#fractured masks
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ËËË â° FRACTURED MASKS â HER KINDNESS IS HER WEAKNESS; HIS DARKNESS, HER DANGER Ⱐ´ËË
The island had a lot of secrets, you just never expected one of them to be an actual personâa tall, brooding, wild game leader at that.
đź ACT â #1 THE GAMES
âââ #1 | ⯠Ⳡ⥠wc ; 4.1k
â miss, would you be interested in a game of
ddakji? â
âââ #2 | RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT coming soon
âť the frontman / hwang in-ho / oh young-il x fem!reader | set in season 2
âť warnings ; dark themes, obsession, power dynamics, manipulation, violence, toxic behavior, betrayal, eventual smut, non-con. donât like, donât read. 16+ only
#o9sessions#hwang inho x reader#hwang in ho x reader#001 x reader#the frontman x reader#frontman x reader#oh young il x reader#squid game#masterlist#fractured masks
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aromantic books: aroallo characters!
I've split this into 3 groups - because there's quite a few who are not the main character but they're part of a larger cast & do have some POV
Protagonists
Baker Thief / adult urban/high fantasy / 1/2 MCs is aro bi, genderfluid
Pluralities / contemporary/sci-fi / aro-coded nonbinary MC
Natural Outlaws and Fractured Sovereignty / 1/2 MCs is an aroallo girl
Compound Fracture / YA thriller / aro-questioning trans boy MC
Two Dark Moons / YA high fantasy / 1/2 MCs is an arospec girl
The Last 8 / YA alien apocalypse sci-fi /MC is an aro bi girl
In The Jaws of an Oak / horror/erotica / 1/2 MCs is aro coded woman
Take Me To Your Nerdy Leader / YA contemporary / aro-het girl MC
major characters - with POV
Rook & Rose trilogy / fantasy / one of the major POV characters is lightly aro-bi coded (and word of god confirmed)
An Accident of Stars / portal fantasy / secondary MC is an aro woman
The Oracle Stone duology / high fantasy / 3rd MC (who has her own novella) is an aro pan woman
Moonshine / historical fantasy / major side character who has some POV is an aro bi man
Bloody Spade duology / urban fantasy / a major SC (with POV) is an aro bi man
Dithered Hearts / adult fantasy romance / one of the major characters who has POV is an aro bi man
City of Spires / high fantasy / many MCs, one is a demiro-allo man, and another (more minor) an aro lesbian
side characters
Daniel, Deconstructed / YA contemporary / MC's best friend is an aro bi girl
The Butterfly Assassin / YA dystopian thriller / major SC in book 2&3 is a aro bi woman
The Liar's Guide To The Night Sky / YA contemporary survival / the secondary main character/Â âlove interestâ is an aro pan guy
The Last / apocalpytic/survival / aro woman SC who the MC is sleeping with
The (Un)Popular Vote / YA contemporary / aro bi girl SC
The Tale That Twines / urban fantasy / aroallo nonbinary SC
#aspec books / aspec database / tumblr masterpost
#aspec books#an updated aroallo post!#as always see my database for more detailed notes#aroallo#aroallo books#aromantic books#there are a few other SCs I did leave out#baker thief#pluralties#avi silver#compound fracture#the last 8#natural outlaws and fractured sovereignty#an accident of stars#the mask of mirrors#*gestures* look how many there are! the variety! well except for the fact that 90% of them are bi djghkfdj why are all aroallos bi
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HOORAY! ok so like this is the first time im doing this so PLEASE ask away!
#mysterion#south park#the fractured but whole#south park the fractured but whole#superhero#ask blog#send asks#send anons#mystechaos#professor chaos#vigilante#art#qna#character qna#please reblog#please send asks#send me asks#gay men#art fart#tags for reach#tags for attention#yayyy#:3#masked man#question mark#question and answer#asks open
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Okay so, in light of me receiving a total of 5 manga volumes for the Three Wise Old Man day I've decided to list all the books I got in 2024 and 2025 so far
2024
- Les Miserables 1 & 2 (2nd hand in Spanish)
- Radio Silence (2nd hand paperback)
- Heart stopper 5 (paper back)
- Nick and Charlie (paper back)
- Dead Poets Society (Paper back)
- Cujo (2nd hand paper back)
- Salem's Lot (2nd hand paper back)
- Hell Followed with us (illumicrate hardback)
- The spirit bares its teeth (illumicrate hardback)
- Compound Fracture (Illumicrate hardback)
- Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow (paper back)
- BSD. fifteen manga adaptation vol 1 & 2
- Nana vol 2.
- JJK vol 17.
- The Song of Achilles (paper back)
- The sun and the Star (paperback)
2025
- TLOZ Four Swords legendary edition
- TLOZ Majora's Mask/ALTP legendary edition
- Boys run the riot vol 3 & 4
- One Piece vol 1 Romance Dawn
#books#tsats#hell followed with us#compound fracture#the spirit bares its teeth#radio silence#heartstopper#bsd fifteen#bsd manga#one piece manga#romance dawn arc#boys run the riot#stephen king#tloz four swords#tloz manga#majoras mask#a link to the past#loz alttp#tloz mm#four swords manga#tsoa#tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow#dead poets society
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Kind of hard to ask as anon
But you doing ok?
Need to vent?
Hi very kind and thoughtful of you to ask, i am doing mmmmm suboptimal but i do not need to vent to a person per se, so much as i need to say absolutely insane shit in my tags and have everyone pretend not to see <3
#my stuff#asks#this is the problem with using tumblr as a multi-role platform bc when i want to talk about my fcuking metnal illness i stress-#about my online friends judging me for it#not in like a mean sense but just that it feels like it would change their opinion of me#like on tumblr u can say you have adhd or autism (i have the latter and likely the former)#but anything more intense is regarded as sketchy#so when iâm having symptoms disease of an additional metnal illness itâs like hmmm i donât think iâm supposed to talk about that#mostly because the majority of the time itâs something i mask over#and do subconsciously until i get particularly tired or stressed or fatigued#so when i get to those states iâm trying extra hard not to blindside everyone with what a fucking mutant i am under the surface#like yippee hooray more ammunition for some transphobe to use in 3 weeks next time i get anon hate#anyways im. tired. i need more tattoos. i need a vacation. i need a forever hug. i need to feel cute. i need things to just be okay#i need to not be fractured into so many snapping pieces i need to know what is expected of us#i need to not feel like an adult babysitting a child whoâs actually controlling me#i feel weak and undisciplined but i know fixing those wonât fill the hole gnawing my heart#im going to bed. blegh.
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bob (stands for big ol' bastard)
#his actual name is Reflections in Last Fracture Speaks of Mirrors#rain world#rw#digital art#art#rw ancients#rw ancient oc#rain world ancients#rw art#rw oc#rain world oc#i loved rendering the mask GRAHHHH i need to do that again someday#my back is messed up it hurts so bad omg ...#100% worth it
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Y'all can have a look in my crunchy sketchbook as a treat!
Can you tell I'm obsessed with that pink??
#atlas rising#Darkbloom#Jaxom Hanway#Ceres Orion#Reynard Walker#Trigun#Vash the stampede#Kaleb Hewitt#Masks#Fracture#Sal#Honey#cw Body horror#traditional
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this is a reminder to myself to write up something about how the sonoro sphere in j*yan's companion quest serves as symbolism for his inner state
#OOC.#TBD.#i don't know if i should still be tagging it but ???#warning: mild spoilers for his companion quest in the tags#it's the way it starts out put together; burning bright#before it gives way to the depths#dark; disorienting; fractured; haunted by ghosts#even though he's good at masking it#and tries to retain as much of his humanity as he can#war has torn him apart and being a child soldier forced to grow up quickly did too
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Ah yes, There is a reason The Hero of time wears that Mask of Truth.
And Shadow did nothing wrong, he just wanted to find Four, and ended up finding a group of heroes he could travel with (Ya know, safety in numbers!)
This is from my "Fractured Chains" Link crossover series idea I had.
Link to Fractured Chains original post
Idk just thought it would be fun!
#legend of zelda#zelda#time#shadow#hyrule#yes hyrule is hiding his identity as a fairy#mask of truth#I like giving Time his masks#USE THE OP MASKS TIME HAAHAHA!#Shadow is doing his best#I like how be pretends to be Vio#ALSO Everyone refuses to call Shadow Vio they keep calling him Violet#He knows as soon as the real Vio shows up he is going to yell at them#he is trying to prepare them#fractured chains#fractured chains shadow#fractured chains time#fractured chains hyrule
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FRACTURED MASKS ââ #1 | ⯠ⳠâĄ
on the edge of desperation, a chance knocks,
offering salvation wrapped in a red envelope
MASTER | NEXT
wc ; 4.1k warnings ; violence (slapping), cursing
THE hum of the fluorescent lights in the lab was soothing, the faint echo of pens scribbling onto the versitile paper made from processed plant fibers filling the otherwise quiet space. You sat at a corner desk near the back wall away from the other students, bent over your notes; the pages filled with medical terminology and formulas, a language you knew well.
Frankly, it was all you had leftâthe work, the research, the dream of the future you were still so desperately clinging to, despite the storm brewing around you. Youâd always known you were meant for something more, something great.
As a little girl, youâd sit in the back of the classroom in America, your home country, gazing out the window daydreaming about what your life would be like in years to come. The world had so much to offer, and you wanted to be part of the change, part of the movement that would make this world a better place. Studying medicine was your true calling, a everlasting dream to help those in need, just as the doctor who treated your parents had done.
Your grip on the pen nestled in your hand tightened at the thought of them, a heavy sadness weighing in on your heart. They were both hardworking people who fought through their own struggles, but they gave you everything they couldâlove, support, and dreams of a better future. Your mother had always been the one to say, âYouâre going to do something great, something that will change the world.â Your father, though quiet, had always supported that belief, his pride evident whenever you made a small achievement. You were their only child, the only one to carry on their legacy, and they poured everything into your future.
But when they died, everything came crashing down.
It had happened so quickly. One moment, they were fineâhealthy, full of life, planning for your future in medicineâand the next, they were gone. The cancer had come back, worse than before, it took both of them in the blink of an eye. Youâd never really had the chance to grieve properly; instead you had to grow up in an instant, picking up the pieces of your shattered world.
You found yourself alone in a vast, cold world, with no one to turn to. The grief felt like a dark cloud, following you everywhere. No brothers, no sisters, no extended familyâjust you. The silence was suffocating. The weight of carrying on your familyâs name and legacy felt heavier than anything you could ever imagine. Your parentsâ absence was a constant, an unspoken ache carried with you every day.
But you had to keep going. They had invested so much in you. Their dreams had been your dreams, and you couldnât just let that die. So you packed your bags, got on a plane, and moved across the world to Korea. Youâd told herself it was for your future, for your studies, but deep down, you were runningârunning from the memories that clung to every corner of your childhood home.
Korea was a new beginning. The medical technology there was unmatched, the advancements in treatment and research were groundbreaking, and it was a place where you could finally make you mark. You would build a new life, one far removed from the painful memories of your parents. You threw herself into your studies, determined to not only make them proud but also to prove that their sacrifices meant something.
Your proficiency in Korean, a skill youâd honed since childhood, made the transition easier. You had taken classes since elementary school in preparation for the opportunity to study abroad. It had been a dream of yours for as long as you could remember, and now that dream was within your reach. You were going to be a doctor, someone who could heal the world.
You didnât notice how lost in thought you were until the PA system crackled to life, breaking your concentration.
âAttention, Miss [name]. Please report to the Head Ministerâs office immediately. I repeat, Miss [name], please report to the Head Ministerâs office.â
You froze, pen still in hand, the words barely registering in your mind. Dozens of paris of eyes landed on you in an instant, butterflies swirled in your belly from the attention. The sudden, sharp jolt of anxiety hit your chest as you sat up straight, setting the pen down. With haste you began packing materials back onto your bag, quickly scurrying out of the study lab and into the hallway.
Your mind racedâyou had no reason to think anything was wrong. You had been keeping up with your assignments, acing exams, staying focused on your studies. What could it be?
Each step echoed down the silent halls of the school. The walk to the Head Ministerâs office felt like it took hours, and by the time you stood outside the door, your palms were clammy, stomach twisted in knots. With a shaky breath, you knocked.
âCome in,â a voice called from within.
You pushed the door open, the dim light inside casting long shadows across the room. The Head Minister, a stern-looking woman with sharp eyes, sat behind her desk, papers scattered before her. Her gaze flicked up when the door clicked shut behind you, but there was something in her expression that sent a shiver down your spineâsomething that made your pulse quicken.
âMiss [name], please, sit,â the Minister said, gesturing to the chair across from her.
You obeyed, feeling the weight of the room settle over the both of you like a cloak. The minister didnât waste time.
âIâm afraid thereâs some troubling news,â she began, her voice cool and detached, as though she had delivered this same message countless times before.
Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You instinctively clasped your hands in your lap, trying to still the nervous shaking that had overtaken them.
âYour financial status with the school has fallen into the negatives. Thereâs a significant amount of debt you have yet to clear, and unfortunately, itâs put your enrollment in jeopardy.â The Ministerâs words landed like a punch, each one more suffocating than the last.
Your breath caught in your throat. You had been trying to ignore it, telling yourself it wasnât that bad, that youâd find a way. But hearing the words spoken out loud, so matter-of-fact, shattered the fragile illusion you had been clinging to.
âY-Youâre saying Iâm⌠not allowed to continue?â you whispered, voice barely audible.
The Ministerâs expression softened for just a moment, but the coldness never fully left her eyes. âIâm afraid thatâs the case. Until this debt is settled, we canât allow you to continue your studies here. Youâre being put on hold.â
The world seemed to tilt beneath you, the room spinning as the weight of the situation settled into your bones. You had thought she could keep it together, that you could finish what your parents had started for you. But nowânow it felt like the ground was slipping from under you.
âI donât⌠I donât understand,â you stammered, your throat tightening. âHow did this happen? I thought my payments were on track.â
The Minister flicked through a few papers in front of her, her face impassive. âIt appears the balance has been building for some time now, and the payments havenât been made in full. Thereâs an outstanding amount that needs to be cleared immediately.â
Your hands picked harshly at your nails, leg bouncing in anticipation for the answer she would provide to your next question. âHow much is the balance?â
The way she looked at you then, eyes flickering with a slight hint of pity was enough to confirm that it was something way out of your limits.
â60 Million Won.â ($41,120 USD)
Your mind raced, that was at least a years worth of tuition. You couldnât afford this! Not now! Not when everything you had worked forâeverything you had sacrificedâwas on the line. Your dream of becoming a doctor, hope for a future that seemed just within your reach, was slipping away faster than you could grasp it.
âI-I can get the money,â you blurted out, panic rising in your chest. âIâll figure something out. Just give me time, please.â
The Ministerâs expression softened again, but only slightly. âIâm afraid time is no longer a luxury we can afford. Until your financial situation is resolved, Iâm afraid we cannot allow you to remain enrolled.â
A lump formed in your throat, a hot rush of tears threatening to spill over. You wanted to scream, to beg, to plead for them to understandâbut the words stuck, lodged somewhere deep inside you, where they couldnât escape.
You werenât used to being vulnerable, to letting anyone see how far the weight of everything was crushing you. But thisâthis was different. This was your future on the line, and there was nothing you could do.
âTake a few days to process everything, Miss [name],â the Minister continued, her tone unreadable. âWeâll be in touch once the situation has been resolved.â
You nodded, unable to form words, too numb to respond. You stood up, legs shaky, and vision blurring. The room seemed to close in around you as you turned and walked out, each step echoing in the hollow silence.
The door clicked shut behind you, and the reality of the situation crashed down on you with full force. You stood in the hallway for a long moment, not knowing what to do, where to go, or how to keep moving forward. Your entire future had just been ripped away from you, and all you had left was the suffocating weight of uncertainty.
The cold air of the train station bites at your skin, a sharp reminder of the emptiness around you. You sit hunched over on the worn bench, your bag at your feet, clutching your phone like itâs the only thing tethering you to the world. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on the nearly deserted platform.
At this late hour, there are only a few scattered passengersâan old man reading a newspaper, a couple arguing in hushed tones, a woman sipping coffee to stay awake.
But none of them matter.
Your fingers tremble as you scroll through your phone, searching desperately for a contact, a message, anything that might lead you to him. Your sugar daddyâthe one who promised to take care of you, who helped you get this farâwas supposed to be your safety net. He had always reassured you, always provided. But now, every attempt to call him goes straight to voicemail. Every message the same, ânot deliveredâ.
When youâd first moved to Korea, only 19 years old and barley out of high school, things had been manageable. You found yourself a place to stay in Seoul, a small but cozy apartment. You made school friends, and your studies were progressing well. Then came the sugar daddyâan older man who had a fondness for your ambition, an attraction to your foreignerness.
He offered to fund your education, promising to cover your tuition, rent, and even some living expenses. It was an unexpected stroke of luck. You didnât feel right about it, but you told herself it was temporaryâjust until you got your footing, just until you could fully stand on your own.
At first, it had been easy to accept his help. You wasnât using him, you told herself. He didnât ask for anything beyond your company and very small sexual favors, a kiss here some oral sex there. Youâd convinced yourself you could keep things strictly business. But you were wrong. You had fallen into his world, one of easy luxuries and comfort, and for a while, it felt like a dream.
But dreams are fragile, and sometimes, they shatter without warning.
You try his social media, hoping for some sign, but when you go to type in the filmilar username no profile pops up, youâre hit with the harsh realizationâyouâve been blocked. Completely.
Your heart sinks further as you stare at the blank screen, the gnawing sense of abandonment tightening in your chest. You never knew his real name. He only ever used an alias, a charming façade that you thought was enough. But now you realize just how little you actually knew about him. No name. No address. No way to contact him outside of the platforms he controlled.
Heâs gone.
Your mind begins to race, dozens of questions swirling your brain, yet left unanswered. How long ago had he cut off your expenses? Did he find someone else, someone younger maybe? Did he stop paying your rent aswell?
âFuck.â The sudden thought caused the curse to slip from your quivering lips. Hopefully you wouldnât come home to find an eviction notice tapped to your apartment door.
You know youâve been distant this past year, canceling meetings at the last minute, pushing off wondering touches and kisses. Yet that was no excuse for him to cut you off and leave you completely in the dark. Youâve expressed to have been been stacked with work from your university, trying hard to make it through medical school.
A wave of hopelessness crashes over you, and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes to stop the tears from spilling over. The train station around you feels colder, lonelier, as you sit there, unsure of what to do next. The weight of the debtâthe 60 million won looming over your headâfeels unbearable.
âYou look troubled,â a smooth, unfamiliar voice breaks through your thoughts.
You look up sharply, your eyes meeting a man standing a few feet away. Heâs dressed neatly, almost too neatly for this dingy train station, with a crisp suit and a polished demeanor that feels out of place. Thereâs something unsettling about the way he smiles at youâwarm enough to seem kind, yet sharp enough to put you on edge.
âI couldnât help but notice,â he continues, stepping closer, âyou look like someone with a lot on their mind.â
You shift uncomfortably, hugging your bag tighter. âIâm fine,â you mutter, your voice unconvincing even to yourself.
âAre you?â he asks, tilting his head slightly. His tone is calm, almost soothing, but thereâs a hint of something behind itâcuriosity, perhaps, or calculation. âSometimes, it helps to talk about it.â
You hesitate, unsure whether to brush him off or let the floodgates open. Against your better judgment, the words spill out before you can stop them. âIâm in debt,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. âI donât know how Iâm going to pay it off. Iâve tried everything, but nowâŚâ You trail off, swallowing the lump in your throat, head bowed in shame.
The man nods slowly, as if heâs heard this all before. âA difficult situation, no doubt,â he says, his voice laced with an odd sympathy. âBut perhaps thereâs a way out.â
Your head snaps to him so quickly your surprised your neck is still attached to your shoulders. âWhat do you mean thereâs still a way out?â
The man takes a step closer, his polished shoes echoing faintly in the nearly empty station. He sets the briefcase heâs been carrying on the bench beside you with a deliberate precision, the metallic click of the latches breaking the silence. Slowly, he opens it, revealing two neatly stacked piles of red and blue paper squares, along with a thick wad of cash.
You blink at the sight, your heart skipping a beat.
âMiss, would you be interested in a game of ddakji?â
âDdakji?â you repeated, the name sounding unfamiliar on your tongue. Wasnât this an old korean kids game? âWhat is this?â you ask, your voice hesitant as you glance between the vibrant paper and the manâs unreadable expression.
âA game,â he replies simply, his tone light yet oddly menacing. He picks up one of the blue squares and hands it to you. âItâs simple. You take this and try to flip over my red paper square by slamming it down. Every time you succeed, Iâll pay you 100,000 won.â
Your eyes widen slightly at the number, but suspicion quickly creeps in. âAnd if I lose?â
The manâs smile grows, sharp and knowing. âIf you lose,â he says, almost casually, âYou pay me the same amount.â
You freeze, your fingers tightening on the paper in your hands. âW-what..?â
He nods, unbothered by the disbelief in your voice. âThatâs the risk. Itâs only fair, donât you think?â
Your gaze flickers to the money, then back to the manâs face. The desperation in your chest claws at you, urging you to agree. Sixty million wonâthe debt that looms over your headâflashes in your mind. Even if you win just a few rounds, it could make a difference.
âWhat happens if I say no?â you ask, your voice quiet.
âThen nothing,â he replies, his smile unfaltering. âYou walk away, and your situation stays exactly as it is.â He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. âBut something tells me you wonât.â
You swallow hard, your hands trembling slightly as you look down at the paper square. Against your better judgment, you nod.
âAlright,â you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel. âLetâs play.â
The manâs grin sharpens, and he places a red square on the ground before taking a step back. âWhenever youâre ready,â he says, gesturing for you to start.
You look down at his paper, gripping the blue square tightly. You take a deep breath, then slam it down as hard as you can. The sound echoes through the station, but the red square barely shifts.
The man clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. âTough luck,â he says, stepping forward.
Your stomach sinks. âI donât have the money toââ
âRelax,â he interrupts smoothly, raising a hand to cut you off. âYou look like youâre about to cry. Iâll tell you whatâweâll change the terms.â
You blink, confused. âChange the terms?â
âYes.â He crouches slightly so that heâs at eye level with you. His smile stretches wider, his gaze unrelenting. âEvery time you lose, instead of paying me money, Iâll slap you.â
Your breath hitches, and you recoil slightly at the proposition. âSlap me?â
âItâs fair, isnât it?â he says, his voice calm and composed as if heâs suggesting the most reasonable alternative. âAnd if you win, Iâll still pay you 100,000 won. No money owed. Just a little pain if you lose.â
You stare at him, your heart pounding in your ears. The desperation gnaws at you, urging you forward despite every instinct screaming at you to walk away. Slowly, reluctantly, you nod.
âFine,â you say, your voice barely audible.
The manâs grin widens, and he gestures toward the red square on the ground. âGood. Letâs begin.â
You kneel down again, gripping the blue square tightly. This time, when you slam it down, the red square doesnât even budge.
The man wastes no time. He steps forward, his hand swinging sharply. The slap rings out loud and clear, stinging like fire across your cheek.
You press a hand to your face, glaring up at him with watery eyes. âYou didnât have to hit so hard,â you mutter, more out of humiliation than anger.
He shrugs, unbothered. âThatâs the game.â
You grit your teeth, determination flaring. You pick up the blue square again, readying yourself for another attempt. This time, when you slam it down, the red square flips over with a satisfying snap.
The man raises an eyebrow, mildly impressed. âAtta girl,â he says, pulling a crisp 100,000 won bill from the briefcase and handing it to you.
The money feels heavier than it should in your hand, like a tangible piece of hope. It ignites something in you, pushing you to keep going.
You play again. And again. And again.
The slaps come harder, the sting lingering longer, but every time you win, the money in your hand grows. By the end of it, your cheek is red and sore, your hand aching from the repeated impact of the paper. But youâve amassed a small stack of cashâa temporary reprieve from the weight crushing your shoulders.
The man finally raises a hand, signaling the end of the game. âYouâve done well,â he says, his tone almost approving. âBut if youâre truly interested in changing your life, thereâs a bigger game you can join.â
Your heart sinks at the cryptic offer. âWhat do you mean?â
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black envelope, wrapped in a red bow. He holds it out to you, his expression unreadable, although for a second you swear you saw a flicker of uncertaintyâguilt, in his eyes.
âCall the number on this card,â he says. âYouâll have the chance to win far more than whatâs in your hands right now. Enough to erase your debt and start fresh.â
You hesitate, staring at the card as if it holds the answer to all your problemsâand maybe it does. But thereâs an edge to his words, a warning you canât quite decipher.
âThink about it,â he adds, stepping away and closing the briefcase with a decisive snap. âBut donât take too long. Opportunities like this donât come often.â
And just like that, heâs gone, leaving you alone in the station with the cash in your hands and the card weighing heavy in your pocket.
The familiar creak of the apartqment door echoes in the silence as you step inside, exhaustion pressing down on you like a physical weight. You shut the door behind you, the click of the lock strangely final. Kicking off your shoes, you shuffle toward the tiny kitchenette, your mind too scattered to bother with anything more than a pack of instant ramen.
The fluorescent light above flickers as you fill a cup with water and pour it into the noodles. You toss the packet into the microwave, pressing a few buttons with little thought. The soft hum fills the quiet space, but it does nothing to soothe the growing ache in your chest.
Leaning against the counter, you glance around the small apartment. The peeling wallpaper, the sagging couch, the pile of bills stacked on the coffee tableâit all feels heavier now. Without the safety net of your sugar daddy, this place feels less like home and more like a trap.
You exhale shakily, running a hand through your hair. âWhat am I supposed to do now?â you mutter, the question hanging in the air.
The microwave beeps, but you donât move right away. Instead, your gaze drops to your bag sitting on the floor by the door. You remember the card. That strange, cryptic envelope the man gave you at the station.
Pushing off the counter, you walk over and crouch down, pulling the card from the pocket of your bag. The glossy surface catches the dim light as you hold it up.
You pull the little envelope open, itâs a small brown card, your thumb traces over the circle, triangle, and square symbols printed on the front before flipping it, revealing the number written inside.
8650 4006
For a moment, you just stare at it, your mind racing with everything that happened todayâthe ministerâs cold words, your sugar daddyâs abrupt betrayal, the stinging slaps, the small stack of cash youâd managed to scrape together.
Sixty million won. The number feels like a noose around your neck, tightening with every second that passes.
You sit down on the edge of the couch, clutching the card in your hand. Your other hand hovers over your phone, trembling as you consider what youâre about to do.
âThis could be it,â you whisper, the words trembling on your lips. âMy way out.â
Or your way into something worse.
But desperation drowns out caution. You dial the number, the ringing filling your ear like the ticking of a countdown.
On the third ring, someone answers. A calm, even voice greets you.
âWould like to participate in the games?â
You close your eyes, your breath hitching. âYes,â you say softly, the word carrying the weight of everything youâve endured.
âI want to play.â
And just like that, your fate is sealed.
a/n â omg guysss first chapter done, so excited to carry on this new story. donât worry in-ho will be introduced in the 2nd or 3rd chapter i wanted to build up the readerâs background and give you guys an understanding of her thought process and life yk đ feel like everyone just rushes their story to get to the good parts đŁđ like whereâs the build uppp ! hope yall enjoyeddd if you liked to be tagged in the next chapter comment down belowww
#o9sessions#the frontman x reader#frontman x reader#hwang in ho x reader#hwang inho x reader#oh young il x reader#oh youngil x reader#001 x reader#squid game#squid game x reader#fractured masks
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in case anyone was curious was the experience of being immunocompromised/disabled/etc is for me rn my family only goes out in public to 1) do laundry 2) pick up prescriptions 3) pick up groceries from online orders 4) pick up books from the library like thatâs literally it. we have been doing this for 3 years because we do not have the choice of doing anything else because society has successfully pushed us and people like us out of society congrats you guys you won đ
#i have not spoken to anyone outside my family (besides saying hello to ppl on walks) in well basically years#irl at least online i got to depressed to speak to anyone im still trying to remember how bear with me#but yeah its super cool how we are fucked forever and ever!#i broke or fractured my ankle in 2021 and it still hasnât healed correctly bc i never saw a dr bc i didnât want my family to get sick#and now THEY DONâT EVEN MASK SO!!! will be even MORE scared in daily life of injury and illness soooooo co#*cool
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Thereâs this detail in the animation when Goroâs in his Black Mask attire that I absolutely love. And thatâs instead of his mask completely dissolving with Lokiâs summoning itâs just the left eye piece that splinters off and fractures. So Iâd like to say that when Goro summons Loki this happens. Because not only does it look cool, but also because it never completely removes the mystery behind the mask. You never get to see his true face and thatâs why Palace rulers never really know Black Maskâs identity.
#; Headcanon || Goro âď¸#//Also the fact that his mask just fractures because of it is *chefs kiss*#//It could probably be from his sense of desperation in this moment.#//But I love it all the same. I just love this little detail so much and I think of it all the time.#//So I figured why not implement this? Cause I just think it's really neat.
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Ghost KingConsort?
Prompt: Demon Twins AU where the ghost king is summoned and claims his appearance is that of his beloveds. Shenanigans of a vindictive dead twin.
Danyal Al Ghul escaped from the league. The Lazarus Pits were never merciful but for once, they were. The pits were merciful to him as the green swallowed him and spat him out miles away from that place.
Danny can't forget his first death, the sword in his gut as Damian cut through him. The title of heir was reserved for only one of them and the spare was no longer needed. He supposed it was yet another mercy upon him, knowing that the title of spare was not simple. He would have been Damian's spareâspare parts.
Danny remembers his second death. The electricity that killed him over and over again as the ectoplasm spilled from the artificial portal brought him back to life again and again. One second he was dead, the other he was being revived. It was torturous in every way possible.
It's been years since then. His parents were a difficult case, unable to accept that their darling child had died and continued to believe that Danny was being possessed by the menace Phantom. They hunted him, tried to rip him apart to 'free' their son. It took both himself and Jazz leaving with the help of Vlad (reluctantly accepted) for his parents to stop hunting. Their home that had already felt empty was even more empty now.
It's been almost four years since then. Danny had settled into his role as Ghost King, even when the crown of fire floated over his head then descended to be too big, too muchâresting around his neck.
It's... Difficult...
CUT TO THE JUSTICE LEAGUE SUMMONING HIM!
Danny Fenton, nineteen and very much overworked from all the paperwork he had to sort through as Ghost King, finds a small tugging to his very being. A summoning he recognized, sighing loudly before he's answer to this visible desperation. Like it was a world ending issue.
And yes, it apparently was when the fabric of reality itself was tearing itself apart for some strange reason. As the ruler of the infinite realmsâthe king of the very domain that basically glued the multiverseâthis was apparently the right call.
Dressed in all of his kingly regalia, Danny felt the crown of fire float up from his neck and burned over his head. His cape, cloakâwhateverâwas heavy and he blinked, green eyes boring into every soul present. He recognized the fractured soul of the laughing magicianâone of his more irksome subjects that avoided taxes like it was the fucking plague. He really should tell Skulker to haunt his grandfather. Maybe even Youngblood would be suitable.
But aside from the laughing magician, his eyes settled upon a familiar soul, a familiar face. Danny blinks again.
Shit... He thought, staring at the masked yet horrified face of his own twin. Robin was nineteen as well by now, older, strongerâredeemed.
In the past, Danny would have cursed Damian to the seven hells and allowed the seven sins to have a bite. But Jazz was blessing. An older sister who made sure to heal him, to let him grow, to let him develop. He's forgiven Damian for his faults. They were children, brainwashed by a mad man. He's not too angry. Resentful and a bit vindictive? That was a given as he technically was the spirit of a murder victim. Of kinslaying.
"Hellblazer." The language spoken by the dead leaves his mouth easily. It can't be understood by the living, and it was barely understood who came back from death. But John Constantine was a different, more difficult case. One hell of a motherfucker that avoided death until the entity itself was ranting to both Clockwork and Danny about his escapes.
And John Constantine recognized his title regardless of the language.
The sad man in a trench coat stiffened, staring at Danny as he stiffly bowed. "High King Phantom." He greets, and attempt at respect. When there was suddenly movement, Constantine was quick to hiss at the othersâglaring at Robin who looked ready lunge at them.
Oh, he can't help himself. This was funny. In the words of his own counterpart turned brotherâHe could make it worse. Jazz was going to nag him, true, but Danny was so. Utterly. BORED. Being Ghost King had a lot of entertainment, like how he got to fight people and basically hang out with people from the past. But it got... Repetitive. Normal Ghosts wouldn't mind with their eternal afterlife, but Danny was still half-alive. He was completely humanâjust a half dead one.
"Your majestyâ" Constantine struggled to explain, "The universe... Do you know why portals have been opening, your majesty? Forgive my impudence but our world has been plagued by portals from different worlds, some even lead to the infinite realm."
"It's not uncommon for natural portals to the realms to open. Many of your dead like to visit." He smirked, "Many like to haunt those who've wronged them."
Constantine gulped, "Your majesty, would you, by any chance, be aware of why these portals are opening?"
Danny sighed. Well, he can't say he wasn't concerned. This was his world too after all, even when now. It was Jazz's world, where she still went to school, it was Sam and Tucker's world. It was his family's world. So yes, he is concerned.
"The portals to the realms are under my jurisdiction. They are natural and open in my places with thick and ambient ectoplasm." Danny drawls, "But these dimensional portals are strange. I'll check in with the Master of Time to see if someone is meddling with reality. It may not even be from your dimension."
He can only shrug at that, remembering how Dan had practically ripped through time with his madness and rage, tearing through the world to ensure his birth.
"I see, thank you for your understanding, your majesty." Constantine nervously says.
"Say, would you like to watch the battle royale for your soul?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're excused, magician." Danny rolls his eyes, "But you'd certainly enjoy watching people tear each other to shreds for your fucked up soul. I don't understand why people want it so much when the paperwork it comes with is a hell in itself."
"Your majesty," Constantine paled.
"I'm joking. I'll deal with this as quickly as possible." Danny paused, grinning as he made a show of offering his hand to the justice league. "I couldn't possible sit by and allow my beloved's world to crumble. He'd be devastated."
Constantine blinked. Everyone blinked. And then Danny turned to Damian and... Batman. Bruce Wayne. His father. At least he seemed to be treating Damian better than Jack did with Danny and Jazz.
"You must have recognized this face, yes?" Danny tilted his head. "You are his family."
"What have you done to my brother?" RobinâDamian immediately growled, like a feral cat as he unsheathed his katanas and aimed for Danny.
"Hm." Danny rolled his eyes, "He's well. Very much taken care of." Because yes, Danny was well fed and taken care of, especially as the Ghost King. "I've taken his form so I assumed you knew of him."
He dismissed Robin long before he could even speak, turning to Constantine once again. "Don't fret too much, John Constantine." The man in question flinched once his name was uttered in the language of the dead he could barely understand. "This will be fixed in a days time. If not, I will send someone to deal with it."
The Ghost King's appearance had been startling when they summoned him. A boy with a striking resemblance to Damian if not for his white hair. A twin? Bruce had sounded devastated at the implications. But Damian? He'd seen the ghost king and felt nauseous, unable to tear his eyes away from the eldritch being that wore his brother's face.
It took a lot of explaining once they were back in the cave. The duel, Danyal's death, the Lazarus taking him and he was never seen again. Everyone was... Well, they were devastated. Yes. Grieving a son and brother they never met. But the Ghost King has been summoned with a face similar to that of their father's, a face that was the exact same one to their brothers. The Ghost King who referred to the dead Danyal as his beloved.
It's the next day when they're back in the watchtower, anxiously waiting for any update. Constantine continues to curse under his breath, shaking his head before a portal rips through reality. Everyone stiffened, preparing for the worst.
A girl appears, a child. She's a spry little thing with glowing green eyes, flaming white hair, and a face that they immediately recognized.
"Sorry that I'm late! Times pretty bendy and we don't really keep up with it." The unknown laughs, "Well, short answer, Phantom has identified the problem and has attempted to apprehend it. Unfortunately, it's been a week on our end and the perp apparently fell into your world."
Time distortionâConstantine had mentioned it. But they stare at the girl who rambled about their supposed target until Batman cleared his throat, seemingly softer on the girlâsomeone who was visibly a child.
"Young lady, welcome to the Watchtower. Even id the greeting it late." Batman curtly yet gently says. "May I know your name?"
The girl blinked. "Oh! You can call me Specter, princess of the infinite realms! I'm Phantom and Danny's daughter."
It is then that the possibilities processes in their heads.
One. The Ghost King took the form of his beloved, aka the dead twin brother of one Damian Wayne.
Two. Damian's dead twin and Bruce's dead son might be the queen (consort?) of the infinite realms.
Three. Danyal and Phantom had a daughter. Damian and the rest of the Bar kids were uncles and aunts. Bruce was now officially a grandpa.
Damian faints on the spot.
#dpxdc#danny phantom#batfam#danny fenton#crossover#dc x dp#damian wayne#damian and danny are twins#nightwing#batman#Elle is going to fucking bother her uncle/brother as much as possible#Danny is a petty bastard#Batman might just kill himself#hes a GRANDPA ALFRED! A GRANDPA!
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Love 119 [Part One]
part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part two] [part three]
pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope
The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came inâan emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.
Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.
Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwonâs jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasnât good.
âLetâs move,â he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.
He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.
âStep back, please,â Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.
His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.
Jungwon quickly assessed the manâs condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the manâs breathing. His brow furrowed.
âPossible head trauma. Weâve got low oxygen saturation,â he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the manâs body, checking for fractures and injuries.
His every move was precise, commanding attentionânot just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.
"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. Weâve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."
Jungwonâs eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. âLetâs secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We canât risk any movement.â He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patientâs face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the manâs wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.
With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. âWeâre looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injuryâtrauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. Sheâll want to know.â
He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.
âY/N,â he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, âweâve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from heightâGCS is 4. Weâve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but heâs unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.â
There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. âVitals?â
Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. âBPâs dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils unevenâoneâs blown. Itâs not looking good.â
âGet him here as fast as you can,â you replied, your voice steady. âWeâll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.â
Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. âOf course, Doctor. Just make sure the roomâs prepped.â His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.
âLetâs get moving,â he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situationâhis deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of natureâthat made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.
Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.
âLetâs go,â he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.
Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. â28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!â His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.
The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was youâfocused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.
The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone wouldâve noticedâyour constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.
You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. âTrauma two is open. Letâs get him in fast!â
The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.
âYou took too long with the vitals report,â you said, throwing him a sharp glance. âWe couldâve been in there five minutes ago.â
Jungwonâs eyes narrowed. âWe did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, youâd know that.â
âExcuse me?â you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. âI donât need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didnât help.â
Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. âMaybe if your plan didnât waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldnât have needed a second round of intubation last time.â
Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. âThis again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?â
âIâm not playing doctor. Iâm trying to make sure you donât screw it up.â His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.
One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. âHere they go again.â
You didnât back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. âHow about you leave the doctoring to me, and Iâll leave the paramedic work to you? Weâll see how long that lasts.â
Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. âFine. Just donât mess it up.â
âSame to you,â you retorted, not missing a beat.
Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. âDr. Y/N, patientâs BP is dropping.â
Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. âLetâs get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.â
Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didnât say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.
You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwonâs team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldnât help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.
As the patientâs vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. âWeâre clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,â you called to the team, your voice steady once more.
Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. âYouâre welcome,â he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didnât need to. Your argument had run its course for now.
Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.
âEverything go okay, or did I miss something else?â he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.
You glared at him. âYeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.â
âGood,â Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. âMaybe next time you wonât waste so much time arguing.â
âMaybe next time youâll do your job and get out of my way,â you shot back, your voice sharp.
âYou love being in control, donât you?â Jungwonâs eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. âCanât handle someone else calling the shots, huh?â
You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. âI donât need to handle anything, least of all you.â
âTrust me, Iâm not asking for much,â he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.
You scoffed, brushing past him. âTry asking for less.â
Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didnât even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by nowâthe biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwonâs ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each otherâs throats again.
Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.
You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldnât stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.
Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. âAnnoying paramedic,â you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.
Your apartment wasnât far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.
You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.
âRough day?â a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.
You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.
âYou have no idea,â you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldnât help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.
Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.
âYouâre lucky I put up with you,â he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. âEven after you yelled at me for no reason.â
âI didnât yell for no reason,â you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. âOkay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.â
Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. âSure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?â
You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. âThe worst,â you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.
Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. âGood thing weâve got the whole night to make up for it, then.â
âYouâre still in your uniform,â you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.
Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. âI thought you liked me in uniform.â
You groaned, your cheeks flushing. âStop it. Iâm tired.â
âLiar,â he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. âYou love it.â
And he wasnât wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldnât help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.
Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. âCome on. Letâs get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.â
You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. âYouâre the one whoâs going to change first. That uniformâs distracting.â
âI knew it,â he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.
As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.
Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. âYouâre such a pain at work, you know that?â
You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. âYouâre not so easy yourself.â
And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwonâno titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.
[part two] [part three]
#jungwon#jungwon fic#jungwon au#enhypen au#enhypen fin#yang jungwon#enha x reader#enha imagines#enhypen jungwon#jungwon fluff#jungwon x reader#jungwon x you#jungwon x y/n#jungwon drabbles#jungwon fanfic#fanfiction#heeseung#jay#jake#sim jaeyun#fluff#kpop#sunoo#sunghoon#ni ki#niki#jungwon fake texts#jungwon police#jungwon enhypen#enhypen
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Uchihas reacting to âI hate youâs
Request are open! Request rules here!
Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Obito Uchiha, Madara Uchiha, Itachi Uchiha, Shisui Uchiha
Warning: slight angst, nothing else.
Obito Uchiha (Villain)
⧠âI hate you,â he stood there, his expression unwavering as your voice seethed with anger. Your voice could cut through thick glass as you shouted at him, but he felt nothing whatsoever. Even as your eyes bore into him, filled with a hatred so intense it could burn a hole through his soul, it wasnât directed towards him. No, not ever. Yet despite the venom in your words, he didnât flinch. Instead he listened intently, his expression indifferent. âThatâs okay,â he responded, his voice devoid of any apparent emotion. In any other scenario, he wouldâve crumpled under the weight of your vitriol, weeping and pleading for an explanation as to why you might hate him. But not now, because he already knew why.
⧠He knew how you mourned him for years, believing him dead and gone, only to find out the hard way the reality. He knew you visited his grave, and wished that you were in his position. He knew that your trustâyour perspective of reality had been shattered the very moment his mask fell from his face. With a heavy heart, he continued âI would too,â his gaze never left yours, watching as tears streamed down your reddened cheeks. It had been years since heâd seen you this close, yet you looked young and pretty. The prettiest heâs ever seen you, even with tears glistening on your pretty face.
⧠âI hate you so much,â your voice cracked with pain and resentment as you spoke to him. Your Obito. The revelation that he was still alive, but causing so much pain and suffering shattered your world, leaving you emotionally fractured. âWhy? Why do all of this? Why hurt so many?â You ask, searching his face for remorse but finding none, âBecause this world is broken,â he answers steadily, his voice awfully gentle to you. âYou have nothing in this reality,â his arms open, showing you the distress and chaos that is currently occurring around you. He wanted you to see how your comrades laid lifelessâto make you understand that you lost your friends, your family, your âhappy endingâ. â Let this happen, and you will be forever happy,â he pauses briefly, searching for the right words to say. He chose his words carefully, locking eyes with you, âWith me. With a better version of me. One that will keep you happy for the rest of your life,â Despite your heart-wrenching cries, he did nothing to stop this war. As you wept before him, he knew your pain would be temporary. He knew that once his plan took actionâthe infinite Tsukuyomiâyou would find happiness. Even if you hate him now, he reassured himself, you wouldnât think the same after his plan was completed.
Obito Uchiha (Shinobi)
⧠Obito, a strong and beloved jonin from the Leaf village, stood there, his chest tightening at the words that just came out of your mouth. His expression shifted as his mind struggled to comprehend what you had said. Suddenly, without a second thought, his words slipped through his lips as he tried to make sense of what you told him, âWhat⌠did you say?â he asked carefully, his eyes frantically darting over your face as if searching for an answer. You met his gaze, repeating your words with unwavering conviction, âI said, I hate you,â
⧠As you repeat yourself, Obitoâs heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, his throat constricting as it became harder to breathe. He could handle any other response, any other thing you could have said, but hearing your harsh words was almost too much for him. âWhy? What did I do? I donât understand,â he manages to ask in desperation, trying his best to move closer to you. His heart clenched and turned inside his chest, and he boiled with fear. He loves you! He loves you to the moon and back! Why would you say that you hate him when he eats, sleeps, and breathes for you? You were his everything, so how could you hate him when he loved you so dearly?
⧠âBecause you never notice how much I try for you. Youâre always looking for Rinâs approval, and what about me? Iâm left in the dark with nothing. Iâm done with you. Iâm done with trying to make you realize Iâve been in love with you for years,â you pour your heart out to him, desperate and hurt, and thatâs when he realizes what this was about. Though his heart slightly fluttered at your revelation, he still felt awful for the way you were feeling all this time. The tingling sensation in the back of his mind kept bothering him as he examined every inch of your expression. âThatâs⌠why?â He asks with a drop of his shoulder, sighing in pure relief at your confession, which only fueled the burning anger inside you. âI thought it was for something else I mightâve done⌠(Y/N), I donât know if youâve ever noticed, but Iâm in love with you,â his confession caught you in surprise, his voice revealing his true feelings with no hesitation. What once was nervousness and anxiety had now been replaced with determination as he yearned to seek for a solution. It was true, he was deeply in love with you, but people still thought he had something for Rin when he didnât. However, he did hide the fact that he liked you out of fear of another rejection. With Rin, he handled it well, but with you? He wouldnât be able to take it. âIâm sorry if I ever made you feel horrible. Iâm sorry I never noticed, and Iâm sorry I hid it from you for so long. I love you, over anything there is in this world. The only thing I want is you, always and forever you,â
Madara Uchiha
⧠âI hate you,â your words felt like a slap to the face, making Madara turn around to face you swiftly. Although his face was deemed expressionless, his body tensed and tightened the more he processed your words. He had obviously been taken aback by your audacity to say such things, but he tried his best to hide his discomfort. With arms crossed over his chest, he scoffed and parted his lips, ready to give you a piece of his mind. âGet over it, woman,â he snarls at you with authority, and slight annoyance. You, his wife, should never say that to him. Heâs given you everything; a home, a family, and more importantly, love. âYou are acting like a child over something that should have never pestered you in the first place,â although your words had not hit him hard when you first spat them, they started to annoy him the more they set in, âIf you hate me, why even decide to say yes when I proposed? If you are going to bother me with such nonsense, I will not bother with you,â
⧠His words were meant to hurt you as much as you hurt him, and when he notices the pain in your eyes, heâs satisfied⌠until heâs not. Until that annoying tingling feeling lingers under his skin as he watches your eyes brim with tears. The tingling feeling that pulled on the tendons of his heart any time you cried was crawling under every inch of his body. âOh please, do not start with the tears,â he groaned in annoyance, but the salty tears were already streaming down your puffy cheeks. Despite this, he didnât move an inch to comfort you, but watched you as you cried for a couple of minutes until he released an exasperated sigh. âWhy? Why do you care so much for those people when all they have done is hurt you?â He asks with irritation, referring to your clan members whoâve hurt you in the past. He has said something out of line, and you argued with him about it, which ended you two up here.
⧠âBecause we should be better people than them. Violence should never be the answer,â you sniffle with clenched fist, âBut that is something you seem to never stop thinking about,â you admit, trying to hold in your tears. You didnât want to keep crying like this in front of him. You wanted to be strong, âAnd if you think I am such a burden, then why keep this ring on my fingerâ,â you were surprised when his fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you from taking off the ring he had gifted you the night he proposed, âBecause I know who I married. The same nagging woman I am with now, is the same nagging woman I fell in love with. If I had any regrets of marrying you, you would be back in your clan,â he scoffs and pulls your head to his chest with an annoyed expression âI love you, you stupid woman,â to any other person, your relationship mightâve seemed strange, but to you, this moment showed you just how much he truly loved you. Even if he has weird ways of showing it.
Shisui Uchiha
⧠Wait, he didnât quite hear you well. Wait, what did you say? He turned towards you with a raised brow, his mouth slightly parted as he tried to figure out if you had said what he thought you said. Noticing his lost expression, you had no choice but to repeat yourself, much to your annoyance âI hate you,â this time, he did hear you. Loud and clear. To him, it felt like he took hours to respond to you, but in reality, his answer left his mouth almost immediately, âNo you donât,â It wasnât meant to be cocky, it just sounded like it was. At least, to you it sounded cocky, and it made you even angrier with him. It annoyed you that he never took you seriously, âOh, so now you think you know how I feel, do you?â you spat at him, hands clenching into tight fists as your eyes locked intensely, âYou never care about anything! You come home and sleep and donât even have time for me. I know you have a hard job, and I donât expect you to be there at my beck and call, but at least asking me how I am would be enough,â you stressed, waving your arms frantically around you in desperation. You had been like this all week, stressed and unable to talk to anyone, because the only person you could ever rant and banter about things that bothered you in life was barely there for you, and when he was, it was like he wasnât! He would barely listen to you anymore, and would expect you to listen to him. And you did, you always did. But you wanted something in return, and that was a sliver of his attention.
⧠âYou're telling me you hate me over something so little?â he asks with furrowed brows, making you even more annoyed, âOver something so little?â You repeated through gritted teeth. His face, for once, contorted into one of annoyance, something you had never seen on him before, âYes! Little! Because you know how my line of work is! You know that I barely have time to sleep, let alone waste my time with useless banter!â You were left speechless, standing in front of him with hurt eyes. âYeah, useless. Youâre right. Because my feelings donât matter,â you scoff, âThatâs not what Iââ you interrupt him by turning away, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as realization finally hits him. You werenât trying to waste his time, you just wanted to spend time with him. He had been so lost in his work, so busy caring for himself that he completely neglected you.
⧠âOh darling,â he takes your hand again, a frown painting his face, âIâm sorry, okay? I didnât mean any of the things I said. Iâm just stressed out. Everything's happening so fast, and the clan isnât helping at all.â he sighs and pulls you in towards him, engulfing you in his tight embrace, yet you didnât say anything, âI know Iâve been neglecting you, and you deserve better. Please, let me make it up to you,â he whispers into you hair as he lowers down to kiss your head, âI couldnât live with myself if I didnât have you by my side,â
Itachi Uchiha
⧠âI hate you,â you mumble under your breath as you look at your lover. No, he wasnât your lover anymore. He had left the village years ago, leaving you behind with a broken heart and a broken image of him. He was a monster who murdered his entire clan, and even though he had left years ago, he still looked the same as when he was still in the village, with only one difference. Those eyes. Those red eyes that stared deep into your soul. They terrified you. The eyes that you once loved and cared about so much looked down at you with no emotion. They were empty. They were dark. They were hurt. âI hate you, for everything that you did,â you pushed him, backing away from him with angry eyes. His cloak told you everything you needed to know. He was part of the Akatsuki, he was the enemy now. He was a traitor, and although your words were meant to hurt him, he closed his eyes and nodded, understanding your hatred towards him. âI understand,â he says in such a soft voice. His voice that you missed so much.
⧠You didnât understand why he came to visit you. Why come in the middle of the night to see you? Why? Why waste his breath coming back to see you when he knew you wanted nothing to do with him? Because this would be his final goodbye. There were only a handful of people Itachi cared forâTwo, to be exact. His brother, and the love of his life. He knew that soon heâd perish, and this was the final time he would ever see you again. Not that it mattered. He tried not to think about it, thinking it would make things worse. It would be better if he never came to see you, but his heart got the best of him, and so he sat there at your window, looking at you for one final time.
⧠âYou donât,â you clench your fist, hurt by his mere presence, âI donât want anything to do with you, and I will report you to the higher ups. Unless you came here to kill me, which I donât doubt,â you were defenseless, but you wouldnât go out without a fight. Never. You would fight until the very end, but soon you realized he wasnât there to kill you. âI have no need for that,â he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, âI came by my own selfishness. I donât expect you to understand, and I accept your hatred, which I deserve,â he looks at you, red eyes burning into yours, âI simply wanted to see you for a final time,â he smiles and reaches out for you, pushing your hair out of your face, âMy love,â and with that, your vision goes black as your consciousness slips away from you. You would wake up the next day tucked into your bed with a necklace tucked tightly in your hand.
Sasuke Uchiha
⧠Words never hurt this Uchiha, he was used to every awful thing anyone could throw at him. He cared too little about anything and everything, and that's what you hated the most about him. He barely cared about anything you did or said, at all times. He didnât care how you looked because he never complimented you, he didnât care how you acted because he barely spoke to you. You felt like you were in a relationship with a ghost, in fact, the comparison was not even close, because dating a ghost would be ten times better than this. And with every passing day of being emotionally neglected by your partner, today was no different. He was back in the village, and instead of coming to you firstâto his homeâhe decided it was better to meet with Naruto and Sakura over seeing his wife who waited patiently everyday for him. You questioned if the ring on your finger meant anything to him at all at that moment. Despite this,
⧠When he got home, you were so happy, yet he showed no sign of interest in anything you did for him. You cooked and he ate, saying nothing about the taste of your new recipe. In fact, he seemed like he didnât notice that you had learnt to cook a new dish just for him. Even so, you shrugged his annoying attitude off and asked about his day instead. Your question seemed to annoy the tired man as he became uninterested in mid conversation. When you asked him what was wrong, he shrugged you off. You kept questioning him until he snapped at you, telling you how you were annoying him with all your worries. This had been the final straw. You always gave everything in the relationship. You understood he wasnât the best at showing his emotions, but it didnât mean he could act like he didnât care about you. Like you were nothing. The argument got heated and it ended up with you opening your mouth without thinking. âI hate you!â After your words fell out of your mouth, the room fell silent. He who had been looking away from you, had now turned his full attention towards you, âYou donât mean that, stop being dramatic,â the sight of him rolling his eyes hurt you more than it ever did. âYou donât care about anything, Sasuke. I do everything to try and please you. I could even say I live for you, but itâs never enough! You donât take a sliver of your time to appreciate me. You think I have to be there for you whenever you need me, but can just leave whenever you want!â you yell, hitting the wall in frustration.
⧠âYou donât care about me! You don't love me anymore!â you were in a current state of pure anger, letting out everything you ever wanted to say to him. This makes him stand up and walk towards you, taking your wrist in his hand. You look up at him, tears of frustration prickling in the corner of your eyes. âIf I didnât love you, I wouldnât have married you. You mean a lot more to me than you think. I⌠Iâm sorry if I donât show it,â he sighs, âI love your cooking, I love your storiesâI love hearing about everything that happened throughout your day. Youâre the only thing I can think about when Iâm away,â he lets go of your wrist and places a hand on your cheek, âDonât hate me, because youâre the only important thing in my life. Youâre my wife, and IâŚâ he stops himself, trying to build the courage to complete his sentence. A small blush decorates his cheeks before he sighs, âI care for you a lot,â your husband wasnât perfect, but you still loved him a lot, and you knew he loved you too.
#naruto obito#naruto obito uchiha#obito x you#obito uchiha x reader#obito headcanons#obito x reader#obito uchiha#madara uchiha#madara x reader#madara uchiha x reader#itachi uchiha#itachi naruto#itachi x reader#itachi headcanons#itachi uchiha x reader#shisui uchiha#shisui x reader#shisui headcanons#shisui x you#sasuke uchiha x you#sasuke uchiha x reader#sasuke x reader#sasuke uchiha#naruto headcanons#naruto reactions
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Toy Soldier (part 1)
Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark content: Sexual Assault Wounds(Bucky) tried to make it as vague as possible but, there are mentioned. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence.
Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.
Word Count: 5.6.k.
notes: Even though this fic includes fluff, smut, and the tone I usually maintain in my stories, there will be flashbacks to unpleasant events that might be triggering. Please read the warnings carefully, and if Iâve missed any, feel free to let me know. More tags will be added in the future.
The cell reeked of bleach and iron, a suffocating blend of sterility and blood. She sat huddled in a corner with her knees drawn to her chest, shaking from the lingering aftershocks of what they had made her do mere hours ago. A steel table in the center of the room bore the evidence: blood-soaked rags, reinforced restraints, and instruments that glinted menacingly under the harsh light.
The door creaked open, and she flinched instinctively. Her pulse quickened as they rolled him in on a gurney, his body was impossibly broken again, but somehow, still alive. The Winter Soldier. His mask was cracked, exposing a bruised cheekbone, his metallic arm hung at an unnatural angle, wires sparking like dying fireflies. His tactic suit was shredded, revealing deep gashes that glistened with dark blood.
"Fix him," the handler barked, void of empathy. He tossed a clipboard onto the table, detailing every injury, every broken bone, every expectation to her work. "We need him ready by morning."
She didnât move at first. She never did. But the familiar press of a gun muzzle against her temple jolted her into action. They didnât tolerate hesitation.
Her bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as she approached the table. Soldatâs chest rose and fell unevenly, his blue eyes were half-lidded and glassy, staring past her into the abyss. She wondered, briefly, if he even felt the pain anymore, or if the agony had simply become a part of him, stitched into his body like the scars of the wounds she was forced to erase.
She laid her trembling hands over his chest, cutting the remnants of the suit and rushing her power forward like a tide, knitting sinew, mending fractures, restoring what should have been allowed to rest. His body convulsed as the healing process awakened raw nerve endings. He groaned low in his throat, a sound of both relief and torment and her eyes burned with unshed tears.
"Good pet," the handler sneered, patting her head, "Keep going."
As the minutes dragged into hours, her hands moved mechanically, weaving muscle and bone back into place. Every touch drew more from her, siphoning her strength to pour life into a body that shouldnât be able to withstand such brutality. The process left her light-headed, and her vision started blurring at the edges, but she didnât dare falter. They would notice. They always noticed.
As her hands pressed over a jagged wound on his side, a faint tremor ran through his body. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and his eyes fluttered open. Glassy and unfocused at first, they slowly, impossibly, found her. A vacant gaze, yet somehow piercing, locked onto her face as if trying to understand who she was and what she was doing.
âIâm sorry,â she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She kept her voice low, trembling, her fingers brushing the edge of the wound as she worked. âI donât want to do this. Iâm sorry.â
His gaze didnât falter, even as she murmured the apology again, with a cracking voice. He didnât speak -he probably couldnât- but the weight of his stare felt like an answer. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
More time passed, and the room emptied. The guards left her alone with him, trusting her to finish her work under the ever-present cameras. The sterile silence closed in around them. She wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered again, âIâm sorry,â her voice breaking completely now. âIâm sorry for all of it.â
Soldat blinked slowly, almost as if acknowledging her words, but his body remained still. Her fingers lingered over his shoulder where fresh skin covered what had been a deep gash, and couldnât stop herself from caressing his bloodied temple before going back to mend him.
By the time she finished, her legs felt like water, barely holding her upright. The Soldatâs breathing had evened, the jagged cuts on his skin replaced by fresh, pale scars. His metal arm still hung limp, but it wasnât her area of expertise. He looked human again, or as close to human as Hydra would ever allow him to be. She allowed herself to caress him again as if that gentle touch could make up for what her actions on his body entailed, his endless torment.
When the door creaked open, the spell was broken. The handler barked a question she didnât hear over the roaring in her ears. Then he stepped forward, inspecting her work with a critical eye. He tugged at Soldatâs extremities and poked his body, then he turned to her with a smile that chilled her blood.
âWell done,â he said, sickeningly sweet. âSee? Youâre still useful. Youâve earned yourself another day.â
The words felt like a slap, a grim reminder of her reality. She wasnât a person to them. She was a tool, an extension of their will, just as much a prisoner as the man she had just saved. Her power was her curse, chaining her to a life of servitude. And for what? To keep the Winter Soldier standing. To ensure he could carry out their dirty work, kill their enemies, and endure whatever horrors they deemed necessary for him to endure.
The handler gestured to the guards. âTake her back. Sheâll need her strength for tomorrow.â
They grabbed her arms, dragging her toward the door. Soldat's eyes shifted for a moment, trailing her as they walked her out, his gaze still glazing but faintly flickering with awareness. Then the door slammed behind her, sealing them both back into their respective hells.
----
The cryopreservation always left her disoriented, the passage of time reduced to a murky void of nothingness. Days, months, years, they blurred together into a haze she couldnât untangle. Based on the count of the meager breakfasts slid through the cell door, it had been two days since theyâd pulled her from the tube. Her body still ached from the cold, and the numbness clung stubbornly to her limbs.
When the metallic clank of the cell door jolted her from her thoughts, she instinctively tensed. Two guards stood there, gesturing sharply for her to follow.Â
The halls they guided her through were unfamiliar. These werenât the sterile corridors leading to the medical bay. These walls were darker and the air was heavier, and the faint hum of machinery was replaced by an unsettling silence. Confused, she knit her brows but swallowed the urge to ask.
When they descended a narrow staircase, her stomach sank. The flickering lights cast long shadows against concrete walls. They passed rows of heavy metal doors, each marked with faint rust and grime. No cells with bars, no windows, just solid slabs of steel.
Her breath hitched when they stopped in front of a door near the end of the corridor. One guard yanked it open with a screech that set her teeth on edge. The other shoved her forward, barking a single command: âFix it.â
The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound echoed in the cramped room. She stood frozen, since the stench hit her like a physical blow: blood, sweat, semen, and something else she couldnât place.
Her gaze darted around the sparse room. A cot pushed against one wall. A table cluttered with ominous instruments. And in the corner, barely illuminated by the flickering overhead bulb, the Soldat.
Her breath left her in a shaky exhale as she took him in. He was curled into himself, naked, trembling despite the heat radiating from his abused flesh. Blood and cum stained his thighs, while bruises painted his skin in grotesque patterns. His wrists and ankles bore the raw marks of restraints, and burns and welts layered over old scars, turning his body into a tapestry of pain.
But it was his face that shattered her. A blank mask with hollow and distant wet eyes, haunted by whatever horrors had left him in this state.
She forced herself to move. When her shadow fell over him, his head snapped up and his vacant blue eyes locked onto hers. The movement was sharp and instinctive, but he didnât lash out, didnât flinch. He simply stared, as though he were looking through her rather than at her.
She paused for a moment, crouching to his level, resting her hands lightly on her knees. âItâs okay,â she murmured, her voice steady. âIâm here to help you.â
He didnât respond. The haunted emptiness in his expression pierced her chest. He didnât deserve this. âI know,â she said softly, inching closer. âI know it hurts. Iâll do what I can.â
She reached for him carefully, brushing his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch, but he didnât pull away. Gently, she guided his arm away from where heâd been clutching his side, revealing the bruises and burns scattered across his flesh. Her stomach churned, but her hands remained steady. She had no room for hesitation, no time to falter.
As she worked, she whispered to him, not apologies this time, but reassurances. âIâm with you now, Iâll make this right, even if itâs only for now.â
As expected, he didnât speak, didnât move beyond the involuntary twitches of his battered body. But his eyes stayed on her, betraying a silent acknowledgment, a fragile thread of trust.
She tried to focus on the burns on his chest, the raw welts along his ribs, anything but the bruises and blood marking his inner thighs. But eventually, she had no choice. The damage there couldnât be ignored. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she shifted closer, and her hands trembled for the first time that day.
She couldnât comprehend it. Couldnât understand how anyone could twist a man into this, into something pliable, stripped of will, used like a puppet for their every vile whim. The red book and the chair had shattered his mind, and then theyâd wielded that power not only to carry out their heinous crimes but also to satiate their carnal perversions.Â
âSoldat,â she said softly as she crouched closer. âI need to see the rest.â
His chest started to rise and fall in shallow breaths. His lip was caught between his teeth, bitten hard enough to draw blood. The distant, vacant expression heâd worn before had given way to something else now, resignation, or shame.
âI know,â she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. âI know it's private -should it be-, and it hurts a lot⌠but I promise Iâll make it better, yes?â
Her tone was as soft as she could make it, the kind someone might use with a frightened child. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he exhaled and shifted ever so slightly, granting her access. The movement wasnât much, but it spoke volumes. He didnât fight her. He didnât resist. Even now, after everything, he complied.
âThank you,â she whispered. Her hands moved carefully, brushing his battered flesh with as much gentleness as she could muster. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her focus on the healing, not on the tears threatening to spill over. Every touch she had to make felt like another betrayal of his dignity, but she couldnât leave him like this, they wouldnât leave him like this.
âItâs not fair,â she said under her breath âFuck, itâs not fair.â
Every so often, her gaze flicked to his face, but he didnât look at her this time. His eyes were closed, and his body was eerily still except for the faint shudder of his breathing.
â-
Some days, she wondered if he resented her. If he was even capable of that. She wasnât the one inflicting the pain, wasnât the one abusing him, but she was the one who ensured he survived it. She pieced him together, over and over, a cruel kind of mercy that prolonged his torment. Without her, they wouldnât have been able to keep breaking him the way they did.
It haunted her.
Sometimes, it seemed like he remembered her. On the rare occasions when his body was whole and he wasnât immediately dragged back out for another mission or another âsession,â his vacant gaze would linger on her. Just a flicker of recognition in those haunted blue eyes, something that made her wonder if, somewhere beneath the chaos theyâd inflicted on his mind, a part of him knew who she was.
Other times, he didnât seem to know her at all. He would stare past her like she wasnât even there. She didnât know which was worse: the possibility that he hated her or the possibility that he didnât think of her at all.
-----
Nine years had passed since her escape from their clutches. Nine years since Captain America and his team put down Pierce and dismantled Hydraâs plans, Â the Soldat went missing and she got away in the chaos of the fight.
In the early days, survival had been a constant struggle. Sheâd wandered aimlessly at first, her coarse, prison-like clothes drawing stares from strangers who gave her a wide berth. The world was unrecognizable: a kaleidoscope of flashing screens, roaring cars, and people glued to strange, glowing devices. Everything felt faster, louder, and infinitely more confusing than the world she remembered.
For a couple of days, she kept to the shadows, but the hunger and desperation eventually pushed her to the edge. One night, trembling and exhausted, she walked into a police station. The officer at the front desk glanced at her with a mixture of suspicion and concern, likely wondering if she had escaped from a mental institution. And maybe, in a way, she had. She tried to explain, spilling out her words in a garbled mess of decades-old trauma. She told them about being taken, about Hydra, about the years spent in cryo. The officer raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked her to sit while he "sorted things out."
She knew they didnât believe her. Not until one of the younger officers, fresh off patrol, walked in with a nasty road burn on his arm. She didnât think, just acted. In seconds, the wound knitted itself back together under her glowing hands. The room fell silent, every set of eyes fixed on her in a mix of fear and awe.
From there, things moved quickly. The police dug into her story, and to everyoneâs shock, her name and photo flagged a cold case from October 1962, a missing person report filed by her family. A woman who had disappeared without a trace, and presumed dead after two years of fruitless searching.
But what the police uncovered was too big for them to handle alone. They passed her case to federal authorities, and soon, she found herself in the hands of people who promised her a fresh start, though she quickly learned that nothing came without strings attached.
The feds helped her establish a new identity, gave her a place to live, and taught her how to navigate the modern world. In exchange, she worked for them using her mutant powers to heal injuries, aid covert operations, and clean up the messes no one else could.Â
Still, the past lingered in her mind, haunting her in the quiet moments. She often wondered what had become of the Winter Soldier, since freedom, she realized, was not the same as peace.
In the years that followed, she began piecing the fragments of her past into the puzzle of the present. The world had changed in ways she struggled to comprehend, yet she adapted, carving out a relatively ânormalâ existence.
Then, one day, she heard his name.
James Buchanan Barnes.
She learned about him in bits and pieces from news reports and whispered conversations among the people she worked with. Steve Rogers' best friend. The Winter Soldier.
The details unfolded like a tragic epic: framed in a terrorist attack, slipping under the radar, fighting in Wakanda, only to vanish in the Blip. And then, five years later, he returned. His face, no longer the blank mask of the Soldat, appeared on screens everywhere as the government pardoned him under strict conditions: mandatory therapy and restricted accommodations, a leash that kept him just shy of true freedom.
She watched every news segment, every interview. He wasnât the weapon she remembered. There was something different in his eyes. Half-masked pain, certainly, but also humanity. He was trying, struggling to reclaim himself, to exist in a world that only knew him as a ghost or a monster.
It wasnât an obsession. At least, thatâs what she told herself. It was curiosity, concern, a connection she couldnât sever no matter how hard she tried. Because no one else could understand what theyâd been through. No one else had seen the depths of his torment, or felt the same chains biting into their skin.
She hadnât planned to ever contact him. The idea terrified her. For all she knew, his fractured mind might not even remember her. Worse, maybe he did and resented her for the role sheâd played, for the way sheâd prolonged his torment under Hydraâs commands. Those thoughts were enough to keep her at a distance, safely watching from the shadows of her new life.
But life and destiny had their ways of unraveling carefully laid plans.
-----
Her work with Sam Wilson had started as another government assignment, one of many designed to keep her powers useful and her secrets buried. Yet, somewhere along the way, it had turned into something more. A friendship. He didnât know about her past -no one did, actually-. He only knew the version of her life the government had scripted, a fabricated identity polished to perfection.
Leaving that aside, she liked him. He had a way of making her feel less like a displaced ghost and more like a person. Sometimes, they hung out after missions, sharing laughs over beers or stories about the ridiculous situations they found themselves in. And when he came back from a mission bruised or limping, she always tried to help.
That friendship had led her here, to a bustling backyard party, with warm laughter and music filling the air. Samâs birthday celebration. She had accepted his invitation without thinking much of it, expecting a relaxed evening with a few familiar faces. What she hadnât expected was to see him.
Standing at the drinks table, not the Winter Soldier, not the cold, empty Soldat she remembered, but James. His shoulders were relaxed, his hair shorter, and his blue eyes clearer than sheâd ever seen them. He looked... alive in a way that left her breathless. For a moment, she froze, and her stomach twisted into knots. But there was no turning back now.
Not when he lifted his face after grabbing a glass of soda, only to find her mere inches away, rooted in place and staring at him like a rabbit in the middle of the road.
Her breath caught, and the world around them seemed to fade into a blur of laughter and music as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.Â
He didnât move, didnât speak. The faintest flicker of something -recognition? confusion?- crossed his face. The glass in her hand suddenly felt heavy, and she tightened her grip around it as her heart raced.
âH-hi,â she managed to mutter, almost lost beneath the hum of the party.
He tilted his head slightly, deliberately, as if weighing her. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then his lips parted, and a single word escaped from them, low and hoarse.
âYou.â
Her stomach dropped while her mind scrambled for a response. Did he remember her? Or was it just the way her face stirred a distant and fractured memory?
âI-â she started, but the words tangled in her throat.
His gaze darted over her, taking her in: the way she clutched the glass like a lifeline, the way her shoulders tensed, the way she made one step back as though retreating was an option.
Samâs voice cut through the moment, cheerful and oblivious. âHey, Buck! Flirting already with one of my girls?â
Bucky flinched, the spell breaking as he snapped his gaze toward Sam, stiffening his posture. âIâm not f-â
âDonât be a dick with her,â Sam interrupted, grinning as if he were the greatest matchmaker alive. âSheâs good people. Y/n, this is Bucky, a pain in the ass but a good friend. Bucky, this is Y/n.â
Buckyâs jaw tightened, his expression still unreadable as his eyes flicked back to her. He didnât speak, didnât offer a hand or a smile, just narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to solve a riddle only he could see.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her instincts screamed at her to move, to flee, to escape his scrutiny before his fractured memories pieced her together.
But she didnât.
Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her lips into what she hoped was a polite and not-too-awkward smile. âNice to meet you,â she said, her voice much steadier than she felt.
Bucky studied her for a moment longer. Finally, he gave a slight nod, stepping back as though heâd decided she wasnât worth the effort of figuring out. âYeah. Same,â he muttered before turning to leave.
As he moved away, she exhaled, a shaky breath she hadnât realized she was holding. Her grip on the glass trembled, the adrenaline coursing through her leaving her both relieved and strangely disappointed.
âDonât take it personally,â Sam intervened, leaning in with a knowing smirk. âHe specializes in a heterogeneous game of staring, brooding, and groaning. Dry comments here and there, too.â
She let out a soft, nervous laugh, grateful for the break in tension. âGood to know,â she murmured, still gripping the glass tightly.
Sam patted her shoulder with the easy camaraderie of someone who had no idea the weight of the moment that had just passed. âHeâs not so bad once you get past all the walls. Might take a while to crack that nut, but hey, who knows?â
-----
Two months later, Sam called her for a job.
âItâs a simple mission,â heâd explained. âPoland. The higher-ups want you to stay at the safehouse most of the time in case something goes wrong, but if we need someone to move unnoticed -play tourist, fetch intel- they figured youâre our best bet.â
She hesitated for a beat, her instincts screaming at her to say no this time. But she had never ditched a mission before and Sam will be there, so she agreed.
When she climbed aboard the military plane early the next morning, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she almost turned around and fled.
Bucky was already sitting there, strapped into his seat, with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was as closed off as ever, and his gaze was fixed somewhere on the cabin wall. Her stomach dropped, and before her brain could process what she was doing, she turned sharply on her heel and headed straight for the cockpit.
The pilots greeted her with raised brows, clearly surprised to see her there before takeoff. She forced a nervous smile, chatting with them about flight logistics, weather conditions, anything to stretch the time and delay the inevitable.
âShouldnât you be back in the cabin?â one of them asked eventually, glancing at her curiously.
âJust thought Iâd keep you company,â she replied, slightly strained.
The hum of the planeâs engines growing louder reminded her she couldnât hide forever. She exhaled deeply, gripping the doorframe. Maybe, she could slip into some corner, unnoticed once the plane was in the air.
But life wasnât so kind.
âSamâs voice came loud and clear, calling her. âCâmon, youâre holding us up!â
Buckyâs head turned, locking his sharp gaze onto her the moment she entered. His expression didnât shift -no frown, no surprise- but what she saw in those blue eyes made her knees threaten to buckle.
She forced herself to take a steadying breath. âHi,â she greeted the two men quickly, her voice barely above a murmur, before moving to the furthest seat she could find.
Her hands fumbled as she pulled a book from her bag, flipping it open without even checking the page. She pretended to read, scanning the same line over and over as if the words might somehow shield her from the weight of Buckyâs stare.
Sam furrowed his brows, glancing between them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Heâd been prepared for the usual brooding and disagreements from Bucky -his default settings on most missions- but heâd expected her to be more engaged. Sheâd always been sharp and chatty, quick to offer solutions or crack a joke, but now she seemed... distant.
He leaned toward Bucky, âDid you scare her off already before I got here?â
Bucky shot him an unimpressed sidelong glance. âI didnât say a word.â
Sam, determined to break the awkward silence, leaned back in his seat and raised his voice. âAlright, weâre stuck in this tin can for the next few hours. Someone better start talking, or Iâm gonna make us all play twenty questions.â
She forced a small smile, though her eyes remained glued to the book. âYou win. Iâm reading.â
He huffed dramatically, shaking his head. âTough crowd.â Then he turned back to Bucky. âGuess itâs just you and me, Buck.â
Bucky didnât respond, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before settling on the wall ahead. His expression remained impassive, but his metal fingers tapped against his thigh, the only sign of some internal debate.
-----
After a while, Sam, ever persistent, leaned forward, and turned to her âSo,â he started, casually but probing, âyou ever been to Poland in other mission before? Got any recommendations for pierogi spots or are we flying blind here?â
She hesitated, tightening slightly her fingers on the edge of her book. Avoiding interaction had been her plan, but the pointed look Sam sent her way made it clear he wasnât going to let her off the hook.
Finally, she closed the book with a soft sigh, forcing herself to meet his expectant gaze. âNo, never been,â she replied, cautious. âThough I think I read somewhere KrakĂłwâs old town is nice.â
Sam grinned, seizing the opportunity. âKrakĂłw, huh? Iâll take that as a vote to play tourist if we get the chance. âMaybe you can even guide us, seeing as youâre good at blending in.â
âI doubt weâll have time, Sammy,â she said quickly, trying to deflect.
âOh, come on,â Sam teased, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated grin. âYouâre one of the friendliest people I know. Youâll probably charm us into some exclusive spots. Earn your keep!â
She let out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking her head. âI think youâve mistaken âfriendlyâ for âquiet enough not to get in trouble.ââ
Sam smirked, undeterred. âNah, youâve got that vibe. People trust you, and open up to you. Donât think I havenât noticed how often you walk away with more intel than anyone else.â
Her fingers tensed slightly on the edge of her book, but she forced herself to smile. âIâll take that as a compliment... I think.â
âIt is,â Sam replied, his tone warm and easy. âAnd Iâm just saying, if we do get downtime, weâre counting on you to find the good spots.â
âIâll see what I can do,â she managed to say, though her stomach churned under Buckyâs relentless stare.
He hadnât said a word, but the weight of his gaze made every exchange feel heavier like he was dissecting her responses, searching for cracks in her calm facade. She refused to look at him, focusing instead on Samâs cheerful grin.
Sam clapped his hands together. âThatâs the spirit. See, Buck? Sheâs already proving more useful than you.â
Bucky huffed, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. âYeah, well, letâs see if sheâs still useful when things go south.â
Her stomach tightened at his words, though she kept her face carefully neutral. It wasnât outright hostility, but the skepticism in his tone felt like a challenge, a warning wrapped in a dry comment.
Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head. âMan, youâve gotta work on your people skills. Not everyone you meet is gonna double-cross you, you know.â
Bucky didnât respond and bit his lower lip as he looked away, clearly done with the conversation.
She forced a small smile, trying to defuse the tension. âI think heâs just saying I should prove myself first.â
Sam shot her an encouraging look. âYou donât need to prove anything to him. Trust me, youâre good-â
âSam,â Bucky intervened almost dryly. âIâm just saying what weâre all thinking. This isnât sightseeing. Itâs a mission. If sheâs not-â
âI can handle myself,â she interrupted, managing to keep her voice steady despite the sudden rush of heat to her face.
The fact that she addressed directly to him got Buckyâs attention. He turned, locking his gaze onto hers, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than the thrum of the plane���s engines.
âGuess weâll find out,â he murmured, leaning back slightly in his seat. He kept staring at her sharply and unyielding. After a beat of silence, he added, âAnd, actually, what exactly do you do?â
Fuck.
The question wasnât casual, she could see it in the way his eyes stayed fixed on her, a glint of something just beneath the surface. He knew. He was waiting for her to say it, to confirm what he already remembered but was pretending not to.
Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between them. âBucky, come on. Sheâs solid, alright? I wouldnât bring her along if she wasnât.â
Bucky didnât even glance at him. His attention stayed locked on her. âI didnât say she wasnât solid. Just curious what her... specialty is.â
She forced herself to take a steadying breath. If he wanted to play coy, fine. Two could play that game.
âIâm good at staying unnoticed,â she said, feigning a casual tone âRecon, blending in, getting intelâŚâ She shrugged lightly, as though explaining her skill set was just a routine part of the job.
Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in faint amusement. âThat it?â
She gave him a polite smile, curling her fingers around the edge of the book on her lap. âWell, Iâve been told Iâm handy in a pinch. Letâs just say Iâve got a knack for fixing things.â
His lips quirked, but the expression didnât quite reach his eyes. âFixing things, huh?â
âYeah,â she replied smoothly, ignoring the way her heart raced under his scrutiny. âLittle cuts, scrapes, that kind of thing. Nothing too fancy.â
Sam, oblivious to the subtle tension between them, chuckled. âDonât let her undersell it. She devours. Saved my ass more than once, you wouldnât believe the absolute carnage I've seen her mend.â
âGood to know,â Bucky commented, with his gaze still locked on her. There was something in his eyes -something sharp-, almost daring her to break first, but she didnât flinch.
âJust doing my job.â She added, her eyes still glued to the unreadable baby blues.
Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say more but decided against it.
Sam glanced between them. âIt's pretty early for a staring contest.â
She didnât answer; she just smiled at him and returned her focus to the book. He remembered, she was sure of it.
Still, if he wanted her to confirm it outright, heâd have to try harder. For now, sheâd play his game, and she was determined to win.
-----
The safehouse was a two-bedroom apartment in an old building that groaned with every step. It was cramped but functional, the kind of place that wouldnât draw attention. As they settled in, Sam tossed his bag onto one of the worn couches and stretched like a cat.
âAlright,â he said, grinning at her. âDo us all a favor and work your magic in the kitchen. I havenât had a proper meal in weeks, and I canât survive on takeout and those protein bars Bucky packs.â
She raised an eyebrow but didnât argue. Cooking would give her something to focus on, and it was the perfect excuse to isolate for a couple of hours.
âFine, letâs see what I can do,â she muttered, scurrying inside the kitchen.
âYouâre the best!â Sam called, grabbing his jacket. âIâll be back soon, gotta meet a contact nearby. You two... play nice.â
The sound of the door closing made her grimace. She exhaled slowly, tying an old apron on her waist as she dug through the sparse pantry and fridge. Within minutes, she was chopping some potatoes, humming Animals while she was at it, because fuck it all.
She felt the weight of his gaze pressed against her back like a physical thing before she heard him. He stood in the kitchen doorway, quiet and unmoving, a presence impossible to ignore.
Her grip on the knife tightened, but she didnât turn around. âNeed something?â
âNo.â The simple word carried so much weight that it made her pause mid-cut.
She exhaled slowly and resumed her task. âThen why are you standing there?â
He didnât answer immediately, and the silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.
âYouâre good at it.â
Her hand froze. âAt what?â
âPretending.â
She forced herself to keep chopping, while her pulse hammered in her ears. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â
âSure you donât.â His tone didnât carry malice, but the words felt heavier than any accusation. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. âI remember you.â
Her chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt smaller. âYouâre mistaken,â she said flatly.
âIâm not.â He took another step forward. His tone was soft, but the words were unrelenting. âYou were there. Hydra.â
Next Chapter ->
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