound,” Trafalgar mutters, his gaze glazed with concern. His face has returned to its standard shade, and he rubs his chest.

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology should shock you, but you shake your head in disbelief. “What was that?”

He swallows thickly. “I ate the Op-Op Fruit. I can control all matter within the range of my room.”

“This room?” Your hand lands on your side, the pain returning.

“This room,” He says, lifting his hand. “Room.”

And as before, a blue dome covers you, and you stare at the ceiling in wonder, though you’re confused about how you could be so fascinated at something that almost killed you.

“Op-Op…”

“So, what does yours do?”

“I have sew,” You gesture with one hand. “Which you saw, that controls threads, and needles, which controls, well, needles. Sew can be used to stitch up wounds, trap people, and, you know, tie them up, strangulation. Whereas with needles, I can produce giant ones for stabbing and stuff.”

Law hums. “That’s a simple way of putting it…”

A smile you can only believe came from the deepest depths of your soul spreads across your cheeks. “No wonder your bounty’s so high.”

“And I now see why yours is so high.”

You feel your body relax when Trafalgar retracts his room. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I deserved that. I was being a dick.”

“You were being a dick,” Your lips quirk. “But I was way out of line. I know we’re pirates, but—”

“What happened? I heard screaming,” Bepo barges into the infirmary, the door slamming against the wall.

You shake your head in dismissal. “Nothing, I just fell.”

Trafalgar’s eyebrows twitch when he looks at you. You could’ve easily told Bepo his captain almost killed you, but you couldn’t tell him you almost killed his captain, too.

“Oh,” The bear sighs. “Are you okay?”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground to stand. “Thanks for checking in.”

Bepo smiles before speaking to Trafalgar. “Captain.”

“What is it?” He asks, turning so his back is to you both.

“We’ll be docking soon. The waters are rough around Marineford.”

“Understandable,” Trafalgar mutters. “Get the crew ready to retrieve Straw Hat.”

Bepo nods and quickly leaves.

“We’re retrieving him?”

Trafalgar sighs. “I told you, a rival can’t die this early. We’re rookies, we have to protect each other until the new age surpasses the old.”

His words have a strange intonation of leadership as if he feels responsible for Luffy. And maybe it's the underlying knowledge that he feels like your captain could be useful to him, but for now, you’re grateful he’s willing to help him.

“That’s sweet.”

Trafalgar narrows his eyes at you. “Get ready to resurface. We won’t have much time.”

You look down at your bloody gown and hurry to your bedroom, your stomach churning with both excitement and dread. Excitement for seeing Luffy, dread for everything else.

— Scene 7 —

“Hurry up!” Trafalgar yells to his crew. “We get Straw Hat out of there and leave.”

“Yes, Captain.” The response is a collective voice, and you stand in the corner, nursing your wound. You would’ve rather done it in the privacy of the infirmary or your bedroom, but with Luffy so close, you don’t care if the men see you.

“Only Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, Jean-Bart, and I will be on deck, the rest of you are on standby, given things go to shit.”

Another collective, yes, Captain, rolls through the common area. You’re on the verge of yelling that you’re going with them when Trafalgar finds your gaze and nods once, confirming that you’ll be there too.

Swallowing, you inhale sharply. Your wound is secure, and you can feel your power surge through you, just in case.

The submarine lurches, and then the crew rushes to their stations—some to the boiler room (you learnt was below your bedroom), others to the control room, and more to prepare the infirmary. It’s a practised procedure, and the tension around you reminds you of your own crew.

Trafalgar clears his throat, and you turn to see him before you. “Be careful up there, okay? We don’t need you more injured.”

You laugh. “Care about me, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Just need my leverage to be in good shape if i’m to negotiate with Straw Hat.”

You want to roll your eyes but don’t. You swear it hurt him to say that from the set of his jaw.

Before you can ponder it, you notice Bepo taking the stairs up to the main door.

There’s no time to be thinking about him. Luffy is your top priority.

“Are we there?”

Trafalgar glances over his shoulder to follow your gaze. “Yeah. Come on.”

You can hear the chaos before you see it. It's a cacophony of cannonballs, gruff wails of anguish, and the distorted sound of bones shattering.

Bepo pushes the door open, and the wind hits you in the face. The air is thick with rot, burning flesh, and salt, and you cover your nose before you gag.

“Welcome to the battlefield,” Bepo says. He means it as a joke, but it's utterly morbid.

Far away, chatter erupts when you step onto the deck. Marineford is seemingly silent at the arrival of the submarine. Blood sprays in the distance, accompanied by strangled cries and all you want to do is crouch down and cover your ears like a child. You can’t imagine Luffy here.

“Hey!” Trafalgar yells, and your attention is turned to the floating bodies in the sky. You recognise who it is immediately and run to the front of the deck.

“Luffy!” You scream, your eyes catching on his unconscious body. You feel yourself gag at the mangled state of his chest, but when you look at who is holding him, you’re stumbling over your own feet. “Buggy?”

“Hey!” The clown yells, his eyes wide. “Hey, I remember you! You’re that girl who sewed my arms to my legs back in Loguetown! Why are you here?”

Trafalgar snorts beside you, brushing off the rest of Buggy’s questions.“Quick, hand over Straw Hat.”

“I don’t take orders from you! Besides, what do you want with him?” Buggy asks. “Who even are you? What are you doing with the girl from Straw Hat’s crew?”

Trafalgar ignores him, lips pursed. “Just hand him over, he’ll die without my help. I’m a doctor.”

You notice the Fishman Buggy holds under his other arm. “Who is that…?”

“Doctor, my ass! No doctor carries around a sword that big,” Buggy cries.

“I don’t have time for your shit, clown. Hand over Straw Hat.”

“But, what’s in it for me? You’re just a —”

The familiar high-pitched sound of a cannonball makes your heart leap. “Trafalgar…”

“Uh, Captain,” Shachi calls, his voice wobbly. “Navy battleships are approaching the stern.”

“Fuck,” Trafalgar curses. “Hurry up! Give him to me!”

Four more cannon fires can be heard before the sub rocks violently from the impact.

“Captain, we’re almost in their firing range!”

The wind from a cannonball landing so close to the sub has you panicking. “Quick, Buggy!”

“Don’t you start bossing me around, little lady,” The clown screams, his voice cut short when you feel the submarine lean dangerously to the left.

“What’s going on?” Bepo yells, holding onto the railing.

“Oh, fuck,” Trafalgar says, looking to where Buggy floats. You follow his gaze, your body freezing at the sight of Kizaru. “Drop him now!”

“Fine!” Buggy exclaims, throwing Luffy and the Fishman down to the deck. The clown yells more nonsense, but you don’t care to listen. Your heart is in your throat as you watch them fall.

“Jean-Bart, quick, they’re coming.”

The large man raises his arms and catches them as Trafalgar yells, “Submerge.”

You run inside, going down to the infirmary. The submarine lurches, and you grab ahold of the handrail to stop yourself from stumbling down the stairs. You enter the infirmary, dodging crew members as they prepare for the worst.

Trafalgar and Bepo are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear shouting down the hall.

“Prepare for surgery!”

You slip into the corner of the room as the Heart Pirates file inside. The only evidence you get of Luffy is the glimpses of his bloody body. You cover your mouth with your hand at the state of him.

“Set up for a transfusion! He’s lost a lot of blood.”

The main door to the submarine slams shut, and the metal walls vibrate from the jolt. You wait with bated breath as the crew rushes around the room, sticking needles in Luffy’s arms and opening sterile equipment.

It’s captivating how fast Traflagar’s crew prepares Luffy and the Fishman for surgery. If it weren’t Luffy, you’d find it exhilarating.

Footfalls down the hall grab your attention, and soon, Bepo and the Heart Pirates Captain are entering the infirmary. Trafalgar holds something in his grasp, but you’re too engrossed in Luffy to realise what he shoves in your hands.

“Keep this safe for him, okay, sweetheart?”

You draw your attention away and look up at Trafalgar before noticing the familiar straw of Luffy’s hat between your fingers. Nodding, you curl your lips between your teeth to stop your emotions from teetering over.

He walks away, taking white latex gloves from Penguin and putting them on. Trafalgar looks over the Fishman.

“He’s been shot through the stomach… amazing he’s still breathing.”

Finally, the last tube is inserted down Luffy’s throat, and you hold your breath while you wait for Trafalgar’s assessment.

“Straw Hat’s injuries are fairly severe, too,” He says. “But I think his emotional trauma is the real issue.”

Your heart skips a beat. Ace.

“Do they need anaesthesia?” Penguin asks from the corner. Your jaw clenches at the mere thought that they wouldn’t.

“No, Straw Hat is close to comatose, and the Fishman is unconscious. They won’t feel a thing.”

Your mouth falls open. “But, Trafalgar—”

“It’s gonna be a fun operation, yeah?”

His words make you feel sick. “Hey—”

“Get her outta here,” Trafalgar says, waving his hand in dismissal.

“Yes, Captain,” Bepo mumbles, walking over to you.

“Bepo—”

“Captain’s orders,” He says tightly. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, your hands clutching Luffy’s hat to your chest. “I can’t leave him—”

“You have to; he’ll be just fine.”

“But—”

The door to the infirmary closes behind you and Bepo, and you're at a loss for words. There’s no use screaming about it, Trafalgar needs to concentrate.

“Stay here until I come and get you, okay?”

Bepo smiles sadly at you before he leaves you in your room. Now that you’re alone and the adrenaline of helping Luffy has worn off your wound throbs. Groaning in pain, you limp to the bedside table and swallow four pills.

The sub is silent, except for the relentless beeping down the hall.

Suddenly, the sub rocks uncontrollably. Screaming ensues from the infirmary, and panic clutches at your chest. You stagger and fall to the bed, instantly rolling off when the sub jumps.

“Bepo!”

Crying echoes down the hall as he races to your room. Your door swings open, and Bepo falls inside, rolling on the floor beside you. “Aokiji’s turning the ocean to ice!”

The submarine surges forward, going faster and deeper. The rocking calms down, and Bepo knocks his forehead on the floor. “No more stress, please.”

You sigh out a nervous laugh at where you lay on the floor. The sub jolts again; this time, it isn’t until the ship starts swerving that Bepo cries out. “We got lucky once. Now we’re really gonna die!”

“We’re not going to die,” You say, trying to keep your voice even. “Just hold on.”

Bepo whimpers, and before he can do as you say, he rolls into the other wall. Your name falls from his mouth in a whine, his eyes closing with dizziness. You cringe with pain, your body slamming into the leg of the bedframe.

Finally, the sub evens out, but you can tell you’re going extremely fast. The door squeaks on its hinges when it opens.

“You guys okay?”

You lift your head to see Penguin panting with his hand on the doorframe.

“Never better,” Bepo murmurs, his paws scratching the metal floor.

You nod and attempt to stand, your hand over your wound. “How’s Luffy?”

Penguin stands taller. “Surgery’s going fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” You say, knowing your skin will be marred with bruises. You don’t tell him of the sharp pain in your temple. “Are we safe?”

He visibly swallows. “Should be. Jean-Bart says nothing is attacking us now.”

“Thank you, Gods,” Bepo whines in happiness, pushing himself back to his full height. “I’m going back to the infirmary. I need an ice pack.”

You and Penguin watch Bepo leave, his legs wobbly.

“Do you need anything?” Penguin asks, his eyes trained on where your hand presses against your side.

“Should be fine, thanks.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile before exiting. You sit on the bed, lifting your shirt to inspect your wound.

It’s bloody, and it's clear your stitches have come undone again. When will you catch a break?

Taking a deep breath, you unravel the bandage. Once the soiled gauze is off, you look away, feeling queasy. You move your fingers against your skin, not needing to look when your power starts. “Sew.”

There’s no sensation when your needle pierces your skin and begins sewing you up. It's a painless procedure, one you’ve done one too many times, but a minuscule part of you wishes it were Traflagar’s nimble fingers threading a needle and cotton through you. It isn’t a welcomed thought, though you don’t curse yourself for thinking such things. You blame the minor blood loss and continue staring at the floor as you sew yourself back together.

— Scene 8 —

You don’t know how you keep finding yourself in these positions, causing yourself unnecessary pain for the sake of others. Though, you can’t help it this time.

Luffy is recovering in the infirmary after his surgery. It’s been four days since Trafalgar finished his procedures on your captain and the Fishman, who you have now learnt is Jinbe, a former Warlord.

You’re outside the door, in the hallway, your backside hurting from sitting in the same position on the metal floor for a few hours. Your neck aches, and your back needs a stretch, but you feel guilty about getting up. You refuse to leave with your captain unconscious and without a specific timeframe of when he will wake. He went through hell in an attempt to save his brother, who you’d met once in Alabasta, and it wasn’t fair that he had to endure that while you were sealed inside a submarine with another crew.

Trafalgar said it was unfair that you felt like this, and it took time for you to believe him. The past four days have been full of anxiety and tears, but you finally pulled yourself together to see Luffy without having a breakdown. You can feel sweat dripping down the side of your face, but leave it to do so, and you draw your knees to your chest and lean your forehead on your knees.

“It’s too hot down here,” Bepo complains from down the hall. He’s on the floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as Penguin and Shachi watch him with apprehension. “I’m going to fade away. Goodbye, cruel world.”

“Shut up, Bepo,” Penguin snaps, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Now I’m hot, and I wasn’t hot until you said something.”

“All that fur really sucks, huh?” Shachi laughs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bepo pointedly ignores him, slumping his body flat on the floor.

“I hate going so far underwater. It gets so stuffy,” He cries before narrowing his eyes at his crewmates. “And the company is oppressive, too.”

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips.

“Not you,” Bepo comments, looking down the hall at you. “You’re not mean to me.”

“Yeah, well, we hate being here with you too, jerk,” Penguin says.

“Such vitriol. What is a poor bear to do…?” Bepo whines, lugging himself to his feet. “To win the love of his crew members?”

The collective disgusted sounds of Penguin and Shachi echo down the hall, and you lift your head to see why. Bepo hugs them both into him, rubbing his sweat on their faces. You smile at the sight, a pang of homesickness making your stomach turn. You remember Zoro doing the same thing to you and Sanji when you complained about his lack of bathing.

“Fine! We’ll ask the captain if we can surface,” Penguin yells, trying to pry himself away from Bepo.

“Captain!” They yell, stumbling over each other to get up the stairs. You sigh and return to staring at the wall opposite you.

Heavy footfalls shake the sub above, but you ignore it, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. Your stomach drops as you feel the sub incline rapidly, and you barely smile when you hear the cheers from the common area.

You stand when the sub is stationary, and there’s no movement above you. You place your hand on the door handle, the cool metal soothing the warmth of your body. You twist the handle and step inside the infirmary. The sight of the Fishman sitting up on his bed surprises you, but your focus is solely on your captain, who lays there motionless, with a large tube coming from his throat.

“Who are you?” The man asks, and you jump at the gravel of his voice.

You tell him your name. “I’m a Straw Hat.”

Jinbe looks taken aback as you run your eyes over Luffy’s body. He’s covered in bandages from head to toe, and you can’t imagine what his injuries look like. You notice Trafalgar’s katana leaning against the bed.

“How are you here? Luffy said his crew was gone.”

You stand over your captain, your face warm with emotion. You move the katana down to the end of the bed.

“He told me to run, so I did,” You whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. “I think he thought Kuma got me too.”

Jinbe blinks at you before he gets up. “There sounds like trouble above deck. I’ll go.”

You nod without lifting your head, though you can sense him studying you.

“He spoke a lot about his crew. I’m glad you’re here.”

Smiling wetly, you sniffle. “I’m glad too.”

When the door clicks, you fall to your knees beside the bed. Trafalgar said not to disturb Luffy and told you not to touch his recovering body, but you can’t follow his orders, no matter how hard you try.

“I’m so sorry,” You sob as you rub his wrist, the gauze rough against your fingertips. “I should’ve stayed back and helped you. Why would you tell me to run?”

You know you won’t get a response, but having him this close after believing him dead is something your poor heart can’t fathom.

You don’t know how long you sit there, your head leaning on the side of the bed, but when you come back to your senses, it's obvious the sub is moving. To where? You can’t begin to guess.

But, you hope Bepo got his fresh air.

—

Chaos has ensued above deck, you can tell that much. The sound of cheers and then screams of fear, with the dull thuds of arrows lodging into the walls, make you nervous.

“I’ll be back,” You say, flying from the room. The submarine is empty when you get to the top floor, and you aim straight for the exit.

The main entrance is ajar, and you push it open. “Trafalgar, what’s—”

“A woman!”

You freeze after you stumble onto the deck. In awe, you’re suddenly the focus of several people, no, women, lining the walls of a bay. They all wave at you, clearly excited to see you.

Smiling awkwardly, you wave back, glancing at Trafalgar.

“Where are we?” You mutter, noticing the large ship in front of you veering off to the left.

“Amazon Lily.”

“Okay…” You drop your arm. “Why?”

“They’re going to take care of Straw Hat.”

Drawing your brows together, you shake your head. “What happened to being the best doctor on the Grand Line?”

“I never called myself that,” He scoffs. “Boa Hancock has a fixation on your captain, so she’s going to house him here.”

Boa Hancock. “The Warlord?”

“Mmhm,” He hums. “I’m in the dark about how they know each other, but she’s eager to help him.”

“He’s not something to be passed around.”

“I know that, but Hancock is adamant about it,” Trafalgar says, voice hard. “Though I said otherwise, I do want him to be okay. Is that alright, sweetheart?”

“Yes, it’s perfectly fine, Trafalgar.”

He gives you an inquisitive look, one that you brush off. “What’s your problem?”

“Hancock.”

Trafalgar snorts and cocks his head. “Yeah, well, don’t make that known here, okay?”

“Why are we circling the island?”

“Men are forbidden on the island.”

“What?”

“Luffy is the exception.”

You put your hand on his arm, holding back a giggle. “So, you’re going to get shot down? I can’t wait to see this.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue, unamused. “Unfortunately, you won’t. We made a deal with Hancock.”

“Disappointing…” You trail off, your fingers slipping from his forearm. But when you look back at him, his eyes are trained on the spot your touch was.

“Docking!” Penguin yells.

It happens quickly and with skilled practice. A wood plank is placed between the Polar Tang and the patch of land, and the crew piles onto the island.

Multiple women are on the shore, most setting up tables, tents, and a giant curtain printed with Jolly Rogers. The sun shines down on the grass, and you realise it's the first time since Sabaody that you’ve seen such greenery.

“The Kuja Pirates,” Trafalgar says in your ear, pulling you from your mind. “Heard of them?”

You shake your head, not daring to turn to face him. “But this is where Luffy’s staying?”

“Yep, I’m to treat him until he’s better, and then he stays here. It’s a perfect location to hide him from the Navy. You’d know how annoying they are, considering you’re just as if not more.”

You gape at him, a slight grin pulling the corner of your lip upwards. “You’re kidding—”

A delicate hand on your shoulder pulls you away from him suddenly. You watch as Trafalgar keeps walking, never sparing a glance back.

“Come with me,” You’re met with a woman with blonde hair. “I’m Marguerite.”

You tell her your name and follow her, though you are unsure where.

“We have so many clothes for you to choose from,” She giggles. “It isn’t often we get women visitors. Most of the time, it’s men trying to infiltrate.”

A pang of grief hits you in the chest. It’s unfair these women are still under the threat of unknown men despite having their own island. Though Marguerite doesn’t look too upset about it, you know they are more than capable of handling those men on their own. It’s inspiring.

“Here,” She continues, shoving you lightly into a tent.

Immediately, another woman hands you a red bikini. “Try this on.”

And then you’re swept up by the group of women. Silks and linens are thrown at you, tried on and discarded when you decline the colour or fit of a piece. The women are in awe of your power. They ask you to mend or adjust certain places on their outfits, and you're more than happy to help.

You hear the Heart Pirates murmuring from their spot on the grass behind the tent walls, food piled high on their plates. Despite your initial hesitation, you laugh along with the women, trading secrets and tips that you could only do with Nami and Robin.

You feel comfortable here.

It isn’t until you emerge from the tent that the men go quiet. After knowing you for a fortnight, seeing you in such little clothing has them hollering. You grit your teeth.

“Enough,” Trafalgar snaps at his crew. You won’t admit it, but the commanding tone of his voice warms your cheeks. “Get back to your food, morons.”

Marguerite laughs at him, and then she turns to you. “Remember, strength equals beauty.”

You nod, smiling, adjusting the straps of the bikini you wear with your power. It’s something you hold dear to you for a long while.

“Line up if you want seconds!” A tall woman says, laughing when the Heart Pirates stumble over each other to form a queue.

“You better get in there if you’re hungry,” Marguerite smiles. “Looks like they’ll take it all.”

You spot Bepo near the front of the line and thank Marguerite for all she’s done.

“It’s my pleasure,” She waves as you snake through the crowd.

“Hey,” You greet Bepo. “What’s on the menu?”

“Uh…” His eyes look directly into yours, his body stiff. “Stew.”

You squint at him. “You wouldn’t mind if I skip the line, then?”

“Never.”

You roll your eyes at his clipped tone. Scanning the crowd, Trafalgar is nowhere to be seen. Someone in front of you hands you a bowl, and you thank them, stepping to the front of the line.

“Hello,” The pirate smiles. “I’m Aphelandra.”

You tell her your name and stick out your bowl when she gestures for it.

“Must be weird being in a submarine full of men,” She rambles. “Are they all stretchy?”

You’re taken aback by her question but laugh. “No, the only stretchy guy I know is Luffy.”

She gasps. “So, you know Luffy?”

“He’s my captain.”

“Really? We must tell the Snake Princess,” With a full bowl, you’re pulled beside her. “Eat, you must regain your strength.”

With your eyes on the trees, you do as she says. You swear you saw a glimpse of Traflagar’s patterned hat when you emerged from the tent. “Have you seen the guy with the funny hat?”

Aphelandra smiles down at you. “The spotty one? He went into the forest.”

“Thanks,” You grin, placing your empty bowl on the small table beside her and making a beeline for the trees.

It smells of pine and the rotting wood, and if it weren't for the crashing waves, you’d think you were on an island far away, deep in the trees.

Your hair snags on a twig before you decide to call for him. “Trafalgar?”

His response is almost immediate. “Here, sweetheart.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Trafalgar sits against a tree, a burgundy bottle between his fingers.

“Whatcha doing out here?”

He shrugs, sporting his usual bored look. “Not a very social person.”

You sit in silence as he sips his drink. The birds sing tunes you’ve never heard, and the waves crash against the cliff faces harmoniously. There’s an inkling of anxiety stirring your insides, but you know you’ll get through it. What did Trafalgar say? It only hurts this much right now... You repeat it like a mantra. It will get better.

“Don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself again.”

Scoffing, you shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Trafalgar gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk on his lips. “How’s your side? Getting better?”

You nod, your fingertips running over the bandages unconsciously. “The medication you gave me helps a lot, I barely have any pain.”

“Good.”

You study his side profile: the slope of his nose, the harsh cut of his cheekbone, the two gold hoops in his lobe, the dark hair that makes up his goatee... Swallowing, you exhale shakily.

“I—”

“Excuse me.”

You jump, looking up to see Marguerite and smiling when she greets you. You rub your palms against your thighs. What were you going to say to him just then?

“Has Luffy regained consciousness?”

Trafalgar shakes his head and keeps his voice even. “At this point, it’s up to his spirit and whether he wants to live or die. Nothing I can do anymore.”

You’re surprised. He hasn’t told you that.

“Marguerite! Hurry up!”

The blonde girl turns, nodding. “Take good care of him until he gets better.”

Trafalgar keeps the lip of the bottle up to his mouth but makes no move to drink.

“His spirit, huh?”

He sets the bottle into the dirt and twists it to stay upright. His demeanour shifts so seamlessly that you barely see it happen.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

You look down at yourself. Usually, you’d feel embarrassed, but Trafalgar seems uncaring of such things. His eyes don’t criticise you, and you swear there’s a shimmer of something close to appreciation in his gaze.

“I love it here,” You say, tilting your face to the sun. The distant chatter of the Heart and Kuja Pirates only elevates the warm feeling in your chest.

“Then stay.”

“What?” You ask, startled.

Trafalgar closes his eyes and leans his head on the bark. You haven’t encountered his expression yet and can only interpret it as something close to pain.

“I’m going wherever Luffy goes.”

He sighs shakily. “Then it’s settled.”

The air is thick, and you don’t dare move. You frown, mind racing. Have you done something wrong? Said something?

“Why would you—”

“Luffy! Calm down!”

The alarmed scream has you running toward the submarine, Trafalgar not far behind you.

You see Jinbe standing on the edge of the cliff and reach him in time to see the roof of the Polar Tang explode, and something fly out the top. You're in too much shock to comprehend what’s happening. And before you know it, Luffy’s bandaged body falls to the grass with a sickening thump.

“Luffy…”

“Something’s wrong,” Jinbe mumbles beside you.

Your captain slowly pushes himself to his knees, his fingers digging into the dirt. “Ace.”

Your heart stops, and you grab Trafalgar’s wrist. The doctor is frozen.

“Ace.”

Cries fall from Luffy’s lips, and he rises before you can approach him. “Where’s my brother?”

You stumble backward, Trafalgar’s chest is hard against your head. Clutching your stomach, you feel sick. He wraps his arm around you, his forearm leaning on your collarbones, barring you from running over there.

Luffy moves before you see him, and then he’s gone.

“That way!” Penguin yells, pointing to the area you were not 30 seconds ago. The Heart Pirates go after him, but Trafalgar holds you close to him.

“You’re okay,” He whispers, steadying you. His breath is hot on your ear, and your body almost betrays you.

Jinbe watches Luffy run around with worry etched on his face. “What happens if he stays in this state?”

“If he keeps flailing around,” Trafalgar says, narrowing his eyes. “He’s more likely to open his wound, and if that happens, then he’s dead.”

You cover your face with your palms, unable to form words.

“Quick! He’s down!”

Tears blur your vision as you look up, but as soon as they jump on Luffy, the Heart Pirates get flung into the sky. “I have to get to my brother! Get off me!”

“Oh, Luffy,” You cry, watching as he runs through the curtain separating Amazon Lily and the bay. The pirates stop before they cross the threshold. You want to yell at them for stopping, but remember what Marguerite said.

“Repair the ship,” Trafalgar commands behind you, removing his arm to throw it toward the submarine.

“Yes, captain,” A few of them obey, boarding the ship and immediately getting to work.

You snatch Luffy’s hat from the rock when Trafalgar’s back is turned before standing on wobbly legs and running toward the curtain.

“Hey, hey!” Bepo yells after you, but you don’t look back.

Trafalgar yells your name, worry etched in his tone, but you refuse to stop.

You must get to your captain.

— Scene 9 —

You trudge through the trees, insects zipping past your ears every few seconds. It's humid in the forest, and you wipe the sweat from your forehead.

A stick snaps behind you, and you spin around, your hands out. “Jinbe.”

The Fishman grunts and walks past you. “We must find him. I fear he’ll get himself hurt if we don’t soon.”

You silently agree, following him over logs and through thick brush. Luffy’s hat sits at your back, the string around your neck. You’d never put it on, but you don’t want it ruined before you give it to him.

The ground rumbles under your feet, and you stagger. “What was that?”

Jinbe quickens his pace. “This way.”

You jump over a particularly large branch and try to keep up with him. A scream echoes through the trees, and your body freezes in its spot.

Jinbe glances over his shoulder. “The only danger here is Luffy.”

“Luffy…” You whisper. You can't imagine the agony he feels right now.

Another scream is heard before there's a crash, one that causes the trees to sway uncontrollably. You see rocks flying in all directions and duck to avoid them, using Sew to weave threads above you to catch stray debris. Birds fly overhead at alarming speeds, and you can only guess what was thrown into the mountain to create such an explosion.

“We’re close, quickly.”

Before you know it, you see your captain hunched over on the ground, his forehead on the dirt. You gasp at the blood on his hands and back.

Luffy lifts his head, and you have to look away from the sheer torment on his face.

“Luffy, listen to me,” Jinbe calls. “Your brother is—”

“Don’t say it!” Your captain screams. “You think I don’t know? You think I think this is a dream?”

You wipe the silent tears that run down your cheeks. It's jarring to see someone you’ve seen be carefree for as long as you’ve known him like this. You feel sick watching him as tendrils of your thread lift the debris from around your captain.

“If this were a dream, I’d already be awake, don’t you think?”

“Luffy…” You mutter.

“This isn’t a dream… Is it?” Luffy sobs. “He’s really dead, isn’t he?”

Jinbe sighs. “I’m afraid so.”

Your captain starts hyperventilating, his breaths short and his face wet with blood and tears.

“Luffy…” You call, noticing how his body freezes. His eyes find yours, and his jaw falls open.

He murmurs your name. “Is this a dream, too?”

You stumble over to him, your hands out before you. “No, this isn’t a dream. I’m here.”

“Wha— How? Did you see Ace, too?”

You crouch in front of him and shake your head. “I didn’t, but I was at Marineford when we picked you up.”

‘We?” Luffy asks, his voice holding a tinge of hope. “Are the others here?”

“No,” You say, wiping his face. “It's only me.”

Luffy’s cries don’t lessen. “Are they dead, too?”

You feel your bottom lip tremble at the question. You shrug pathetically. “I don’t know.”

Luffy falls back down to the dirt. “I’m so tired.”

You throw Jinbe a desperate look, feeling Luffy slip through your fingers.

“I’m so weak!” Luffy suddenly yells. “I’m useless!”

“Luffy—”

“How can you call me your captain? I’m pathetic.” He stands and runs at the large boulder just outside of the trees. He slams his fists into the rock, breaking it into pieces. “I couldn’t save my brother or my crew!”

Jinbe walks up beside you as threads halt the stones from flying into you, and you struggle under their weight.

“Fuck!” Luffy screams, punching another rock. “Useless!”

Jinbe says your name. “I think you should leave.”

Your hand covers your mouth, and your expression morphs into shock. Did you hear him right? You feel the needles of your power wanting to escape, to tighten around him. Your Devil Fruit purrs in your ear as it drops the rocks a few feet away and aims for the Fishman instead.

“Please don’t make me force you.”

“No! I’m not leaving my captain here!” You scream, threads weaving from your fingers. “What kind of pirate—what kind of person would that make me?”

“There’s no time for questions,” Jinbe exclaims. “Go!”

“I can’t—”

“I’ll bring him back safely. You don’t need to see this.”

Your power cracks and fizzles out under your skin as you grapple for it. But it's useless unless you want to lose control, and you know better than to let that happen.

“Jinbe,” You cry, body too weak to fight him. Luffy hunches over with his hands on his knees, yelling. “Help him.”

“I will,” He waves you away. “Now go!”

You sprint back to the bay, forcing your legs to run. You’ve betrayed your loyalty.

Your cheeks are stained with tears and dirt, and your hands are covered in blood. With weak knees, you try jumping over the fallen logs as you did before, but now you’re exhausted, and it feels like they are rocks tied to your feet.

You sob frantically, stopping to press your palm against a tree every few minutes. Shaking your head, you sniffle. The bay isn’t too far away, and you can hear the seagulls chirping. Your fingers wipe under your eyes, though you know it won’t do anything. You can imagine the state of you.

You hear Bepo calling your name as you stumble through the curtain. “What happened?”

There’s blood all over you, which you failed to notice before; the staining on your hands was just the start of it. You stare at your hands as panic rises inside you. Who’s blood is this?

“Where did you go?” Trafalgar’s harsh voice hits your ears before his hand grips your bicep. “Who did this?”

“Nobody,” You cry, holding onto Trafalgar’s fingers. “Luffy, he—”

You don't hear what the doctor says before he catches you. “Okay, let’s get you to the ship.”

You shake your head, forgetting the blood on your hands when you fist his shirt. “No! I can’t go there. Not with Luffy out here.”

“Okay, well, where do you want to go?”

If Jinbe were to be trusted, which seems like a silly thought to question, you know Luffy would be okay. It takes your mind a while to accept that your body needs rest. The adrenaline from seeing Luffy and then running is wearing off, and the fatigue you’ve ignored hits you all at once.

You sniff, pulling him weakly to a rock. “I just need to lie down, and then I can fight for him.”

Trafalgar makes no sound when you push him to the ground. Your breathing is calming down, though hiccups still pass your lips.

“Who were you fighting against? Did they do this to you?”

“Just sit still for an hour, okay?” You whimper, putting your head on his lap, his jeans rough against your cheek. You can feel his thigh tense underneath you, clearly not used to having someone so close. Sniffling once more, your muscles relax against the ground. “No more questions.”

When you close your eyes, Trafalgar says nothing, and the waves crashing against the rocks are just as soothing as the hand on your shoulder.

— Scene 10 —

There’s a hand patting your head when you wake. It’s not gentle, and there's no rhythm, and when you lift your head, you notice the bandages wrapped around his legs. When did Trafalgar get injured?

The sky is dark, and the stars sparkle above you. It’s a sight you’ve missed.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Luffy,” You're in shock at the familiar voice, scrabbling to your knees so you’re not leaning on him anymore. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

Your captain shrugs, a dopey grin on his face. “I don’t think so. I’m here to say goodbye.”

“What?” You shake your head.

“Straw Hat. Pack it up.”

Luffy sighs, his wide eyes glassy. “You gotta go.”

You pause, a crease forming between your eyebrows. “What? Where?”

“Traffy’s going to take you with him.”

Shaking your head, you don’t dare take your eyes off Luffy when you hear someone walk up behind you. “I’m staying here with you.”

“You can’t. We have to get stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

Luffy puts his hands on your shoulders. “You’re going to go with Traffy, and I’ll see you in two years.”

Two years. “Wait, what? What do you mean two years?”

Strong hands slip under your armpits from behind and lug you to your feet. You feel your body lift off the ground but do nothing. You’re too shocked to form complaints against whoever’s taking you away.

“Meet me back at Sabaody in two years.”

“No, Luffy. I’m here now. Why would I do that?” You struggle against them, your power still sleeping under your skin.

“We won’t stand a chance in the New World,” Luffy stands. “Get stronger.”

The person leading you to the Polar Tang whispers an apology as they spin you around and throw you over their shoulder.

“Bepo?” Your voice comes out in a cracked whimper when you realise it's the bear carrying you.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, holding you tightly.

“Luffy!”

“Please,” Your captain says your name. “It's the only way. I’ll be fine here!”

“What about the others?” You cry. “How will they know?”

“I have a plan.”

You scoff, bordering on laughter. “Of course you do.”

“Get stronger!” Luffy yells. “And I’ll see you in the New World!”

Shaking your head, a crazed laugh falls from your lips in disbelief. You should’ve known he’d do something like this. He never does anything half-assed.

Get stronger.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Luffy cackles, tears bordering his waterline. “Yeah!”

Get stronger.

If he can smile at a time like this, especially after what he’s been through, then so can you.

And if Luffy trusts Trafalgar Law to train you in the two years he promised, then so do you. You trust Luffy with your life.

Swallowing your emotion, you smile back at him. “Fine! I’ll see you in two years, captain!”

Get stronger.

You hear Luffy whoop with joy, and before you know it, the door of the Polar Tang slams behind you. Bepo lets you down, steadying you as the submarine goes under.

It hits you just before you take the first step. “Luffy’s hat!”

“It’s okay, I gave it to him,” You turn to see Trafalgar leaning against the wall with his katana back on his shoulder. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?”

“Physically, kinda,” You say, holding onto the railing as you descend the stairs. “Emotionally, no.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “Expected.”

“Captain, maybe she should eat…”

You’re so terribly worn out that your eyes are dry. There’s no use crying when it doesn’t serve a purpose. You’re here now, and you will be for the next two years. You hold onto the hope that you’ll see your crew on Sabaody after that time, and that’s enough for a small smile to grace your face.

You peer up at Bepo, who smiles sheepishly. “Hungry?”

If polar bears could blush, they’d now look like Bepo. “Uh, no. Just a suggestion, you know… Food helps everything.”

He sounds like Luffy.

“Can you make rice balls?” You ask Trafalgar.

“Me?” He acts like it offends him.

“Bepo let it slip that they’re your favourite, so I know you’d make them best.”

“Tsk,” He glares at the mink. “I’m busy.”

“Surely not enough to decline making your guest food, Traffy.”

“Traffy, huh?” Bepo snorts.

Trafalgar runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Please?” You smile.

“No. You’re a pest. Go bother someone else.”

With that, he disappears down the stairs. You stand there with Bepo, the sound of pots clanging making your stomach rumble.

“I can’t remember the last time he made rice balls,” Bepo says. “He makes other foods, but that one is special to him.”

You go to ask why, but think against it. Trafalgar wouldn’t want his crew members airing out his business. Instead, you shrug.

“Maybe one day I’ll persuade him.”

Bepo laughs, scratching behind his ear. “Good luck with that.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Anyway, let’s go ask Penguin what’s for dinner,” The bear says. “I wanted rice balls, too.”

As you turn the corner to the kitchen, the area is quiet.

“That’s weird,” Bepo says. “Penguin doesn’t shut up when he cooks…”

A familiar katana leans against the counter when you enter, and before you can decipher why, Bepo gasps behind you, confirming your outlandish suspicion—which, as it turns out, wasn’t so in the first place.

“What filling do you want? I’m not asking again,” Trafalgar’s voice holds irritation. He stands at the stove without his hat, his hair dishevelled. You refrain from giggling.

Bepo makes a surprised sound. “No way…”

You laugh, stunned, and slide onto the bar stool beneath the counter. Trafalgar’s hat sits beside you, and you eye it as you think about what type of filling you want.

He nods at your request and begins preparing it immediately. Bepo hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway.

“Snap out of it, idiot.”

“Sorry.” Bepo lowers his head and ambles to you to sulk in the chair beside you.

Trafalgar works silently, seeming comfortable as he rolls the premade rice into triangles. He’s meticulous, using a practised amount of rice to protect the filling, and a knife to slice the nori into even strips.

Watching him be so careful with the onigiri makes you wonder if there’s more to his delicate touch. One that can bring warmth and comfort to someone. If that translates to his intentions, and if he really wants you here, or if he felt pressured by Luffy to take you on board.

The question bubbles out of you before you can help it. Despite the setting, it's not one about food.

“Why did you tell me to stay on Amazon Lily?” Your voice surprises him.

Bepo looks at you incredulously. The question hangs in the air, and you see Trafalgar’s shoulders tense.

“I’m gonna go…” Bepo murmurs, slipping from the chair and running from the kitchen.

Trafalgar sighs, rolling his eyes at his crew member. His back is to you, but you can tell he’s thinking of a reply.

“I figured you’d had enough of a submarine full of men. You seem happy on the island.”

There’s something unsaid in his words, something deeper, but you’re too unsure what it could be to delve into it. Instead, you smile.

“And here I was, thinking I was just a pawn,” You laugh, running your fingers along the brim of his soft hat. The memory of a few days ago burns deep inside you. It makes you think about his hands again. “Besides, you’re not allowed there, so why would I stay?”

“Mm?” Although the hum sounds non-committal, you can feel him side-eyeing you.

You wouldn’t admit it, but you’ve grown fond of him. But your cheeks warm when you realise the connotation of your rhetorical question, and your focus remains on his hat. “Who will I annoy if not you?”

Trafalgar sighs and laughs a breathy laugh. “You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren't you sweetheart?”

You raise your eyebrows and shrug, feigning innocence. His easy laughter gives you all the evidence that he wants you on his submarine. “Two years isn’t that long, Traffy. You’ll survive.”

He mumbles something under his breath and turns around, two plates in his hands.

You take one from him. On the plate sits two onigiris, each a perfect triangle with a strip of nori on the bottom. “Thank you.”

Trafalgar grunts and picks up one of his onigiris. You copy him, eyeing how he bites the top off precisely.

“What’s in yours?” You ask, chewing. The flavour explodes in your mouth, and you refrain from moaning in delight. You can feel Trafalgar’s eyes on you, but don’t look up as you play with a stray piece of rice on the plate.

“Grilled salmon,” He speaks when he finishes swallowing. “Do you like it?”

The question seems loaded, as if he’s not just asking about rice balls. It catches you off guard, the discernable keenness. Maybe you didn’t notice it before, with all your exhaustion and constant unconsciousness, but he’s hanging on your every word. His eyes are full of hope before he blinks, and it vanishes. You swear you saw it, and it fills you with shy satisfaction.

He definitely wants you on his submarine.

Remembering his original question, you nod. “It’s good.”

It's an understatement, but Trafalgar seems content with your answer and continues eating his food.

“You can call me Law, you know. No need to be so formal now that you’ll be here for a while.”

Your eyes widen, and a soft ‘oh’ leaves your lips.

Trafalgar is quick to speak. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know I’m considered a rival and all that.”

You mull over his request, eyeing his hunched posture and countless tattoos beneath his elbows. His hair flops over his forehead, and his lips are twisted into an awkward pout, and you realise this is the same man you saw on your first night.

“Law,” You whisper, and when you look at him, your mind plays a trick on you because his cheeks are tinted pink, and there’s a vulnerable look in his eye.

A fortnight isn’t a long time, and despite your quarrels, you think you’ll get to know Trafalgar Law much more than you anticipated.

#trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece #labyrinth trilogy #— ann writes!

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sparkle-b00mb0y · 3 days ago

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The Accident/ Katsuki bakugo accidentally hits you and you come home to him crying 😢

The argument had spiraled out of control. You and Bakugo had been yelling for what felt like hours, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. He was pacing back and forth, his frustration written all over his face, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.

“Why can’t you just let this go?!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room.

“Because you’re not even trying to understand where I’m coming from!” you shot back, standing your ground.

“I am trying, damn it! But all you ever do is—” His hand flew out in an exasperated motion, and before either of you realized what was happening, his palm brushed against your cheek—not hard, but enough to make your head turn slightly.

The room went silent.

Your eyes widened as the shock of what had just happened sank in. It wasn’t intentional, but it didn’t matter. The sting on your skin wasn’t what hurt the most—it was the look of anger still etched on his face, quickly replaced by horror when he realized what he’d done.

“Shit,” he breathed, his hands dropping to his sides. “I didn’t mean—”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you stepped back instinctively, your heart aching in a way you hadn’t expected. “You… you hit me,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I didn’t—It wasn’t on purpose!” Bakugo stammered, his voice panicked now. “I was just—”

But you didn’t wait to hear the rest. The pain in your chest was too much, and the tears spilling down your face made it hard to see clearly. You turned and grabbed your coat, rushing out of the apartment without another word.

Hours passed as you wandered aimlessly, trying to make sense of everything. You knew Bakugo hadn’t meant to hit you, but it didn’t erase the hurt or the shock of it. The memory replayed in your mind over and over, making the ache in your chest worse.

Finally, when the cold night air began to bite at your skin, you made your way back to his apartment. Part of you wasn’t sure what you’d find when you opened the door, but nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you.

Bakugo was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. His broad shoulders were shaking, and muffled, broken sobs filled the quiet room.

“Katsuki…” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His head snapped up, his red, tear-streaked eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, and then he scrambled to his feet, stumbling toward you.

“You’re back,” he choked out, his voice hoarse. “I—I thought you weren’t going to come back.”

The sight of him—so raw and vulnerable—made your chest tighten. “I just needed some time,” you admitted, your voice wavering. “I didn’t know how to feel about what happened.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking again. “I swear I didn’t mean to. I’d never hurt you on purpose. I—I was so mad, and I wasn’t thinking, and—” He stopped, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as his tears continued to fall. “I’m so sorry.”

You stepped closer, your own tears spilling over as you reached out to him. His breath hitched as you placed a hand on his arm, grounding him.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you said softly. “But it still hurt, Katsuki. It scared me.”

His expression crumpled at your words, and he fell to his knees, gripping your hands tightly. “I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “And I messed that up. I don’t know how to make it right.”

You knelt down with him, squeezing his hands. “We’ll figure it out,” you said gently. “But we need to talk about this. We can’t just let it go.”

He nodded, his grip on your hands tightening as though he was afraid you’d disappear again. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised, his voice steady despite the tears. “I just… I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said, pulling him into a hug. He clung to you like his life depended on it, burying his face in your shoulder as the weight of the moment settled between you.

In that embrace, you both silently vowed to work through the pain together, to rebuild the trust shaken by that one fleeting moment.

#bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugou #mha #angst

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ominium · 1 day ago

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farewell

character : gojo s. (i only say his name once, so if you wanna insert anyone else...won't blame ya) context : your husband forgets who you were (amnesia) and hangs out with his high school fling more than you :( pov : first person (reader) content : angst no comfort (letter no response) note(s) : yeah idk, had this thought at 5:00 am and, after a few days, decided to finally write it out

also gojo likes his eggs scrambled here with reader. yea idk if u think he'd prefer runny yolk then oops

—

In another universe, we would have grown old together.

As promised, we would have woken up in each other's arms, go on morning walks, share a sandwich, watch the birds fly by...

As promised, we would have grown a flower bed out in the countryside, have chats with our elderly neighbors every now and then, watch the sunset together...

When we first got back to our home after the accident, I had hope. I know it was hard for you to live with me, as you saw me as nothing more than a stranger, but I believed you could remember me. I had strength that our love would prevail, as cheesy as it sounds...I believed that you could remember me.

Every little aspect of our little life was still there. The way I still had to try extra hard to wake you up in the mornings, how you still enjoyed noodles that were a little overcooked and soaked with the broth, and even the way you sat on "your spot" of the couch. Everything was so endearing, and I wanted to believe that you hadn't changed.

The way you still greeted your old friends was all the same. Sure, you missed out on some memories, but for the most part, they didn't have to endure the pain of being asked, "who are you?"

It was nice to see some of your memories come back, too. When you had that nagging feeling that you just had to go to the local park, even though it was raining...all because it felt right. And it did. We used to take a walk on weekends to wind down and relax. Our hands intertwined, and just simply people watching. It re-lit what little faith I had left, and had me craving for more...more of you remembering our memories.

How you started going out every other evening to get some drinks. It seemed so...painfully absent in the home, but at least you were putting in the effort to remember.

So how...how is it that you seem to start remembering everything but me? How can you remember the way I liked my eggs scrambled, but not me? How could you remember how I liked the way I folded my clothes, but not me? How was my spot replaced with her?

Was it not strange that she would make you sunny-side up eggs, even though you said you didn't like the yolk runny? How she didn't walk the path you wanted to walk in the park? You brought her a beautiful bouquet wrapped in purple, yet the colors she surrounds herself with are yellow.

Why is it that I hear from Shoko that you were with her again? Why do I get messages from Megumi that you had to buy two bouquets, because you accidentally bought purple flowers again? Why is it that it seems you never come home to me? Why did I have to see your wedding ring on the bathroom floor. Forgotten.

Why do I wake up to an empty home, and go to bed alone now....

...You know, yesterday was our anniversary. I had bought a cake and even asked Yuuji to help me decorate the living room for us. It was...pretty awkward, to say the least, when he calls me and says you're at the bar with "that girl again."

To be honest, Satoru, I don't blame you. How could I? You experienced trauma, you have amnesia...you still see me as a stranger that just happens to live in the same home as you, and just happens to have a bunch of pictures with you, and even a wedding photo plastered in the bedroom wall. Right.

But it would've been nice if you had just...tried. Tried to come home to me. Try to spend time with me. Given me the bouquets because I love purple.

Tried to be the husband you promised you would be to me.

So here. I'm sure you've already seen them, but the divorce papers are under the letter. I've signed everything, and again I'm sure you've seen, but I grabbed all my essentials and left. You don't have to see me again. I placed our rings in the box they came in...thank goodness I saved it, despite you wanting me not to. You can do what you will with them...you did buy them anyways.

And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't give more time to you. I'm sorry if I didn't try hard enough. But, I'm sure you'd understand...you've got holes in your memories that everyone wants to fill.

and I've got whole memories that I can't share anymore.

#jjk #angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #satoru #gojo s #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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delulustateofmind · 2 days ago

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Long Distance II - A Holiday Special

Gojo x Reader a Japan trip is so far away...

Blurb, Part One, Part Two, Part Three

CW: FLUFF, Modern AU, They're both idiots that are emotionally constipated. Broken English but I tried adding subtitles?

WC: 5K (yeesh)

A/n: Part 3 will be the Japan trip

There were exactly three months until your Japan trip.

You sat curled up on your parents’ couch in the den, idly scrolling through your phone. It had been eerily quiet the past few days—barely a text from Satoru.

The familiar tendrils of insecurity crept in. Was he bored now? You hadn’t played Minecraft together since coming home for Christmas, and his Discord activity had been practically nonexistent. Sure, he still sent the occasional “good morning” or “good night,” but the usual steady stream of playful banter and over-the-top memes had dwindled.

You sighed, shaking your head. It’s Christmas. He’s probably with his family, you reasoned, mentally scolding yourself. Stop overthinking it. Stop being... you.

Just as you were about to turn off your phone, the familiar Discord chime rang out, the sound almost startling in the quiet room. Your screen lit up with his profile picture: a white cat wearing sunglasses.

Satoru was calling.

Your heart jumped to your throat. You scrambled to your feet, muttering a rushed excuse to your parents as you darted toward your room.

Your mom raised an eyebrow as you hurried past, her lips twitching in barely concealed amusement. They didn’t pry—they never had—but you could practically feel their thoughts radiating through the air. Finally. Maybe she’s talking to a real person now.

They probably thought you were overdue. After all, you were nearing thirty and had never dated anyone except the tragically handsome, pixelated men from your otome games. If they gave you a Tinder Gold subscription instead of the usual socks or novelty candles this Christmas, you wouldn’t even blame them.

Once safely in your room, you shut the door, took a moment to gather yourself, and answered the call, doing your best to mask your breathlessness.

“Hey, Satoru!”

“Moshi-moshi,” he greeted in that familiar, teasing tone of his. There was a brief pause before a faint laugh slipped through the line. “Wait. Did you… run? I can hear… ah… 息切れ?”

“Out of breath?” you supplied, your grin breaking through despite yourself.

“Yes, yes! Out of breath,” he said, laughing. “Why?”

“Uh… no reason,” you mumbled, flopping onto your bed. “Anyway, what’s up? You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Ah, sorry for that,” he said, his voice softening as it took on a rare note of seriousness. “It’s Christmas. Busy with… 家族… family.”

“That’s okay,” you said, brushing it off casually. “I figured.”

“I have news,” he continued, his tone suddenly bright again. “And… maybe a Christmas gift?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “News? Gift?”

He laughed, that boyish, playful laugh that always managed to make your day a little better. “Yes. But first… you don’t need to get me anything. No Nitro, no socks, or whatever else.”

“Oh, good,” you teased, settling back against your pillows.

His laugh came again, but it tapered off into something gentler. “Okay, listen. I have… uh… conference? Meeting? In Chicago. Tomorrow.”

“Chicago?” you repeated, sitting up. “That’s… not far from me.”

“Exactly!” His tone grew more animated, though he hesitated slightly, as if searching for the right words. “If I buy your flight… will you come? I pay for hotel, food… everything. Just… 来てほしい.”

The switch to Japanese wasn’t lost on you. I want you to come.

“You… want me to come to Chicago?” you asked softly.

“Yes,” he said firmly, though his words slowed as he carefully pieced them together. “I… want to meet you. Finally. I know it is last minute. And… maybe too much? But…” He hesitated, switching back to Japanese briefly. “どうしても君に会いたくて。”

Your heart stuttered. You weren’t fluent in Japanese, but you understood enough: I really want to meet you.

“I…” Your mind spun. “Satoru, are you sure? That’s a lot of money, and—”

“Don’t worry about the money,” he interrupted quickly, his tone kind but insistent. “It’s my gift. For Christmas. Just say yes.”

You bit your lip, glancing at your reflection in the mirror across the room. Your parents were going to interrogate you, and there was the matter of packing on ridiculously short notice, but…

“I’d love to,” you said finally, the words tumbling out before you could overthink yourself into oblivion.

That gave you exactly ten hours to:

Find a gift for a man who was probably dropping a small fortune to meet you.

Explain to your parents that you’d been talking to a guy from Japan since September.

Pack your bags without spiraling into a nervous wreck.

You were failing spectacularly at the “no stress” part.

“Why are we at Walmart at 10 PM?” your mom asked as she pushed her cart through the aisles.

You gripped the handle of your basket like a lifeline, scanning the shelves. “Oh, you know, just picking up a few things for… a trip.”

Her cart stopped with an audible clatter. “A trip?” She turned to you, her eyebrows nearly reaching her hairline. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” you muttered, bracing yourself.

“Tomorrow?!” Her voice shot up an octave. She planted her hands on her hips, giving you the trademark mom-glare. “Where are you going, and why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Chicago,” you said quickly, holding up a box of chocolates like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s last minute. A… friend invited me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A friend?”

“Yeah, a friend,” you repeated, your voice a touch too high to sound convincing. “He’s in town for a conference, and he thought it’d be nice to meet up.”

“He?” The sharpness in her tone could have cut glass.

You sighed. Okay. Just rip off the Band-Aid.

“So… there’s this guy,” you began hesitantly. “He’s from Japan. We’ve been talking since September. And… this is kind of a chance to meet him.”

Her expression shifted from shock to concern, and you felt her gaze boring into you. “You’ve been talking to a guy from Japan? Online?”

“Yes,” you admitted, fidgeting with the edge of the basket. “And before you freak out, he’s real. We’ve video-called. He’s nice. Respectful. This isn’t a scam.”

To your surprise, her expression softened slightly, though worry still lingered in her eyes. “Okay. But this is a lot to process, and it’s very last minute. Does your dad know?”

“Not yet,” you said weakly.

She let out a long sigh. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight about this tonight. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?You better keep your location on too!”

“I will,” you said quickly, relief washing over you.

By the time you got home, the nerves were back, swirling in full force. What did you even pack to meet someone like Satoru? Comfortable? Cute? Not too cute, though, right? You didn’t want to come across as trying too hard.

At least he made it sound easy:

青眼の白龍: “Anything. You’ll look good in anything 💙”

That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one currently hyperventilating over whether to bring a cute sweater or a hoodie.

By morning, you were groggy but out the door, your mom barking at you from the hallway:

“Hurry up! The roads are icy, and we’re already behind schedule!”

You fidgeted in your seat at the gate, clutching your boarding pass tightly as you waited for boarding to start. Every nerve in your body was buzzing, and your mind was a flurry of half-baked thoughts.

What if he doesn’t like me? What if this is awkward? What if I trip over my own feet in the airport and ruin everything?

The crackle of the intercom announcing pre-boarding snapped you out of your spiral. You glanced at your phone, the screen lighting up with a new Discord message.

青眼の白龍: “Excited? Or nervous? (Guessing nervous 😅)”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant.

You: “Very nervous. What if you think I’m weird in person?”

He replied almost instantly.

青眼の白龍: “You ARE weird. That’s why I like you. Don’t worry. I’ll find you first.”

You couldn’t help but smile, some of the tension in your chest easing.

The boarding process went by in a blur. Before you knew it, you were settling into your seat, double-checking your carry-on bag and trying to ignore the subtle shake in your hands.

The plane wasn’t crowded, which you were grateful for. You had the window seat, and the middle seat next to you was blissfully empty, leaving you free to huddle into your hoodie and stare out at the tarmac.

The moment the plane took off, your nerves went into overdrive again. You pulled out your phone, wishing it worked in the air just so you could keep messaging Satoru. Instead, you flipped through the inflight magazine, not really reading anything.

The thought of meeting him in person made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t quite name. Satoru was so effortlessly charming, so funny, so… himself. What if you didn’t live up to whatever image he had of you? What if—

No. Stop. He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want to meet you.

You leaned back against the headrest, staring at the seatbelt sign as if it held the answers to the universe.

The flight attendants came by with snacks and drinks, which you gratefully accepted, using the tiny cup to ground yourself.

Two hours later, the pilot announced your descent into Chicago, and your heart rate skyrocketed again. You craned your neck to look out the window, watching as the city’s skyline came into view, glittering against the pale winter morning.

This is real. This is actually happening.

The wheels touched down with a jolt, and you gripped the armrests, releasing a shaky breath when the plane slowed to a crawl.

As the seatbelt sign dinged off, you pulled out your phone and switched it off airplane mode.

青眼の白龍: “I’m here. Near the entrance, holding coffee. Wearing a blue jacket, so I’m easy to spot. You?”

Your stomach flipped.

You: “Landed. Just need to get my bag. I’ll text when I’m on my way out.”

You grabbed your carry-on and shuffled off the plane, blending into the crowd as you made your way toward baggage claim. The anxiety was back in full force now, wrapping around your chest like a vice.

It felt like everyone in the airport could hear your heart hammering. Your mind raced through every possible scenario of how this could go wrong—or right.

You spotted your suitcase quickly, a bright sticker-covered monstrosity that your mom had insisted on decorating “so it’s easier to spot.” Lugging it off the carousel, you typed out another message with shaking fingers.

You: “Heading out now.”

青眼の白龍: “Got it. See you soon 😊.”

The automatic doors slid open, and a blast of icy wind hit you, momentarily stealing your breath. You scanned the crowd near the entrance, your eyes darting between jackets and coffee cups until—

There he was.

The first thing you noticed was his height. Even in the crowded airport, he stood out, his blue jacket catching the light, his silver-white hair peeking out from under his hood. He was holding two cups of coffee, his head turning slightly as he scanned the crowd.

Then his eyes locked onto yours.

His face lit up with a grin so wide and bright it could rival the Chicago skyline. He waved, one hand still holding the coffee, and started toward you.

Your legs felt like jelly, but somehow, you managed to move forward.

“Hey, Y/N!” he called out, his voice cutting through the airport noise like it was the only sound that mattered.

“Hey,” you managed to croak, trying not to trip over your suitcase as he stopped in front of you.

“Ah, you made it!” he said, his grin never faltering as he held out one of the coffee cups. “For you! If you don’t like it, I’ll get you something else! Everything is on me! Okay?”

Your hands brushed as you took it, the heat of the coffee seeping into your chilled fingers. “Thanks.”

You were praying that he couldn’t sense your cheeks heating up. Much to your demise. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush deeper. Then, almost out of nowhere, he laughed, the sound warm and familiar.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing. Just…” He paused, his smile softening. “You’re real. This is… real.”

You felt your nerves ease just a little as you smiled back. “Yeah. It’s real.”

The realization hit you the moment you reached the sleek black sedan parked at the curb. Satoru had a personal assistant.

Since when did astrophysics professors have personal assistants?

The assistant—a shy man in a sharp suit—opened the door for you with a polite nod. You mumbled a quick thank you before sliding into the backseat next to Satoru, who looked completely unbothered by the whole situation.

As the car pulled into traffic, you found yourself hyper-aware of the proximity between you. Satoru sat close—closer than you’d expected. His long legs were stretched out comfortably, but his posture was slightly stiff. For someone who was usually so effortlessly extroverted, he seemed… almost shy.

You glanced at him, catching him sneaking a look at you out of the corner of his eye. When your eyes met, he cleared his throat and looked away, a faint flush dusting his pale cheeks.

“My conference ended earlier today,” he began, his voice soft and a little hesitant as he worked through the English. “I hope… you don’t mind spending the next four days with me. Sightseeing?”

His gaze flicked back to you, studying your reaction carefully.

“I… no, I don’t mind,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “That sounds amazing.”

“Sorry,” he added, his voice lowering as if he genuinely felt bad. “You won’t be home for New Year’s.”

His words were a little stilted, but you could tell he’d been practicing. He hesitated, glancing at you again like he wasn’t sure if he was being a burden or not.

You felt a pang of warmth at his thoughtfulness, even if the apology was unnecessary. “I don’t mind. Really. I mean, it’s not every day you get to spend New Year’s in Chicago.”

A small, relieved smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Good. I want to… make it fun.”

“Thank you,” you said, lowering your voice as if the words would carry more weight that way. “For all of this. I mean it. The flight, the hotel, everything… I can pay you back, really.”

Satoru turned to you fully then, his pale blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Not pay back. It’s my gift. I wanted to do this. For you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes—earnest and unwavering—stopped you.

“Okay,” you murmured, your cheeks heating as you broke the eye contact. “Thank you.”

He leaned back into his seat, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Good. Now I can relax.”

The rest of the ride was filled with light conversation, the initial tension slowly melting away. Satoru’s shy glances grew less frequent, replaced by his usual teasing remarks.

But as the car rolled to a stop in front of the hotel, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hand lingered on his knee, as if he was stopping himself from reaching out.

By the time you reached the hotel, you couldn’t shake the way everyone seemed to nod at him. Every staff member you passed greeted him with a mix of respect and familiarity, as if he were someone important.

Even the bellhop addressed him by name.

You tried to ignore it, but curiosity buzzed at the back of your mind as Satoru handed you a key card. His casual smile didn’t falter as he led you toward the elevators, his hand brushing lightly against your back to guide you through the bustling lobby.

“I booked us… um, rooms on same floor,” he said as the elevator doors slid shut. He glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “Ijichi will drive us everywhere. I hear… ah, public transport here… 怖い? Uh… scary?”

“Scary?” you echoed.

He nodded, his pale blue eyes flicking to yours, the sunlight streaming through the glass reflecting off his hair like a halo. “Yes. I don’t… want you to get hurt.”

His voice was quiet but firm, and there was something in the way he said it that made your chest tighten. His gaze stayed on you, warm but intense, like he was trying to memorize your face.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft. “Um… I do have a gift for you, though.”

His eyebrows lifted, and a flicker of curiosity crossed his face. “Gift?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get a chance to give it to you earlier,” you said, feeling a bit shy now. “I can give it to you later?”

“Eh?” He tilted his head, his pout exaggerated as he switched into Japanese. “だから言ったでしょ。プレゼントはなしって。” (Didn’t I say no gifts?)

He crossed his arms, his lower lip jutting out like a child denied dessert. “Now I need to buy something for you,” he added in English, though his accent thickened slightly in his mock frustration.

You blinked at him, incredulous. “Satoru, you flew me here last minute, booked me a hotel room with a perfect view of the city, and arranged for a driver. And now you feel bad?”

His lips twitched, a grin breaking through his pout as his eyes sparkled mischievously. “Yes,” he said simply, his English slightly clipped. “It’s… different. Surprise is better.”

“Better how?” you asked, baffled.

He tilted his head, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Because I like to make you smile,” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t keep them in anymore.

The casual honesty made your breath hitch. Before you could respond, the elevator dinged softly, the doors sliding open to reveal your floor bathed in golden afternoon light.

What was with elevators and being so romantic?

“Ah, come,” he said, stepping into the hallway. “I walk you to room.”

You followed him, your heart racing as you tried to process his words.

When you reached your door, Satoru handed you the key card with a playful smile. “Good afternoon, Y/N,” he said, his English faltering slightly as he added, “If… if anything, call me. I am, uh…” He paused, switching back to Japanese. “すぐそこだから。(I’m just right there.)”

“Good afternoon, Satoru,” you murmured, clutching the key card tightly.

He lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours again as if he wanted to say more. But then he flashed you one last grin and turned to walk down the hall, his hands casually slipping into his pockets.

You slipped into your room, the door clicking softly shut behind you. Leaning against it, you exhaled a shaky breath, your heart still racing as the reality of the moment sank in.

The sunlight poured through the large window, illuminating the Chicago skyline in the distance.

The next few days passed in a blur of activity, each moment with Satoru feeling like something out of a dream.

He had planned everything to perfection—or at least, that’s how it seemed. Ijichi chauffeured you both to Chicago’s most iconic landmarks: the towering Willis Tower Skydeck, where Satoru grinned like a kid as he teased you about your hesitation to step onto the glass floor; Millennium Park, where he insisted on taking far too many selfies in front of the Bean; and the Art Institute, where he feigned a deep knowledge of Monet and Van Gogh before sheepishly admitting he was reading the plaques.

Even with his broken English and occasional lapses into Japanese, Satoru’s energy was infectious. He made mundane things—like arguing over which deep-dish pizza spot was the best—feel like an adventure. His confidence faltered sometimes, especially when he struggled to find the right words in English, but the way he’d glance at you for reassurance, his sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips, only made him more endearing.

On the second day, you found yourself at Navy Pier, bundled up against the cold as the lake breeze whipped through your hair. Satoru bought you hot chocolate from a food stand and insisted on riding the Ferris wheel despite the freezing weather.

When the carriage stopped at the top, he fell unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on the view of the city.

“This…” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. “Very beautiful.”

He turned his gaze to you, his pale blue eyes holding yours for a moment longer than was probably necessary.

“Ah, no,” he corrected himself, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he switched to Japanese. “君のほうがもっと綺麗だね。” (You’re even more beautiful.)

Your cheeks burned, and you stammered out a reply, the words tumbling over themselves in your embarrassment. But he only laughed, the sound soft and warm as he brushed it off, as if he hadn’t just completely turned your world upside down.

The third day was when he surprised you with an ice skating outing at Millennium Park.

The rink was bustling with families and couples, the festive lights strung overhead casting a warm glow against the crisp winter air. Satoru laced up his skates with an almost childlike enthusiasm, looking up at you as you fumbled with yours.

“You’ve done this before?” he asked, his accent thick but his words clear.

“A few times,” you admitted, though your confidence faltered as you eyed the ice.

“Good, good,” he teased, his grin wide. “Then… no falling, right? I'm no good if you fall.”

“Right,” you said, though the way he smirked didn’t inspire much confidence.

He stood and offered his hand, his long fingers curling gently around yours as he helped you to your feet. “行こう？” (Shall we?) he said, his tone playful.

On the ice, Satoru was surprisingly graceful, his movements smooth and practiced. He skated backward, his hands lightly holding yours as you wobbled through your first few steps.

“Not bad,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You look… um…” He hesitated, switching back to Japanese. “すごく一生懸命。可愛いね。” (Very determined. Cute.)

You stumbled slightly, heat rising to your face as you glared at him. “Don’t tease me!”

“Not teasing,” he replied with a grin, pulling you a little closer to keep you steady. “Just truth.”

The two of you glided across the ice, his steady presence making you feel braver than you expected. When he wasn’t pulling you into a spin or offering exaggerated instructions, he was laughing, his voice warm and unrestrained.

At one point, as the crowd thinned and the music shifted to something slower, Satoru stopped in the middle of the rink, turning you gently to face him. His hands slid up from yours to rest on your arms, the proximity making your pulse quicken.

“You’re very good now,” he said softly, his English halting but sincere. “But… I think, um… I hold you anyway?”

His pale blue eyes bore into yours, the teasing tone slipping away into something softer. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the spell was broken by a child shrieking nearby as they fell on the ice. Satoru chuckled, pulling away slightly, but the look he gave you lingered long after.

When New Year’s Eve arrived, the city was alive with celebration, the streets buzzing with energy as the countdown to midnight loomed closer. The rooftop of your hotel, reserved exclusively for guests, offered a perfect view of the fireworks that would light up the city at midnight.

Satoru had made sure everything was just right. He handed you one of his scarves as you stepped into the chilly evening air, the soft material carrying the faint scent of his cologne.

“I hope this okay,” he said, hesitating slightly as his English faltered. “Not too cold?”

You shook your head, pulling the scarf tighter around you. “It’s perfect.”

The two of you stood at the railing, looking out over the city as the lights twinkled against the darkening sky.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, breaking the silence. “For all of this. It’s been… amazing.”

Satoru turned to you, his expression softening. “No need to thank me,” he said, though his words came slowly. He hesitated, switching to Japanese. “本当に…君と一緒にいたかっただけ。” (I just wanted to spend time with you.)

Your heart stuttered, and you turned to face him fully. “Satoru…”

He stepped closer, his blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. The teasing glint that so often colored his expression was gone, replaced by something softer, something vulnerable.

“I…” He paused, his voice quieter now. “君は僕にとって…” (You’re…) He struggled to find the right words in English before switching back to Japanese. “とても大切な人。” (You’re very important to me.)

His gaze flicked briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, his face inching closer. Slowly, tentatively, he leaned in, the space between you shrinking.

Your heart raced as his lips neared yours, but just as the moment came, panic flared in your chest, and you turned your head away.

Satoru froze, his breath lingering near your cheek. He didn’t move for a moment, his warmth still close but suddenly hesitant.

When you turned back to face him, the flicker of hurt in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Ah,” he said softly, taking a small step back. He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping him as he tried to mask his emotions. “Maybe… too fast? Sorry.”

You opened your mouth to explain, but your words tangled in your throat. It wasn’t rejection—not really. It was just too much, too overwhelming, too… Gojo Satoru.

He didn’t wait for your response. Instead, he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway,” he said, switching to Japanese as his tone turned lighter, almost forcibly so. “花火、そろそろ始まるね。” (The fireworks will start soon, right?)

You nodded, your chest tightening as he turned back to the view. The fireworks burst into vibrant color above the city, but the weight of the moment lingered, heavy and unresolved.

Even as the night carried on, you couldn’t shake the way he had looked at you, like you were something precious he was terrified of losing.

Then finally…It was time to go. Your magical weekend came to an end.

The airport was bustling with activity, the steady hum of announcements and hurried footsteps filling the air. You stood with Satoru near the security checkpoint, your carry-on bag slung over your shoulder and your boarding pass clutched tightly in your hand.

It felt surreal, knowing the trip was coming to an end. The past few days had been so full of laughter and quiet moments that it was hard to believe you’d soon be thousands of miles apart again.

Satoru shifted beside you, his usual energy subdued. His hands were buried in the pockets of his coat, but his eyes never left you.

“So,” he said, his English halting but warm, “next time… spring break? In Japan?” His smile was wide, but there was an edge of nervousness to it, like he was afraid you might change your mind.

You nodded, your chest tightening as you met his gaze. “Yeah. I’ll be there. You’ll have to show me around, though. You’re the expert.”

“Of course!” he said, his grin brightening instantly. “I will plan… everything. Kyoto, Osaka, Tokyo—ah, no. Too much?” He laughed, switching to Japanese. “でも、絶対に楽しい旅にする。” (But I’ll make sure it’s an amazing trip.)

You smiled, his excitement contagious. “I trust you.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the reality of your impending departure settling between you. He took a small step closer, his blue eyes searching yours.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now. “I… very excited. To see you again. To see… where this goes.”

His English faltered slightly, but the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable. You felt your throat tighten, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I am too,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the noise of the terminal. “I’ll miss you, though.”

His smile softened, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your cheeks warm. “I’ll miss you more,” he said, switching back to Japanese. “でも、待つ価値がある。” (But it’ll be worth the wait.)

The announcement for your flight echoed overhead, and your heart sank. “I should go,” you murmured, glancing toward the security line.

Satoru nodded, but he didn’t move. Instead, he took a half-step closer, his hands still tucked in his pockets, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Text me when you land, okay? And… be safe.”

You nodded, your grip tightening on your boarding pass. “I will. And you take care of yourself, too.”

There was a moment of hesitation, a beat of silence where neither of you moved, the space between you charged with unspoken words. Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

His skin was warm, and the soft scent of his cologne lingered in the air as you pulled back.

Satoru froze, his eyes wide with shock as his cheeks turned a vivid shade of pink. For a split second, he looked completely speechless, his usual confidence utterly shattered.

“I—uh—” he stammered, his English failing him entirely as he switched to Japanese. “え、何今の？” (What was that just now?)

You laughed softly, the sound bubbling up despite the bittersweet ache in your chest. “A goodbye,” you said simply, stepping back before you lost your nerve.

His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but all he managed was a breathless, “またね。” (See you.)

You gave him one last smile before turning and heading toward the security line. As you handed over your boarding pass, you glanced back.

Satoru was still standing there, his hand raised in a small wave, his smile soft and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

Spring break suddenly couldn't come fast enough.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader

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unconventional-lawnchair · 12 hours ago

Note

“You can’t just…kiss me to win a fucking argument, [NAME]!” “You’re right…but did it work?” With Sirius pretty please 🙏🏽

Kiss And Make-Up

Sirius Black x Reader

WC: ~1.3k

Summary: Pool side at the Potters, Sirius takes you for a swim.

The summer sun hung lazily in the sky above the sprawling Potter Manor, casting long, warm shadows over the garden. The large pool glistened invitingly, its clear waters sparkling under the light. You and Lily had spent most of the afternoon lounging by the pool, watching as James and Sirius made a fool of themselves, attempting to play an American sport, touch football. Perhaps it was your playful comments you made about your home country being a bit too intense for the British boys that drove them to the down right sad display.

Especially with just two of them, Peter inside helping Euphemia in the kitchen and Remus actually enjoying the pool, talking to you.

Remus was in the shallow end, leaning against the edge of the pool, his arms resting casually on the ledge as he looked over at you and Lily. His hair was damp, and a gentle smile played on his lips as he listened to the banter happening poolside. Every now and then, he would glance over to where James and Sirius were, both of them attempting to toss a football back and forth, their movements clumsy and completely lacking coordination.

Lily shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched James scramble to catch the ball, only for it to slip through his fingers yet again. "Honestly, it's like watching a pair of toddlers learning how to walk," She said with a laugh, her sunglasses perched on her nose as she leaned back on her lounge chair.

You grinned, nodding in agreement as you glanced over at Remus, who gave you a knowing smile. "I don't think I've ever seen two people so determined to be so bad at something.” You added, shaking your head, the laughter bubbling up in your chest.

Remus chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know, I think they're convinced that if they just keep at it long enough, they'll somehow master it," He mused, his voice carrying that warmth and dry humor he always had.

You shook your head, unable to hide your grin as James let out a frustrated groan, turning to Sirius. "Pads, you've got to catch it properly!" He complained, hands on his hips, the football lying at his feet.

Sirius, ever the dramatic, threw his hands up in the air. "Prongs, I’m not built for this! Give me a broomstick any day of the week- this is madness!" He shot you a look, his eyes narrowing playfully. "You Yanks and your weird sports."

"Excuses, excuses," You tutted, lifting your drink to your lips, the cold condensation a welcome relief against the summer heat. "Maybe I should go over there and show you how it's done, Black."

Remus let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Now that's something I'd pay to see."

Lily giggled, nodding in agreement. "Yes, please. Put them out of their misery."

Sirius shot you a wicked grin, his eyes alight with that familiar mischief. "Oh, yeah? You think you could take me, love?" He called out, jogging over to the poolside, his hair tousled from running around. He put his hands on his hips, giving you a challenging look.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "You can't even catch a football, Sirius. I don't think I'd need to try very hard."

His grin widened, that playful glint turning into something more dangerous, something that had your heart skipping a beat. He took a step closer, leaning down towards you, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, you talk a big game... but I don't think you'd have the guts to get in that pool."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool. "Is that a dare, Black?"

His eyes twinkled, and he gave you a slow nod. "It is, actually. I dare you to get in that pool right now."

You leaned back in your chair, shaking your head with a laugh. "Not a chance, pretty boy. I'm not oblivious, I know you just want to see me cold and wet.” You smirked and his pale cheeks flushed a slight red. You rolled your eyes as his smirk grew wolffish.

Sirius grinned, straightening up, the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Oh, is that it?" He asked, voice dripping with playful challenge. "You think I won't actually make you get in that pool?"

You crossed your arms, tilting your head up at him defiantly. "I think you can't," You shot back. "You may talk big, but you're all bark and no bite, Black."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "You know what, darling?" He took a step closer, a hint of something daring in his gaze. "You just made a very dangerous dare."

You blinked, your smile faltering slightly as he lunged towards you, grabbing you around the waist. You let out a startled shriek, scrambling against his grip, but Sirius was strong and determined, his laughter filling your ears as he hoisted you off the lounge chair.

"Sirius!" You yelled, your laughter mingling with your protests as you tried to wriggle free. He ignored your struggling, carrying you towards the edge of the pool, his grin growing wider as he approached the water.

Lily and Remus both burst into laughter, Lily clapping her hands in delight as she watched the scene unfold. "Oh, there she goes!" Lily exclaimed, shaking her head. Remus leaned forward on the edge of the pool, his smile wide and eyes filled with amusement.

"Sirius, don't you dare-" You started, but it was too late. With one swift motion, Sirius dropped you into the pool. You hit the water with a splash, the cold enveloping you instantly. You resurfaced, gasping and sputtering, your hair plastered to your face.

"You absolute git!" You shouted, but the laughter bubbled up despite the shock. Sirius, still fully clothed, gave you a mock bow from the pool's edge.

"And now," He said, winking, "I’m an equal-opportunity swimmer." With that, he jumped in right after you, landing beside you with a splash.

You turned to him, eyes narrowed. "You’re impossible, you know that?" You muttered, but there was a smile tugging at your lips.

Sirius grinned, his dark hair now dripping wet, his eyes glistening with a mix of triumph and warmth. He swam closer to you, his face softening as he looked at you. "And yet, you still love me, don't you?" He teased, though there was a genuine question in his eyes, a vulnerability he rarely showed.

You sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically, but there was no hiding the affection in your voice. "Maybe. But if you ever throw me in again, I swear I'll hex you."

He smirked, inching even closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I think I could get you to forgive me, though.” Before you could reply, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a kiss that was both gentle and full of intensity.

When he finally pulled away, you glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You can’t just… kiss me to win a fucking argument, Sirius!” You sputtered, your voice filled with exasperation.

Sirius grinned, his eyes twinkling as he shrugged. “You’re right,” He said, not even trying to hide his smugness, “but did it work?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the warmth in his eyes and the curve of his smile made your words falter. A reluctant smile tugged at your lips, and you huffed, shoving him lightly. “You’re such a prat.”

Sirius laughed, his arm coming around your waist, pulling you close in the water. "Maybe. But I'm your prat," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

You huffed, splashing him with the water, but you didn’t pull away. The sun continued to shine above you, the sound of Lily and Remus's laughter mingling with yours, and for a moment, everything felt light, simple, and blissfully free- just two people lost in the warmth of summer and each other.

You wished it could stay like this forever.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #james potter #harry potter x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #harry potter x you #sirius black x you #sirius x you #sirius o black #sirius being sirius #Remus Lupin #Lily Evans

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twola · 1 day ago

Text

Passerine: Chapter 5

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Things hurtle toward their conclusion - the pregnancy, the gang, and the relationship.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: references to rape, violence, injury, illness, death. canon events have been modified.

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Even the songbirds sound sad and gloomy in these hills. Everything is dark, wet, foreboding. A general unease has settled into the gang, or at least, what was left of it. The evening fell far too early, darkness blanketing the valley far earlier than you thought it should. Presently the blazing orange of the sunset already seems to be escaping this land for the west.

If only, if only.

“Can I listen to the baby?”

You shake your head slightly, waking yourself from the brooding thoughts you were having. The scarf you were darning for Abigail lies draped across your lap. You’re sitting against a tree toward the outside of camp, along the hillside where the only sunlight seems to penetrate the tree cover. You secretly are happy for the company, knowing that it would be an embarrassing struggle for you to get back to your feet from the ground, something you should have thought of before sitting down.

You smile, ruffling Jack’s hair. The boy hovers in front of you, waiting for your response, a huge, giddy smile on his face. At least someone here was happy.

“Sure, C’mere.”

Jack stoops down in front of where you are sitting and places his head upon your belly, closing his eyes in concentration. You place your hand back upon his head, running your fingers through his hair as he listens.

“There’s just a bunch of gurgling!” The boy snorts, and you ruffle his hair again with one hand as you take the other and guide it against a spot on the left of your swollen abdomen.

“Cause the baby’s in water….can you feel it? That’s probably a little foot right… there.” You press Jack’s hand against your skin until his eyebrows raise in amazement when he feels a protrusion.

“That’s a foot?” He asks as he scrunches his nose, pulling away from you.

You smooth over your skirt again, gently rubbing at your belly, as you can feel the child squirm within, having been awakened by Jack’s curiosity. A foot to your kidney, a head against your bladder. The constant discomfort of soon-to-be motherhood.

“Do you think the baby will like my Penny Dreadful books?”

“Some day, Jack, when you’re reading it to them.” You suck in a breath at a well-placed kick seemingly right underneath your rib cage. A hiss escapes your mouth as the child squirms uncomfortably within your body, and Jack immediately frowns at your pained expression, pulling back from you.

“No, no, it's okay,” You try to calm the boy down, placing one of your hands on his shoulder, “The baby’s just kicking. Almost ready to come out.”

“Jack!”

John Marston’s rough voice cuts through the falling dusk, and Jack scrambles up from his knees.

“Over here, John.” You call out, thankful that at least you weren’t going to be forced to holler for someone to come help you up.

It's only a few moments before John comes upon the two of you, rubbing his hands on his pants in an attempt to clean them. He nods back over toward the tents.

“Jack, come on now, time to get cleaned up. Go on over to your momma.”

“Yes, papa.” Jack nods up to his father, smile beaming, before running back toward the camp. A pang hits your heart and almost makes your eyes mist over in your emotional state - to think how, months ago, John could barely even look at his son, and now he’s spending afternoons play fighting with sticks with the boy.

“Y’ need some help there?” He looks down at you with an amused half-grin, the silvered scars across his cheeks moving as he snorts.

You give a tired half-smile back up to him. “Would you? God only knows I’m going to hear it from Arthur for not being in bed right now.”

He steps in front of you and holds both of his hands out for you to take. You grab them and groan as you let him pull you up, breathing out heavily as you lean forward into him to steady yourself as you’ve gotten to your feet. To his credit, John holds your shoulders patiently as you huff.

“Y-you’re too skinny these days, Marston.” You pant, trying to break the awkwardness. God, you were pitiful.

John doesn’t seem to mind, “Ain’t like I was fed like a king in Sisika.”

You breathe out another long breath and nod, your hands moving from his biceps as you’ve steadied yourself. He removes his hands from your shoulders and holds out one arm for you to interlace your arm with to walk back.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the tent. Startin’ to see why Arthur’s gonna be mad as a hornet.”

“Hush, not you too.” You groan, rolling your eyes as John starts to slowly walk you back to your tent. Upon reaching it, you unlace your

“Thank you, John.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on your belly.

“You alright?”

He swallows before responding, “Guess I’m just startin’ to see what everyone else did.”

“About?”

“How much of an ass I was to ‘em. Abigail and Jack.”

You place one hand on his shoulder, giving a small, knowing smile. The other lands on your belly. “Well, now you have the chance to make things right.”

John nods, remaining silent.

You squeeze his shoulder affectionately.

The night has fallen in the campsite, and you have shed your dress within the privacy of the tent, clad in your shift with a shawl over your shoulder to stave off the cold. Another night alone, it looks like - you sigh and start to ready yourself to settle into the cot, grunting in discomfort as you reach for and toss random items of clothing that you had worn during the day into the far corner of the tent.

You go to reach for the dirty bandana curled up on the bedside table to add it to the laundry pile.

“Don’t touch that.”

You jolt, surprised to hear the rough voice of your lover as he reties the canvas behind him, having silently stepped into the tent. The orange glow of the oil lamp inside the tent casts shadows, to include across his face before he takes off his hat, placing it on the small shaving table. His shaving kit has not seen much action these days, having grown out his beard fully.

“Arthur,” You pull his hand to rest over your belly, large and taut in your dress. The child within squirms as you press Arthur’s hand against the top of the swell. Abigail said the babe has dropped - and you’re apt to agree, the pressure on your hips is becoming near unbearable these last days.

But, as with the jovial mood of the gang, as with the loss of good men and the move into these cursed hills, gone is Arthur’s joy, a blackness having set in upon him as Dutch seems to be reeling, as

A blackness that mirrors the blackness that has set into his lungs.

He won’t admit it, but you’re sure that he’s grown out his beard to hide the darkening gauntness of his cheeks as he has lost weight, his muscles no longer straining against his shirt. He came back from that blasted island after that damned bank job and has never been the same. Tuberculosis, the doctor in Saint Denis had said.

Downes, Arthur had muttered darkly, ending the conversation.

Since then, the distance that you had put between you returned, coming from him this time. He slept on the ground - wet and cold, forsaking your bed, no matter how often you pled for him to lie with you. Even simple touch was limited, him refusing to get near to you as his coughing worsened, specks of blood appearing on his handkerchief as time wore on.

Any day now, Abigail had said and started to pack a small bag for you and her to go down to Annesburg - rebuffing Grimshaw’s annoyed statement that you would give birth in camp.

I did that five years ago and no way in hell am I subjecting another woman to that. We’re goin’ to Annesburg, and that’s final. John will take us when it's time. Abigail had forcefully stated, a matronly rage upon her, protective of you and your child.

Arthur remains silent, pulling his satchel from around his shoulders and placing it on the table next to his hat.

Forlorn, despondent, you step forward and press yourself against him, moving to throw your arms around his neck.

“Stop.” Arthur pushes you back, albeit gently, putting distance between himself and you while holding your shoulders.

“Please-” You plead, knocking his hands back, off of you.

Arthur lets out a long breath, the vestiges of a cough yet evident in his rough voice. You grasp his hands and he makes to yank them away from you, but does not, his brow falling. His large, scarred hands loosely rest in yours.

“You - you’re acting like you’re already gone.” In your late stage, you can’t help but to sob, breath heaving as your tears spill over.

“Honey,” Arthur interrupts, trying to calm you down, taking his hands from yours and placing them on your shoulders, “I’m right here.”

“You’re not, you won’t hold me, you won’t kiss me - I’m about to have our child, Arthur-”

“I ain’t gettin’ you sick.” Arthur raises his voice, loud within the confines of the tent. He realizes only afterward that he snapped at you when you wince in response, “Sweetheart.”

“Sleep with me.”

“Sweetheart-” He clears his throat, “You know we can’t. I ain’t gettin’ you sick. And I sure as hell ain’t touchin’ you this close to you having the baby.”

“Abigail says it's fine.” You whisper softly, your hand resting upon his chest, and you look up to finally catch him.

He sighs, closing his eyes. “I need to protect you. Like I didn’t all those months ago.”

“Ev’rything is falling apart. Can we just… pretend for a moment? That we’re just… we’re just-”

Arthur remains silent. You remove your hand from his chest and place it on your belly. Swallowing, you continue, voice cracking.

“I just want to pretend that none of this happened. That we’re back at Horseshoe before you got sick or….”

Arthur sighs in a defeated manner.

“..o-or when that O’Driscoll took me. I never want to see you look at me like that again.”

His eyes shoot open. “What?”

“I was - I am - I’ll always be afraid that you’ll decide you won’t want me because of what happened. The look in your eyes when you found me in that cabin…” You rub gently at the swell, back swayed and hips aching, “I don’t know why… I just do.”

“That ain’t - there ain’t… Darlin’-” Arthur sputters, “That’s the last reason I don’t want you. Hell, it ain’t that I don’t want you at all. Christ, I want you more than ever. I just don’t want to-”

You reach out and take his hand, “Just be careful. Just be gentle. I gotta be on my side so I won’t be facin’ you, much as I want to kiss you.”

The dark circles under Arthur’s eyes betray him. He squeezes your hand back.

“I need you.” You look up at him with it plain on your face.

Damn you, damn you and that voice, that look of yours. Much like that night out in West Elizabeth all those months ago, Arthur’s resolve cracks like porcelain.

“Alrigh’,” Arthur whispers. “You tell me anythin’ don’t feel right.”

You let go of his hand and slowly shrug the shawl draped over your shoulders off and it falls to the ground within the tent with a muted thump.

You’ve gotten too large to wear your old chemises, instead opting for looser cotton petticoats that could be tied over your stomach. You bring Arthur’s hand up to your chest and wait for him with pleading eyes. Arthur traces his finger along the neckline before pulling it down to uncover your breast. Your breasts are full, and swollen, nipples darkened and sensitive as you close your eyes to the feeling of him ghosting over them. He pulls the petticoat down further, showing more and more of you to his eyes.

Arthur swallows as the cotton falls slowly from your shape. Your belly, large with child, has dropped, centering low above your hips.

“You’re the prettiest thin’ I’ve ever seen.”

You blush, moving to cover your breast, “I’m huge.”

“You’re growin’ my child,” Arthur says, pulling your hand away from your body. He trails his other hand down your belly, hard and full. “Evr’y day on that island all I could think about was you - how beautiful you’d be when I got back t’you.”

You close your eyes to the feeling of his hands upon you. A gentle squeeze of your swollen breast, a tender caress of your belly.

“Knowing you were back here, safe, with our child…” Arthur whispers hoarsely as his hands trail over your nude form, “I’d fight through a thousand wars to come back t’you.”

You lay in the cot, settled in on your side, and look over your shoulder as Arthur pulls away from you and strips himself down. Boots get tossed to the side. His gun belt winds itself on the ground. Shirt and pants and union suit follow until he is as bare as you.

He is pale, now that the sunburn from Guarma has finally faded. Not as in he’s returned to his normal coloring, but pallid - his bulk and previously bulging muscles are much subdued. He is still Arthur, of course, but an Arthur stricken. Unwell. You can barely keep yourself from sobbing when you look him over, turning your head quickly as he climbs into the cot.

His skin is warm behind you as he slides himself into the cot. He settles himself in, his blood-hardened cock pressing against your rear as he drapes one arm over your belly. In this moment of quiet intimacy, he presses his lips against your hair. Your hand covers his over your belly.

Perhaps you can forget, for at least this moment.

His hand moves down from your belly to trace through the hair above your cunt, and you sigh as you open your legs to him, his fingers finding that little nub with practiced ease. A few moments more, and you’re aroused enough for him to withdraw his hand and wrap it around the base of himself as he turns back toward you, stroking himself several times before guiding himself to your core.

You moan, throwing your hand over your mouth as he enters you - the smooth, warm column of him pressing slowly into your cunt.

“Y’okay?”

“Always, always - please move Arthur, please-”

“Christ,” Arthur swears as he slowly rolls his hips against your rear, cock sluicing through your slick - it’s clear your want for him, even diminished as he is.

You clench your hand hard around the edge of the cot, panting high and flighty as Arthur gently, carefully, thrusts in and out of you. His hand spreads out wide over your hip. Arthur continues at his slow, gentle gait. He secretly is thankful for the necessity to be soft and slow - he doesn’t think he’d be able to fuck you the way you two had at the beginning.

“I love you, sweet girl,” Arthur whispers, holding still for a moment, his cock sheathed completely inside your body. That large, calloused hand of his moves over your belly once more, highlighting the magnetic need for him to touch you there.

You whimper, and your hand joins his. “I l-love you, Arthur.”

The pressure of the child, maybe a week away from coming into the world, and Arthur’s hefty girth stretching your cunt makes tears collect in your eyes. It doesn’t hurt: it’s overwhelming. It’s so much, it’s you giving so much of your body to others.

Arthur slowly rolls his hips and your tears threaten to spill over. It’s so much.

“Arthur, Arthur -” you coo, trying to be quiet, “I’m gonna come-”

He groans as he slowly slides his cock all the way inside you once again and you shudder, clenching down on him as you stifle a cry.

“That’s it, come for me, oh- sweetheart-” He murmurs into your hair and clenches his hand on your ass cheek as he lets loose his hot spend within you.

He gasps, far too winded for even the kind of lovemaking that was, his lungs feeling like sandpaper. Arthur goes to pull himself from your body-

“Don’t-” You whine softly, jutting your hips back to try to keep him inside you. He grunts lowly, squeezing your hip, but stops pulling away. Still hard, he sighs as he presses that inch of him that left you back in, staying in your wet warmth.

His hand tracks from your hip to cradle your belly once again, and you cover it with your own. Arthur traces his fingers gently on your belly as he listens to your breathing slow, and finally, your hand falls to the cot beneath you.

He gently extracts himself from your body, gritting his teeth against a hiss that he wants to let out as his softening cock slips from you. Unwinding his limbs from you, he stands up from the cot, quickly collects his clothing, and redresses himself silently.

After he shoves his feet into his boots and rewinds his gun belt around his hips, he grabs at an old blanket in the corner of the tent. The threadbare fabric is rough between his fingers. As calloused and worn as they are, he cannot help but frown when he thinks about how the old wool feels against your skin. You deserve better than that, but for now, this is all you have.

He pulls that blanket over your nude body, over your swollen belly, over your widening hips, your bosom, where your breasts are heavy with milk coming in for the child. Over you, sleeping fitfully.

Christ, he muses, you’re the most beautiful thing alive. If only he could stay and watch over you all night.

Arthur mashes his old gambler's hat onto his head as he ducks out of the tent, closing the canvas behind him.

He spits on the ground, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, gritting his teeth as blood streaks across the freckled skin. The night has fallen over this miserable camp - there are no thrummed guitar strings, no drunken notes sung. The gang has never been so low, even in Colter. God, he misses Hosea. He misses Lenny. He automatically reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, needing the rush to pull him out of this pit of misery.

A solitary figure sits on one of the chopped logs next to the fire, his head nodding upward as Arthur approaches.

Smoke wafts through the night, from the campfire, from the cigarette now placed between Arthur’s teeth, from the match John Marston strikes to light his own cigarette. The song of crickets fills the air, and an owl randomly hoots. Arthur sits down upon the log, his boots crunching leaves softly beneath. This damn forest was too quiet. It was like something, someone was lurking just out of reach at all times. He hates it here.

“Need you to do somethin’ f’r me.”

John looks up from the fire, having been lost in his thoughts. He nods, watching Arthur take the cigarette from his teeth and hold it between his fingers, his other hand clutching that worn gambler’s hat of his father’s that he is never without.

Arthur’s voice is rough and tired. A reflection of his being. Shit, it could be a reflection of everyone’s being after moving to this shithole.

“What you need?” John asks, waiting for Arthur to ask for him to be his second on a robbery.

“Need you to take care of them. Her - the baby,” He nods over to the ramshackle tent, “I need you to keep them safe.”

“Arthur-”

Arthur stands back up, effectively silencing his foster brother’s bellow. He throws his cigarette to the ground, mashing it under the toe of his boot. His spurs jingle against the movement. He places that black gambler’s back atop his head and glares down at the younger man.

“I ain’t askin’ you, Marston.”

One last train, of course, it had to be one last train. Damn well almost killed everyone involved, but Dutch was able to claim the army payroll, for whatever good it was going to do the gang now. People were leaving. Uncle. Pearson. Karen.

Have them packed. I’m having her ready to go. He had told John, to prepare for the finality - prepare to leave the people they had called family for years like thieves in the night.

John got a bullet through the arm during the heist, knocking him to the flatbed of the railcar. Fortunately, that seemed to be the worst off that anyone got in the fiery explosions that ensued, the felling of guards and the train rocketing over the destroyed bridge - but they got the damn money - and that was all Dutch wanted.

Arthur and Sadie had swung to the west when the gang broke up to return to Beaver Hollow. Riding hard, the two of them followed the Kamassa south to the Elysian Pool before crossing the river to head north again.

In the waning afternoon sun, Sadie pulls hard on the reins of her horse to slow him as riders approach from the north. She does not pull her gun, instead guiding her horse to the side of the road and dismounting. The riders pose no threat - women.

“Arthur, Sadie - we, we did as y’said,” Tilly pants, out of breath atop one of the camp’s wagon horses, with you clinging to her waist, also breathing hard. Abigail slows the horse she rides, with Jack firmly planted on the saddle ahead of her. Hastily packed bags are slung over her horse’s rump. Arthur coughs yet again as he brings his horse to a stop as well.

“Where’s John?” Abigail asks, looking past Arthur and Sadie for any sign of her lover, the father of her child.

“He’s comin’ back to the camp from the north.” Sadie gruffly states, motioning for Tilly to slide down from the mount she was on. Tilly nods, doing so as you balance yourself on the horse’s rump. “C’mon now, Tilly, you can handle your own horse. Let me ride with the missus over here.”

Arthur swings down from his own mount as he wheezes for breath. You wish you could swing down and rush to him, but you are uncomfortable enough in your state. Eventually, Arthur makes his way over to you as Sadie mounts up on the saddle ahead of you, whispering something comforting to the horse.

“Now you go on and stay with Missus Adler here.” Arthur pats your thigh as you lean over and take his shoulders.

“What- you aren’t…?

Arthur solemnly nods and the weak dam holding your tears back bursts. Everything you have come to know is dying in front of you.

“A-Arthur-” you cry, tears pouring from your eyes, pushing against his shoulders as he lifts you gently by the hips to place you on the horse’s rump, “Don’t do this - y-you can’t do this.”

His eyes cannot meet yours, but his hands remain on your waist, gentle and warm, “Missus Adler is gonna take care of ya…”

Your hands move from grasping at his shoulders to his cheeks, hollowed under his beard, tipping his head up to look at you. His bloodshot eyes finally catch yours, dulled blue and glazed over in a sheen of tears unshed.

“Arthur-”

“Darlin’. You go on and be safe. You raise that baby right.”

“You can’t leave us,” you sob, voice cracking loudly.

Arthur takes the half step closer and places his head in your lap, his forehead against your swollen belly. Your sobbing is muted for several moments as your hands card through his short hair. He pulls back a few inches and looks up at you, an inescapable, endless sadness in his darkened eyes. Arthur places his lips upon your belly for a moment before taking your hand in his own, drawing it to his dry and cracked lips.

“I love you, sweet girl. Always r’member that.”

Your brow furrows again as you push his hand away and cup his cheek, gaunt and hollowed under your touch.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur kisses the palm of your hand again, turning toward it.

“Susannah.”

“What?”

“If it’s a girl, name ‘er Susannah. I’ve always loved that name.”

You smile, the track of tears down your face sparkling in the sunset. “If it’s a boy, he’s Arthur.”

Arthur snorts softly, “It’s a girl. She’s gon’ be as beautiful as you.”

Your hands hold his jaw with a gentleness that he does not deserve. His eyes slide shut with a weariness that he has not allowed himself to feel until now. He cannot help the furrow that forms between his brows. He cannot help the sudden pain behind his eyes, the desperate need to bury his face into your lap and shudder and let his strength down, whatever little left there is.

No. No. He cannot do that to you. He has failed you enough. He didn’t keep you safe. He got a child upon you when he was supposed to be comforting you. He wouldn’t be around to raise said child.

The teardrop escapes his eye before he can do anything about it.

He can feel your thumb tense, your wrist shifting to allow your skin to brush against his-

Arthur pulls away before your thumb can wipe the tear from his cheek, and it disappears into his beard. He turns away from you, severing touch like an open wound.

“Missus Adler.”

You cry out like a wounded animal, “No. No, Arthur-!”

Sadie nods, “I’ll take care of ‘em, Arthur.”

Arthur turns to the other horses to nod to Tilly and Abigail. Abigail, clutching at her son, returns the gesture solemnly, unable to speak.

“Now all of y’ get outta here, go get somewhere safe.” Arthur stalks toward his horse, wheezing before spitting a glob of bloody phlegm out on the ground.

He hoists himself up into the saddle without looking back. He cannot, he cannot bring himself to know he will never touch you again, never see you again.

“Arthur,” you weep out from atop Sadie’s horse one final time, one hand over your belly and one around Sadie’s waist, “Our baby-”

He digs his spurs into his horse’s side. He cannot, he cannot look back at you, swollen with his child, days away from bringing that sweet life into the world.

“Arthur-!”

His horse rears and starts off up the road, leaving the women behind. Giving them a chance. Giving you a chance.

He grinds his teeth, trying to keep the sting of tears behind his eyes as your wailing fades away with distance.

Arthur wonders, for one fleeting moment, what color the baby’s eyes are going to be. He spurs the horse on faster as he reaches into his satchel, taking his father’s hat out and placing it back on his head.

At least, the very least, he would spare the child the torture of a terrible man as a father.

So this is how it goes. This is how it ends. After all them years, Dutch, his foster father sides with that snake who hisses falsehoods in his ear.

He was never really the same after Hosea died.

Arthur is drowning in his own skin, sucking breath in vain to power himself forward, but everything is so heavy. He is heaving- stumbling, failing, dying-

“Come on, Arthur… keep pushing. Goddamn it! They’re everywhere, we need to get outta here-”

John Marston’s voice cuts through the night. For so long, it was grating, infuriating, annoying to him. Now? Now it is the greatest comfort in this time. The gang was done, Pinkertons descended on the camp - they were fleeing for their very lives-

“Y-You go…” Arthur wheezes, his feet dragging on the ground.

John stops, several steps ahead of him, his arm hanging limply as he clutches his revolver in one hand, “Keep pushing, Arthur.”

“No…I think I’ve pushed all I can.” Arthur pulls his hat from his head and starts to swing his satchel’s strap over his head and shoulder.

John shakes his head furiously as he walks the few steps back to Arthur, “Come on. We ain’t got time for this, not now.”

“Go to your family-” Arthur shoves his satchel against John’s good arm.

“And yours? Your woman, about to give birth, any day now. Your child?” John interjects, raising his voice.

“I’m dying, even if it's the Pinkertons or Dutch or anyone else that gets me first. This…this is why I..I… you, you gotta keep them safe,” Arthur coughs again, wet, wheezing. “Go to your family, John.”

Arthur reaches up and places that old gambler’s hat on John’s head. His father’s hat, that he had kept for so long…

John’s voice gets small. “You’re my brother…”

“I know. Now go. Please.” Arthur stares at the ground, another volley of gunfire going off in the distance.

John frowns once again but heeds Arthur’s demand. He nods shortly before limping off in the other direction, down the steep mountain path to the north. Arthur gazes at the valley below, flashes of light from approaching gunfire sprouting from behind trees. The blazing fire from what was left of camp glowing in the distance.

He takes a long breath in, knowing it will be one of his last. The exhale is shaky, devolving into a hacking cough where blood spittles out through his teeth.

He does not bother to wipe his face.

Shooting his revolver in the air, he curses loudly before stumbling in the other direction, further up the mountain.

Ambarino lies quiet in the distance.

As he lumbers forward on unsteady legs, his blood is fresh in his mouth as he thinks of you.

You’ll be even more beautiful as a mother.

Damn, and he won’t be able to see it.

John’s damn arm is on fire. Freely bleeding against his hand, he can barely move it as he clutches his revolver in his good hand. Getting shot, the fall from the train, limping back to camp only to have the gang finally implode, and now Arthur sending him away, staying behind, sacrificing himself for the others, damn him.

He curses, batting the hat Arthur had placed on his head upwards slightly, so he could see better from under the rim.

The gunshots in the ravine below echo through the night, dark as all now, in the moments before dawn.

Abigail and Jack. Abigail and Jack. He pushes the pain to the back of his mind. Abigail and Jack.

Be a goddamn man.

Arthur’s words echo in John’s head as he slides down a rockfall ledge on the north side of the mountain.

Ambarino lies quiet in the distance.

Head north and hide out. Slink down the Kamassa by night. Find Abigail, find Jack. Copperhead Landing, Arthur said.

Find his family. Save his family, his woman and his boy-

Save-

You let down Jack from your horse at Clemens. You read him a book under the covered porch at Shady Belle. You attempt to teach him dominoes at Beaver Hollow.

Jack asks if he can touch your belly. You smile and let him, urging him to put his ear up to your abdomen. He squeals with delight when your belly moves against his cheek and begins to babble about all the things he is gonna teach the baby. Abigail says they’re gonna be cousins, Uncle Arthur’s baby and him.

Save his family.

He stops; the echo of gunshots through the valley getting louder. The Pinkertons were likely closing in. Micah and Dutch were lurking about. Arthur on his last leg.

You’re my brother.

John Marston grits his teeth against the pain in his arm and turns back at the first hints of the sunrise on the horizon.

#twolafic #passerine #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption #rdr2

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babydollisdead · 2 days ago

Text

A MOMENT OF FATE - JAYCE X READER

Contains: Fluff, g/n reader, use of Y/N

Warnings: None

Summary: On the most hectic day of the year for Piltover, Progress Day, you accidentally bump into Jayce while trying to make it back to your home, the Undercity.

You weave through the busy streets of Piltover. Vendors line up the walkways, and the whole overall feel of the city is festive.

Well, it’s extremely annoying for someone like you. It just makes it harder to get to the different carts!

Every Progress Day, you come up to the top city and steal stuff from vendors and locals. Nobody is paying attention, and you always get good stuff.

The only thing is that your parents hate the fact that you do this. Granted, it is dangerous considering all the enforcers around.

And how they have a tendency for hating your kind.

But it’s beneficial! Your family doesn’t exactly have a lot of.. anything. You usually sell or keep the things you find to other Zaunites to get some cash.

Plus, the rush of pick pocketing a Piltie, or swiping something off a vendor’s cart is pretty fun.

A small grin is on your face as you currently stuff some of the items you have into your messenger bag. You stick out like a sore thumb, your clothes and appearance contrasting the surrounding light colors of attire and rich looks around you.

It used to make you insecure, but you couldn’t care less now… at least that’s what you tell yourself.

All lost in your thoughts, per usual, you end up knocking into someone while you were trying to zip up your bag.

You slip and trip onto the floor, all your stuff falling out of your bag. “Ow.” You whine, a small huff of annoyance leaving your lips.

Rookie mistake. Why would you look down while walking in a crowded area?!

You look around to find your victim, and end up locking eyes with a man in front of you.

Your eyes widened a bit.

He was a bit tan, with dark hair and light brown eyes. Muscular too. You could tell he was a Piltie by his clothes.

That made you roll your eyes.

“A-ah! I’m so sorry.” The guy speaks quickly, scrambling to his knees to try and help pick up “your” stuff.

You quickly swat his hands away. Undercity reflexes. Don’t let anyone’s paws on your items.

“It’s fine. Just watch it next time, Piltie.” You say, stuffing all your goodies back into your bag.

The guy looks embarrassed, and maybe a little guilty too.

“Right.. uh sorry again.” He says. Just by that, you know he’s gonna try and make some small talk to compensate.

You look up at him, a bored look on your face. He gives you a nervous smile before speaking. “How has your Progress Day been so far?”

“Couldn’t care less about the whole ordeal.” You muttered out coldly. The guy nods awkwardly. “You’re from the Undercity, aren’t you?”

You quirk an eyebrow up. “What made it obvious? My “sketchy” appearance? Or what? You could just tell I was one of the “bad” ones? You know, you guys are all the same-“

The guy cuts you off. “Uh.. no. Just.. you all usually have more colorful clothing? I guess everyone in Piltover just wears the same color pallets. You don’t.” He spoke, reaching his hand out and gently brushing it against the shoulder of your shirt.

The action stuns you a little, not expecting such.. decency from him. “Oh.” You spoke, looking down at yourself. You come back to your sense and shoo his hand away.

The way he flinches back and clears his throat shows he probably wasn’t too aware of his own actions as well.

“I’m Jayce, by the way.” He speaks, being ever so friendly. He holds his hand out. You give him a look, before slowly reaching your own hand out and lightly shaking it.

“Right.. I’m Y/N.” You replied, pulling your hand away. He gives you a small smile. For some odd reason, you find yourself wanting to continue the conversation.

“I saw in your bag when all the stuff fell you had snacks from Mr. Caddel.” You followed Jayce’s head nod, looking at the older man’s cart. It was surrounded by a few people buying things.

You hated the fact he put a name to the face you shamelessly stole from. You fidget with the strap of your messenger bag. “I used to go to the shop he owns as a kid and get food all the time. It’s pretty good.” Jayce speaks with a chuckle.

You nod. “Um.. yeah. In Zaun, we have a variation of that. I used to get it on special occasions when my parents could afford it.” You chuckled in a self deprecating way.

Jayce looked a bit pitiful and you cleared your throat quickly to rid away any of that. “S-so, you must be hot shit, huh?” You point to one of the blimps in the sky. His face was on it.

He laughed and shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. “I guess to Piltover I would be. I have this speech later for Hextech. I am.. extremely nervous.” He chuckled nervously.

You gazed up at him, a small hum leaving your lips. “Well, just remember all the people in the crowd like you.” You spoke. He tilted his head a bit in thought. “It’s not like you’re gonna be speaking in front of a bunch of people who hate you. They are there to see you give the speech, you know.”

He furrows his eyebrows a bit. “That’s actually.. not a bad idea.” He says. You grin and nod. “Yep. Look at me. Saving your poor nervous self.”

He laughs at that, and you feel an odd flutter in your heart.

But.. you also notice you’re getting way too comfortable with someone from the Topcity. From Piltover. Which will never work in your benefit.

You adjust your bag on your shoulder.

“I should get going. My mom is probably freaking out wondering where I am right now.” You snicker a little at the thought. She’s definitely busting into every bar in Zaun.

Jayce almost looks disappointed, but he masks it with a small smile. “Right. It was nice meeting you. I hope I changed your mind at least a little about Progress Day?” He has a hopeful grin on his face.

You roll your eyes, but a smile appears on your own lips. “I’m your dreams, Piltie.” He chuckles a little. “I hope i’ll see you around, Y/N.” You like the way your name sounds coming from him.

You give him a small nod and wave, before parting ways. Jayce walks a few steps, before looking back. All he sees is crowd, and he wonders how you could’ve disappeared so fast.

He shakes his head a little, the whole experience barely feeling real. He regrets not asking more about you. It’ll gnaw at him for the rest of his life now. He knows there is a high chance he’ll never see you again.

And he’ll think that fact is true for him.

But later that day, in the huge crowd in front of that stage, your hood is pulled up to cover yourself.

You gaze up at it as Jayce walks out, and you smile lightly.

The lights hit his face just right and you fear you might never be able to stay away now.

#arcane #fanfic #jayce talis #jayce x reader #arcane fanfic

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creamflix · 2 days ago

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can i request a champagne bottles with shiu (naughty) hehe >.< also happy holidays !!! 💚💚💚

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here!

the evening had started innocently enough — champagne flutes in hand, the warm glow of christmas lights reflecting off the polished glass, and SHIU lounging back in his chair like he owned the holiday itself. with his shirt scandalously unbuttoned halfway down his chest, he'd insisted that nothing quite embodied christmas class like champagne.

"you’re holding back," he had teased earlier, his smirk laced with that same challenging edge he always carried. "it’s christmas. live a little."

and maybe you had felt a little called out, because here you were now, regrettably not holding back.

your laugh was loud and carefree as you gestured too wildly with your glass, sloshing the golden liquid over the rim and straight onto shiu’s ridiculously sculpted chest.

his expression shifted in an instant, sharp eyes narrowing as he raised an amused brow.

"really?"

your cheeks burned as you scrambled to grab a napkin. “oh my god, i’m so sorry, shiu —”

he leaned back even further, hands resting lazily on the arms of his chair as he watched you with a lazy smirk. “relax. accidents happen. but you’re cleaning it up.”

you froze, napkin in hand, as you realized his tone was far less forgiving than it was suggestive. and as your eyes trailed down to the champagne glistening on his chest, pooling dangerously close to the waistband of his slacks, you cursed every single decision that had brought you to this moment.

“uh… right,” you mumbled, dabbing at his chest with the napkin.

his skin was warm under your touch, firm and unyielding, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the champagne was doing nothing to help your focus.

“you missed a spot,” he drawled, gesturing to the trail of liquid dripping down toward his abs.

“seriously?” you muttered, glancing up at him to find his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“seriously.”

you hesitated for a moment before leaning closer, trying to blot the liquid away without making things worse. but as you worked, shiu’s smirk grew wider, and you realized with dawning horror that you were only encouraging him.

"you know," he said casually, his voice dropping just enough to send shivers down your spine, "there’s an easier way to clean that up."

your hand froze mid-dab. "shiu."

he tilted his head, dark hair falling into his eyes as his grin turned wicked. “what? i’m just saying, you’re wasting your time with that napkin.”

“oh, you’re wasting my time,” you shot back, your voice shaky as his hands moved to rest on your waist.

“prove me wrong, then,” he challenged, his tone daring you.

your breath hitched as his words lingered between you, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned down, your tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of champagne on his chest.

shiu’s breath audibly hitched, his hands tightening on your hips as your tongue traced along his skin, slow and deliberate.

“thought you were cleaning up,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker.

“i am cleaning up,” you shot back, your lips brushing against his chest as you spoke.

his fingers flexed against your sides, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. "sure you are. just don’t forget the rest of it."

you glared at him half-heartedly before letting your tongue trail lower, following the sticky champagne trail down his torso. the way his muscles tensed under your touch sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t deny how satisfying it was to see his composure waver.

“you’re acting like you don’t enjoy this,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

his laugh was low and rough as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “oh, i’m enjoying it,” he admitted, his eyes darkening as he leaned in close. “but don’t think for a second that i won’t make you pay for this later.”

“is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise,” he said, his lips ghosting over yours before finally capturing them in a kiss that was as intoxicating as the champagne itself.

and as his hands roamed over your back, pulling you impossibly closer, you decided that spilling your drink might have been the best mistake of the night.

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kentobb · 3 days ago

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hiromi higuruma x female secretary (AU).

here (chapter 01) > chapter 02

chapter 01

You swear under your breath as you look at your phone screen. Your alarm, smug and mocking, displays 8:00 PM in bold letters. PM. Not AM. You scramble out of bed, pulling on the first blouse and skirt combo you can find that isn’t too wrinkled. A quick glance at the clock sends your pulse skyrocketing: you have 10 minutes to get to your new job or risk starting your career as a late, disorganized mess.

The streets blur around you as you weave through the crowd, clutching your bag in one hand and your shoes pinching painfully with every step. Your breath comes fast and uneven, but you can’t slow down—not now. Not when you’ve just landed a position as a secretary at Higuruma Law Firm, one of the most prestigious firms in the city. You promised yourself you’d make a good impression, that you’d be on time and ready to learn. Yet here you are, sprinting through downtown like a crazed lunatic.

And then it happens.

As you round a corner, your shoulder collides with something—or rather, someone. The impact sends you stumbling back a step, your bag nearly slipping from your grip. The man you crashed into stares down at you, his coffee cup tilted at an unfortunate angle. You watch in muted horror as the contents spill out, dark liquid spreading across the pristine white of his shirt.

“I—oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you blurt, your voice higher-pitched than normal.

The man raises an eyebrow, his expression stone-cold. He doesn’t say anything right away, but the sharpness in his eyes makes you wish the pavement would swallow you whole.

You glance at your watch. Three minutes left.

“Really, I’m sorry!” you say again, already backing away. You don’t wait for his reply—what else can you do? Instead, you mutter another apology and sprint off, heat crawling up your neck and ears.

By the time you reach the towering glass doors of Higuruma Law Firm, you’re a sweaty, disheveled mess. You try to smooth your hair down as best you can before stepping inside. The lobby is sleek and intimidating, all polished floors and quiet murmurs. Behind the reception desk sits an older woman with a warm smile and kind eyes.

“You must be the new secretary,” she says, rising from her chair. “I’m Ms. Tanaka. I’ve been working here for 50 years, and I’ll be training you today.”

You nod, still catching your breath, and follow her deeper into the firm. She talks as she leads you past rows of offices and conference rooms, her voice soothing but filled with authority.

“We pride ourselves on punctuality and professionalism here,” she says, pausing to look back at you. “Our clients expect nothing but the best, and Mr. Higuruma demands the same from his staff.”

You nod again, the words sinking in like a lead weight. You can’t help but glance at the clock on the wall. Barely made it.

Ms. Tanaka gestures toward the far end of the hallway, where a large office sits with its door closed. “That’s Mr. Higuruma’s office. He hasn’t arrived yet, but—”

The sound of the front door opening cuts her off. The air in the room shifts as everyone’s attention turns to the man who strides in, his presence commanding without trying.

Your stomach drops.

It’s him.

The coffee man.

Your brain short-circuits as you watch him, now dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that’s slightly damp from earlier. His expression is unreadable as he surveys the room, but when his gaze lands on you, you swear the temperature drops several degrees.

“You…” Ms. Tanaka begins, looking between you and him with confusion etched into her face. “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” you squeak, far too quickly.

Higuruma steps forward, his face calm but his eyes sharp as ever. “I trust you’ll be more careful in the future,” he says coolly, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “We wouldn’t want any… unnecessary accidents.”

You can only nod, your voice apparently gone, as he moves past you toward his office. He doesn’t spare you another glance as he shuts the door behind him.

Ms. Tanaka turns back to you, her confusion now mixed with a hint of suspicion. “Well,” she says after a moment, “I suppose we’d better get started.”

You force a smile, though your cheeks are burning. It’s only your first day, and you’ve already made an unforgettable impression. Literally.

Behind you, the office door clicks open briefly. Higuruma steps out, this time in a fresh tuxedo. He doesn’t say anything—just casts you a pointed glance before disappearing again.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

You stand in front of the dark oak door, your heart hammering against your ribs. The gold plaque reads Hiromi Higuruma, and just looking at it makes your palms clammy. Taking a deep breath, you knock softly, almost hoping he won’t hear it.

“Come in,” his voice calls out.

You push the door open and step inside, keeping your gaze fixed on the polished floor. His office is immaculate, with walls lined with bookshelves, each shelf packed with legal volumes. His desk is perfectly organized, with not a single pen out of place.

He doesn’t look up at first, his eyes focused on a document in front of him. You can feel his presence, sharp and exacting, like the very air around him demands perfection.

“I’m here to present myself,” you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m the new secretary in training.”

The silence stretches, and you finally dare to glance up. His gaze is cold and calculating, and you quickly look away again.

“Look at me,” he says, his tone measured but firm.

You lift your head reluctantly, meeting his eyes. They’re sharp and assessing, as if he’s already stripping away every layer of your being to get to the core.

“Take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

You sit down cautiously, folding your hands in your lap.

“This office operates on precision, punctuality, and professionalism,” he begins, his voice low and commanding. “I expect nothing less from my staff. You will handle your duties with the utmost care and respect for the work we do here. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Higuruma,” you say, nodding quickly.

“You are to keep my schedule in order, answer my calls, and ensure that all correspondence is handled promptly. Any mistakes will reflect poorly on this firm, and I do not tolerate incompetence.”

Your stomach twists. “Understood, Mr. Higuruma.”

He leans back slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “If you fail me, you will be dismissed. There will be no second chances.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and you nod again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Mr. Higuruma.”

“That’s all,” he says after a long pause. “You may go.”

You stand quickly, eager to escape the intensity of his presence. As you walk toward the door, your hand already on the handle, you pause.

He looks up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is there a problem?”

You turn back toward him, your face burning. “I just wanted to apologize again, Mr. Higuruma. For the coffee earlier. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze unreadable. The silence is deafening.

“Dismissed,” he finally says, his tone flat.

You nod, bow slightly, and leave his office, closing the door softly behind you.

Inside, Higuruma exhales and leans back in his chair. For a moment, he simply stares at the closed door before pulling out your file. He flips through your résumé, his sharp eyes scanning the sparse details. A normal girl with an ordinary background. Yet something catches his attention—your work history starts at sixteen.

He pauses, tapping his finger lightly against the page. Sixteen. Why would someone so young need to work? Was it financial difficulties? Family debts? The thought lingers longer than it should. With a sigh, he closes the folder and tosses it onto the corner of his desk. This isn’t his concern.

Hours pass. The steady rhythm of ringing phones and clicking keyboards fills the office, but he barely notices. His mind is occupied with case files and court schedules. Eventually, he steps out to grab lunch, expecting the office to be empty.

But as he walks through the quiet space, he notices you still seated at your desk, a book open in front of you. Your brows are furrowed, your lips moving slightly as you read.

He slows for a moment, his gaze lingering. Dedication, perhaps? Or just nervousness about being the new hire? Either way, he continues on, pushing the thought aside.

When he returns after lunch, his office is just as he left it—except for the coffee cup on his desk. He freezes, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. A sticky note is attached to the cup.

“I’m sorry.”

The handwriting is small and neat, and the coffee is from the same shop he frequents. He glances toward the far end of the office, where you’re still at your desk, quietly typing away.

For a moment, he debates whether to acknowledge it. But no. He shouldn’t. His relationship with his employees is strictly professional. He picks up the cup and stares at it for a beat longer than necessary before walking to the trash can and dropping it in.

As he returns to his desk, a pang of guilt tugs at him, but he brushes it off.

This is the correct decision. Attachments, even small gestures, have no place in his world.

With a sigh, he refocuses on the document in front of him.

#higuruma hiromi #hiromi higuruma #jjk #au #jjk angst #jjk fluff #fluff #angst

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streamafterlaughter · 2 days ago

Text

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter VII: Choose Love or Sympathy

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | diaries coming soon

songs for this chapter: that’s what you get by paramore, xo by fall out boy, lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, king for a day by pierce the veil

a/n: hear me when i say these two are absolutely in for it it. I'm also a huge fan of italics apparently

chapter tags: angst, hurt/comfort but then... hurt/no comfort (SORRY!), reader is a sensitive baby we love her, mean!Eddie, but also very sweet Eddie. swearing, smoking, drinking, reader struggles with self image / mental health (vague for now) | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog/comment/like to support the author! Join the tag list!

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotine @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality |

The weekend comes barreling towards you sooner than you’d have liked. You wake up Friday morning with a sense of dread, Robin’s words on a broken loop in your head: what you ‘know’ isn’t the whole goddamn story. Everyone keeps fucking saying that, but no one has actually told you what you “don’t know.”. Chris hasn’t given you a goddamn leg to stand on, speaking in riddles and never once confirming or denying a thing. You’re an adult, and you wish these fuckers would start treating you like one.

On your nightstand, your phone buzzes repeatedly, a string of incoming text messages:

bobbins: so,, ive smoked some weed bobbins: im cool now bobbins: i still think there’s a lot we don’t know,, bobbins: but I’m sorry for insinuating you should forgive him. bobbins: i cant imagine how you felt that day. bobbins: i love u bb

You scramble to respond before she can get another five messages in,

it’s ok bob, i love u 2

The subject changes swiftly as she tosses questions about tonight at you one after the other. You send her pictures of your outfit choices, hairstyle ideas, personal protection list before finally asking her the question gnawing on your brain.

What if he doesn’t like me?

Robin responds by calling you.

“Hi?”

“Don’t be stupid.” She starts, not letting you explain. “He asked you out, why wouldn’t he like you?!”

“I dunno! Maybe he’s just looking for a hookup. Maybe he thought I’d be easy?” The suggestion sounds silly coming out of your mouth, and you hear Robin scoff at you.

“Look, if things start to stink, call me. Steve’s closing tonight, so he’ll be right down the street.”

You sigh into the receiver. “Okay, okay. You’re right, I’m probably worried for nothing.”

“Atta girl! Now go on, go headbang or whatever it is you people do.”

You snort as you say your goodbyes, and hang up the phone. Without Robin to distract you, you turn to the outfits you’ve spread out on your bed. Emo Nite is casual, sure, but you still want to look good. You decide on a pair of Tripp pants, adorned with metal hooks and chains, pairing it with an old Paramore shirt you cropped with kitchen scissors in high school. With your outfit out of the way, you sit at your vanity to do your makeup, extending your winged eyeliner a little further than you would on a normal day. When you’re done, your alarm clock reads 8:30, and you make your way to your car.

–

9:15.

The lights of the city seem to dance across the sky. Everything is louder here, bustling with nightlife you could only dream of seeing in Hawkins. You’re standing outside the club alone, nursing the end of your last cigarette. Maybe he’s running late? You don’t have a single unread text from Scotty. You type several different messages of your own, deleting each one before settling on “You on your way?” But its delivery is never confirmed. It’s grown cold outside, and you wrap your flannel tighter around you to keep the wind out. You should have brought a jacket, but you weren’t expecting to be outside for this long. You can hear the first notes of an old favorite song, followed by a bunch of 20 somethings cheering. Patrons are dressed in black, clad in leather and fishnets, their combat booted feet stomping into the venue. Emo Nite is a nostalgia cash grab, you know that, but you’re envious of everyone setting foot inside, surrounded by their friends and peers, leaving you abandoned at the door.

–

9:30.

The time taunts you from your phone screen. You’re waiting outside the club, the air brisk on your face. Every so often, the door swings open as someone enters or exits, and you turn to see if it’s someone for you. So far, none of them have been, and you’re debating whether or not to walk to the record store and ask Steve to hitch a ride back to his place to mope.

“Hey, Bee!” The voice calling you isn’t the one you’re hoping to hear, but it’s just as familiar. You find its source across the street, Macy waving at you eagerly as her bandmates and fucking Eddie follow behind. Oh, right. Like being stood up isn’t humiliating enough, now Eddie gets to tease you about it.

“What’re you doing out here, girl? It’s freezing!” Macy is sweet, holding your icy cheeks between her warm hands. You can tell she’s already had a few drinks.

“I’m, hm,” You clear your throat, “I’m waiting for someone.”

“A date? Eek! Hear that, Eds? Our girl has a date!” Her words send static through your veins. Since when are you anyone’s girl, let alone Munson and Macy’s?

“Mhm, okay, honey. Let’s go get you situated, yeah?” Eddie ushers her inside, handing her off to Fiona before returning to where you’re standing. Without a word, he lights a cigarette and offers it to you, and you take it without acknowledgement while he lights his own. After what seems like hours, the two of you choose to speak at the same time,

“How late is–” “Why did you–” “What?” “What?”

“You first,” Eddie gestures to you before pulling from his cigarette.

“Why did you tell Scotty to ask me out?”

“What in the world makes you think I told him to ask you out?”

“Look, she’s gonna kill me for telling you this, but Robin overheard you in the bathroom talking to Scotty at the bar. She walked in by accident, and you two had come in before she could leave. Anyway, you know she can’t keep secrets for shit, so she told me what you said to him. Why?” You cross your arms, attempting to hold in as much body heat as possible,but to no avail. Eddie notices, and immediately sheds his jacket, not giving you a chance to refuse it as he drapes the leather over your shoulders.

“I thought he was a cool dude. Thought you guys would hit it off.” His answer does nothing to satiate the hunger for every detail of every single thought that went through his brain up until this very moment. He is driving you fucking insane. “Hey, I bet I could get Macy to put you on the guestlist, so at least tonight won’t be a total waste?” Yet another peace offering from Eddie Munson. Hell must have frozen over.

He doesn’t wait for your approval before reaching into his inner jacket pocket of the coat that you have since put fully on to shield yourself from the wind, to grab his phone. After eagerly punching a few buttons, he holds the device up to his ear, plugging the other with his finger. “Hey, babe. I’m outside with Bee, Scott stood her up.” You can’t hear what Macy’s response is, but Eddie replies with, “You read my mind, honey. We’ll be in in a sec.” He ends the call and turns his attention back to you, his big brown eyes attempting, it seems, to read your mind. “You pissed?”

You shake your head, inhaling another drag of your cigarette. “Not really. Disappointed, I guess.” You pick at your cuticles, refusing to hold eye contact with Eddie, but that doesn’t stop him from boring his own into the top of your head; you can feel them penetrating your skull. “Could’a used the distraction.”

“Fancy me a distractor? Macy’s gonna be busy, I’m practically all by myself tonight.” You look up, and Eddie’s jutting his bottom lip out to pout at you.

“You don’t mind being seen with me?” You tease, flicking ash onto the concrete. You can’t imagine Eddie actually wants you to agree to this offer.

“Why would I? When have I ever cared what people think of me? Especially these posers.” He gestures to you, and you fake offense.

“Posers?! I’ll have you know I have met some of the most authentic punks at places like this, you dweeb!” You toss your cigarette butt on the ground, stomping out the embers with your boot.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m used to going to shows where people leave bloody. Not used to this side of the alternative Venn Diagram, I guess.” He flicks his own cigarette, mirroring your movements. “Shall we go inside?” You nod begrudgingly, and he opens the door to the club for you, stopping to give the bouncer your names.

–

The club is dark, expectedly. The lights flash shades of pink, purple, and blue as people dance and attempt to chat over the noise; and the whole scene is set to the music of your childhood and teen years. As Eddie leads you across the floor, you can feel your chest tighten, watching couples surrounding you, dancing or sloppily making out against the back wall. You let it sink in that you've been stood up. The first time in three years you’d even attempted to go on a date, and the guy didn’t even show up. You hum along to the song playing, a desperate plea for distraction from the situation in front of you. Meanwhile, Eddie leads you to a table away from the speakers, and shouts that he’ll be right back. You can only guess he’s off to wish his girlfriend luck.

While you wait, you observe the crowd around you, and it’s full of kids you knew in high school that used to bully you for liking this kind of music, dressed as caricatures with arm warmers and cheap chains dangling off their black skinny jeans. Conventionally attractive girls wear their eyeliner in heavy wings, their lips painted shades of dark red, dancing with boys in all black with long hair. You try not to think about what Scotty would have worn. You wonder if he even likes this kind of thing. Maybe it was a test, and you'd failed.

Just as you’re about to spiral into misery again, Eddie returns with two drinks in his hands. “You like shirleys, right? I wasn’t totally sure. I can go grab you something else if you want?” If you didn’t know any better, you would think Eddie was nervous.

“No, this is good. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem!” He has to yell over the music.

“And, uh, thanks for hanging out with me. I know it’s like, the last thing you wanna be doing right now.”

Eddie takes a swig of his beer before responding, “Nah, definitely not the last thing. This is way better than listening to Steve talk about his latest conquest.” You picture the scenario, Eddie slamming his head against a wall while Steve goes on and on about Tracy, or Nicole, or whoever it is this week. The mental image makes you giggle, and Eddie’s smile seems to widen. It makes you uncomfortable, being so close to him. Luckily, though, you don’t get to think about it too long.

“Alright, alright! Thank you guys for comin’ out to hang with us! We have a guest for you tonight, please welcome Macy Miller, frontwoman of Statuesque Dolls!” The crowd cheers politely, these things never have people worth freaking out over. Macy takes the stage, clad in a silky black dress that hugs her form perfectly. Next to you, Eddie is whooping and hollering, “That’s my girl!” It makes your stomach churn. You’re reminded again that you’re supposed to be here on a date. You’re supposed to be someone’s girl.

“Alright, I got a couple of songs for you guys, but I need all of you up and shaking some emo ass with me, got it?!” You can’t deny Macy knows how to work a crowd. She gets people to migrate to the dance floor, and Eddie offers his hand out. “Can I have this dance?”

“Um,” You hesitate to take his outstretched palm. ��What about Macy?” You point lamely to where Macy is killing her cover of Fall Out Boy’s XO.

“What about her? It’s a dance, Bee. I’m not, like, asking you to sleep with me or some shit.” Eddie frowns at you, like you’ve offended him.

He does have a point, though. One dance won’t kill you. You accept his gesture, taking his own massive hand in yours, and hope to god he can’t tell that yours is sweating. He leads you to the dance floor, waving to Macy from the crowd as he does. There’s a burn in your stomach when she blows him a kiss, and he pretends to catch it in his mouth. You’re close to bailing when Eddie turns his attention back to you, clearing his throat.

You stare back at him, eyes wide with fear that he’s going to bail, and you prepare to tuck your tail between your legs and call Robin. Instead, Eddie takes your hand again, and yanks you into his embrace. You bump into his chest, but he recovers the fumble by holding you there, free arm resting hesitantly on your waist. You’re frozen, having no clue where to put your hands, so Eddie takes the lead. He drops the hand he’s holding on his shoulder, and moves your other to meet it on the other side. He then rests both his hands on your hips, giving you enough space between his body and yours to breathe, but barely.

The song continues, melodramatic and overtly horny. That, combined with the warmth of the drink in your veins, plus the closeness of Eddie, makes you feel almost good. It’s difficult not to overthink, though, having him in your personal space, your bodies pressed together on a very hot, crowded dance floor, moving in ways you definitely wouldn't have done three hours ago.

“So,” Eddie muses, looking anywhere but at you as he speaks, but still able to move in sync with you. “How’s your day goin’?”

You snicker at his poor attempt at conversation. “Well, I got stood up, and now I’m dancing with who I would have bet this morning wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. All things considered, I think it’s going pretty horribly!”

The ice seems to crack as you speak, Eddie visibly relaxing as you sway to the music. “Okay, that’s fair. Are you pleasantly surprised?”

You look up at him, but his eyes are locked over your head, staring where Macy stands onstage, swaying with a few friends in front of the DJ booth. You shrug. “Jury’s still out.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes at you. After what feels like an eternity, the song ends and Macy queues another rock anthem to get the crowd moving again. You’re unmoving as Eddie unwraps himself from you. “We should do this again sometime.” He states, unreadable.

“What, dance?”

“Sure, or just, y'know, hang out. Be civil for once. It’s been awhile.”

You roll your eyes. “You know this can’t be, like, a normal thing. It bruises our reputation as sworn enemies.” A feeble attempt to make it a joke, though you know in your heart you can’t be friends with Eddie. The earth would cave in on itself.

Eddie chuckles. “Whatever you say, Bee. See ya ‘round.” And he leaves you alone, disappearing into the crowd.

–

It’s 11:30 when your phone buzzes. You’re four drinks deep, stirring another dirty shirley at the bar, observing the people around you having fun.

Scotty A: Hey! Totally meant to text you. Got stuck at work.

An avalanche of thoughts rumbles through you, most of them not safe for work. You don’t even know how to respond. There’s no apology, no groveling for your forgiveness, not a hint of actual, real regret. Like you don’t matter. It exhausts you to even think of what that date would’ve been like had he shown up. You type your response between gulps of liquid courage.

“Are you fucking serious?”

The "..." bubble appears, but quickly vanishes. You gape at your phone, wishing you were home so you could let out the blood curdling scream building in your chest. The anger vibrating through you needs an escape, so you lurch from your seat at the bar, rushing quickly out of the club. Eddie whips his head around as you pass him. You think you hear him call your name, but your eyes have started stinging and he’s the last person you want to see you cry.

The night air hits you hard, bringing separate tears to your eyes. Following your therapist’s advice, you start a box breathing exercise. Breathe in, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four.

“Hey,” The voice startles you into a hiccup. “You okay?” Eddie has made his way outside after you, leaning against the wall. “Saw you dash outta there like something caught fire. Got worried.” He says it nonchalantly, and it takes you aback. Instead of responding, you flip your phone screen towards him. His eyes scan the page before they focus back on you, shaking his head. “That is so fucked up.”

Your voice breaks with your next question. “Did you know this was gonna happen? Scotty’s your friend.”

Eddie’s face drops into a grimace. “How would I have known? Why would I have told him to hit you up if I knew this was gonna happen?”

It frustrates you how reasonable he’s being. You want someone to yell at, someone to blame, and Eddie just so happens to be the closest target. “I don’t know! Maybe you did it as revenge, or something equally as immature. Maybe you wanted me to feel the same way you did when–”

He interrupts, shaking his head feverishly. “I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone. Even you.” The words are a knife to your chest. You don’t like remembering what you did to Eddie that night, but it’s your fault for bringing it up. “I told Scotty to ask you out because he said he liked you. Crazy concept, I know, but i suggest you stop thinking everyone’s out to get you. I thought it would be fun, hanging out with you and him. I’m sorry it didn’t go how you planned, but blaming me isn’t fucking fair, Bee.”

He’s right, but you can’t bring yourself to back down. “It’s not fair to take someone’s brother away for six years, but you had no problem doing that.”

“Fuck you, Bee. Seriously.” He spits the words before turning on his heel, and heading inside. You are once again left alone, outside, in the cold.

–

#st #fics #munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x oc!reader #hurt/comfort #hurt/no comfort #slow burn #angst #enemies to friends to lovers #modern au #reader is not an elder emo per se... she's 23-24ish #stranger things

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