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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago

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Baby Love | Joel Miller

A Trial & Error One Shot

Summary | It's coming to the end of lambing season, but there's one sheep left to give birth. Noticing she's struggling, you spend the night trying to soothe her, reflecting on your own experiences in her position.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Warnings | Joel & Pretty Girl are still as horny as ever for each other so this is explicit. Mentions of ranching, sheep and animals giving birth. Mentions of human childbirth and pregnancy (I have never had my own children so please go easy on me), also mentions of how dirty it is when a sheep gives birth (blood/guts ect). Explicit smut including oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV smut IN THE BARN, creampie, Joel being a menace, PRETTY GIRL ALSO BEING A MENACE. No use of Y/N, no-outbreak AU.

Authors Note | It has been such a joy to write Pretty Girl again, I've missed her something terrible, and I'm so happy that the dynamic between her and Joel is still going strong, even if I have abandoned them for a while. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and if there are any aspects of this families lives that you'd like to see, feel free to request it in my ask box!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Lambing season is coming to an end - something you’re eternally grateful for. It’s been a busy few weeks - early mornings and late nights for both Joel and Tommy, leaving you with the twins, Joshua and Ellie to keep entertained. Not that you’d have it any other way - your dysfunctional little family makes you happy every day.

With Joshua at school and the twins with Joel as he took Ellie into town for an appointment, you’re out in the fields with Tommy, making sure the remaining sheep yet to give birth are doing alright. You don’t profess to being an expert, but you’d like to think that your motherly instincts can go beyond humans, knowing when certain sheep are due and when some of them are starting to struggle.

It’s been an easy lambing season this year - most of the girls are seasoned professionals by now, needing only a light touch and a refill of their water more than anything, but there’s one sheep you are worried about. She was from lambing season a few years ago and this will be her first time. When you head into the barn, she’s stood in the corner of one of the pens, moving very little but bleating every once in a while. You know it’ll happen soon, but you’re worried about her.

“Don’t worry your head, sugar,” Tommy soothes, running a hand down the back of your head when it’s time to leave, “It’s nature, she’ll know what to do.”

But, led in bed that night, there’s something that you can’t push from the back of your mind. This worry that takes over you. She’ll be on her own in there, being one of the very last to give birth, and what if she’s scared? What if something goes wrong? You remember how scared you’d been when it came to having Joshua.

So you sigh, push back the sheets, and get dressed. You leave Tommy a note in case he wakes in the night and worries about where you are. You can’t say the horses in the small stable next to the house are enthused about having a torched shined at them in the middle of the night, but thankfully yours doesn’t put up much fuss when you saddle it and make the journey through the dark fields to the barn.

Flicking on the lights, you’re immediately glad you came. The sheep in question is led on her side, breathing laboured and fast. As you walk towards her, she kicks her legs a little and lets out a pained bleat.

“I know baby,” You coo, making sure the gate is shut behind you, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

You fall to your knees in the soft hay a little way from her, hoping not to spook her, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. She’s led down near the wall, so you crawl over a little and lean your back against it, stretching your legs out, just to be near her if she needs you.

The sheep lets out another pained bleat but she moves a little, up from her side and onto her feet. She walks closer to you, leaning down to prod your hand with her nose. You let out a little chuckle, letting your hand run down her head. The ranch dog likes when you scratch behind his ears, so you do the same here, which has her settling back down onto her side with her head on your thigh.

“It’s one of the most wonderful things,” You speak to her softly, continuing to pet at her head, “Having babies, but they always forget to mention how much it fucking hurts.”

She lets out another soft bleat, moving her body a little to get comfortable, or as comfortable as is possible when you’re in labour.

Watching her, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to your experience in her position. The first twinges of pain, low in your back that turned into pain everywhere. There wasn't a single position that was comfortable, no way to sit or lie or stand that could take the pain away. Then there was the exhaustion - after hours of waiting and more time pushing and pushing, there were moments when you didn’t think you could do it anymore, that you’d just close your eyes, drift off and wake up with a lovely, healthy baby perched in your arms.

But then, there’s that moment of relief, when the midwife had told you it’s okay honey, one more push and it’ll be done and it was and you could hear him crying and then he was on your chest and you were crying and so was Tommy. No-one ever mentions that bit either - how within seconds you could look down at a baby, your baby, and be completely and utterly in love with him. That’s what made it all worth it. That’s what made you want to do it again. It’s what makes you think you’d do it for the rest of your life if you could, just to have that one moment where that baby is in your arms for the first time.

“It’s worth it though,” You speak down to the sheep, “All this pain will be worth it in the end when we’ve got your beautiful little lamb with us.”

And it is. It’s all a bit dramatic in the end. The lamb gets stuck and you need to offer a helping hand to get it out, but almost immediately the mother sheep is doing exactly what she should, cleaning it off as you do the thing you’ve seen Joel do to help clear it’s airways, sticking a little bit of hay up one of it’s nostrils.

“Look mama,” You coo at the older sheep, a hand on her head as she works to get her little lamb clean, “Look what you did, you clever girl.”

Joel doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the barn that morning, but it certainly wasn’t to see you on your knees in the hay, rubbing a newborn lamb with straw. He can see from this angle that your clothes are filthy, covered in blood and God knows what else. Did you…? Have you….?

“Pretty girl,” He speaks softly, not sure you know he’s there, “What are you doing?”

You turn to him and it’s clear to see you’ve done exactly what he thinks you have and helped this sheep give birth, the gunk all over your clothes is also wiped across your cheek and forehead.

“She-” You trail off, “The sheep, she was struggling and I didn’t want her to be on her own.”

He opens the gate to the pen, walking in to fall beside you on his knees, “Have you been here all night?” He asks, letting his hands give the small lamb the once over.

“Pretty much,” You nod, “We had a lovely talk, didn’t we?” You ask to the mother sheep who is standing a few steps away, carefully observing Joel as he looks at her lamb.

“Did she do okay?”

“I had to get in there at the end,” You explain to him, “I think it was stuck, so I just gave her a little helping hand.”

Once he’s satisfied that the lamb is okay he shuffles back a little, watching as you do the same, letting the mother sheep have some time with her baby, “You did a good job,” He praises, letting his hand run down the back of you head, “Proud of you, pretty girl.”

He helps you to you feet, bends a little to brush as much stray hay from your jeans as he can before he steps back and really takes you in. It’s unconventional, but there’s something about the fact that you’ve got your hands dirty, spent your night here on your own to help one of his sheep, and the fact that you’re covered in dirt and hay, something about it all makes his jeans go a little tighter, something that he’s not quick enough to hide.

“Are you hard, cowboy?” He hears you tease before you’re stepping forward, “Does the sight of me covered in blood and guts turn you on?”

He rolls his eyes and turns his back on you, leaving the pen now he’s satisfied the sheep will be okay, but he can hear your feet following him and then your hand on his arm to get him to stop.

“You’ve not gone all shy on me, have you?” You speak softly, gently moving him so he turns a little.

“Have I ever been shy, pretty girl?”

“Then tell me,” You shrug, smirk plastered across your face, “Does this,” He watches as you drag a hand over the mess that is your clothes, “Turn you on?”

“You wanna know the truth?” He asks, voice low, “I wanna bend you over and get you to shut the hell up.”

Joel can’t help but let his own smirk show when your eyebrows raise, but it’s a fleeting later in your guise, because you’re turning around, showing him your back as you walk towards the stacked bales of hay in the corner. He can hear the clinking of your belt buckle and the telltale sound of you unzipping your jeans.

He’s stuck to the ground as he watches you pull down your jeans and your underwear, baring your backside to him. You pull them all the way down, letting them pool at your ankles as you spread your legs a little wider, bending yourself over the hay in the exact position he had in his head.

“Come on then cowboy,” You say, head turned over your shoulder to speak to him, “Come and shut me the hell up.”

It’s been an automatic response of his for years now, that when you present yourself to him, in any way, he falls to his knees like someone praying to an altar, and today is no different. He’s on his knees behind you, at just the right height to grip his palms to your ass, spread you open wide for him.

He wastes no time, he rarely does anymore, letting his mouth close over the hole of your pussy, somehow already weeping for him. He lets his tongue dip inside, lapping at your slick. It’s been years and he still doesn’t think he’ll get over how good you taste, how it lingers on his tongue for hours whilst he goes about his day.

Whilst he’s lapping up your slick, he lets one of his hands reach around, thumb searching out your clit, little circles rubbed across the little bud. He listens, feeling his cock throb in his jeans when you let out a gasp and a little moan.

“Not so talkative now, are we, pretty girl?” He mumbles, barely pulling off your pussy to speak, before he’s switching his hand and his mouth, leaning just enough so his tongue can flick against your clit, one of his fingers slipping inside you easily.

He chuckles against you when you moan at the curling of his fingers inside you - he loves when he can reduce you to a whimpering mess in seconds. It doesn’t take him long to feel the telltale signs that he’s going to make you come either. He can feel you start to fluttering around the two fingers he now has buried inside you, can feel the way you try and tighten your thighs around his face, so he carries on exactly how he is - suckling at your clit and moving his fingers in and out of your cunt until you’re coming for him, a high-pitched moan of his name from your mouth.

Joel doesn’t wait, he can’t wait. He stands, making quick work of pushing his own jeans and underwear from his body, finally freeing his aching cock from the tight confines of his trousers. He spits obscenely into his palm, running a tight fist up and down his length a few times before he’s dipping his knees, rubbing the head of his cock against the slick hole of your cunt, listening as he pushes himself inside you, giving you every inch of him as slowly as he possibly can, until he’s sheathed inside your tight heat.

He leans forward, covering your body with his own, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he gets used to the feeling of you clenching and fluttering around him. He can feel you wiggling a little under him, trying to get him to move, so he brings one of his hands to the nape of your neck, squeezing a little, stopping your movements altogether.

“Keep still,” He warns, “You need to keep still a minute, baby.”

There’s never going to be a time where he doesn’t need to do this. The soft, wet heat of your cunt and those first movements inside you that make him feel like he’s eighteen again, ready to come with a few thrusts.

He gives himself another minute before he starts pulling his cock out of you, slowly dragging through your slick until just the tip is left inside you, then he’s slamming himself back into you, setting a bruising pace.

The sound is obscene - there’s the wet squelch he can hear whenever he pushes his cock back into you, the slapping of his skin against yours and the way you both sound when you’re moaning each others names. He’s not going to last long, he knows it. All of this combined with the fact that anyone could wander in and see you has a thrill settling across his spine.

Joel leans forward again, letting his teeth bite down gently on the skin of your neck. He can feel the way your cunt is clenching, if he can just hold on, just a little longer, he can get another one from you, he knows it.

“Tell me,” He chokes out into your ear, “Tell me how to get you there.”

You let out a loud moan, turning your face to his, kissing him, all teeth and tongue and clumsy, “Bite me again.”

So he does, he lets his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking gently, sure to leave a mark, his hand slinking underneath your belly and down to your pussy, soaked bud of nerves exposed just right for him to use his fingers to swirl across it a few times.

“Oh my God-” He can hear you moaning, “Joel, fuck, please, don’t stop, just like that.”

Within seconds, he can feel you coming on his cock - cunt pulled tight, sucking him in. He feels the gush of slick from your pussy too, cock angled just right to have you squirting for him, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. It’s the tightening of your walls around him that sets his own orgasm off - that flush of pleasure across his body that blooms even more as he empties himself inside you. He can feel everything, the way your pussy clenches every time he gives you more, sucking his spend in as deep as possible.

He pushes himself up off you a little, hands on your hips, frantically sucking in air. He groans a little as he pulls himself from your cunt, standing back to admire how his cum drips from you. He doesn’t linger long, bending down to pull your clothes back up, gentle kiss pressed to the swell of your bottom as he does. He lets you zip yourself up whilst he puts himself right.

“Well, that was a great start to the morning.” You muse, pressing up on your tiptoes, gripping at his flannel shirt.

He’s about to speak when there’s a bleating from the sheep in the pen behind you, you both laugh, “Someone else agrees.”

He dips down, kisses your mouth slowly, gently, “Go and get clean,” He speaks against your lips, turning you around and giving you a tap on your ass as he does, “You’re filthy.”

“Still turns you on though.”

“Go on, get outta here.”

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riovidalupdates · 7 months ago

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LAST GIRL STANDING - ii.

previous part

pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, agatha harkness x fem!reader, rio vidal x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to learn that you can love more than one person—because you love them in different ways. the problem: they love you in one way. so, who are you in love with and who gets hurt?

warnings: minor cursing.

a/n: apologies for taking so long for an update. my job is about 10+ hours for four days and on my off days i'm working on set designs so i'm usually sleeping when i get the chance. please go back and reread the first part of this series as i had revised and edited parts of it while adding more to it. I will be adding a taglist soon, if you wish to for me to add you, let me know! with that, enjoy!

You headed to the library, your mind still racing with the remnants of your conversation with Wanda from last night. You had a few hours before your film history class started, and you needed time to clear your head before facing Agatha, the insanely attractive TA, who had unknowingly occupied a corner of your heart for the past semester. You didn’t really know Agatha well enough (or at all) to say much about her, aside from the occasional conversation about coursework. Yet, you had spent countless hours thinking about her, imagining what it would be like to know her beyond the confines of the classroom.

There was a familiarity to her presence that was both reassuring and nerve-wracking. The few times you’d spoken outside of lectures never seemed to work in your favor. You were unable to get more than two words out before something catastrophic occurred like spilling coffee on yourself, stepping in a pile of dog shit, and maybe tripping over a tree branch into a pit of mud(you are not god's favorite).

You'd scurry away before Agatha could do anything. In fact, you'd just barely hear a quiet but polite, "Goodbye?" You only glance over your shoulder when you were far enough away, seeing the outline of her body still in the same place but with her stare directly at you.

Getting lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the presence of another leaning over the table and whispering, “Careful, y/n. If you think any harder, you might accidentally unlock the secrets of the universe.”

You blink, glancing up and see Wanda. “Or I might just discover where all my missing socks go. That’s probably a more realistic goal.”

The redhead giggles, pulling out the chair next to you and sits. “Hey, I’d argue that’s an even bigger mystery. You’d probably get a Nobel Prize for solving that one.”

“I fear that will only end with me having more mismatched socks and even more questions. And maybe a headache.”

Wanda smiles, tilting her head to the side as she always does when you humor her. You can’t help the warmth of blush creep up on your cheeks and ears. It was a habit when you had that type of attention from her. It was never necessarily a bad thing. More so, weird because you don’t completely understand it. You do, yet you don’t at least.

You continue to watch the way she falls into a fit of giggles as she scrunches up her nose and leans forward, causing her hair to cascade over her shoulders. There was always elegance surrounding Wanda. Wherever her presence was, it followed.

You are never one to deny how objectively gorgeous the shorter girl is, but there’s more to her than just physical features. More to Wanda than what you and everyone else around her knew, though, her soul radiates an amplified aspect of exactly how natural her beauty is. What you may not know, may be the one thing that fuels it all.

“So, what’s got you in a deep thought?” You hear her ask.

“The fact that we as humans grow limbs. We start off as an egg and then we grow. We grow arms, legs, fat, eyeballs, bones. Everything. We do that. We start as nothing and then boom! We have these…” you frail your arms around in front and Wanda has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“How about we go get some snacks before you head to class? I hear thinking causes hunger and existential crisis.”

You smile, nodding your head. “I think you need to start reading again. All those romcoms are getting to you.”

And so what if you’re are going through a form of crisis? Wanda is here. It may not be as easy as flipping a switch, but her presence is enough for you to feel 2% of sanity.

Today is no different. You stayed after class, lingering just long enough to ask Agatha a question about the upcoming exam, hoping it might lead to a longer conversation.

“Do you have any suggestions for additional reading?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Agatha looked up from the papers she was grading, her expression thoughtful. “There’s a great essay on sexuality and gender within horror films if you’re interested in some extra insight. I can send you the link if you’d like.”

“That would be great,” you replied, and for a moment, your eyes met in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

But then, just like that, she turned back to grading, and the moment was gone. It was always like this—brief glimpses of something deeper, but never enough to grasp. You couldn’t tell if you were reading too much into it, or if there really was a chance that Agatha saw you as more than just another student.

It really shouldn’t be much of a shock to you. The two of you are nothing more than just a student and a teacher assistant. You aren’t friends. She has no need to delve into her personal life with you.

While Agatha has checked out from the conversation, you hadn’t. There’s more that you want to say. Though, the longer you stand frozen in place, the longer the moment has passed. It would be weird to say anything else now.

“Have a good day,” you bid. While leaving the classroom, you tried to shake off the disappointment that seemed to linger, refusing to be ignored. It had been easier when you could write off your feelings for Agatha as a simple crush, a harmless admiration for someone who probably didn’t know you existed beyond the realm of academia.

You weren't sure what you wanted from her, exactly. A part of you longed for more than the polite interactions, yet another part feared what would happen if that boundary was ever crossed. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you found yourself second-guessing if you should do anything.

“If you would hold for a minute, L/N!”

“No.”

You’re halfway out the building when he steps in your line of vision. You grip onto the strap of your bag, clutching it close. Must he always act like you two are buds?

Vision chuckles, stopping in front of you and a bit too close than usual. Then again, he’s never been good with boundaries or personal space. He’s like a parasite. Constantly attaching himself to someone and sucking the life out of them if it benefits him, he happens to have a talent of hiding it well enough for it not to be noticed.

While you have negative emotions towards the man, you don’t entirely resent him in ways you wish you did. So what if he does forget about the dinner plans that you spend hours on for him to impress Wanda? Or gets too annoyed for how much time she spends with you (ya know the person who walked in diapers with her)? Or when Wanda mentions that she doesn’t need riches, she only needs sincerity and he gifts her a new car?

Okay, maybe he’s got one too many poor attributes to his character, however, there are aspects that make him not inherently the douchebag you desperately want him to be.

Like—“You are rather a chirpy one, aren’t you?”

You stare at him with no amusement written on your face. “My interests lies anywhere but you.”

He shares the ‘boy next door’ charm of a smile, shoving his hand in his pocket, and kicks the toe of your shoe. “I am here to request a favor,” he starts, “I have upset Wanda by overstepping her boundaries. Before speaking your mind, I have apologized to her this morning—“

“—what is your favor?” You asked annoyed.

“I wish to give Wanda a formal apology. Do you recall when she and I were to attend that music festival a couple years back and then we were unable to for unforeseen circumstances?”

You nodded your head, motioning him to continue on.

“Well, I remember you had mentioned that you knew one of the bands performing because you have a friend apart of it. I just-Wanda was and still is a massive fan. You know our 3 year anniversary is coming up-“

“—you can’t buy tickets?” You snickered.

You could tell he was getting slightly irritated by your interruptions. Good. He should for disrupting your semi-peaceful state of mind.

“Forget it. You’re such a nuisance.” He huffs, walking off and all you can do is give him a wave.

You knew what he was going to ask and you weren’t sure if you would have said yes to it or not..

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #witches #rio vidal #wandavision #wanda maximoff #agatha x rio #agathario #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #disney+#marvel #fanfic #wanda x agatha x rio x reader

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colouredbyd · 20 days ago

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The Nightingale VI: The Capitol Has Teeth

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: a wounded alliance begins to form. old memories resurface under the cover of night—constellations, names, and things left unsaid. the arena is changing, and the Capitol is already tightening its grip.

warnings: scenes of violence, characters death, graphic content, blood, emotional distress, violence, injury care, body horror (mild), themes of control and helplessness, mild language, intense fear, reflective of the brutal nature of the Hunger Games.

word count: 8.9k (totally didnt take 3 days to write)

authors note: i love this chapter so so much, ugh. ps. so many hidden easters in this chapter..

previous part next part series masterlist main masterlist

This is day two of the Games, and the Garden is changing.

The trees loom higher than they did yesterday—though maybe it’s not the trees that have grown. Maybe it’s me, shrinking by the hour, forgetting how to measure anything except the ache in my chest and the sound of my own heartbeat.

The canopy above is a patchwork of rust-colored leaves, their edges curled and blackened like they’ve been touched by fire. They drip something sticky onto the ground, sap or blood or something that smells too sweet to be natural. The earth beneath our feet shifts softly sometimes, like it's breathing. And in the corners of my vision, I keep catching flickers—ghosts of motion, glimmers of light that vanish when I try to focus. I turn my head and see nothing but bark. Stones that look like teeth. Vines that might’ve been ropes.

We don’t speak. There’s no need to. The silence between us is heavier than the air.

Regulus walks ahead, every step deliberate. That same quiet intensity he’s always carried—like he was carved from silence and taught how to move without making the world flinch. He reads the terrain with his eyes, his hands, the angle of his shoulders. Every few paces, his fingers lift to the back of his neck—light and quick, like a whisper he’s trying to chase away. I’ve seen him do it before. I didn’t think much of it then. But now, I see how often. How unconscious. Like a tether—his mind checking a leash only he can feel.

He hasn’t spoken since last night. Neither have I. There’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t come out as a prayer or a scream.

Yesterday there were three cannons. Three faces in the sky.

Emmeline Vance from District 4. Mundungus Fletcher from 12. Hestia Jones from 8.

I didn’t know them—not really. I remembered their faces at the Reaping, the slight tremble in Hestia’s hands, the way Emmeline had kept her chin raised too high, defiant even when her voice cracked. But names blur quickly out here. Still, I forced myself to look. To hold their eyes as long as the sky would let me. It felt like the only thing I could offer—acknowledgement. A witness. Something human.

My heart clenched, waiting for a fourth. Bracing for the face I wouldn’t survive seeing. But it didn’t come.

No Regulus.

And the relief that washed over me was sharp and selfish and so full of guilt I could barely stand it. Because part of me still thinks that as long as he’s alive, I can be too. Like if I can just keep him breathing, I won't become one of those faces. A name no one knew well enough to mourn. But maybe that’s a lie we tell ourselves to keep walking.

I glance at Regulus again and wonder, not for the first time, what it’s cost him to survive all this. What corners of himself he’s had to cut away to keep going. What softness he’s buried. What screams he’s swallowed.

His profile is turned to the trees now, neck long and throat bruised with old scrapes. There’s a sliver of dried blood along his collarbone—too thin to worry about but too stark to ignore. His hands hang loose at his sides, stained from the last time we dug through mud for shelter. Hands that used to tremble in the Capitol’s glare. Hands that no longer do.

The Capitol doesn’t need to kill you with blades or bombs. It just waits. Patient, calculating. Watching as the days chip away at you until there’s nothing left but instinct and ash. Until the war lives in your bones and mercy is a myth you no longer afford. It doesn’t pull the trigger—it hands you the weapon, then teaches you how to aim at yourself.

It silences you slowly. Hollowing out the soft parts first—grief, love, hope—until only survival remains. It makes memory sharp. Makes kindness dangerous. It turns every name you loved into a weakness, every soft moment into something that could get you killed. That’s the Capitol’s real talent: it doesn’t need to kill you. It teaches you how to do it on your own.

And Regulus—he carries every one of those lessons behind his eyes. He walks like someone who’s memorized loss. Like the air itself cuts him, and still he keeps moving. He doesn’t look back. Maybe because he can’t. Maybe because looking means remembering. And remembering means bleeding all over again.

But I do. I always do.

Because someone has to. Someone has to hold onto what we were before they renamed us tributes and strung us up like symbols. Someone has to remember that we were people once. That we had birthdays and favorite songs. That we laughed. That kindness wasn’t a liability.

I wonder if he remembers that, too. Or if he buried hope with the rest of the dead.

We keep walking, the Garden thick around us, the silence breathing down our necks. And still, I say nothing.

But gods, I want to.

I want to call his name and watch it settle on his skin like something warm. I want to press my hand to the curve of his spine and remind him that he doesn’t have to carry all of this alone.

I want him to look at me the way he used to—like I was something he couldn’t afford to lose.

Not here. Not in the Garden, where the trees eavesdrop and the wind keeps score. Here, tenderness is a trap.

He doesn’t need to tell me why he’s quiet. I already know.

The longer we’re still, the louder the Garden gets. The wind carries laughter sometimes, or the sound of footsteps that don’t belong to either of us. Once I swore I heard my mother singing. The exact lullaby she used to hum when I couldn’t sleep. The notes hung between the branches like fruit.

Because we both knew the truth: the arena isn’t just a place.

It’s a mind.

It watches. It learns. It carves open your past and feeds it back to you with blood on its fingers. It waits until you forget you’re a tribute, and then it strikes. Not with teeth or claws, but with memories. With softness. With the illusion of something kind, until it becomes the thing that kills you.

I walk beside him now, watching the way he moves—controlled, deliberate, like he’s holding something back. Maybe rage. Maybe grief. Maybe something colder. There’s a part of me that wants to reach for him, to remind him I’m still here. That we’re not entirely gone yet. But I don’t.

I haven’t spoken since the camera shattered. I don’t think Regulus has either.

The Garden is quieter than it was yesterday. Not peaceful—never peaceful. Just… still. Like the calm that presses down on your chest right before a scream. Even the birds are gone, if they were ever real to begin with.

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve blinked without seeing anything at all.

How many times I’ve heard my name, whispered low and sweet, threading through the trees like a secret—and turned to find nothing but bark and silence. The branches know my name now. They’ve learned how to say it with the same lilt my brother used to, the same pause my mother would make before pulling me into her arms.

I think I’m starting to forget what real sounds like. What true sounds like.

We were moving through a dense patch of undergrowth when something ahead caught the corner of my eye. It wasn’t a sound or a cry—just the faintest flicker of motion, too small to be a threat, too subtle to ignore. I stopped. My foot hovered above a root as my gaze dropped to the forest floor, sifting through the layers of leaves and dirt.

That’s when I saw him.

A boy, half-swallowed by the roots of an overturned tree—limbs tangled like he’d fallen from the sky and the forest had tried to claim him before he hit the ground. His body was twisted awkwardly, one leg bent beneath him, the other dragged out behind like he’d been running and never quite stopped. Dirt smudged his cheek, blood crusted at his temple, and his arm was curled protectively over his ribs, as if even unconscious, he was trying to shield something.

For a breathless second, I thought he was dead.

Then his fingers moved—just once. A faint tremble, barely there.

I stepped forward before I even realized it, breath catching in my throat.

“We can’t,” Regulus said. His voice was low.

I turned toward him, but he didn’t look at me. His eyes were locked on the boy, sharp and gleaming like the blade he kept hidden at his side. I could feel the tension coiled in him, the way his breath had shortened, how his grip on me tightened just slightly as the boy coughed again.

“What if it’s a setup?” Regulus muttered. “What if someone left him there to draw us out? We’re in the Garden. Nothing’s real here. Not pain. Not mercy. Not dying.”

His hand was still on my arm. The contact sent little aftershocks skimming through my nerves, but it was the way he said dying that made my stomach twist. Like he wasn’t afraid of it, just tired of watching it happen.

“I don’t think he’s pretending,” I said, softer now, but steady. “No one pretends to bleed like that.”

Regulus didn’t let go. He looked at me then, and for a moment, his expression faltered. Just enough for the mask to slip. Just enough for me to see what was beneath it—fear, maybe. Or something heavier.

“I can’t protect you if you walk into a trap.”

I swallowed hard. His fingers were still wrapped around my arm, thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist like he was trying to convince himself it was fine. That I was still breathing. That I was still warm. I could’ve told him I wasn’t the one who needed protecting, not from this, not now—but the words stayed in my throat.

“I’m going,” I said quietly. “You don’t have to come with me. But I’m not walking away.”

I moved toward the boy, lowering myself into a crouch until my knees met the damp, moss-covered earth. The scent of soil and something metallic filled my lungs as I leaned closer. His breathing was shallow and ragged, every rise of his chest uneven, as if each breath was a decision his body had to wrestle with. Blood had seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt, a deep maroon stain spreading across his side, dark and tacky. Most of it had dried, crusted in streaks where it had mingled with dirt and sweat, but fresh droplets still clung near the wound—bright enough to mean danger, slow enough to mean time was running out.

His body looked wrong somehow, too twisted to be resting, too still to be safe. One leg was curled beneath him in an unnatural position, the angle of it suggesting a break or worse. His arm had fallen across his ribs, bent awkwardly as if he'd collapsed mid-flight and never gotten the chance to move again. His face was pale beneath the grime, the sort of pallor that came with too many hours of pain left unattended. One eye was swollen shut, puffed and bruised, while the other remained barely open, glassy and confused. He blinked once, slowly, as if even that motion cost him something. His gaze didn’t quite find mine.

He couldn’t have been older than sixteen. There was something delicate about him, something unfinished, like he hadn’t been given enough time to grow into himself before being thrown into this place. His lips were cracked and flaking, the corners stained with blood and dust. I studied his features, searching for a name, a memory, anything to anchor him to the world outside this nightmare.

He must have been one of the quiet ones during the interviews—the kind of tribute whose voice got lost beneath the roar of louder stories. The kind no one truly noticed until their portrait appeared in the sky, accompanied by that mournful anthem. He didn’t look like a killer. He didn’t look like he belonged in the Games. But then again, none of us did.

The heat coming off him was feverish, burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. It radiated from him in waves, pulsing with every weak breath, and I knew then that the wound had festered longer than it should have. His body was fighting a war it was already losing.

Behind me, I felt the shift of movement before I saw it—Regulus lowering himself into a crouch beside us. His expression was unreadable, all sharp lines and shadows. He didn’t speak. His eyes scanned the boy with clinical precision, taking in the damage, calculating the risk. One hand hovered near his knife, fingers ghosting the hilt like a reflex, like his body didn’t quite know how to be still without the comfort of a blade in reach. But he didn’t draw it. He stayed where he was, close but guarded, alert but not hostile.

The suspicion had not entirely left his features, but it had softened. Not into trust—Regulus didn’t give that freely—but into something quieter, something cautious and heavy with restraint. It was enough. For now.

“His leg’s broken,” he said, scanning the injury like it was a riddle. “Might be his ribs too.”

He stared at the boy a moment longer, then reached into his pack without a word.

That was the thing about him. He didn’t believe in softness, not out loud. But he still acted on it, always in the quietest ways.

Regulus took most of the weight, one of the boy’s arms draped across his shoulder, the other hanging lifeless at his side. I stayed close, supporting from behind, one hand steady on his back, the other ready to grab him if he collapsed. He was light—too light—and every step made him wince. He didn’t say a word. Just stumbled and clung on.

Regulus led the way, his pace steady but quick, each step a careful rhythm, as though he was trying to stay two steps ahead of danger. His eyes flicked over his shoulder frequently, watching the boy who staggered just behind, trying to keep pace. I saw the way his jaw tightened with each stumble, the way his grip on his knife never fully relaxed. He was wary, cautious, a man who had learned the hard way to trust no one. Not even someone in a condition like this boy’s.

The boy’s breathing was shallow, rattling in his chest like the prelude to something worse. He coughed, a wet, miserable sound that seemed to echo through the quiet woods, and muttered something I couldn’t catch. His voice was weak, barely a whisper, and when his head dropped forward, I felt a momentary surge of panic. For a moment, he looked like he might just collapse, crumple under his own weight, and we’d be left here with him, an easy target for whatever might be watching from the shadows.

I slowed my pace, moving closer to him, and whispered, my voice tight with worry. “We’re almost there,” I said, though it felt more like a promise to myself than to him. “Just hold on.”

I wasn’t sure if he even heard me. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, and he swayed as if his body couldn’t quite keep up with the effort of standing. I could feel Regulus watching us, his gaze sharp and calculating. He was already thinking two steps ahead, thinking about the next danger we might face. Even here, in this moment, we weren’t safe.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of winding through the underbrush, we emerged into a small clearing. The trees opened up just enough to give us a breath, the weight of the forest lifting slightly, as if the earth itself had parted to let us pass. The ground beneath us was soft, covered in thick, spongy moss that swallowed the sound of our footsteps, offering a temporary reprieve from the harshness of the forest.

Regulus moved swiftly, lowering the boy to the ground, his movements more tender than I would have expected, more careful than he probably intended to show. I knelt beside the boy, brushing the damp curls from his forehead, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. It was too much warmth, too much for someone so young, someone who had already been through so much.

His breaths came in short, labored gasps, each one sounding like it took all the effort he had left. I could feel the weight of his fever in the tremors of his body, the way his skin was flushed, slick with sweat despite the coolness of the night. I gently pressed my fingers to his wrist, trying to find his pulse, but it was weak, barely there.

I didn’t know how long he could last like this. The wound he’d sustained was bad, worse than I had first thought, and there was nothing we could do for him right now except wait. Wait and watch, hoping it wasn’t too late.

The air around us seemed to hold its breath, the quiet of the forest pressing in from all sides. For a moment, the world felt impossibly still, as if the trees themselves had paused to witness what was happening here.

Regulus moved behind me, his presence a quiet shadow at my back. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his gaze on the boy, feel the tension in the way he stood, watchful and poised. He wasn’t ready to let go of the boy, not yet. I understood that—this was dangerous, and we couldn’t afford to trust anyone fully, not in the Garden.

But as I looked at the boy, his chest rising and falling too slowly, his body trembling with fever, I knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t going to last long unless we did something

I reached for the canteen with steady hands, though inside, I felt anything but calm. The metal was cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from the boy’s fevered body. I tilted it carefully toward his mouth, trying to find the balance between urgency and gentleness. “Can you drink?” I asked, my voice quiet, measured, like I was afraid the sound itself might scare him back into unconsciousness.

His eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and rimmed with dirt, glassy with pain and exhaustion. They looked too old for someone his age—haunted, like he had already seen too much. He blinked up at me slowly, uncomprehending, and his cracked lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Only a thin rasp of air, dry and broken. I tilted the canteen again, just enough to let a trickle of water touch his mouth.

He flinched slightly at first, then swallowed—a small, effortful motion that looked like it took everything out of him. A second later, he coughed, the sound low and grating, each breath catching in his throat like it was scraping against gravel. I steadied his shoulder, trying to keep him upright as his body shook. His skin was far too warm beneath my fingers, and his pulse fluttered weakly like a moth against glass.

Behind me, Regulus stood motionless, arms folded tightly across his chest, his frame half-shadowed by the last light filtering through the trees. His face was a mask—neutral, unreadable—but I knew better than to think he was at ease. His eyes didn’t leave the boy, not for a second. Every twitch of movement, every inhale, every subtle flicker in the boy’s expression was caught in his gaze. He wasn’t just watching—he was assessing. Calculating. Always preparing for the moment things might turn.

The boy stirred a little more, his head turning slightly as his eyes squinted against the light. I leaned closer, my tone softening into something gentler, something I hoped he could anchor to. “Hey,” I murmured. “You’re okay. We found you in the woods. You were hurt, but you’re safe now.”

His gaze darted between us, unfocused and flickering. I saw the fear begin to rise in his eyes—not wild panic, not the kind that screamed or thrashed, but the quieter kind, the kind that sank its teeth in slowly. It was buried beneath layers of exhaustion and pain, but it was there, tightening his expression, making his breath catch as he tried to place where he was and who we were.

“We need to know your name,” I said, more gently now, as though coaxing it out of him could unravel some of the fear. “Just your name, that’s all.”

He didn’t answer right away. His attention snapped to Regulus, narrowed in on him like he sensed something dangerous beneath the silence. I followed his gaze and saw what he did—Regulus hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked, but the stillness of his posture was deceptive. He was coiled beneath it, ready. There was a tension in his stance, like the entire forest could shift and he’d still be the first to react. Something in the boy recognized that. He wasn’t just looking at a stranger. He was looking at a threat.

Finally, after another strained pause, the boy swallowed and whispered, “Evan.”

His voice was paper-thin and frayed at the edges. The name hung between us for a moment, fragile and weightless. I turned to Regulus, catching his eyes for a brief second.

I looked back at the boy and nodded. “Okay, Evan,” I said softly, like his name was something sacred, something I didn’t want to break. “We’re going to help you. That wound—it needs care, but you’re not alone anymore. We’ll take care of it, and we’ll figure the rest out together.”

Evan’s gaze didn’t waver, but something inside it dimmed slightly, like he didn’t quite believe me, like he’d already seen too much to think anything here could be safe. “There’s no such thing,” he murmured, his words barely audible, worn thin from pain. “Safe doesn’t exist here.”

I didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong.

Regulus finally moved, crouching low beside us, his knees brushing the moss, and his shadow stretched long and dark over the clearing. His presence was grounding, solid, but it brought with it the weight of reality. This wasn’t just an act of kindness. It was a decision with consequences.

His voice, when it came, was quiet but firm. “Are you alone?”

Evan’s head dipped in the faintest of nods. “I don’t know where my district partner is,” he said, voice rough. “We got separated.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full of possibilities. Regulus glanced at me, and for a second, I saw the flicker again. He was thinking. Calculating how this changed things. How long we could afford to care.

“When?” Regulus pressed.

“Since the bloodbath,” Evan said. “I tried to climb a tree after. I Thought I saw movement. I fell. Think I broke something.” He winced as he tried to shift. “Been there since. Two days, maybe.”

I reached for the first aid kit, pulling out a strip of clean cloth and the last of our antiseptic. The gash on his side had bled through his shirt. It was ragged and deep, but not too wide—if we kept it clean, he might have a chance.

“This’ll sting,” I warned, my voice low, almost apologetic as I prepared the antiseptic.

Evan didn’t flinch at my words. He just nodded, his fingers digging into the moss beneath him like it might anchor him to something solid, something real. The tremble of his hand was faint, almost imperceptible, but I saw it—saw the effort it took for him to hold himself still. His skin was already raw, burned with the fever he’d been running, and I knew this was going to make it worse.

I dabbed the cloth across his wound, and a sharp hiss escaped him, his breath a shallow, quick intake, but he didn’t cry out. He didn’t pull away. He just endured it. The sound of his breath was the only thing I could hear, ragged and unsteady.

I focused on the task, moving carefully. The world around us felt distant, like everything else had slowed down in that moment. The air was thick, heavy with the tension between us. Regulus remained quiet, his gaze fixed on Evan with a mix of watchfulness and something else—something unreadable. He handed me what I needed without a word, his movements precise and fluid, like he had already decided he would do what was necessary, whether he wanted to or not.

The silence stretched, a fragile thread that might snap at any moment, but it held. We worked in synchrony, each of us trapped in our own thoughts, the weight of what was happening pressing against us, unspoken but shared. The moment felt like it was balanced on the edge of something unnamed, something too complex to voice.

When I finished, I leaned back slightly, wiping my hands on my pants, suddenly aware of how still the air had become, how heavy my own breath felt.“You need rest,” I said, trying to make the words sound like a command, but it came out more like a suggestion—a plea. His body was barely holding itself together, and I could see how exhausted he was. He needed sleep more than anything else.

Evan blinked slowly, his gaze drifting between us. I could see the questions in his eyes—too many to count, and none of them answered yet. “Why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words felt like they were stuck. I didn’t have a good answer. Not one that would make sense to him, or to me, for that matter. But before I could speak, Regulus answered, his tone low but firm, like he was stating a simple fact.

“We’re not sure we are.”

His words hung in the air, sharp, blunt. There was no malice in his voice—just the quiet honesty of someone who had learned the hard way not to promise things he wasn’t sure he could keep. I felt the weight of it, the honesty of it, even though part of me wanted to argue. Wanted to say that we were helping, that there was something between us that demanded it. But Regulus had said it. And in that moment, I couldn’t deny it.

I glanced at him sharply, but his face didn’t shift. There was no anger, no bitterness, just an unwavering calm.

Evan’s eyelids fluttered shut as if the effort of staying awake had finally become too much. His voice came in a soft rasp, as fragile as his breath. “Fair enough.”

The acceptance in his words struck me more deeply than I expected. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t pleading. He was just... resigned. Maybe it was the fever, or the pain, or just the weight of everything that had happened, but in that moment, his voice was quiet, but there was a sort of strength in it too. The kind of strength that didn’t come from fighting back, but from accepting the world as it was—however hard that might be.

And as he lay there, silent, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, I felt something shift. Something delicate, but undeniable. It wasn’t that I understood Evan, not fully. But in that moment, with his simple admission, I felt connected to him in a way I hadn’t expected.

I looked back at Regulus, catching the fleeting glance he gave me—brief, unreadable—but I could sense it. Whatever had brought us here, whatever decision had been made when we chose to help him, it wasn’t just about the boy on the ground. It was about us. And whatever was happening between us, unspoken but felt, was just beginning to unfold.

Regulus stood again and moved to the fire pit, kneeling to strike the flint. I stayed by Evan’s side, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips moved soundlessly—like he was whispering something to himself in sleep. Maybe a name. Maybe a prayer.

Across the clearing, sparks jumped from stone to kindling. The fire began to catch. Regulus didn’t look at me, but I could feel the tension still radiating from him like heat.

He didn’t trust Evan. But he’d carried him here.

And something about that mattered more than either of us could admit.

It's been a few hours since Evan fell asleep. I tried to sleep. I really did, but I couldn't take my eyes off the horizon above me. The sky above isn’t real—too static, too perfect, as if someone painted it from memory and forgot that stars are supposed to flicker. The air smells like damp earth and something artificial beneath it, the Capitol’s idea of what a forest should be. It’s close but never quite right, like a lullaby sung off-key.

Beside me, Regulus lies just barely within reach. Our arms aren’t touching, but he’s close enough that I can feel the heat of him radiating in the space between us. I can sense the rhythm of his breathing in the rise and fall of the silence, the way the air stirs gently whenever he exhales. It’s the kind of silence that isn’t empty—it’s thick with the weight of unspoken things, of years that passed without permission, of names we don’t call each other anymore.

I don’t know when I started watching him instead of the sky.

The years haven’t changed the shape of him, not really. He’s still all edges and quiet restraint, still wears silence like armor. But in the dim blue light, with the trees casting soft shadows across his face, he looks younger. Softer. Like the boy I used to know before the world asked him to become someone else.

( i highly recommend playing Space Song by Beach House here)

My gaze lifts to the stars, or the simulation of them, and a thought drifts through my mind before I can catch it.

“I used to draw stars on you.” I say.

The words slip out quieter than I expect, drifting into the dark like breath on glass. They hang there for a moment, fragile and unclaimed. My voice barely belongs to me—it sounds younger somehow, like it was pulled from another version of myself. I don’t even know if I meant to say it aloud. Maybe it’s just a memory trying to make itself real again.

But he hears. Of course he does.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just breathes. The rhythm of it is steady, but there’s something underneath it now—something old and aching. Then, after a pause that feels too full, he murmurs, “On my wrist.”

His voice is rough, like it had to scrape its way up from somewhere deep.

Another pause. Longer, softer.

“My arm. My collarbone, once,” he adds, as though he’s cataloging each place with care, brushing dust from the bones of the past. “You got bolder every year.”

A smile finds me, faint and slow and a little sad. It hurts to hold it, but I let it bloom anyway. “You always moved before the ink dried.”

“You always scolded me when it smudged.”

“I didn’t scold,” I whisper, the corners of my voice tugged by something tender. “I just… hated when they stopped looking like stars.”

He turns his head, just enough that I can see the side of his face in the blue-dark hush. The sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his mouth. There’s a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier, something raw and open that I recognize, even after all this time.

“They looked like stars to me,” he says. His voice is steady now, quieter than the night, but clearer somehow. “Always.”

I close my eyes for a second and let myself slip backward, into a different time.

I used to steal ink from the shops when no one was watching. A cracked bottle, a stolen brush, a piece of charcoal snapped in half and hidden beneath my coat. We’d sneak into our hideout—our haven in the woods behind the lumber mill, where the branches reached toward the sky like they were trying to remember it—and I’d press his hand flat against the floorboards, the skin of his wrist pale and waiting.

He was always so still for me. Not for anyone else. Not even for himself. But for me—he let me paint on him like he was a blank space meant to be filled. Only for me.

Never for anyone else. Not for the world. Not for the Capitol. Not even for himself. But when I touched him, when I painted him, he became quiet in a way that felt like surrender, or maybe trust. He let me draw constellations on his skin like I was writing a language only the two of us could read.

He’d watch me with those storm-colored eyes—eyes that never gave anything away unless you knew where to look. Half-curious, half-somewhere-else. Eyes that carried entire winters in their silence.

I always began with Altair. The lead star. Three dots in a line—clean, sharp, deliberate. A shape with direction. Then I’d connect it to Vega, to Deneb, tracing faint arcs across his forearm, letting the brush kiss the contours of his bones. I’d mark Orion’s belt along his wrist. Sketch Canis Major where his veins ran faintly blue beneath the surface. Each stroke was careful, slow, reverent. A sky unfolding. A map no one else could see.

Sometimes, when I was finished, he’d flex his fingers slightly, and the stars would shimmer. Smudge. Shift. And I’d scowl like I didn’t expect it, even though I always did.

But other times, he’d just let them sit there—those tiny galaxies drawn down the pathways of his hands—like he knew they weren’t really stars. Like he knew they were promises.

And like he needed them anyway.

“I learned constellations just so I could give them to you,” I say now. “I didn’t have anything else. Not really. No money. No gifts. Just ink and time and my hands.”

“You gave me more than that,” he says quietly. “You gave me a map.”

My chest pulls tight. I don’t answer.

“You said it would help me find my way back,” he continues, the words hesitant now, like he’s stepping over glass. “Even if I got lost. Even if I was taken away.”

I turn my head toward him. His profile is made of angles and shadows, but I see him. I see the boy he used to be beneath the man the Capitol sculpted. I see the softness he buried.

“I didn’t think you’d ever really leave.” I whisper.

He’s silent for a long time. Too long.

“I didn’t think I’d have to,” he says finally, and his voice cracks like something old breaking open again.

The ache between us spreads like ink in water.

I reach out before I can stop myself. My fingers brush against his wrist, finding the place I used to start with. That delicate patch of skin beneath the bones, where his pulse beats like it remembers me. I press there, gently. My thumb moves in a slow, absent circle. My body remembers the motion of drawing.

“I always started with Altair.” I whisper.

His breath catches. “You did.”

“Three dots. A line.”

“You were always so careful about it,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “So precise. You’d tilt your head when you worked, like you were trying to see the stars from a different angle. Bite the inside of your cheek when you were focused. You got ink on your nose half the time.”

A laugh escapes me, soft and slightly stunned by the memory. It catches in my throat, but it’s real—like it came from somewhere deep and untouched by the passing years. “And you never told me.”

His silence lingers for a moment, and then the faintest smile touches his lips, but it’s more in the way his eyes soften than anything else. “I liked watching you forget the world.”

The air feels thicker between us now, heavier with the weight of something unspoken, something raw. It’s an intimacy that feels familiar, but different, like we’re seeing each other in a light we haven’t allowed ourselves to look at in far too long.

I trace the memory of Altair now, just the lightest touch of my fingertip across his skin. No ink. No need for it. The shape is still there, imprinted beneath the surface, burned into both of us. A constellation we never erased. A story neither of us stopped carrying, no matter how much time has passed or how much we tried to forget.

His voice is quieter now, almost reverent when he speaks. “Why Altair?”

I pause, my finger hovering for just a second longer. The air around us feels thick with the weight of his question, as if the answer means more than I ever realized. I exhale slowly before speaking, my words soft but sure. “It was the first star I learned. It means the flying bird in Arabic.”

He’s quiet for a long time, the kind of silence that feels like it could stretch on forever if we let it. I keep tracing, my finger moving along his skin like it’s the only thing tethering me to the past.

“You were so angry, back then,” I murmur, more to myself than to him, though I know he hears me. “And quiet. Like you didn’t trust the world not to hurt you, so you stayed locked up tight. I think… I wanted to give you something gentle. Something that didn’t take. Something that didn’t demand anything.”

Regulus randomly flinched, one hand shooting up to the back of his neck. He pressed his palm there for a beat too long, like he was trying to smother a sudden sting.

“Something I could hold,” he says, the words fragile, like they might slip away if he doesn’t let them go now.

I nod, my throat tight, and keep tracing, my hand steady despite the trembling inside me. “Something you could follow.” I whisper back, the words tasting bittersweet on my tongue. It’s the truth, and maybe that’s what makes it hurt the most.

He shifts. His wrist turns under mine, his fingers brushing my palm. The contact is so slight, but it feels like gravity.

“That’s when you started calling me Starling,” I say softly, watching him through the dark.

But he shakes his head, slow and certain. “That’s when I understood why.”

I blink. “What?”

He exhales, like the words cost something to carry. “The first time you sang to me, I called you Starling. I think I was twelve. Maybe younger. But I didn’t understand the name then. Not really.” His voice drops lower now, like he’s peeling something open inside himself—something delicate, something hidden. “Not until you started tracing constellations on my arms with your fingers. Not until I saw how you looked at the night—like you could read it.”

I stay quiet. There’s something sacred about his voice right now. Like if I speak too soon, it’ll break the spell.

“You didn’t just look up at the stars,” he says. “You pulled them down. Wove them into songs. Hid them in your laugh. In the way you moved. I started calling you Starling because I thought it sounded small and beautiful. Something fragile, something soft.”

He pauses, and I feel it more than I hear it—that moment when something shifts in him.

“But then I saw you,” he continues, quieter now. “Really saw you. And I realized… you were never small.”

His voice hitches, just slightly, like the truth is scraping its way out of him.

“You made me feel like you were reachable,” he says. “And that terrified me.”

My breath stutters.

I want to tell him he was the only one I ever drew stars for—that no one else’s skin ever felt sacred enough to hold a sky. That I memorized the way his veins curved just so I could map the constellations with more care on his pale skin. That I sometimes woke up at night with ink-stained fingers, reaching out for a boy who was already fading into headlines and hollow eyes.

Instead, I just look at him.

“You always smudged them,” I say.

He closes his eyes. “I know. But I remembered every single one.”

It happens so fast, I almost don’t have time to understand it. One moment, I’m lying there beside him, my fingers gliding over his skin, tracing the shapes of constellations that feel almost sacred—quiet, intimate. The moment is soft, and time feels still, a fleeting sense of peace that I cling to like a lifeline.

But then, without warning, everything shifts. It’s not like the breathless panic I’ve felt before, the kind you get when you're running, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air. No, this is something entirely different.

This is fire. It burns through me, flooding my chest with heat so sharp it feels like it could tear me apart from the inside. It steals my breath in one agonizing, violent wave. My ribs feel like they’re closing in, the air choking on its way out, and I can’t do anything but gasp in frantic desperation.

A scream claws its way up my throat, raw and strangled, as if it wants to rip through me, but it doesn’t come out right. It’s twisted—broken.

It’s not even a scream anymore. It’s just agony, squeezing the air out of my lungs, twisting it into something unrecognizable. I claw at my throat, desperate for some relief, for just a single breath. But the fire inside only grows, the pain consuming everything until all I know is the burning in my chest. The stars I was tracing, the peace I felt only moments before, seem like distant memories now. The world tilts, spins, and I can’t find my footing. Everything goes dark at the edges of my vision.

Regulus is there, though—his hands on me, pulling me toward him, but even his voice feels far away. I hear his name, his frantic shouts, but they don’t make sense. It’s like I’m drowning in this fire, trapped in a nightmare I can’t escape. The world around me starts to blur, a thick haze of panic and pain. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is claw at my chest, trying to get air, trying to fight the fire that’s burning through me.

“Reg—” I try to say his name, but it comes out cracked and broken.

My fingers twitch, then seize. My whole body is shaking, twisting with something I can’t name. It feels like my insides are folding in on themselves, like they’re being turned to ash from the inside out.

Regulus is on his feet in an instant.

And then I feel it. A cold pressure on my neck, Regulus’s hands—frantic, shaking as he tries to steady me. His fingers are everywhere, his voice breaking through the fog of panic, but none of it matters. Nothing matters except for the suffocating burn that fills every inch of me. Every part of my body wants to scream again, but nothing comes out. Only the fire. Only the suffocating weight of it.

Regulus was on me in seconds. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His voice cracked. “Tell me where it hurts—tell me what’s happening—”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even find the air to scream. My throat burned. My vision blurred. It felt like something was crawling inside me, twisting up through my spine, dragging barbed wires through my veins. I hit the dirt, shaking.

“Reg—Regulus—” I choked out, barely managing the sound. “I—I can’t—”

He caught me before I collapsed fully, hands gripping my shoulders like he could hold my body together through force alone. “No, no, no—stay with me. Look at me. Breathe.” His voice was wild now, breaking in places. “Breathe, please. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

I dropped to the forest floor like a puppet with cut strings, convulsing, nails digging into the dirt. My insides felt like they were tearing, every nerve lit up with flame. “Can’t—breathe,” I gasped. “It—it hurts—inside—”

“Where?” Regulus dropped beside me, eyes wild. “Where does it hurt? Starling—look at me.”

My hand flew to my ribs, fingers twitching violently. Regulus followed the motion, his hands already on me, searching, trying to stop the shaking. I could feel the panic building in him, in his breath, in the sharpness of his voice. “What is this? What did this?”

Evan stumbled out from behind the trees, his face pale, eyes wide with confusion. He looked between Regulus and me, his breath shallow and quick. "What’s going on?" His voice cracked, the panic seeping through with every word.

Regulus's voice was tight, his eyes frantic as they flicked over me. “She’s hurt.” His words were clipped, jagged. “She was fine—just a second ago—”

I tried to speak, to tell them I was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. My throat constricted, and I choked again, a violent, desperate gasp of air that scraped through me. The pain was crawling up my chest now, sharper, more intense with each passing second. It was a fire, biting at my insides, and it felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out.

Regulus was still watching me closely, his hands trembling at his sides. Then, in an instant, his gaze snapped down to my shirt. His eyes locked on the blood, barely visible at first, just a thin red line starting to stain the fabric beneath my ribs.

His breath hitched, and I heard him mutter, almost to himself, "A cut." Then, louder, with a growing urgency, “There. A thorn. A branch must’ve scratched her—”

I wanted to shake my head, to tell them it wasn’t that, that it wasn’t just a scratch, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The pain was suffocating, pulling me deeper into something I couldn’t escape.

Evan stepped closer, his expression stark with fear. “She barely moved,” he said, his voice trembling. His gaze flicked from me to Regulus, looking for answers.

Regulus's fingers brushed over my skin, just above the wound. I felt the slightest touch, and I screamed again, the sound tearing through me like a jagged, broken thing. The pain intensified, the fire spreading through my chest and down my limbs, as if the poison was winding its way through every part of me.

Regulus's face went pale, the reality of the situation sinking in. “It’s poisoned,” he said, his voice low, dark with the weight of the truth.

“Fast-acting. It must’ve been one of the plants.” His words were grim, carrying the knowledge of something far worse than a simple wound. The poison was already inside me, coursing through my veins, and I could feel it.

He moved quickly, grabbing cloth from the first-aid kit and pressing it against the wound, hard, as though trying to stop the poison from spreading. I barely registered the motion, my head swimming with the overwhelming sensation of burning, of being torn apart from the inside out.

“Stay with me,” Regulus’s voice cut through the haze, hoarse and desperate. His eyes were locked onto mine, his face drawn tight with fear, but his hands were steady, pressing the cloth harder against my side. “Look at me. Breathe, Starling. Please.”

The world started to fade. The edges of my vision blurred, the colors and shapes melting into a dull, dark haze. My limbs felt distant, almost foreign, as though I couldn’t feel them at all. There was ringing in my ears, a high-pitched whine that clawed at my mind, and I thought—I thought—I might lose myself in it.

Regulus’s hand gripped mine, his voice low but firm. “Stay with me, (Y/N), I need you to fight this. Please.”

I wanted to tell him I couldn’t. I wanted to tell him it was too much, that I was already slipping away, but the words wouldn’t form.

And then, as if the world itself had decided to turn against us, I felt the ground shudder beneath us.

At first, it was just a tremor, a soft shake that could’ve been mistaken for a gust of wind, but then it intensified. The trees around us creaked and groaned, their trunks bending unnaturally as though they were being pulled by an invisible force. The leaves rustled, a low, eerie whisper carried by the wind.

The ground beneath our feet shifted again, a deep, unsettling rumble like the earth itself was alive and angry.

Regulus’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. “The arena... it’s changing.”

The trees began to move. Not just sway in the wind, but move. Their branches twisted, reaching down like fingers grasping for something to hold, something to claim. The ground beneath us seemed to shift, warping and rippling in ways that defied logic. It was as if the earth itself was trying to consume us, to pull us deeper into its hungry depths.

Regulus pulled me up, his hands shaking as he dragged me to my feet. “We need to get out of here. Now!”

Evan was already moving, his face a mixture of disbelief and terror. “What’s going on? What the hell is happening?”

“There’s no time!” Regulus shouted, urgency flooding his voice as he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes frantic. “The trees—look at the trees!”

I could barely keep up, each step feeling like a battle against the poison coursing through my veins, my limbs weak and unresponsive. But I could hear it—the snap of branches, the groan of the earth, the sudden, unnatural stillness that filled the air. Something was coming.

And then, we saw them.

Through the trees, coming toward us, two figures emerged.

Caradoc Dearborn and Charity Burbage, both from District 10.

Their weapons drawn, their faces grim. They didn’t see us at first. Their focus was elsewhere—on the shifting ground, the movement in the trees, the unsettling sounds of the arena alive with fury.

But then, they stepped too close.

Charity took another step forward, her eyes still scanning the shifting landscape, her footsteps heavy against the uneven ground. The wind was picking up, howling through the trees as the air grew thicker, heavier. The world felt off balance, like something had tipped and we were all about to fall into its chaos.

She didn’t notice it at first, the ground beneath her feet moving, the soil rippling like water disturbed by a pebble. She took another step—and then, with a sickening crack, the earth buckled beneath her.

Her foot sank into the ground like it was soft mud, but there was no give, no escape. She tried to pull it out, but the ground around her was shifting, curling around her ankle like a viper’s grip.

Charity’s scream rang out, but the earth didn’t let her escape. She tried to pull her leg free, but the ground twisted around her, thick roots and vines wrapping around her like serpents. Her hands scraped at the soil, but it was no use—the earth had claimed her.

Caradoc rushed forward, his face pale with fear, but before he could reach her, the ground opened wide beneath his feet. His body jerked as he fell, his hands flailing for something—anything—but the roots shot out like claws, dragging him under.

His eyes locked onto mine, wide with terror, as the earth swallowed him whole. He struggled, his body convulsing, but the soil was stronger, crushing him until there was nothing left but an empty hole where he had been.

The arena stood still for a moment, as if savoring the silence it had created. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. The echoes of their deaths reverberated in my chest, the horror of what the arena could do to us settling like a cold stone in my gut.

The forest was trying to eat us.

My breath came in short, ragged bursts against Regulus’s neck. I could feel his heart pounding like a war drum.

Regulus had me in his arms before I fully understood I couldn't walk. My legs had gone limp, a dull weight dragging behind the panic in my chest. I could feel my fingers twitching against his shoulder, but I couldn't lift them. The pain had shifted—no longer sharp, just heavy. Like something inside me was curling inward, fading.

“I’ve got you, love” Regulus murmured, voice close to my ear. I could feel the strain in it, the tightness, like he was fighting to keep it from cracking. “Just hold on. Please.”

The nickname made me want to cry.

Evan was ahead, hacking at a wall of thick vines that had grown impossibly fast, curling over the path we’d come from. The ground shook beneath us—roots bulging and splitting the earth, trees bending low like giants being pulled from the sky.

The Garden wasn’t just alive. It was hunting.

“Faster,” Evan called back, his voice wild with terror. “It’s closing!”

My breath hitched again. Regulus faltered, feeling it.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, stopping just for a second. His eyes met mine, desperate. “Stay awake. Stay with me. Just a little longer, alright?”

I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him I was trying. That I didn’t mean to be slipping. But my lips were too heavy.

“I don’t want to go.” I finally managed, my voice barely a breath.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said fiercely. “You don’t get to leave me. Not again. Not like this.”

A branch snapped behind us. The ground moaned as if something deep beneath it had begun to stir.

Regulus turned and ran, gripping me tighter against his chest. I could feel the pounding of his heart, fast and wild. For a moment, I imagined I was the star again—drawn on his skin, clinging to the lines of his pulse.

Behind us, the trees twisted inward, forming a wall of writhing limbs and screaming bark. The last glimpse I caught was a blood-red moon above the canopy, blinking like an eye.

Evan screamed again—something about the path—but all I could hear now was Regulus’s breathing. Harsh. Panicked. Real.

The world was shaking. The earth howled. And through it all, Regulus ran.

I wanted to tell him thank you. I wanted to say his name. I wanted to scream.

But all I could do was close my eyes and hope the forest didn't get there first.

They are watching us, always.

It is only day two, and already the Garden is trying to chew through our bones.

The Capitol has teeth.

taglist: @fadingcollectivenightmare @spidermansfangirl @foulwaterss @slaybestieslay946 @aelinwya @yvessentials @sickly-afraid @urfunnyvalentin3 @hufflebubble53

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black angst #regulust black fluff #regulus black x reader angst #regulus black x you #regulus black x reader fluff #hunger games au #marauders era #marauders x reader #marauders fluff #marauders angst #marauders x reader angst #marauders x reader fluff #regulus arcturus black #the hunger games #marauders hunger games #colouredbyd

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weebsinstash · 9 months ago

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You know, as a series that keeps popping back up inside of my mind every so often, and a series I hope Studio Orange continues, I think one of the most niche "Reader x yandere/yandere community" ideas I've ever had was the idea of Reader being the very last human on Earth, either through cryogenic freezing or some other sciencey bullshit, and the gems being extraordinarily fascinated by you and everything that you do while trying to take care of you, thinking you're just WAY too fragile and cute to risk getting hurt

And by "the gems" I mean THESE gems

The gems are just very intriguing and entertaining explicitly nonhuman characters, especially if you read the manga (which was still running when I was reading it but I think has since finished, so I still need to finish it myself) where it starts going into deeper themes of the gems wanting to find a purpose and the reason for why they exist, but also the very nature of how they came to be and where the former human civilization has gone and what the formidable Lunarians want by kidnapping them

I always liked the idea of these curious joyful often goober-ish shiny little murder machines running into a human and being oh so curious about you, wanting to play games with you, ask you all sorts of questions, and of course your primary caretaker would be Sensei, who basically won't leave your side since protecting humans is one of his core functions. He would have to make sure none of the gems got too rough with you, since you can't be simply glued back together

Just imagining all of the gems in happy peaceful bliss and then something extremely accidental happens. You fall down a set of stairs and sprain your ankle. You get accidentally pushed down a hill and break your arm. Suddenly all the Lustrous have their little fantasy world shattered as you lay there screaming in pain. None of them know what physical pain is. None of them can understand what you're going through. All they can see is that, it really, REALLY doesn't take that much to... break pieces of you

So long, the days of you being left alone, hello the days of being manually examined for any scratches, bruises, or bumps to make sure you "don't get broken again". God forbid some horrible accident happens where you lose a limb or a finger or something because NOW they know it's not just a matter of how easily you can be broken, but how, you can only heal so much, and some parts of you can break... forever. You'll be under the watchful eye of the Lustrous until you die of old age or natural causes, and that's IF you don't perish in some Lunarian-related disaster first, and even THEY might have a vested interest in taking you to the moon (where you would realistically immediately suffocate, freeze, and die, but like, we can pretend they have oxygen up there or something--)

#yandere x reader #yandere stuff #sinprompts

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dreamingkitsunewrites · 2 months ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𝐇αᥣᥣ𝖾𝗒'𝗌 𝐂ⱺꭑ𝖾𝗍.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Chapter 2 from ₊ Qʊɛɛռ օʄ ȶɦɛ Nɨɢɦȶ Series

-☄"Midnight for me is 3:00 a.m. (for you)"☄-

ραιяιηg: Neighbor!Choso Kamo x Bartender!Reader

𝖲ɣ𐓣: you come home at 3am from your shift at the club just to find your cold neighbour Choso awake and waiting for you to come home safely.

𝐂ɦ𝖾𝖼𝗄 ⱺυ𝗍 𝗍ɦ𝖾 𝚰𐓣ᑯ𝖾𝗑 ρα𝗀𝖾 𝖿ⱺ𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝖾 𝖿υᥣᥣ 𝐓𝐖 ᥣ𝗂𝗌𝗍

A/N: hey guys I'm finally back... This is my first fic in a long time, so sorry if this chapter might seem a bit boring... I swear, it's all for the sake of the slow burn!🤣

Series Tag list: Open!

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⏭ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: нαℓℓєу'ѕ ¢σмєт by вιℓℓιє єιℓιѕн

Choso's POV

“She’s gone… you can finally breathe now.” Yuji barges into his brother’s room without a warning. Choso, who was peacefully existing with his headphones on, jumps back in his bed, dropping his music with an annoyed frown. “Ok…” he mutters, not even pretending to care, “did you at least understand a word she said?”

“Hold on, bro,” Yuji waves his arms around dramatically, “why aren’t we talking about how your killer glare probably made her want to join a monastery and take a vow of silence? We might need a priest to bless the room if she ever comes back.”

Choso, eyes darting to the corner, knows it’s true. He’s an expert at making people uncomfortable with his mysterious aura. But she wasn’t scared of him, right? She just seemed… interested? Or maybe confused? His mind goes into overdrive, battling between self-doubt and a strange sense of vulnerability. Was he the creepy guy, or were you just… not scared of him? He really didn’t know how to feel about that gaze of yours. It wasn’t judging. It was curious. And that... was new. So new he doesn't know how to cope with that.

“Well,” Yuji interrupts his spiraling thoughts, his grin screaming trouble is coming, “Can I ask why you were being weird today? Like, weird weird?”

Choso’s train of thought derails, and he stumbles over words. “I… don’t know…” he mutters. “Maybe… I’m just not used to… being around… girls?” His face turns into a tomato. “I mean, you know, girls usually think I’m a weirdo…”

A flashback to Yuki, the only girl he’d ever been able to talk to, flits through his mind. She had been his friend. A real friend. She was the only one who didn’t run for the hills when he spoke. The only woman who could accept him for who he is. Maybe the only one in his entire existence… he has always wondered if his mother really managed to accept his nature in the end. He wouldn't even blame her if not…But that’s a whole different therapy session.

Yuji’s grin widens, clearly about to unleash chaos. “I get it, bro,” he says, all innocent-looking, but Choso still can see the mischievous glint in his eyes. “But seriously, it’s time for you to join the human race. Go outside, touch some grass, bask in the sunlight. Maybe even put on real clothes for once instead of your comfy ‘I haven’t left the house in six days’ pajamas.”

Choso stares down at his pajama pants like they’ve personally offended Yuji. “Why do you hate my pajamas so much?” he mutters, defensive, like a child caught in his favorite blanket.

Yuji snickers. “Nothing. I’m sure even our neighbor’s jealous of your unique fashion choices.”

Suddenly, Choso’s cheeks turn pink as he realizes he probably should’ve made himself slightly presentable before you showed up. Oops.

“Jokes aside, don’t stress about her. She’s chill. Oh, and I bet she really appreciated you checking in on her tonight. Big bro points, my dude. Huge. I approve.”

As Yuji heads for the door, Choso’s mind starts to race again. You’re probably starting your shift right about now, and suddenly, his chest feels tight. Worry? Anticipation? He isn’t sure. Probably both. He’s no expert in nightlife (he’s more of a “stay home and brood” kind of guy), but he knows enough about what happens at clubs on weekends to be mildly terrified. Drunk people, loud music, bad decisions. And you, you’re… well, you’re attractive,beautiful even. The image of that pout you make when you focus suddenly comes to his mind, he noticed it while you were sitting in their kitchen, just an hour before.

Yuji snaps his fingers in front of Choso’s face. “Yo, Earth to Choso, where’d you go? What do you want for dinner? Spaghetti? Pizza? A small army of snacks?”

Your POV:

You’re back at the apartment, quickly switching into your pub’s uniform while grabbing a snack that’s barely worthy of being called dinner. "Hey 'Zuru, I’m over here," you call out, hearing the door open signalling your roommate's return. In your typical fashion, you join her, making a grand entrance, hopping on one foot while trying (and failing) to pull on your skirt without falling over. She shoots you an amused stare. Her laugh fills the room as she opens the fridge, rummaging around for ingredients. "So, how was your day?" she asks, but the disapproving tone in her voice could sour milk.

You shrug casually, leaning against the counter as you munch on your snack. “Eventful, to say the least. Classes were fine, but I ended up helping Yuji with his homework after bumping into him this morning. Had to do something for him, especially after he saved our apartment from that fire your straightener started...” You approach her, trying to help with dinner prep, although you're more distracted by the ongoing crisis of your skirt.

She squints at you, half amused, half exasperated. “Wait—my straightener now? Really? You’re incredible.” She scoffs, and you can feel the heat of her sarcasm even before she opens her mouth again. “Oh, and thanks for almost wrecking my date next week. You know, the guy from this morning, who definitely didn’t look like Kenji? Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled when you mistook him for my ex.”

You wince, feeling a little guilty. “Oops? But seriously, since when do you hang out with such prickly guys?” You try to make light of the situation, your innocent smile just the tiniest bit mischievous. It works—just a little.

“Lucky we’re friends,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing a piece of your KitKat bar without permission. “Anyway, how’d it go with Yuji?”

You lean back on the counter, kicking your legs casually, your voice almost dreamy as you glance up at the ceiling. “It went pretty well. You can tell he really puts effort into everything, even his chemistry work.” You pause, letting the suspense build before casually adding, “Oh, and I met his brother today. Choso.”

At the mention of his name, Shizuru freezes mid-step, her eyes narrowing “Who? The ghost of the block?” Her disbelief is palpable. She holds her pan like it might be some kind of defense weapon. “You’re telling me you actually talked to him? And got his name? How are you still alive?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Relax, he’s not that bad. He’s just a little…shy.”

“Shy?” She spits out the word like it's poison. “Shy doesn’t mean watching people from a distance with that I’ll stab you if you breathe near me look. That guy’s a creep! I don’t even know how they’re brothers. It's like one was raised by kittens, and the other by serial killers.”

You stare at her, raising an eyebrow. “Zuru, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair? Have you seen him? He looks like he’d bite your head off if you smiled at him wrong,” she interrupts. Her face is a mix of incredulity and concern now. “Tell me, what did he even say to you?”

“Not much,” you admit with a shrug. “He mostly just... studied me. Like, just stared at me the whole time.”

She bursts out laughing. “I knew it! No doubt he looked at you like you were the last woman on Earth. I bet the last time a girl talked to him, he thought it was some kind of alien encounter.”

You roll your eyes but your smile lingers a little too long, a little too soft. “Well, there was one thing... He did ask if I’d be okay working the night shift alone, said he was worried about me being out by myself.”

Shizuru drops her spatula. “Wait, wait, what? He asked you that? That can only mean one of two things: He’s either a secret knight in shining armor—like, a dark and broody ‘I’ll protect you’ type—or he’s a stalker serial killer making sure no one kills you before he can.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, hopping off the counter. “And here I thought we could have a normal conversation. Why is it so hard for you to admit that he’s not that bad? Honestly, I’m heading to work now. Don’t wait up for me.”

Shizuru tilts her head, giving you that knowing smirk. “Never planned on it. But seriously—watch out for the Chosos on your way out. They tend to give people... intense stares.”

As you grab your jacket and head out the door, you can't help but think back to Choso—of how oddly protective he’d seemed earlier. There’s something about him that’s so... complicated, like there's more lurking beneath the surface. You shake the thought off, but a small part of you wonders just how much of a knight he might actually be.

...

The shift has gone smoother than expected, the hours slipping away unnoticed as you worked at the pub. It wasn't until the end of the night, when a few too many patrons had indulged a bit too much, that you and your colleague found yourselves staying later than planned. You've had to help some of them out the door, calling their emergency contacts to make sure they'd get home safely. On your way back, the thought crosses your mind that it must feel nice to have someone to always rely on. Since moving to Japan, your roommate has always been your one constant, your anchor. You'd taken care of each other, navigating the chaos of life side by side. That’s why Yuji and Choso’s concern earlier today has left you with an unexpected feeling. It was nice to be cared for, even if it felt … strange.

As you walk home, you suddenly remember the promise you made to them today about letting them know you'll make it back safely tonight. But how could you do that now? It's already 3am and you are barely crawling back to the building, exhausted, your mind blurry. They are probably asleep by now anyways, and you certainly don't want to wake them up for something so trivial. What if they had even forgotten about it? This could also be a possibility...The idea of barging into their apartment looking like you had just fought a zombie apocalypse, just to say, "Hey, just wanted to tell you I made it home safe," is mortifying. You never quite knew how to handle attention like that. It always felt… uncomfortable.

You sigh as the elevator doors open. Stepping inside, you lean against the cool metal, the reflection in the mirror showing just how tired you are. Dark circles under your eyes—could they rival Choso’s? You wonder if he works nights too, that would explain why he's never around during the day… The impactful sight of your disheveled hair and smudged makeup makes you cringe. There's no way you are going to run into anyone in this state

...

Meanwhile, Choso has been pacing the living room for more than an hour, glancing at the clock every few minutes. 2:00 a.m. 2:30. 2:45. Where were you? Shouldn’t any bar be closed by now? Why weren't you home yet?

Yuji went to sleep hours ago, and the silence of the apartment, only broken by the occasional tick of the clock, fuels his anxiety. What if something had happened to you? What if someone had gotten too close at the bar, or worse, if you’d run into trouble on your walk home? He's already regretting not insisting on walking you home. He had let his guard down, and now he can't shake the thought of you being out there alone.

He stops pacing for a moment, realizing how absurd his thoughts must sound. But he can't help it—once Yuji had pulled him into your orbit just this afternoon, he couldn’t shake the sense of responsibility he felt for you. Protectiveness has always come naturally to him. And you were Yuji’s friend, which meant you were officially under his care too.

Then, his mind drifts back to earlier today, to how small and fragile you looked under his gaze in the kitchen, huddled in that oversized leather jacket as if you were trying to hide from the world…. A feeling he knows quite well. Guilt stirs in his chest, maybe you two aren't that different… He didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Maybe that's why he couldn’t stop thinking about you, why he cared so much.

Cling. His thoughts are interrupted by the familiar chime of the elevator. He freezes. Could it be you?

The doors slide open and you tiptoe down the dim hallway, trying to avoid making a sound. You are certain Yuji and Choso have forgotten about you anyway, and you have already concocted a half-baked excuse in case they haven't. Reaching your door, you find your lovely roommate has locked you out again. "Damn, 'Zuru," you mutter through gritted teeth, rolling your eyes as you fumble for your keys in the chaotic abyss of your bag.

Too preoccupied with not making noise, you fail to notice the figure standing behind you until it is too late: Choso stands there, watching you struggle with your keys, his nostrils flaring as his eyes sweep over you. The sight of you in your uniform—tight T-shirt clinging to your curves, legs exposed in that breathtaking miniskirt, the ‘Queen of the Night’ logo teasingly placed just above your neckline—stirred something dark in him…how could this be defined as a work uniform?

“You’re back.” His voice is dry, sharp, and it makes you jump, the keys slipping from your hands and clattering to the ground.

"Shit…it's you, Choso," you mutter, heart racing. His hard expression makes it instantly clear that you've just made a mistake. "You scared me."

On the spot,he wants nothing more than to snap something sarcastic about how you should be more afraid of wandering the streets at 3 a.m. than of him, but he bites his tongue. He is too angry, too frustrated.

“Why didn’t you let us know you made it home safely? You've promised…” His tone is harsh, the words coming out faster than he intended.

Touché- your heart sinks at the reminder of your earlier promise. You can't stand the fact that he'd probably think low of you now, even more than he did before if possible.

“I... I thought you and Yuji had probably forgotten about it,” you stammer, the excuses falling from your lips before you can stop them. “I didn’t want to bother you, especially at this hour.” Your words ring hollow even to you, but you can't help but wonder why he was so upset for something that didn't involve him or Yuji directly.

Choso’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “If we didn’t want to be bothered, we wouldn’t have asked you to let us know in the first place. I spent the evening waiting for you to come home.” His gaze pinns you, as if daring you to look away.

The realization hits you—Choso, the cold guy everyone is afraid of is worried…for you? You blink, surprised by the raw intensity in his eyes. “Wait…did you actually… wait up for me?”

His face softens for a split second before hardening again. "I did."

The hallway falls silent for a moment. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know. It’s my fault,” you murmur looking at the ground, still unable to hold his gaze, when your raging guilt finally subsides.

Choso sighs at the scene, leaning against the doorframe. His arms cross over his broad chest, and you can tell he's still trying to control his emotions. “It’s okay." Those three words are enough to make you release the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Just… keep it in mind from now on: you can always call us if you're in trouble. No matter the time.” he says, his eyes now boring into yours as if seeking the reassurance you'd grasped the concept.

You smile at his awkward attempt to ease the tension… something suggested you that his rough façade was nothing but a bluff already this afternoon, and the embarrassed expression etched on his face right now as he tries to maintain a stern tone confirms that you weren't wrong. “Can I ask you something?” you speak, guilt now replaced by a playful mischief that takes Choso aback.

"Uh? Yeah… What’s up?” he asks, desperately trying to sound casual, though inside, he is already panicking about what you might ask.

Your grin grows as you mirror his posture, leaning against your door and crossing your arms. “Is your door about to fall off or something?”

His eyes widen in confusion, before turning and checking for the stability of his entrance door. “No, it’s still pretty sturdy… Why?”

You have to suppress a laugh at the panic in his voice... Is it always that easy to make him nervous?. “Just seemed like you always lean on it like it’s your life mission or something.” you tease him, remembering how he displayed his signature 'alpha-pose' already this afternoon.

Choso’s face flushes, and he quickly looks away, trying to salvage his tough guy image. “It’s none of your business,” he mutters, putting on an adorable child-like frown, but even in the dim light, it is obvious he is flustered by your teasing.

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, okay…” The air around you feels less tense now, almost intimate, with just the two of you awake in the whole building. “Is Yuji sleeping?” you whisper, interrupting the peaceful silence of the night.

“Yeah, he’s been asleep for a while now…” The change in Choso’s posture as you mention his brother is noticeable: his deep voice softens, his eyes fill with a sparkle as his thoughts seem to wander to Yuji. “He really wanted to stay up and wait for you, but I convinced him I’d handle it.”

You laugh quietly. “Aww so thoughtful of him! But he’s got school tomorrow. He definitely needs to save some energy for chemistry class… your brother is such an angel…you know," you confess, opening up to him about the struggles of getting used to your new surroundings "he has always been one of the few friendly faces when I moved here...I'll forever be thankful for meeting him”

Choso chuckles along with you, his lips finally curling up in a faint smile, though his mind seems to slip far away. “He’s special… too pure for this world.”

The moment is quiet, comfortable even, until you break the silence again, thinking it's time for both of you to take some sleep. “Thanks for what you did tonight… Goodnight, Choso.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you turn to leave, but there is something more—something that makes him hesitate. “Hey," he stammers without thinking, as if he's subconsciously trying to extend the longest conversation he has had with someone other than Yuji in a while "Can I ask you one more thing before you go?”

You pauses,as if surprised by his own boldness. “Yeah? Of course you can...” you turn to face him once again and Choso realizes it's too late to take back his words now..His heart hammers in his chest, the words hanging on the edge of his tongue. “I’ve been wondering... " He swallows, finding the right words to express what has been wandering around his head all night "did anyone cause you any trouble at the pub tonight? In any way...” he stammers.

His gaze is intense, unwavering even, and for a moment, you see something darker behind his eyes, something akin to the danger everyone associates with him. His question catches you off guard, but you quickly reassure him, putting on a warm smile “No, it was a pretty easy night actually… Just had to kick out a couple of drunk patrons, nothing serious.” you try to alleviate the tension.

In this moment you can clearly see his attention drift away again, that distant look of this afternoon resurfacing on his features. He lets out a low hum, his posture stiffening again as he unexpectedly turns his back on you. "Good. Goodnight,then" he mutters, his tone final.

You blink, awkwardly standing in the hallway for a moment longer after his sudden departure, unsure of what had just happened. What had you said wrong? Where does he go in his mind when he gets lost in those mysterious thoughts of his?

You finally reach out for the keys, still laying on the ground and enter your apartment, wishing you could shut the doubts outside with him as you close the door behind you with a soft click, your mind still racing with confusion. Choso…you were right about his name: there is more to him than meets the eye, and the more you see of him, the more you feel drawn to uncover the secrets behind his rough demeanor.

On the other side of the wall, Choso lays awake in bed, his fists clenched, a tangle of emotions storming through him. Why did you have to be so careless? Why couldn’t you see the danger in the way you were acting? The thought of other men ogling over you in that uniform somehow made his blood boil, and yet, he can't tear his mind away from the image of you bathed in the moonlight seeping through the windows in the hallway, so vulnerable and unaware of the way your carelessness affected him. What's so special about clubs anyways? What's the use of being looked at like nothing but a piece of meat by a bunch of drunk assholes? How could you be fine with that?

And as the darkness of the night envelops him, he can't shake the pull he feels toward you—that undeniable need to protect you, from the whole world, including yourself, even if he doesn't fully understand the reasons behind it. You are beautiful, yes….and so damn reckless…

Thanks for reading! Comments, reblogs and interactions are appreciated

©Dreamingkitsunewrites. Do not copy my works.

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winterarmyy · 2 years ago

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Never Lie To Me

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: In which Y/N's sinful thoughts towards the Asset is reciprocated.

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x hydra agent!female!reader

Words: 3.4k++

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, purely smut and lack of plot, honestly. messy writing and lack of dialogue, sorry for that. Others may include probably incorrect russian due to the use of google translate, marking kink (if you squint), metal hand kink, finger-fucking, clit spanking, unprotected sex, creampie, soldat doesn't talk much, i figured he is more reserved but that doesn't mean his actions are (*wink wink*) he is kinda rough but the reader highkey loves it, just bunch of horny pent-up mfs getting some action for once, y'know.

Inspiration: "Cause I can see you waiting down the hall for me and I can see you up against the wall with me." – I Can See You (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't understand why was she sent to this field mission. There were literally dozens of others that were much suitable to do it and yet they chose her of all people? Considering her much leisure job for the past months, which basically just to guard a lab, Hydra seemed to forgot that her body have been lack of combat practice.

She hated this. This mission. This organization. All of it.

Y/N was one of those kids that Hydra stole from the orphanages for their Phantom program; it is where they train, or accurately brainwash, the kids into highly skilled assassin. And she was one of the top 5 out of the program in her batch.

But after a certain incident in one of the mission in Peru, she was temporarily relocated to Siberia to, as they say, "recover" before they can assign get into another mission. There, she was given a much lenient task, which was to guard the lab where the Winter Soldiers were created.

Those few months was both heaven and hell for her; heaven was that she didn't need to be soaked in the blood of the innocent lives and hell was that she had to be a bystander to the cruelty of the dehumanizing process of the Winter Soldier program.

Sure, everything Hydra does to its "followers" are, by nature, imbrute. I mean, she was trained like a dog since she was but a child, but this. This was just another level of evil. Such vile and merciless thing to do to another human being. The muzzles that Hydra shoved in their mouth doesn't really help to reduce the excruciating noises that they made.

Though, while she was physically forced to witness the atrociousness, there was one constant thing that kept her mind off from it all.

They call him the Asset. In fact he was the first one. But she'd rather think of him simply as a man sleeping in a cryo chamber.

Y/N had heard of this "monster", the rumours were terrible as they come and go, but she find it hard to believe that when the soldat had such a calm and kind expression on his face, even if his features were frozen in ice. That was her first impression of him; then day by day, and what felt like ages, she watched him.

Her curiosity got the best of her when she started to think of scenarios and possibilities that the man had quickly became her escape from the horrid reality around her.

Though she spend most of her time trying not to feel it, but the other times, well... the thoughts went a little wild. At one point, they got too personal even for her own mind to comprehend.

After a month of reporting at the new post, she heard the whispers of "thawing the asset" from other agents and scientists around the lab. And surely enough, one of those day, the soldat was brought back from his slumber.

It didn't cross her mind before, of what color laid behind those closed lids. But when she saw his eyes for the first time, she was in complete awe. They were blue as the vast ocean she once jet-skied over; but they were as cold like when she stepped foot at this snow covered facility.

The contrast of his dark hair and tanned skin only makes his bright eyes to become the most prominent feature on his face. And Y/N just couldn't tear her gaze away, especially when the Hydra agent that supposed to retrieve him was making such a big fuss over how slow the soldat was reacting to their commands.

What do they expect? He was literally frozen for lord knows how long just a few seconds ago. Everything must be dissociating for him. So of course, the man's mind and body needs time to adjust.

The soldat abruptly fell on his knees after exiting the chamber, causing one of the guards to strike a kick across his face, "вставай, паршивая собака! (Get up, you lousy dog!)"

And that was it, Y/N had enough of it, "Hey!" she shouted as her stomped towards the guards. The duo quickly stood straight and showed their respect to her; knowing that those who graduated from Phantom program has higher ranking than them.

The moment Y/N found her footing in front of him, the palm of her hand landed harshly across his face, "Do you realized what you just did?" She asked as the taller regained to his prior composure.

"That man!" She pointed at the soldat who was obediently sitting on the floor, "Is Hydra's most prized asset. He alone is worth thousands of you useless scumbags. And you had the audacity to lay your hands on him?!" She roared and the lab fell into silent.

The two guards can only bite on their own tongue knowing what she said was true. The soldat was in fact the Hydra's precious weapon, as for now that he was the only one who successfully weilded the super soldier serum in his veins.

Y/N walked around and stood in front of the soldat, "Are you hurt, soldat?" she asked as her gaze fell on him. His head was hanging low as he bored his empty eyes into the shine of Y/N's black boots; he shook his head and replied, "No, ma'am"

She knew he was lying, especially when she saw the drips of blood on his pants, "Look at me." She ordered in which the soldat complied. And there it was, the source of the mess, the red cut on the corner of his lips. Her frown only deepened when the bruises were slowly forming on his cheek bones.

Y/N crouched to his level, as her hand reaching for his cheeks. His body halted and stiffened when she approached, but only to be surprised by the soft carress of her fingers on his face, "If you're not injured, then what's this?" She whispered lowly; a tone where just the two of them can hear.

The soldat's empty eyes almost melt in hers; he never saw her before, who is she? Why was there so much kindness in her eyes? And why was she holding him so gently?

He let her careful thumb wiped the blood from his chin before whispered again, "Never lie to me, soldat. Do you understand?" The soldat obediently nodded as a spiral of indescribable emotions stirred within him. His eyes lingered at the way her lips formed into a soft smile, "Good." She praised.

Since then, the soldat's gaze had remain on her almost all the time. From the moment she threatened the two guards, to the time she looked away from the tortured candidates of the Winter Soldier program, to this very second as she undresses every part of her suit.

Though the mission was a success however, their plane was utterly wrecked by an unforeseen mini gun. So they were forced to walk through the snow storm and find shelter at one of Hydra's safe house.

It was not rare for the soldat to be paired with other agents on a mission but never with a woman. Much less the pretty little bunny that he had been obsessing over. Ever since that incident, the soldat often think of her. And he really tried too keep everything professional but something within him changed lately.

One particularly distinct moment that he experienced that made it clear to him; it was when he was waiting in the hall for his handlers to drag him around the facilities, and she happen to walk towards him from the opposite side. And when he brushed pass her, he noticed how his hands was itching to grab her by the neck and push her up against the wall.

As if there was this strong urge to claim her, mark her, fuck her. That was when he realized. The soldat wanted her. He wanted ruin her for everyone else. He wanted her to be his. But, he knew they keep watchful eyes on him. On both of them. And he can't risk that.

But now that she was standing right in front of him, in her underwear no less, how was he supposed to control himself?

Y/N turned her attention towards the soldat, he stood absolutely still that she almost thought he was literally frozen, "Why are you not stripping? Even with that super soldier serum in you, I doubt that you don't feel cold from those snow-soaked clothes."

Maybe it was the dim-lit room, but she swore that the soldat eyes darkened when she walk towards him. Especially when his eyes ranked the way her wet undergarments stick onto her skin.

How many times did she fantasize about the way he was looking at her. How many times did she made herself cum from the thoughts on grinding her cunt into his metal fingers.

Too many to count.

Especially when, in her head, she could see him in his suit with his knives, she could see him throwing his black mask on the floor, she could see him bending her over to his will, she could see him make her want him, crave him, need him.

And whenever their eyes met, she often think of the what-ifs between them. Like, what would he do if she went to touch him now? What would he do if Hydra never found them out? What would he do if they never made a sound?

What would he think if she made him her own personal addiction? Then will he entertain her fantasies by making her his own secret mission?

"Remember what I told you, soldat?" She asked as her hands reached for his mask.

Without hesitation, the soldat replied, "Never lie to you." as his face was bare for her to see.

Y/N took a step forward, so close that he could almost feel her skin on him, "Now tell me, what do you want?" Her eyes found his diluted ones as he lifted his gaze from her cleavage to meet hers.

His cock was rather truthful even from the beginning; now more than before when it twitched painfully in the confinement of his pants. The soldat hissed to the feel of it before he confessed, "I want you."

Y/N couldn't help but to smile, "Then, have me, soldat."

That was all he needed to hear. Her permission to have her, to own her. Then, very next second, he had her body pinned firmly against the wall, his lips on her soft ones, his wet tongue exploring in her mouth.

The soldat had his metal hand gripping the back of her neck, not wanting that pretty head of hers to hit the wall; while the other hand unabashedly teared the bra off from her body.

Breaking the kiss, the soldat's lustful gaze watched how her breasts became bare for him. So pretty and perky. His cock twitched madly as if it was ordering him to touch them, suck on them. And he did just that.

The soldat took her right nipple into his hot mouth while his free hand pawed on the other. Y/N moaned lewdly at roughness of his hand and mouth. When she threw her head back, that was when she saw it. At the corner of the room, she noticed a CCTV camera directly situated towards their direction

She grabbed a handful of his long hair, and lightly tugged him back but he refused to stop sucking on her. Y/N huffed when she whispered, "They're watching us."

That was when the soldat quickly released her from his mouth and quickly hovered his huge body over her, he growled possessively as his quick eyes scanned for all the nearby camera.

Y/N chuckled amusingly at his reaction, "Do you not like it when they watch us?" She teased. The soldat growled again as he pulled her closer, her nipples perked even more now that they touched the cold fabric of his clothes, "Mine. Mine alone." He declared.

Y/N looked up at him with a pair of seductive eyes, "Then, what are you going to do about it?" She taunted. The soldat swiftly pulled his knives out from his thigh strap and threw it directly at the lens of each camera in the room. Now no one would have a chance witness her divine body, or see what her face looks like when he make her cum.

There weren't much of intelligible words that came out of his mouth after that, besides the grumble noises of the word "mine".

The soldat latched her mouth onto her skin, particulary around her neck, collarbone and the valley of her breast. He kissed and licked and sucked to leave his mark on her as his metal hand dug into her hips.

Meanwhile, the flesh of his right hand slide right into her panties. He fingers trailed the outer slit of her cunt; as if he was purposely teasing her, "Зайка (bunny)" he groaned against her neck when he felt how wet she was. She squirmed needily under his hand, when his middle finger poked her entrance while his thumb grazed across her clit.

"So wet, all for me?" He purred as his finger slowly dug into her hole. Y/N whined and grabbed his wrist before he could go any further, "Want your metal fingers, soldat." she slurred deliriously; already drunk with his touches.

It took all his might to not fuck her right there and then when she let him have her. The soldat wanted to treat her gently, prepare her sweetly. Now that she had confessed such sinful desire, something in him just snapped.

He pulled his hand out, and effortlessly ripped her panties from her body before lifting one of her legs up, pushing her thighs towards her body. She yelped at the sudden roughness, embarrassment crept across her spine when the soldat licked his lips at the sight of her cunt, wide open for him.

"Want my metal fingers huh, Зайка (bunny)?" He trailed his metal fingers along her wet hole, "You got it." He abruptly shoved two of his digits into her, causing her to let out a loud gasp at the sudden intrusion.

The soldat didn't give her time to adjust, he simply pulled his fingers out to the very tip and thrust it back into her. And he does it again, and again and again. Until the pain turn into sheer pleasure.

When her eyes rolled back and shut close, the soldat growled disapprovingly, "No. Don't close your eyes. Look. Look down. Watch how your wet little hole take my metal fingers. That's it. Look at you. Fuck. Look. At. You." His pace didn't lose its rhythm when he fucked his fingers hard and fast; he curled them just right every time he hit that deep spot inside her.

His metal fingers was better that she had ever imagine, and the sight that she was looking at was so lewd that she was already so overstimulated from it, then when his thumb circled her clit, she thought she was seeing actual stars.

Streams of fluid was squelching everytime he shoved his fingers knuckles deep into her, that it trickled down his hand. It was so messy and the soldat loves it. He want her to be this messy all the time. He wanted to clean her up with his tongue. Lick every drip of her sweet fluid, swollow it like he was thristy and she was water.

At the this point, he would be willing to stay on his knees if it means that he get to have her cunt on his mouth always.

The soldat growled at the way she moaned so shamelessly at how harsh his fingers was violating her sweet pussy. He kept on rubbing on her clit and watched her body shuddered when he slap on it. Seeing her reaction, he continued to spank her clit and he fucked her harder; one, two, three, four, until she cried out a long moan and her pussy gushed with her creamy cum.

And seeing how her body trembled, her cream dripping out onto his hand, the soldat almost combust in his pants. Though apart of him wanted to feel her sweaty skin on his own, another just wanted to feel her warm pussy.

So, instead of wasting more of his time undressing himself, the soldat hurriedly unzipped his pants to release his aching cock out. He pulled his finger out and licked her cum clean while his other hand lazily pumped his leaking length, "Taste so good, Зайка (bunny). Bet you feel good too."

Y/N whined at his action, he looked so hot and bothered. And something about him fully clothed while pumping his needy cock for her; it just drives her to near feral. She let out an exasperated gasp when the soldat maneuvered her legs to cling around his waist, while his hand gripped on her hips. Her voice then stuck on her throat when he thrust his cock deep inside in one stroke.

His size was stretching her out so much that it burned, a good type of burn; in fact, the best type. The soldat on the other hand almost burst his cum the moment he entered her. She felt so good. Better that his rough hands when he jerked off to the though of her. But he was determined to make her cum on his dick before he get his own high.

So without letting her adjust to his size, he slowly pulled out and harshly slammed right back into her; fuck does it feel so good. And her mewling so needily for him does not help the situation at all. He repeated the same thing over and over until he managed to suck up his need to cum, then fasten his pace. And the sound of her wetness rubbing against his cock when he pounded into her was so damned and sinful, that never wanted to forget.

Her back repeatedly hit the wall from the force of his thrust that she needed to hold on his shoulders for support. His pace was fast and deep, almost erratic. Her moans broken when she felt the tip of her cock ramming at her womb, her walls clenching in delight to welcome such huge and hot length inside her. Every stroke was perfect and if she had no self-control she would be cumming each time the soldat forced his cock into her.

His hips slapped against her and she eagerly followed his every thrust, desperate to meet his skin as much as he was for her. And when she looked up to him, the soldat was looking directly into her. His ocean blues dove into her soul as his grunts tangled with her cries.

His breathing stuttered and his pace flatter. She could tell he was getting close. But, the soldat refused to; not until she cum first.

In and out. In and out. His pace became brutally delicious. Her nerves were stretching so good that her toes curled and that was when she felt the coil forming. Short needy pants left her lips, each one was a sign that she was getting closer to ecstacy, "I'm cumming, soldat. Please,, don't stop."

The soldat groaned, "Don't hold back." He pounded into her impossibly harder; and the delicious drag of his cock continued to punish her into pure ecstasy, forcing her cum to leak out and lather around his throbbing length, "That’s it, Cum for me, Зайка (bunny). Cum for your soldat,, ahh fuck so tight, i'm cumming too, ahh." The soldat chased his own release as continued to thrust inside her clenching hole.

"Fuckkkk i'm cumming inside you, Зайка (bunny). Will mark you mine with my cum. Ahhh ahhh fuckk", the soldat moaned to the addictive feel of her cunt milking him, and soon after when it hits him, his cock throbbed wildly as his cream leaked from the tip, endlessly filling her womb full with his warm cum.

Y/N whined to the amount of warm fluid spreading inside her. And when she thought his slowed thrust was a sign of an end, she couldn't be wrong. The soldat slowly pulled his cock out to the very tip, just pound it back into her. He groaned at the sight of his creamy cum spilling out, circling where his cock was stuffing her. Then he does it again, and again.

Until she started to moan for him, "hmmm,, s-soldat?" She hoped that he would explain himself.

His dark eyes only glint with lust and greed when a small smiled curved on his lips, "Oh, Зайка (bunny), I'm not done with you until I mark every part of you as mine."

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This scene has been played out in my head the whole day when Speak Now (TV) came out. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this short read! Drop some thought behind for me would you?

#winter soldier × reader #winter soldier x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier!bucky #winter soldier smut #bucky smut

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mobblespsycho100 · 2 months ago

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Ivan, The Idea vs. Ivan, The Man

a totally serious Ivan Alien Stage analysis by yours truly, Sash @mobblespsycho100

( Quick Disclaimer that I'm mostly going to use the word "love" here in a romantic context, but trust me, I am doing an inherently aromantic/anti amatonormativity analysis/interpretation of Alien Stage by virtue of being an aro doing the essayin. )

The whole premise of this analysis is that in my opinion, Ivan, homotron 3000, king yaoi the 3rd, canonically does not recognize his feelings for Till as "love". And no, it's not just because the aliens don't have a concept for it or the way they were raised in Anakt Garden / by their pet owning humans (even though that's partly one of the reasons)– because we see Sua and Mizi sort of recognize that their feelings for one another are something akin to our modern definition of love – even if they don't have the words for it and even if it goes beyond that ('my god my universe')

So, why do I think this? a couple reasons! the main one being the Ivan centric comic we got after round 6, but let's start with the thesis of this analysis:

Ivan thinks his feelings are selfish, and does not consider the alternative that it might not be.

[ exhibit a: "thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions"

but i wont get into that yet (says guy who is holding back to not talk abt it right away) ]

We're going to the very beginning to psychoanalyze king yaoi the 3rd, a little prelude if you will: ALIEN STAGE (Sweet Dream) & Black Sorrow brief discussion !

Alien stage (the video not . not the name of the series) is basically our introduction to the series and it is a banger. What's really interesting to me is that in the Ivan centric scenes it shows adult Ivan singing in alnst and smiling & staring at till with those homo eyes. The only time he's shown as a kid is in the Anakt garden singing practice group shot.

We can infer that he is a guy who I think cares abt his image or appearance, he looks like a very stereotypical image of an idol. However, his smile never really reaches his eyes. even when hes looking at Till, neither of them are smiling. Ivan only smiles on the stage, as he is performing. The careful and deliberate way he showcases himself is easy to see. He's charming, hes the thumbnail of the prologue! What's interesting to me is that there's really nothing that striking about his character design aside from the fact that his bangs are half covering his other eye (and what I mentioned abt the smile not quite reaching his eyes). There is a distance between him and the audience, the stage persona, not Ivan the man but Ivan the celebrity. Just another handsome face in the game.

Now, that initial character analysis isn't actually going to be all that relevant in this essay unfortunately (though I could definitely go into that! Maybe in an analysis comparing Ivan and Luka), but I really do like how the lyric that shows up on the [Ivantill] frame is "Live in Darkness" because it goes to my next point, Black Sorrow Ivan whos singing about himself and Till (him as the pov character and "you" as till, but I'm stating the obvious here). I'm not going over every lyric because this analysis would be way longer but basically, Black Sorrow is about the grief of never being able to reach someone who you want to be by your side forever so badly. Ivan understands that the ending of this contest is not a kind one, there is no field of flowers waiting for them after they win, only bloodshed.

"To me , you are black sorrow" says by the guy who wears all black and has eyes filled with sorrow. Alright all jokes aside though, I do enjoy the most widespread interpretation of the animation itself, that Ivan compares Till's nature to stars or a meteor shower in particular because of how that image is ingrained in his mind since childhood. I also think that Ivan associates Till with more of a candle always burning up, a star that has fallen to the dirt. A meteorite if you will, rock that made an impact and left a crater in Ivan's heart. He was always fascinated by the light in the dark sky. It represented beauty and hope to him, that maybe theres more to life than getting hurt. That there's light in the ever growing darkness as cliché as that sounds.

Till makes Ivan curious, more than anything. He enjoys aggravating him, making fun of him. Mizi is Ivan's friend , because (and I'm just guessing here mostly. i love their silly friendship shown in comics, its very important to me. ) she's fun to talk to and shes silly in a way that just makes people gravitate towards her, but Till is Ivan's friend because it is funny to piss him off. Till is interesting to Ivan because hes entertaining. Someone so talented and beloved yet easy to target. Someone who stands up for himself. Someone who is so so alive, burning up like a short quick fuse. Someone who can't and would not be kept down despite the collar on his neck. It intrigues Ivan, this guy who sings with enthusiasm and passion, not just going through the motions. Like some comet striking in the darkness. A true artist.

But in his eyes, this isn't Love. Its fascination at best, interest sure, admiration ? perhaps. What Ivan wants isn't Till's happiness, what he wants is to see him react in a funny way. Everything Ivan does is not for Till's sake, it's for his sake. His amusement. Till makes him feel alive, and hes grateful for that, he's grateful to have a companion like Till. (OR SO HE THINKS). In the end though, although he is affectionate, I don't think it registers in Ivan's mind that whatever he feels for Till is love. This is simply their dynamic of push and pull, tug and shove, tease and cry. It's something, and also nothing at all.

But then he tried to save him. He thought he could be the one to save him. And it fails– badly.

(right this is a small tangent but how exactly did he know how to open the collar mechanism? this guy's really fucking smart. did he use a pick? how did he just unclip it so easily??? is he crazy? did he observe the anakt supervisor do that? what the hell Ivan Alien Stage. maybe I'm missing an explanation here . if anyone knows please share .)

Right okay so the whole running away together , escaping the garden hand in hand, this must be when Ivan realizes he truly loves Till, enough to potentially sacrifice his life for him right? WRONG. We all know how this ended. Black sorrow, out of reach, so close and yet so far. Till going back to Anakt Garden, gazing at Ivan, looking back. Conflicted. Till was always a beacon of light. Till was always rebelling against the Anakt. He's the problem child, surely he'll go along with it? Surely he'll run away with Ivan. He's freed him! He's out of his cage now! He can do anything he wants, and they can go anywhere together!

Till went back. He couldn't bear to not see his friends again. He felt wrong for leaving everyone behind. He doesn't want to leave anakt garden, and maybe Mizi is the defining factor, but I think even if it wasn't Mizi who was left there I think he would've gone back. He looks back like Orpheus and Eurydice. He looks at Ivan and his eyes are almost an apology, he runs back. Fire burns around them. Ivan smiles.

And he goes back too.

OKAY now im just writing a whole ass fanfic. back to the damn analysis section.

Ivan's thoughts toward Mizi and Sua are so damn interesting to me, especially how he feels abt Sua. He recognizes what those two have going on as Love. He's kind of jealous of them really, he won't ever understand the feelings he harbors fully. He sees them laughing with each other, truly embracing each other's company joyfully, looking at one another like they're looking at the whole world. Part of why he doesn't think what hes got going on with Till is "love" is because its not the same, Till won't ever look at him like how he looks at Mizi or how Ivan himself looks at Till (in his eyes but lets be real I think Till pining for Mizi woulda been obvious for Ivan so he cant imagine Till enjoying his company the same way as Ivan does Till even if theyre friends but tbf I DON'T THINK IVAN WANTED SOMEONE TO MATCH HIS FREAK i think he wanted to be the only freaky one. but i digress). Right — so this is what establishes Ivan feeling like his feelings for Till are "shallow" and also what makes him laugh at Sua and call her twisted and selfish and "you'll be nothing more than a trauma to Mizi" (wtf btw) when Sua told him (presumably. honestly idk . how did he fuckin know) abt The Plan to sacrifice herself in round 1. Because to Ivan that is selfish, that is imbalanced, something that isn't right because to him Sua is only thinking of her own feelings. He laughed at her, taunted her. He felt vindicated. So yeah, you truly are twisted like I am, I thought we weren't the same, but deep down there is something deeply wrong with you too! (okay . stop that)

To Ivan thats kind of like how he feels about Till, he's not thinking about Till's feelings when he acts. He just Says shit and Does stuff and likes to bother Till because of the love of the game??? (Honestly? I can't tell. His mind is too oopy goopy for my comprehension)

And he ultimately regrets the words he said to Sua right? He said he was relieved that Sua is "also twisted" but all he did was project his own feeling of being a selfish and twisted person to Sua, who had no clue what the hell he was on about. Sua believed that she was going to save Mizi from pain, because death is pain, because she's seen that before and she would not let Mizi die in front of her. And Ivan says "hey but thats stupid , in dying yourself you're going to make her feel pain because she actually *loves* you and would not want you to die.". Which brings me to the whole point of the analysis though, because this isn't a "did Ivan love Till forreal" analysis it is a "Did Ivan realize he was experiencing love or was he fucking stupid" analysis.

and the answer is that its kind of a mix of both, but mostly hes fucking stupid (saying this with love in my heart).

Because until the end he thought he was selfish. Until the end he thought it was shallow emotion (and maybe he was being sardonic towards himself, but lets be real he understands that he was punishing himself for his feelings. He knew he felt strongly, but he didn't think what he felt for Till was love because it did not make Till happy. "I could never love him, I let him go" "I don't love him, I'd rather leave him then see him gone because he would not miss me, Im sure of it.")

Sooo what was the point of all this again? The point is that. Ivan is stupid. im joking okay the point is that maybe round 6 wasn't about the doomed tragic yaoi kiss. Maybe it was abt doomed yaoi but not about Ivan dying knowing that he loved Till. Maybe it wasn't about Ivan getting shot 3 times and dying in such a way it changed the trajectory of my life forever. Maybe it was about Till deserving better than Ivan (which is probably Ivan's thought process but lets be real did he even think abt how this would affect Till. He literally went "nah it won't" but no its not the point once again).

Round 6 was Ivan beginning to realize that maybe he's never going to get what he wants, and thats okay, because there is something selfless about dying for someone. Even if his emotions are "shallow", even if his motive was selfish, even if he looked hot during it (sorry. sorry) (he didn't i just wanted to tack on a joke), maybe in the end this was a little bit of "love" like what it looks like in Mizi and Sua. Maybe even better, because Till does not love him. Till would not feel pain if Ivan died, because he does not feel the same way (OR SO HE THOUGHT). He's only sorry to Till because this will be his last memory of Ivan now, a farewell kiss, and his cold clammy hands closing around his neck.

(Speaking of the kiss, I wonder if it's something he learned from books? or his segyein? because apparently a kiss is not a well known or even established sign of affection in alien society right (idk I'm not in the vivinos patreon i just saw this from somewhere)? and the only other person who knows the significance of a kiss as a gesture of love is Luka.)

Now back to love.

Till never realized it until it's too late. Ivan has not realized it even in the grave. Because dying for someone is a twisted thing, especially when it's someone like him who is already a twisted person doing it for Till, who is his light.

Was it a good show, Ivan? Did he look at you at the very end Ivan? did you see his expression when you fell to the cold stage, Ivan? Was it tears or was it rain that fell down as you lost your balance? Did your vision go dark before you saw that light Ivan? Did it even matter at the very end? Are you glad you made sure of your demise? Did it guarantee Till's safety?

Maybe it did. Even at the very end. You got the reaction you loved so much right? Another one to add in the ever expanding gallery, even if it was in these horrible circumstances.

Anyway, in conclusion? Ivan did not realize that his feelings for Till was love because he thought love had to be some kind of perfect thing between two people and since he was a selfish person then it could only be "shallow emotions" and Till the recipient of his "shallow emotion" could only be a victim. It never crossed his mind to even think otherwise and think about how Till might feel about all this because it's already set in his mind that he's selfish, cruel, and vain and Till deserves better. Gah.

Rest in peace king yaoi the third fly high this has been my ted talk/hot take/analysis that may not be a hot take I just don't actually engage with the fandom takes all that much . Peacing out now this guy is so fucking weird (peace and love) (Ivan stans don't go after me I am aware of his autism swag. I too am also--) 🕊️

Special thanks to you, the reader, if you managed to read all this :3 another special thanks to my friend group, crossover ✌️ especially E my good friend E. Alrighty idk how to end this

bye 👽🎙️

#alien stage #alien stage analysis #sash talks #ivan alien stage #alnst #ivan alnst #ivantill #<- technically. this is abt ivan being stupid . but its basically me hitting ivantill with an arospec beam #till alnst #mizi alnst #sua alnst #mizisua relevance to ivantill analysis? always .mizisua my clematis ran so ivantill cure blinked gone . if thats anything

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shiny-jr · 4 months ago

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Please yap away about your new Empyrean series~! I’ve been watching a bunch of videos and reading about Genshin Impact so I can better understand the world and dynamics you’re planning to write about and absolutely fascinated with everything~

Is there a specific dorm you’re looking forward to writing about or possible side arcs/missions in between the MC meeting the different Archons like the events in Twisted Wonderland? Were some of the dorm leaders easier to place as the different Archons elements than others and if so who did you struggle with?

Oh god, where do I even start? How much is too much to say? I don't want to spoil whole parts. I haven't actually written anything for it, but I do certainly have ideas. Ideas that have been accumulating slowly but surely.

Uh, I think first thing's first, none of the TWST cast are going to be just human. How unfair would it be if, say, Riddle was an archon (god) and Ace was just human? Kinda unfair. Which is why all the characters are going to be something else. I'm still figuring some of this part out.

Keep in mind, my knowledge of Genshin Impact extends as far as Inazuma and no further. Anything I know beyond that was through tiktok, that is it. So I'll be taking heavy inspirations from the first three regions.

Pairing the element to a character wasn't too hard actually. So first I focused on the archons, and I looked at the dorm leaders and what they stand for and what type of magic they use.

We know Riddle uses a lot of fire magic based off his SSR Dorm Uniform card. Additionally, the color scheme just went well with his hair color and the roses and all. At first I thought it seemed uncanny, because how could a green region based off of Britain be symbolic of the pyro element? Well, then I considered that since it borders Savanaclaw, it could make sense.

For Leona, I took into account the volcanoes that act as a natural border between his land and Riddle's. Additionally, his unique magic made it a very easy choice. I mean, turning things to sand? Slapping Geo on it and calling it a day.

On Azul's, I was actually torn. I know it seems like an obvious choice of hydro, but listen, at first I actually considered giving Kalim hydro due to his own unique magic. Then I thought maybe Azul would get cryo, but in my mind, leaving the other elements to the remaining characters just didn't make much sense. So, ultimately, Azul won the hydro element.

Giving Kalim the dendro element just happened to coincidentally align with the Sumeru region's main element. I wanted to give Kalim the next best thing if he couldn't have hydro, which was dendro. As I see it as a very "good" element with positive qualities, which he deserves.

Vil was one of the others that gave me trouble when assigning him an element. For a very brief moment, I considered giving him dendro, but that just didn't fit the sort of aesthetic I had in mind for him. Then I remember what his home region is supposed to look like, if it's similar to Epel's, it's snowy, right? So cryo was the next best option. I think it actually fits him well, if I do say so myself.

Idia was the last character to give me trouble. For a while I really was not sure about giving him the anemo element, as he just seemed like the complete opposite of Venti and his ideals. However, the longer I thought about, the more I came to terms with it. Wind doesn't have to mean just freedom. Wind can be very terrifying too, like what we see in Stormterror's Lair which is the sort of aesthetic I imagined when I finally assigned him anemo.

I mean, duh, of course Malleus was getting electro. What else did you expect? I mean, there was a second where I considered giving electro to Idia, but then giving anemo to Malleus didn't sit right with me. Electro was ultimately the best choice for this archon. It's constantly used in the games around him, he has control over it, it just made sense to give him this element.

Any other characters that are not archons will have their elemental type be based off the region they're from. HINT HINT. For example, Riddle may be pyro as he is the archon, but at least one person in Heartslabyul will not have the pyro element.

#shiny speaks #empyrean twst au

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annymation · 1 year ago

Text

Reimagining the characters in Wish

(Part 1- Asha)

Hey guys! I don’t really know how to start this, but let’s just say that I… Didn’t like how Disney’s 100th anniversary movie turned out, like at all.

But I can tell there was a lot of unexplored potential beneath this story, that in my opinion felt overly simple and bare bones.

But if you love it, that’s awesome, more power to you, I wish I could’ve loved it too. And I don’t want to rewrite it to show I’m “better than the writers at Disney” because I’m definitely not lol, I have no experience in writing, and I’m sure they put a lot of passion into the project and I respect them for that. But this movie inspired me with ideas for a different story that I think is worth telling.

But I won’t start telling it today, instead, I'll start a series of blogs sharing my ideas for changes in the characters and their stories, after I get some feedback I will start posting more of the story itself.

If you’re interested, then come along!

Asha✨

Personality

- Asha is a 18 year old girl, with a passion for drawing and helping those around her, sometimes even worrying more about helping others than helping herself

- She’s like a big sister to her 7 friends, always being the voice of reason and acting responsible, but not in a bossy way, she’s actually very playful with them

- To the people of Rosas tho, she's seen as kind of a weirdo, for you see, she spends almost every time of the day drawing in her sketchbook

- She practices everyday to become a better artist, and the people of Rosas find this to be very peculiar, after all, why would you take so much effort to perfect a talent when you can simply wait to turn 18 and wish for the king to make you an amazing artist?

- Asha doesn’t mind these comments, although they have made her less willing to share her drawings with others that aren’t her 7 friends

- As the story progresses we see Asha flourish from a shy and introverted girl to a brave woman who after discovering a terrifying secret about the kingdom’s rulers, steps in and inspires others to join her and fight an evil sorcerer king and his alchemist wife (yes, I made Amaya an alchemist, more on that on part 2 when I talk about how I’d change Magnifico and Amaya)

- Some Disney characters that share similarities with her personality wise are: Belle, Tiana, Pocahontas and Esmeralda

Main Traits:

Calm and mature

Determined

Passionate about her interests (drawing, dancing, philosophy and stars)

Helpful and generous

Perceptive and always questioning things around her that no one pays attention to (like why do all the artists only paint the King and Queen?)

Playful

Compassionate

Backstory

Oooh boy I gave this poor girl so much angst, okay let’s go

Asha grew up with her grandfather, her parents both died in a fire when she was just a baby

(this isn’t just to fit the “haha Disney princess has no parents” cliche, there’s plot relevance in this “mysterious fire” that I’ll talk about later)

Growing up with her grandpa, he’d always support her dream to be an artist, like her mother, who was an art teacher

Her mother not only drew really well, but she also was able to create the illusion that her drawings could move, by flipping through the pages of her sketch books

In other words, her mom was an animator

Asha saw this technic her mom used as a form of magic, so she would often tell her grandpa she wanted to “Do magic just like my mom”

Her father was a philosopher (this was established in the actual movie but never explored haha whyyyy), who taught people that working hard to achieve your dreams is not only rewarding, but also essential, because it’s part of the human nature to persevere and fight for what we believe, even if we fail, even if it’s hard, just keep moving forward.

This philosophy may sound very “umm duh” for me and you since we all know and hear everywhere nothing in life comes for free… But that’s not the case in Rosas

In this rewrite the kingdom wasn’t created by Magnifico, but rather the kingdom has existed for many generations, being ruled by different kings before Magnifico who also granted wishes… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The point is that the culture of just asking the king to give you or make you whatever you want to be has been in this kingdom’s culture since forever, so when Asha’s dad comes out saying “hey! Maybe we should stop just relying on the king to make our dreams come true, right?” He’s actually being quite a revolutionary… and sharing a very dangerous belief to other people…

At this point you might suspect what caused that “mysterious fire”

So, back to Asha, growing up with her grandpa, they shared a lot of happy memories together. Reading her father's books and her mother's art books helped Asha connect with them even tho she never had them in her life.

But as her grandfather grew older, he became senile.

Asha went from being taken care of by her grandpa to being the one who took care of him when she was still around 13 years old, and when she turned 15 her grandfather passed away of old age

Asha went on to live with her best friend Dahlia, the two became like sisters.

Though she managed to move on from the loss of her grandfather, she could never shake the feeling that he died without getting his wish granted... But she had no way to prove that, it was just a feeling

The wish granting system works different in my rewrite, instead of there being a public wish granting ceremony once a month, there would only be a public wish TAKING ceremony, that would work just like in the movie, you turn 18, you go give your wish to the king yada yada yada.

But the wish granting part would work like this: Almost every night the king would release the wishes up in the sky, they would float down like balloons to their respective owners while they sleep, and once they woke up in the morning they'd feel that their wishes were granted, for they would wake up changed.

With this method, there's no way of confirming if someone really got their wish granted or not, unless you went to ask the king.

Asha never did ask the king if he granted her grandfather's wish, but her grandfather would sometimes express how he wasn't feeling completely fulfilled in his life, he felt like there was something... missing.

This feeling of hollowness persisted in him until the very end, no matter how hard Asha tried to help her grandfather, she never knew him as his real self, because he gave part of his soul to the king, the most beautiful part of his soul, his wish.

Asha had no proof that her grandfather didn't get his wish granted, only a gut feeling.

But because of this, Asha wasn't that thrilled to give her own wish to king magnifico, knowing there was the possibility of it never being granted.

Not to mention she didn’t even know what to wish for, “I’m just 18 and you guys expect me to already know what’s my heart’s deepest desire? I’m still figuring that out, all I know is that I wanna draw”

Plus she wanted to follow her father's philosophy and achieve her wish on her own, eventually, when she figured out what her wish even was.

Asha never rebelled against the system tho, she wasn't a confrontational person. She just accepted the people of Rosas preferred to rely on the king's magic, but that just wasn't for her.

However, on her 18 birthday, when it was expected of her to give her wish to the king, she simply said she didn't have a wish, and even if she did she wouldn’t want to hand it over, she wanted to make it come true on her own. This lead to an argument with the king, and after a series of events (that I don't have time to summarize here, but you can find out about it on my rewrite) leads to her finding out a terrible truth about her kingdom. And that's how her story begins.

Design

- I’d keep these braid ornaments that Asha had in the concept art

- Since in my rewrite she’s not that invested in the kingdom of Rosas, I’d remove all the Kingdom of Rosas symbols that are present in her design (there are a LOT of them)

- I’d replace these Rosas insignia with more star and constellations themed symbols, to reflect how Asha believes that the stars are connected to people and they can guide us, just like how her father believed.

Final Thoughts

My intentions with these changes were to give Asha a strong emotional hook, and something that makes her feel relatable.

The emotional hook here is how she spent so much of her life taking care of her grandfather that she kinda never had time to worry about her own desires, that alone can be relatable to caregivers of elderly people that watch their grandparents or even their own parents lose themselves as time passes, and end up worrying more about the person they’re taking care of than themselves.

Asha has this internal emotional conflict where she feels she needs to constantly help others the same way she helped her grandfather, and one of the things she’ll learn as the story progresses is that it’s not selfish of her to want more for HERSELF.

Another thing that would be relatable about Asha is her passion for drawing, and how most people in Rosas would say she’s wasting her time practicing so much when she can just wait until she turns 18 and wish to be amazing at drawing.

She’d never stop believing that taking her time to improve on her talent and trying again and again was worth every second of her time, because let me tell ya folks, drawing is HARD, and animating like Asha’s mom did is even HARDER, it takes a whole lot of practice, and Asha was determined to keep trying.

She’d be much like Belle, remaining true to herself even tho those around her considered her odd, and very passionate about drawing just as much Belle was passionate about reading.

I also find it funny how Asha’s motivations are fairly down to earth, like in Disney movies you usually have:

I want to be free from these palace walls!

I want to explore the ocean!

I want to open a restaurant!

I want to find true love!

And then there’s Asha here like

“My life is fine, I just wanna chill and draw stuff”

And that’s it, but, in her environment where everyone is expected to have this great wish that they have to give to the king so he’ll make it a reality, she’s kinda the odd one out, and I love that. Would be a great subversion of the Disney formula.

Of course after she learns Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions she gets a lot more agency and the desire to save her people, her “call for adventure” if you will.

But what are Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions? Click here for part 2 and find out!

Thank You For Reading!

#disney wish #wish #reimagined #rewrite #disney #wish 2023 #wish asha #wish star #king magnifico #wish movie #wish disney #wish rambles #wish rewrite #Asha #long post #wishrewrite

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xzyolotl · 4 months ago

Note

Can you loredump about some of your OCs? [Maybe Roeland + Markos?]

Okay, I can write a bit about my characters. I am bad at writing things down so this is a good excuse to do so.

Markos and Roeland are characters from my Plasticity project. The worldbuilding of Plasticity isn’t very developed, as I don’t really have any fancy plans for it beyond character designs and silly pictures. But there are some details I can share:

The world of Plasticity is a post-apocalyptic Earth where creatures made of microplastics have taken the place of humans.

The project originally started with lowpoly [ crystalline alien characters, ] but I wanted to create a population of creatures for them to mess with for silly alien shenanigans, and with the nature of 3D imagery, I wanted them to look quite a bit different as well.

The inhabitants of Plasticity think cars are a kind of ancient creature, like dinosaurs. They think what we call fossils are just “weird rocks.”

I originally referred to the plastic inhabitants of Plasticity as “Plastic Monsters”, though in their world they refer to themselves as Polymers, which is the name of a small material with synthetic varieties that make up plastics. I am not so smart with words and just wanted a simple name for them.

The visuals of Plasticity are inspired by 1980s CGI and P.F. Magic’s Petz series of games, specifically Oddballz.

The original design for [ Abby ] appeared in my mind while listening to the Donkey Kong 64 soundtrack.

Now, some notes for the characters you asked about (Markos & Roeland):

MARKOS – Polymer (Hamster-type) – Age 28 – He / Him pronouns

Likes to watch wrestling on the TV.

Thinks beetles are neat. His apartment is overrun with a kind of highly intelligent beetles, though he seems to be completely unaware of how smart they are, they are just little silly guys to him.

Met Abby at age 4 (Abby was 6). Abby ate a bug in front of Markos, after that he felt he needed to teach Abby how to be kind to bugs. They both grew up alongside each other since then. Markos sees Abby like a sibling, as part of his family.

Works a boring office job. He isn’t quite sure what the business he works for even does but isn’t interested in asking questions.

Has some internal baggage that has resulted in a reliance on alcohol. Though he wasn’t aware of how much alcohol he consumes until shortly after he started dating Roeland, who expressed concern about the excessive amount alcohol both of them were drinking.

ROELAND – Polymer (Hamster & Square Mixed-type) – Age 31 – He / Him & They / Them pronouns

Lost their right arm due to weak magnetism in the joints caused by genetic condition. They have a specialized diet and medications to help prevent this from happening to their other limbs.

Is generally quiet, but if a friend brings up the right topic he will not shut up.

Has a fear of [ house goblins. ]

Works at a games store at a mall. Hates it but has many interesting stories to share with friends.

Is saving up money for a prosthetic arm to replace the missing one.

Enjoys fiber crafts, they have an excessive yarn collection. They like to make little sweaters and hats for Markos’ beetle friends.

That is all I have the time to write down for now, I do have little webpages for my projects over [ at my website, ] though the pages for them aren’t very filled out at the moment. I have been focusing on my [ Teratoma project. ]

#ask///#OCs///#markos///#roeland///#plastic monsters///

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rustyelias · 6 months ago

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Louis and photography

“Oh wrestling time to the ground, staring it into submission. Holding it your hand. I was there. This occurred.” - Louis

Louis uses two cameras during season two a rolleiflex and a lecia both were the go-to cameras for photographers of the time! Speaking of the time period! post-war Paris is my personal speciality when it comes to film photography!!!

I think it's pretty clear that Louis's photos are based on brassaï works, night photography in Paris was brassaï thing! Both his and Louis's photos show us things the night reveals to us whilst feeling mysterious and intimate. The photos of the young men who armand fed on afterwards feels very brassaï other then the vampire thing (another really cool post by someone on brassai and iwtv)

“Night does not show things, it suggests them. It disturbes and surprises us with its strangeness. It liberates forces within us which are dominated by our reason during the daytime” - brassaï

”Then you can get mindful about it. Ask yourself what brought them here. What brought you here. Is it coming together random?” - Louis

okay so in ep4 when Louis is talking with the art dealer the guy makes a big deal of Louis always shooting at night! and yeah as a night photographer myself it's hard to get right which I think we see in Louis photos!

“Do you know how many great shots I've taken, only to find out the lighting was insufficient” - Louis ep4. big mood!!!

night photography is very alluring in nature and takes so much time. Film make you slow down and think before clicking the shutter release but doing it at night takes even more time!! a vampire who literally has forever is taking night photos will always be incredible to me

Okay, I think I need to mention the humanist movement and how it links with Louis! Post war there was a massive increase in street photography which focused on more positive themes. Louis speaks very positively of the idea of Paris rebuilding itself at the beginning of the series and the progression to him taking street at night is super interesting to me! Because he really does sound like a humanist photographer like Willy Ronis or Robert Doisneau when he speaks to Claudia about Paris

“I don't know a suprise maybe. Something off. Like a hat that's to small for a head or someone realising they forgot to do something and they stop” - Louis

“To me, photography is the simultaneous recognition in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event.” – Henri Cartier-Bresson

“It says paris is on the way back. give here a little time” -Louis

The vampire is watching humanity from close up, close enough to capture it but far enough away to always feel on the edge of it all. I also really like how Louis is clearly annoyed in ep4 about the fact he has to shoot at night! he doesn't want to sit around waiting for the decisive moment or meter the lighting which is so relatable!!!

#hi hello this is me just yapping and wanting somewhere to put all my screen shots of the photos mostly 😭#I'm also a night photographer and I have way to many thoughts about photography and iwtv so naturally they are mixing up in my mind #I wish I could word things better but yeah #they had such a good time era to give Louis a photography interest!!!#i might even make a post about Louis darkroom and his setup #smiles so bigly #iwtv #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #eli madness

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radio-fmm · 1 year ago

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Lady’s man

Sanji x gardener!reader

Warnings: fluff with a bit of angst, alcohol consumption, fem reader, good ending

Word count: 2,302 words

Summary: In which Sanji could not stop flirting with everyone in front of you. This is also from my series of reader with earth powers but can be read as a stand alone

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started to develop feelings for a man such as Sanji, a man that just has to flirt with every woman that crosses his path and comes undone when one looks his way even for just a second

“That’s not the only thing that he is ok?” You defended yourself one girls night with Nami and Robin in your room “He’s very passionate of what he does, he’s so kindhearted and is always looking out for everyone in the crew!” you said while looking down shyly -“Ah y/n I really don’t understand you! You are really romantic, sweet, beautiful and strong you deserve better than that!” Nami exclaimed taking both of your shoulders and shaking you, Robin giggled “Love is a mistery” Nami frowned as you were blushing red “But I must say” Robin spoke again, getting both of your and Namis attention “He’s quite the lady’s man and I don’t think you’re the kind of person that would brush that off easily” she looked at you kindly, Nami nodded.

And today he was really testing your patience.

You had docked at an Island, you always loved looking for markets every time you stopped and Sanji was the one in charge of restocking the fridge so you always walked together around markets, today was no different but Sanji was extra Sanji that evening, literally throwing himself at any woman that walked past you, usually you try to ignore it, you’re the kind of person to always find good in people and you knew that the cook was a good man he just couldn’t help being like he was around women, it was his flaw he’s human after all.

But oh god how it would make your stomach turn.

You sighed as you were once again left speaking to the wall as Sanji spoke flirty honeyed words to, surprise, another pretty girl in one of the stands nearby, you sighed, payed the kind man the ring you had chosen and continued walking. As you passed by the blonde man you saw as he kissed the woman’s hands

That was it, “Sanji!” you spoke loudly so he would turn your way, and he did “I am gonna join Zoro and Usopp at the bar I’m thirsty” he excused himself from the woman and walked closer to you looking a little confused “But you don’t… drink” you sighed “I just have a little headache, I’ll see you back at the Sunny!” You didn’t stick around to hear his answer and walked away.

You sat at the bar defeated, Sanji was right you don’t drink but asked for a piña colada with alcohol just to ease your anger “Are you serious? You can’t come to a bar and ask for a drink like that” Zoro mocked “Give me a break” you sighed while you massaged your temples, the swordsman examined your face, you really looked stressed out but he wasn’t one to ask about feelings and that stuff, he glanced at Usopp who just did an ‘I don’t know’ expression.

“What about you try something a liiittle stronger” Usopp offered his drink to you “Thank you man but I’m good I just want to refresh a little” you smiled softly “Whatever you say but that face doesn’t fool anyone y/n” he was right, you were really expressive especially with your face, sometimes even doing faces when you didn’t notice.

“Did that stupid cook do something to you?” You and Usopp looked at Zoro eyes wide, did he just asked you what you think he asked you?

Ever since you joined you learned that the best way to get along with the swordsman was by being in comfortable silence, you were introverted by nature so you didn’t really mind it and Zoro actually liked having someone on the ship that could be quiet. Sometimes you would go to him whenever you needed help in the fight department, asking for tips but that was really it, you had never conversed about anything outside that area of topics.

You flushed a little, flowers coming out of your hair, but before you could answer a really drunk man fell over Zoro and made him fall completely to the ground and spill his sake all over him, you gasped ‘please don’t be stupid’ you thought to yourself but it was already too late

“HEY! WATCH IT YOU MORON!” Zoro rose from the floor and took the man by his collar “Yeah what the hell was that? Do you know who we are?!” Usopp chimed in “Oh god” you covered your face in dismay

Predictably this interaction ended in a bar fight and you had to drag your stupid friends out of there before you got into a bigger trouble.

“I broke my ribs! And my feet hurt! And my knuckles are bleeding an-“

“Oh god Usopp can you just shut up! I’m literally carrying you what else do you want!” Using your earth powers, you were carrying Usopp in your back while leaves and branches held him in place, Zoro laughed out loud “And you better shut up too you were the one that got us into all of this!, you’re such stupid toddlers, I can’t believe you call yourselves pirates” not another word was said until you arrived to the Sunny

“YOU GUYS ARE FINALLY BACK!” You heard Luffy scream form the deck with a wide smile which quickly faded as he watched how you were dragging Usopp and Zoro’s ‘I got yelled at’ guilty face

As you finally got in the Sunny and left Usopp on the floor for Chopper to check up on, panting since he was quite heavy for you, Sanji rushed your way, worry plastered all over his face- “Flower what happened? Are you ok?” You were really not in the mood for talking specially to Sanji right now, you just grunted and walked away to your room, which made everyone look in absolute shock, you are usually very kind and understanding with everyone on the crew specially Sanji, so this reaction left everyone surprised “So you did something to her uh?” Zoro said nonchalant as always, Sanji looked at the swordsman angrily “What did you say?” Luffy whistled “Well whatever you did you better apologize it most have been really bad, I’ve never seen her angry before”

Sanji stood there surprised and trying to figure out what was he had said or done to you that could have possibly made you upset.

You threw yourself in bed, hands on your face as you groaned, you hated jealousy so much. You felt like it ate you away, and the worse thing? You can’t even complain about it because you were not Sanjis girlfriend.

You heard a knock on your door, you rolled your eyes as you got up “Nami, Robin, I’m really not in the mood right no-“ When you opened the door Sanji was standing there, looking unsure with your shopping bag in one hand “You left this outside” he said softly, you sighed and took it “Thank you Sanji” as you were closing the door, he stoped you with one hand looking trough the open spot with his puppy eyes that would usually melt you, not right now tho “Can I talk to you for a second… sunlight?” Oh god he really got you wrapped around his finger doesn’t he? You stop putting force on the door as you pulled away “Come in” you said almost annoyed.

Sanji entered your room hesitantly, almost like he was in a prohibited area, he took in everything he could in your room, he had never been here before. You had all your walls adorned with paintings of the sun, moon, stars, clouds and plants all over; pretty gems hanged form the ceiling and pictures of you and the crew hanged beside your mirror, he also noticed the dried flowers hanging in one of the walls. You never had on the big light on the room, you had tiny and warm lamps all over the place, so cozy, and then he saw it, Sanji froze when he noticed one of his hand written notes he had put on one of his special meals he did for you and the girls plastered in the door of your dresser, along with a dried rose he had given you when you first joined the crew.

‘Oh My God, he felt lighter and like he was about to pass out- “Sanji?” You called him, he shook his head and looked at you sitting on your bed and he remembered what he was here for, he cleared his throat “I-“ you cut him off “Sit here” you said as you patted the spot beside you. Slowly Sanji obeyed and sat beside you, your sheets looked like a mossy cloud, how fitting.

He was struggling to look at you, he frantically tried to look anywhere but your face, he took a big breath and called you by your name, no pet names, no dear attached, oh he was serious, this made you shiver “I don’t know what could have I possibly done to offend you, but I just want you to know I am really sorry and I would like to fix this” he said while looking at the floor, you shook your head slowly “Sanji look, it was honestly something really stupid and I shouldn’t have allowed it to get to me, you don’t need to worry about me, really”

“No” he turned to you now focusing on your face which surprised you a bit “Your feelings are not something stupid, I want to know what I did so I can fix it” you hesitated on telling him, because in a way it would make your feelings for the man very obvious, you were cornered.

But Sanji could read you like a book and he noticed your antics whenever you got nervous, your breath quickened and you started to play with your necklaces avoiding eye contact, and saw the grass and flowers blossoming from your feet looking for the floor.

He placed a hand on yours and took a heavy breath that you mimicked so you would ground yourself “Listen dear if you don’t want to talk about it then its fine, but I would really hate leaving you here all upset”, you sighed and surrendered.

“I know that you can’t really help flirting with women all the time” you started looking directly at his eyes so he knew you were honest “That’s part of who you are, and I am very understanding but today it really annoyed me because I couldn’t even have a proper conversation with you…” You bended to the side and pulled something out of your shopping bag “I actually got something for you” you handed him a golden ring with a beautiful design of the sun and the moon on it “Because you were to busy flirting you didn’t even payed attention to what I was showing you… I bought it anyways because I really liked it for you… so yeah, stupid right?”

The blonde cook was absolutely dumbfounded, he felt so guilty, not only had he made your time on the island unpleasant, but you were trying to shop for him while he was spinning around with other women? And still got him something? Oh god he wanted to die there and then, you truly were an angel and he didn’t deserved someone like you being nice to him

“I” he examined the ring, it was so… you “Sunlight I am really really sorry” he looked at you teary eyed which surprised you “You’re always treating me with so much sweetness and understanding and greatfullness for me to pay you like this? I am very stupid… And I absolutely adore this ring” he put it on and took your hands in his “I could promise you I’ll never do this again but you know better than that, so next time just yank me by the ear and I’ll stop being such a fool”

You really didn’t expected this response from him, he looked disappointed on himself, guilty teary eyes and shaky breath, you smiled at him, once again being your soft kind self

“Oh Sanji” you embraced him in a honest hug “Don’t worry, like I said before I understand you, you’re human, thank you for setting things yo right with me I really appreciate it, and I’m glad you liked the ring” you heard him sniffle in your ear, you pulled away to look at him “Why are you crying?!” You laughed “Hey don’t laugh at me!” He exclaimed whipping his tears away “Am not!” You laughed again which made all of Sanjis worry’s fade, your laughter was his favorite song, you took the hand were he had placed the ring you gifted him and put it in yours and examined it “It looks really good on you” you said tenderly as you made flowers blossom in his hand, this always made him nervous; the compliment made the man turn bright red, that and how close you were while sitting in your bed, in your room… he was lightheaded again.

You pulled him in yet another hug “Sanji, really it’s ok” and like that he finally realized that what he felt for you, was different, no one had ever treated him whit such tenderness and carefully as you did, like he would break by any sudden move. He returned your hug moving whit such care, like he was scared you’ll fear him and run away like a bunny. The blonde man glanced at the flower and note on the dresser and smiled ear to ear.

You were special and he had to never let you go again.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

WAAA yeah I’m making this a series so recommend me stuff you want to read about gardener!reader and Sanji, The next one I’ll post would probably be Sanjis confession ✨. English is not my first language so feel free to correct me!

324 notes · View notes

simplygojo · 7 months ago

Text

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 8

Authors Note: I really hope you guys like this chapterrrrr, we are finally getting to the good part of this series and I am SO EXCITED ABOUT IT!! I hope you guys are liking the direction of this series, and i think this chapter adds some long-awaited spice...

You guys have given me so much support since re-joining Tumblr as a writer, so I wanted to give back to y'all by hosting a giveaway event! Here are the details for those interested: SimplyGojo1K

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After Mahito shows up, y/n and the first years are forced to fight him, but somehow, he recognizes y/n, and toys with her. Meanwhile, after frustrating Gojo beyond his threshold, you two have a heated argument about what it is you're doing...

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: mention of d*eath, light smut (👀 )

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

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*link to the ch.8 teaser if you'd like to read that before hand*

You hadn’t seen a curse that looked so human-like before. Despite that, though, his figure still oozed an errieness that you felt at your core.

“I get to fight my natural enemy, Yuji Itadori, the famous Satoru Gojo…and you… the new experiment…I don’t think I can touch your soul…but oh god, I wonder how your soul feels, y/n y/l/n,” he purred, his voice dripping with twisted curiosity.

“Oh, this will be so fun!” His grin widened, and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of something darker, something far more dangerous than his playful demeanour.

His gaze flitted between the group, but it kept landing back on you.

“Let’s see how well you break.”

The curse’s grin stretched wider, and the next moment, he lunged with terrifying speed, targeting Yuji with a flurry of vicious attacks.

The group immediately scattered, their instincts kicking in as they took defensive stances.

“Yuji, Megumi—split off and handle the cursed spirits!” Gojo’s voice was sharp, his usual playful edge completely absent as his eyes followed the curse’s movements.

“Nobara, keep your distance and strike from range.”

You barely registered Gojo’s commands, your heart pounding as the curse turned toward you again, its eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

It came for you next, a blur of motion that sent you skidding back, blocking a strike aimed at your chest with your shield technique.

His voice slithered in your mind, almost a whisper.

“Let’s see how far you can push that little black flame inside you.”

Your breath hitched, and your eyes widened with the meaning of his words—the mention of your cursed energy triggered a sharp spike of fear and anger. You felt the power of the black energy—stirred, unbidden, a dark pulse echoing inside you.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you hissed, channelling your blue cursed energy into a defensive barrier, pushing back against the curse’s oppressive aura.

Gojo, Yuji, and Megumi engaged in a barrage of attacks, Yuji charging forward with his fists, while Megumi summoned his Shikigami to overwhelm the cursed spirits.

The battlefield turned chaotic in an instant, the clash of cursed techniques lighting up the space with terrifying intensity.

But the curse was unrelenting. He deflected every blow with disturbing ease, his eyes flicking back to you as if waiting, watching for the right moment.

“Y/n, get back!” Gojo’s voice cut through the chaos, but you were already too deep into the fight, your cursed energy swirling out of control.

The blue shield you’d summoned started flickering, and before you could stabilize it, a dark, familiar surge erupted from within you.

The black energy shot from your fingertips—wild, unrestrained. You gasped, the force of it ripping through the air and slamming into the patch-faced curse with an impact that shook the ground.

But instead of retreating, the curse laughed, absorbing the blow like it was nothing.

“Wow, impressive!” The patch-faced curse voiced with satisfaction, and a terrifying grin grew on his lips. “You’ve got more control of that curse than I thought you would.”

Gojo’s eyes darted to you, frustration flickering in his usually calm expression. “Alright.” He said matter-of-factly.

“We’re done here. I’m taking you back to the school.”

You turned toward him, disbelief and anger flaring in your chest.

“What? We can’t just leave! We could get more information from him!”

“This isn’t a game, y/n,” Gojo snapped, his eyes narrowing, the weight of his presence crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“We’re not getting anything useful from him right now, he’s just muttering bullshit, and you’re out of control.”

Your hands clenched into fists, the sting of his harsh words pushing you further.

“I’m not out of control—I can handle this! We’re finally getting closer to the truth, and you want to just leave?!”

The curse let out a low chuckle, as if enjoying the conflict. “Oh, I’m happy to stay and watch this unfold…”

Gojo’s patience visibly thinned, his jaw tightening as his frustration mounted.

“This isn’t up for debate. I’m not risking your life over—”

“I’m not leaving!” Your voice broke through the tension, your stubbornness ignited by a mix of fear and anger.

“If we run now, we might not get another chance! I want to know more!”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, you saw a rare flicker of something intense behind his normally teasing eyes.

“What…do you want to die?” His voice was low, sharp, cutting through your defiance like a blade.

You froze, the question hanging in the air between you. His words echoed in your mind, and for the first time, you saw something raw in his gaze—an emotion you couldn’t quite place, something far deeper than just frustration.

Your eyes searched his, darting back and forth as you fought your emotions.

The curse, however, was far from done. “Ooh, this is getting interesting,” it purred, lunging at Yuji again, forcing everyone back into action. Gojo let out a grunt in frustration.

Yuji and Megumi were locked in combat with the cursed spirits. Nobara’s nails flew through the air, striking from a distance, but even her attacks weren’t enough to slow the curse down.

And yet, the curse kept coming back to you.

The curse’s laughter rang in your ears as it lunged at you again, its movements swift and relentless. You dodged another strike, barely managing to evade its claws, but you could feel your blue energy faltering, weakening with each second.

Then, you felt it—the black energy surging up again, darker, more sinister than ever before. It clawed at your mind, tugging at your very core as if it wanted to consume you.

But this time, instead of retreating from it, you let it in.

With a sudden, sharp clarity, you pointed your fingers into the shape of a gun, your black cursed energy coiling at your fingertips like a loaded weapon. A strange calm settled over you as you aimed directly at the patch-faced curse.

Without thinking, you pulled the imaginary trigger.

A sharp, piercing bolt of black cursed energy shot from your fingers, cutting through the air with terrifying speed. The curse didn’t even have time to react.

The attack slammed into his chest with a resounding crack, piercing clean through his body.

The curse’s grin faltered, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbled back, blood oozing from the gaping hole in his chest. The air around you went still, the intensity of the blow leaving everyone momentarily stunned.

Even Gojo’s eyes flickered with a flash of surprise.

Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara froze, their battle with the cursed spirits halting as they stared at the scene in shock.

The power, the precision—none of them had seen you unleash anything like that before.

The curse coughed, blood dripping from his lips as he glared at you.

"Well...this just got interesting," he muttered, his voice rasping with pain, but he quickly healed himself.

The black energy still crackled at your fingertips, wild and uncontrollable. You could feel it pulling at you again, urging you to strike once more, but before you could lift your hands again, Gojo was suddenly in front of you.

His voice was hard, all traces of playfulness gone. “You’re staying behind me from now on, got it?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the intensity of his gaze stopped you cold. He wasn’t playing around anymore, so you just nodded in response.

The battle raged on around you, but Gojo’s words rooted you to the spot, the weight of them sinking in deeper than you’d expected.

Before you could respond, the curse launched another attack, this one aimed directly at both of you.

Gojo stepped forward, his cursed energy flaring like a bright blue star, his power surging in response.

“Enough games.” He raised a single hand and spoke loudly, as a blue orb appeared in his palm, aimed at the curse in front of you.

The patch-faced creature stopped in its tracks and smiled sheepishly.

“I do not have a death wish, plus this was just for fun!” The curse muttered.

“I’ll be seeing you soon y/n y/l/n,” he said enthusiastically before slithering into the shadows, disappearing into the distance.

The battlefield went quiet, minus the heavy breathing of your teammates.

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your heart still racing, your body trembling from the surge of energy coursing through you.

Gojo turned to you, his expression cold. “We’re leaving.”

You nodded reluctantly, knowing there was no more room for argument. He hadn’t really been upset with you before, but you couldn't stop yourself from worrying.

Was he mad at you? And why did you care so much?

—

Gojo had teleported all five of you back to the school, although it wasn’t overly safe for you there either at this point.

“There is way too much happening right now,” Megumi said, his tone stressed as he ran his hand through his black hair.

“First y/n’s execution and now that thing popping back up?”

The weight of his words hit you harder than you expected. Your execution—an event that had loomed over your head for what felt like forever—suddenly felt very real again. You could see the tension rippling through the group as the reality of the situation set in.

Yuji shifted uncomfortably beside you, his usual lighthearted demeanour subdued, his eyes downcast as if he was trying to process everything that had happened.

“We can’t even catch a break long enough to figure out what’s going on.”

Nobara crossed her arms tightly, her jaw clenched.

“You think they’re connected?” she asked, her voice sharp. “Y/n’s execution order, that curse... it’s all happening too fast to be a coincidence.”

Gojo, who had been silent up until this point, leaned against the wall, his eyes hidden behind his usual blindfold.

Despite his casual stance, you could feel the tension radiating off him, the weight of everything pressing down on even him.

He tilted his head slightly, “You’re not wrong, Nobara. Nothing’s ever a coincidence in this world.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Then what are we dealing with?” Megumi asked, his voice cutting through the silence again. “We barely got out of that fight with him, and now we’re back here with no answers. I really don’t think this is just about y/n anymore.”

His words struck you like a blow to the gut.

He was right. It wasn’t just about you—it was about everything, all of it spiralling out of control.

The cursed energy within you, the execution order, the curse you’d just fought. They were pieces of a larger puzzle, but the picture they formed was still out of reach.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to suppress the surge of frustration welling up inside you.

“We need answers,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended.

“We need to figure out why they want me dead and why that curse is after us. If they’re connected, we—”

“What we need,” Gojo interrupted, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable edge, “is to keep you alive first. You’re not gonna find answers if you’re dead, y/n.”

His words were harsh, but there was a thread of concern woven through them, barely masked by his usual casual tone.

He was right, of course. But the helplessness of the situation clawed at you, gnawing at the edges of your resolve.

“And what if staying alive isn’t enough anymore?” You shot back, your frustration boiling over.

“What if there’s more going on here? More than just me being executed or this curse showing up? I can’t just sit back and wait for things to get worse!”

Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel his eyes on you, his posture stiffening slightly.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, almost a growl. “You think I haven’t been trying to figure this out too?”

Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara stood frozen for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden shift in Gojo’s demeanour.

Yuji, always the one to break awkward silences, glanced between the two of you, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh…maybe,” he muttered, “maybe we should… give you guys a minute?”

Megumi shot Yuji a pointed look, one that clearly said, ‘You think?’ but he didn’t say anything, instead taking a step toward the door.

His hand was already on the handle, though he hesitated for a moment, glancing over his shoulder.

Nobara, however, wasn’t one to leave quietly.

She raised an eyebrow at the tense exchange between you and Gojo, eyes darting from one to the other.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll just… be outside. Probably for a while,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she followed Megumi to the door.

Yuji shot you a sympathetic look, then glanced at Gojo as if he wanted to say something more, but ultimately thought better of it.

—

The silence that followed was almost deafening, and now that the others were gone, the room felt larger and more suffocating all at once.

You were left standing there, face to face with Gojo, his presence overwhelming as he continued to watch you, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

You could feel the tension, thick and unrelenting, making it hard to breathe. His normally light-hearted energy was nowhere to be found, replaced with a hardness that made your heart race, though not in the way it usually did around him.

“You don’t get it,” you finally snapped, breaking the silence. Your voice wavered the frustration that had been building all day now spilling out.

“I’m not just some liability, I can help—We need information, and I can get it!”

Gojo’s jaw clenched, the lines of frustration between his eyebrows tightening as his hands balled into fists at his sides.

His eyes narrowed, his blindfold hanging around his neck as his eyes searched yours, but you didn’t need to see them to know he was glaring at you.

“This isn’t about you helping,” he shot back, his tone sharp and biting.

“This is about you doing something reckless—again. You think I don’t know that you’re strong? You think I don’t know how far you’ve come? But that dark energy—you don’t know what it is…and you’re just charging ahead like it’s nothing, like you don’t care if it kills you!”

You flinched at his words, but your anger only flared hotter.

“You’re right, I don’t care about that! I care about figuring out what's wrong with me! That way, I won’t be just another weak burden in this world, and then maybe I will be able to help people! We don’t have time to be cautious!”

Gojo took a big step towards you, his posture growing even more rigid.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” His voice rose, a rare outburst of emotion that caught you off guard. You were a mere inches apart now, both of your faces washed over with anger.

“This isn’t about the greater good, y/n…and for the record, you have never, not once, been a burden to anyone here. This is about you! You think I don’t see what’s happening? You’re spiralling, and you’re using this ‘burden’ thing as an excuse!”

You stared at him, stunned by the sudden intensity of his words. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” He cut you off, leaning his body towards yours, making the already small space between you smaller. You felt the heat of his anger grow hotter as he spoke.

“And it’s going to get you killed! You think I can just stand there and watch that happen? You think I’ll let you throw yourself into danger just to prove a point?”

“I’m not proving a point!” You shouted back, your frustration boiling over.

“I’m doing what needs to be done because we need to act now!”

Gojo’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, something raw. His lips pulled into a tight line, and for a moment, you could see the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“You want to die? Is that it?” He growled, his voice dropping lower, full of barely contained fury.

“Because that’s what’s going to happen if you keep acting like this. And then what? You die ‘n I’ll have to bury you too?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from your lungs. You hadn’t expected this—not from him. Your eyes were wide with shock, like a dear in headlights.

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out, the weight of his words sinking in, leaving you breathless.

For a moment, he searched your eyes, and you searched his.

The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. Gojo’s usual aloofness was gone, replaced by something raw and exposed.

You had seen him frustrated, playful, even protective—but this was different.

This was personal.

You swallowed hard, trying to form words, but your mind was spinning. “Satoru…I-” you started, but your voice faltered.

You had never seen him like this, never thought he could be this vulnerable with you.

The tension in the room thickened as his voice, once sharp and biting, softened.

"You don’t get it," he continued, his tone no longer laced with irritation but with a vulnerability you rarely saw from him. Emotion clung to every word, weighed down with a gravity that made your chest tighten.

“I’ve lost people before. Too many.” He paused, his jaw clenched as if wrestling with the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. His eyes squeezed shut briefly, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air between you.

“But losing you—” His voice faltered. He shook his head, unable to finish the sentence, as if the mere thought was unbearable.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The look in his eyes wasn’t just frustration or anger. No, it was something deeper—something raw and unguarded.

Fear.

You saw fear flickering in his gaze like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Not just any fear—fear of loss, fear of exposing himself, of being vulnerable in front of you.

The realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head. How much he had been holding back, how carefully he had concealed the depths of his care for you.

“I didn’t realize…” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, shaky from the emotions swirling inside you.

Your pulse was racing, pounding so loudly that you wondered if he could hear it too.

"I didn’t know I was that important to you."

Gojo exhaled a rough breath, its warmth brushing against your skin as he leaned in closer. His face was so near now that you could see every detail, every fine line and imperfection that made him so infuriatingly perfect.

His striking blue eyes, unobscured by his blindfold, bore into yours, the silver strands of his hair falling messily across his forehead. It was as if time had stopped, and all you could focus on was him.

“Yeah, well, now you do,” he muttered, his voice rough around the edges, but not without that familiar sarcasm.

His hand hovered just above your arm, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch you, to ground himself in your presence, but something held him back.

His restraint, however, only made the moment feel more intimate, more charged.

“So stop acting like your life doesn’t matter," he continued, the frustration still there but overshadowed by something raw, something real.

His voice wavered, just slightly, as if the emotion threatening to spill over was too much even for him to hold back. "Because it does. It matters to me."

The weight of his words crashed into you, heavier than any curse you’d ever faced.

There was no bravado left in his voice, no shield of humour to deflect from his feelings. Just honesty. Sincerity.

The air between you felt electric, as if every unsaid word, every unexpressed emotion was swirling around you, charging the space with a thick tension.

Neither of you moved, and yet everything felt different now—more fragile, more real.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the electricity in the scant space separating you. His closeness was overwhelming—every sense attuned to him and him alone.

You felt the weight of what he wasn’t saying, all the fear and pain buried beneath his flippant exterior. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the sounds of the school fading into the background.

The tension hung thick in the air, undeniable and almost suffocating.

You blinked, trying to steady your breath.

‘Say something,’ you urged yourself, but the words caught in your throat.

His familiar scent—clean with a hint of something warm and intoxicating—enveloped you, making it hard to think clearly.

The way his eyes searched yours, earnest and unguarded, sent a shiver down your spine.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features.

The air seemed to grow warmer, the silence stretching on as neither of you moved. The unspoken tension was nearly tangible, a magnetic pull drawing you closer together.

“Satoru,” you finally managed, your voice soft, barely above a whisper, “I didn’t mean to…”

“Damn it y/n, there ya’ go again, sayin’ my name like that…” His voice was a low murmur, thick with something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your pulse race.

Before you could make sense of the moment, Gojo closed the distance between you with a swift step, so sudden and forceful that it stole the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes widened in shock, your body freezing for a brief second as the reality of what was happening hit you—but only for a moment.

The warmth of his lips, the undeniable pull between you, melted away your hesitation. You responded instinctively, your body moving on its own as you leaned into him, your lips moulding perfectly to his, moving in sync like you had been waiting for this all along.

His movements were charged, deliberate, as if the restraint he’d been so desperately clinging to for so long had finally snapped.

His hand found the back of your head, pulling you into him. His lips crashed into yours with an intensity that made your head spin, heat coursing through you from the sudden contact.

The kiss was anything but gentle—it was raw, heated, desperate.

It felt like he had been holding this back for far too long, and now, all the pent-up emotion, the frustration, the desire—it poured into that kiss, overwhelming every one of your senses.

His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you against him as though he couldn’t get close enough.

His touch was firm, possessive—fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes, and you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours.

Your own hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt for balance as your knees grew weak under the weight of the moment.

The world around you blurred, fading into nothing but the sensation of that beautiful blue-eyed man—his lips pressing insistently against yours.

The way his fingers tangled in your hair, the intoxicating taste of his mouth—It was overwhelming.

A small gasp escaped you, and Gojo took advantage, deepening the kiss.

His tongue brushed against yours, and the sensation sent a shockwave of pleasure to your core, making you press closer to him.

The heat between you was almost unbearable, the electric tension crackling in the air as his hand slid from your waist down to the small of your back, pulling you even tighter against him.

You let yourself give in to it. You kissed him back with equal fervour, hands moving up to his neck, fingers grazing the soft skin just under his jaw.

You felt him groan into your mouth, the sound low and vibrating against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

His grip on your hair tightened, tugging you impossibly closer, and his arms wrapped around your body, every rational thought dissolving under the sheer force of what was happening.

The air between you was hot, charged with a need that neither of you could ignore anymore.

His hands roamed, one sliding down your back, fingers pressing into the curve of your spine, the other still in your hair, holding you firmly in place as though he was afraid you might slip away.

Each touch ignited something deeper within you, something that had been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

Gojo pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded as they searched your face.

His breath came out in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and you could feel his warm breath on your lips.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the weight of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air between you.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he muttered, his voice rough, almost pained. “But damn it, y/n… I can’t keep pretending like you don’t mean something to me.”

You swallowed hard, struggling to regain your composure as your mind raced, still reeling from the kiss.

The warmth of his body was intoxicating, and you could feel the tautness of his muscles beneath your fingertips as your hands rested on his chest, a reminder of the intensity of the moment.

“Satoru, I—” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words caught in your throat, tangled in the whirlwind of emotions swirling between you.

Just then, the door swung open, and a familiar voice broke through the heavy silence like a sudden downpour, startling you both.

“Gojo-sensei!” He shouted, and your heart dropped as you instinctively took a dramatic step away from Gojo, a rosy wave of shame flooding your cheeks.

Your eyes fell to the floor, unable to meet either of theirs, the embarrassment washing over you like a tidal wave.

Yuji’s expression was a mix of confusion and shock, the realization of what he had stumbled upon clear in his wide eyes.

Yet, being the kind-hearted person he was, he chose not to address the tension hanging in the air. Instead, he fumbled with his words, glancing nervously between you and Gojo.

“Uh, um, I’m not sure if this is helpful, but Megumi said the clan elders and higher-ups are gathering in the big meeting hall,” he said, his tone almost sheepish.

“He, uh, said it might be important.”

The awkwardness of the moment lingered, but the urgency of Yuji’s news snapped you both back to reality.

You could sense the tension still coiling between you and Gojo, an unspoken promise hanging in the air, but the pressing matters at hand demanded your attention.

Gojo’s jaw tightened as he took a step back, shaking off the weight of the moment you had just shared. The fire in his eyes reignited, and his voice was low and menacing.

“I’m putting an end to their shit, now.”

Before you could process what he meant, he teleported, the air crackling with energy in his wake, leaving you and Yuji standing in the aftermath of the charged atmosphere.

—

The silence that followed felt heavy, thick with the unspoken tension from the moment you had just shared with Gojo.

You turned to Yuji, who looked equally startled, his eyes wide and glancing towards the door where Gojo had just vanished.

“Wow, uh…” he began, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Looks like things got… a bit heated with Gojo-sensei, huh?”

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, heart racing as the memory of the kiss replayed in your mind.

“Huh? Uhm, Yuji…” you stammered, desperately trying to collect your thoughts. You felt exposed—like every little detail of that moment was on display for him to see.

Before you could find your footing, Nobara burst into the room, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“What’s going on in here? Where’s Gojo-sensei?” She asked, scanning the room.

Yuji shot you a knowing look, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned closer to Nobara.

“Y/n and Gojo-sensei had a heated moment…” Your eyes widened in horror, panic rushing through you. “Yuji, don’t—”

“Oh my god! You kissed Gojo-sensei? Ew!” Nobara exclaimed, dramatically pressing her hands to her cheeks.

“That’s so gross!”

You felt your face heat up even more, the embarrassment flooding through you.

“It’s not like that!” You blurted out, crossing your arms defensively. “It was… it was nothing!”

Yuji laughed, folding over with amusement.

“Nothing? You mean a legendary make-out session with the strongest sorcerer in the world?” His laughter echoed off the walls, and you couldn’t help but sink further into your embarrassment.

Your hands flew up to cover your face, barely peaking through your fingers.

Nobara chimed in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, I hope you’re ready for all the rumours that are about to fly around Jujutsu High. You might as well be his girlfriend now!”

“Stop it! You guys are making it sound so much worse than it is!” You protested, covering your face with your hands as if that could shield you from their teasing. “It was n-o-t-h-i-n-g!”

Yuji leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a cheeky grin plastered across his face. “I bet Gojo-sensei is already telling everyone how he has a crush on you!”

Nobara burst into laughter, and you could feel your heart thumping in your chest, a mix of mortification and amusement washing over you.

“Can you imagine? The strongest sorcerer in the world is crushing on Y/n! That’s something out of a romance novel!”

“Guys, please!” You groaned, feeling the heat rise to your ears.

“You’re not making this any easier for me! I have to go!” You quickly made your way to the doorway, squeezing between your two friends as they made smooching sounds in your face.

—

Meanwhile, in the meeting hall, Gojo materialized in an instant, his presence instantly commanding attention. The atmosphere shifted as he entered, a palpable tension hanging in the air.

The room fell silent, the elders seated at a long table exchanging wary glances. Their expressions shifted from surprise to concern, knowing all too well the gravity of his arrival.

“Gojo, this isn’t the time for—” Gakuganji began, his voice shaky, but Gojo cut him off, stepping forward with a fierce intensity that radiated through the room.

“Let’s not dance around the fact that I will kill you if you don’t get your heads out of your asses and deal with this situation properly.” His tone was deadly serious, stripped of the usual playful arrogance that defined him.

“There is no valid reason for you to execute y/n y/l/n, other than the fact that you’re all weak...”

The elders shifted uncomfortably, unease settling into their expressions as Gojo continued, his voice rising with each word.

“Y/n is not a pawn in your games. She’s more important than you realize, and I won’t let you sacrifice her or anyone else to further your twisted agendas.”

As he stood there, his aura crackling with barely contained rage, the room felt suffocating. Gojo’s fury was palpable; the energy radiating from him made it clear that he meant every word.

The higher-ups fidgeted, their confidence faltering under the weight of his glare.

“I don’t care about your political bullshit or whatever plans you’ve concocted. If you do not call off her execution, then you’ll have to answer to me.” His eyes narrowed dangerously, the challenge unmistakable in his gaze.

Naobito Zenin finally spoke, his voice strong but laced with obvious caution. “Satoru, you know we have to consider all—”

“Consider this,” Gojo interrupted, his voice like ice, cutting through the tension.

“You have one chance to make things right, or I will ensure your names are nothing but footnotes in history. You think you’re safe behind your titles? Think again.”

The atmosphere grew thicker as his words sank in, the elders exchanging nervous glances, their authority slipping. Gojo stood tall and unwavering, like a soldier ready to fight for what he believed in.

“You think I won’t do it?” He challenged, his voice low and menacing.

“You underestimate me. I have no qualms about tearing down this entire institution if it means keeping y/n safe. Make your choice—now!”

The room fell into stunned silence, every eye locked on him. Gojo’s resolve was a force of nature, and there was no turning back now. He was ready to go to war for you, no matter the cost.

“Please, Satoru,” one of the older higher-ups pleaded, voice trembling.

“We must consider the bigger picture. This isn’t just about y/n; it’s about maintaining order—”

“Order?” Gojo spat, his tone incredulous.

“You think maintaining your precious order is worth sacrificing her life? You’re all blinded by your own self-interest.”

The atmosphere shifted as unease morphed into fear.

The elders looked at each other, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. They had underestimated Gojo, and now he stood before them like a storm, ready to unleash chaos if they didn’t relent.

After what felt like an eternity, principle Gakuganji took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Alright, Satoru. You’ve made your point,” he said, his voice steadying slightly. “We’ll… we’ll call off the execution. For now.”

Gojo’s expression did not falter, still wary. “For now? If I hear you’re plotting anything against her again—”

“I understand,” Gakuganji quickly interrupted, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“We will reevaluate the situation. I promise you, we won’t proceed with the execution. We will take the necessary time to assess everything properly.”

Gojo held his gaze, his expression fierce and unyielding. “You’d better keep your word. If I find out otherwise, you will regret it.”

With a final, lingering look, Gojo turned on his heel, the tension in the room finally beginning to dissipate as he walked out.

The elders sat in silence, shaken and unsure, realizing that they had narrowly avoided a catastrophic fallout.

Outside, Gojo exhaled, his relief tainted by a simmering anger that refused to fade. He wouldn’t allow you to become a casualty of their twisted politics.

You weren’t just another sorcerer to protect—you were someone who mattered deeply to him, far more than he’d ever thought.

Whatever darkness loomed ahead, at least he had managed to put an end to the execution order—for now.

But in his gut, he knew this fight was far from over.

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