#like. how many girls did you know who were forced by their parents or even school administration to wear dresses to prom? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ctrlsatoru · 3 days ago

Text

Flicker ━ 02

content: childhood friends to strangers to something worse, origin story disguised as fluff, emotionally repressed prodigies, canon divergence, gojo being like i Must befriend this weird little girl who left me to drown. warnings: mild gore. pairing: Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character (Kaneko Sera) word count: 5k a/n: a bit of backstory before we return to the present timeline.

It’s spring of 1998. Satoru unlocks blue. Sera loses a tooth. She asks him to die, but he curses her with friendship instead. They don’t know it yet, but they’re already off the track.

previous chapter / masterlist

Spring 1998

Kaneko Sera was not a fighter. She excelled at many other things, like understanding how things worked. The world was a puzzle made of patterns waiting to be discovered.

If she was nowhere to be seen, her parents argued less.

If she corrected her mentors, even if they were wrong, her breaks got taken away.

If hawks flew low in the morning, it meant rain before sunset.

If she stared and poked at a broken thing long enough, she could usually figure out how to fix it or make it better.

Even this — the warm courtyard under her bare feet, the elders and advisors watching from the veranda, the white-haired boy facing her, her chest rising and falling erratically — fit a pattern.

They did this once every month. She always lost. Her grandfather got on a helicopter back to Tokyo. Her mother fussed over her bruises. Her mentors gave her chores as punishment. And Gojo Satoru ran his mouth through it all.

“You tired?”

It was a new development, they never needed to exchange words before. Earlier he asked if she’d seen that one bird with the lollipop stick leg. One time he said she was good at dodging, he asked about her teeth, how she did that thing with her eyebrows.

She never replied. He was arrogant, and loud, and strong, and stupid, and she could never catch up, no matter how hard she tried. But if she opened her mouth like she was about to reply, he stalled, and it gave her a second to catch her breath and her father’s eyes on the sidelines.

He’d said something the night before, hands firm on her shoulders.

Get better, Sera. You must. You won’t make it otherwise.

Better, not stronger. Certainly not stronger than the Gojo boy. But faster, smarter, sharper. She could do that. She could figure out the pattern of his infinity as it went up and down. It was never permanent; he wasn’t there yet.

Somehow, he still had a lot to improve on. The idea suffocated her.

Up…

When he moved, she was already there, spinning, ducking—

Down.

Her heel slammed into his ribs.

Against all odds, contact was made. The collision of atoms and energy pushed him a few meters away. He landed on his butt, pining her with blue eyes that nearly busted out of their sockets.

The first and last time she saw that look on his face, she turned around and walked away into the woods with her fingers crossed, hoping that he’d turn into an ice cube and drown.

The world stopped. Even the birds stopped singing. Her limbs itched as she summoned as much energy as she could. He stood up with his mouth all twisted. She understood him a lot better when he kept it shut. It’s on. You’re bones.

She wasn’t winning after that, but she was determined to last longer than usual. Months of trials had sharpened her defenses. She knew how to dodge his attacks even when they got wider and more charged, how to hold her breath and channel the hits through as much as she could without her eyes watering.

He didn’t like being forced to chase her.

“Stop running!”

For a split second, the world stopped again. Space folded. The world ripped sideways.

She didn’t even see the gesture. Just felt her body being pulled like it was no longer hers, and realized that everything she knew about gravity was a lie. He dragged her across the ring and—

The stone wall slammed into her side. Then, mud.

Cold, thick against her face, soaking her and seeping into her mouth. She couldn’t move or understand what had happened until she opened her eyes, staring at the sky with tilted vision.

It was blue. Bright before the storm.

“Already? At eight?”

“Impressive.”

After all, the pattern held true.

The mud sucked on her sleeve when she sat up. Her ears were sizzling, her ribs pulsed, and she pressed the molar against the roof of her mouth to stop herself from swallowing it. Her eyes boiled at the reminder that it didn’t matter if she could grow within her limits. For him, such a thing would never exist.

Later in the afternoon, the clan elders gathered in the meeting room. She sat on her knees, hands folded on her lap, her left bangs caked up with mud. Face to face, their families looked like pieces on a chessboard. White against black.

“The manifestation of blue at his age is way ahead of our projections,” one of the advisors said. “What we saw was a deliberate manipulation of the technique.”

“At eight, that energy control alone…”

“We can expect a full stabilization of the limitless in two years.”

Sounds of agreement. Murmurs of awe. A pen scraped against a scroll. Incense burned patiently, it was a day for the history books.

“What about the girl?”

Her heart jumped, but she didn’t move or let the floor leave her sight. She could feel the beam of his eyes on her, focused and concentrated like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

“Tactical skills can’t make up for her inefficient use of energy. She panics under pressure.”

“And still no sign of the Odd Eye.”

“It’s a shame. Such a remarkable energy output and no direction. It’s like filling a vase with holes, pointless.”

“If this is the extent of her potential, then perhaps she would serve best as a star plasma vessel.”

Crying, speaking, or doing anything to be perceived, those were all off-limits. All she had to do was sit still while they evaluated and poked at her. They never offered anything to fix her or make her better anyway, so why should she listen?

A voice that was rarely heard, but she recognized instantly, cut through the conversation.

“Sera is not a weapon.”

Her mother.

“Her strength lies elsewhere,” she continued, sharp and soft. “Far beyond anything you’ll measure in a courtyard.”

Her father exhaled slowly through his nose, and she willed her lip not to shake. It was a blessing that her grandfather never stuck around.

One of the Gojo elders smirked.

“Ah. Above combat, is she? A little priestess, maybe?”

A few chuckled behind their sleeves.

“You may not see it yet, but you will all face it one day.”

Her mother wasn’t one to make threats. Except for that one time when she told her father she’d take Sera and leave. This time felt different. She meant it. Sera could tell by the way the room got suffocating.

Even Gojo’s father, usually stone faced and cold, was looking at her mother in a strange way. His mouth had parted just slightly, like he’d forgotten to breathe through his mouth. His eyes caught the light differently.

One of the advisors spoke first, not without loudly clearing their throat.

“Then she need not attend a discussion of combat aptitude.”

“Best she return to her training,” another added, brushing his beard. “After all, the Odd Eye can only be… cultivated in isolation.”

Her father’s mouth thinned. Her mother’s eyes dropped to the floor. One of her mentors nodded at her.

“You may leave, Sera.”

The door slid shut behind her. Inside the room, the conversation carried on.

“The mouth of a mother shapes the fate of a daughter. You may want to remind your wife this is a council, not a kitchen.”

The Kaneko Cemetery sat at the top of a long flight of stone steps at the edge of the compound, quiet and shadowed under an old maple tree overtaken by a stubborn wisteria. The branches spread wide and low, full of racemes that filtered the rain down into a soft, wisteria-scented mist. Refreshing and healing.

She was kneeling on the gravel, scrubbing at the lichen and dirt clinging to one of the many gravestones. Her dirty dogi jacket was folded beside her, discarded after she used it to wipe away the dirt from her hair and neck. Her mother would give her an earful once she saw her.

Footsteps approached.

Out of the many punishments her mentors gave her, this was by far her favorite. No one knew how much time it took her to finish, or bothered to come up and check. She could do as she pleased until sundown.

Alone.

Next to her, at eye level, she could see the dirt and streaks of grass staining the bottom of his pants. Evidence that she’d managed to land a hit. He kicked a stray rock, making her flinch. It tumbled past the edge, into the void.

She looked up to find that he was dry from head to toe. Not a single droplet of rain touched him. He, as usual, was already looking down at her.

“What? I’m just trying to help.”

Her fist clenched around the brush until her bones hurt and the wood handle splintered. She stood up, nails digging into her palm.

“Die.”

His mouth went slack. No stupid question or observation came out.

“If you’re trying to help, you should die,” she said, and put her whole heart into it.

He’d called her a liar that night at the lake, but she’d never lie in the presence of her dead relatives. She had enough on her plate disappointing the living ones.

“My life would be easier that way.”

She hoped for the thrill of seeing him furious and helpless again. Wanted him to pout and stomp his feet on the ground until the earth split open and sucked him in.

But the only reaction that came was a grin that crawled slowly up his face.

“You’re weird,” he said cheerfully. “Wanna know what you missed from the meeting?”

She was back to scrubbing the gravestone before he could finish talking. It belonged to her great-great-uncle, a brilliant aeroengineer whose drawings took her breath away. He’d been proficient sorcerer but no one ever made him fight.

“It was boring after you left. But then someone got attacked by a raven. Real nasty one. Went straight for my uncle’s head.”

His uncle, the leader of the Gojo clan, and the one who said the kitchen line after she left.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, right?”

Her scrubbing paused for a brief second. “I didn’t touch him.”

She could hear his grin. “I never said that.”

He sat down on the gravel, resting his back against the edge of the stone. She could see him unwrapping a piece of strawberry puchao and throwing it into his mouth.

“He was so scared he farted.”

A very stubborn smile fought its way onto her face. She turned away from him, painfully sucking her lips inside her mouth.

“For real, everyone tried to pretend they didn’t notice, but we totally did,” he said, voice getting louder. “You should’ve seen the look on his face.”

She couldn’t keep the snort back. The old man looked like someone tried to draw Gojo’s father from memory with their non-dominant hand.

“He’s uglier when he’s scared,” she muttered under her breath.

“They all are,” Gojo agreed through a mouthful of candy.

Feeling her knees burn, she turned around and sat down at a good distance from him. The rain had stopped, but the clouds hadn’t cleared just yet.

“They’re all scared.”

He kicked her leg when she didn’t reply. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, a cluster of delphiniums crowded around he base of a lamppost had his attention.

“Of the Odd Eye. It’s why they like seeing me beat you up.”

It was the first time he said anything worth listening to, and the first time she wanted to ask why he didn’t snitch on her that night at the lake.

Her mother had said that he spent several nights in bed with a terrible fever, surrounded by every single nurse and doctor his clan could summon. If either of their families knew what happened, she was sure she’d still be captive in her room.

She chewed on her tongue before daring to ask, “Are you?”

“No. I’ve decided we’re gonna be friends.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. She suddenly felt impossibly cold in her damp undershirt.

“What?”

“Yup. We’re friends now. But I’m still gonna beat you up every month.”

She wasn’t looking for a friend. She had Miyu, her mom, and the birds. He would never fit in that list.

The words came out of her mouth at impossible speed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I can’t just let you win. No one’s gonna believe that.”

“Not that. You can’t just say we’re friends.”

He grinned like he was expecting her to say just that, mouth smacking loudly. “Why not?”

The world was doomed. The Strongest was nothing like the brave heroes and cruel warriors in her books. He was an airhead. Japan would be seized by curses by the time the century turned.

“Do you even have any friends?”

He paused at her question before his eyes lit up again. “Kaneko Sera.”

“No,” she snapped firmly, barely noticing that she sounded just like her mother. “It doesn’t work like that.”

He just stared at her. She scoffed, lip curling in distaste.

“You’re dumb.”

“You’re weird,” he repeated easily. “It’s really hard to ignore you. I used to think you were boring, but you shapeshift into birds and attack old people.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not a shapeshifter.”

��But you attacked my uncle.”

Was there a point in denying it? The chances that he’d talk about it were low, considering what he’d kept quiet about so far.

“I liked it,” he nodded. “He was being a jerk.”

Lightning struck somewhere beyond the mountains, rearranging the sky. The rain resumed. He pulled a bright red Tamagotchi from his jacket and that was that.

She eyed him distrustfully as he swung his feet from side to side. He was still using infinity as a makeshift umbrella. If she reached a hand into his space, it’d hum against her fingertips and stop her.

How could they think of evaluating them together? Their languages, the way they sat and moved, nothing matched. Gojo Satoru was an alien next to her, one who always said exactly what he was thinking, with glow in the dark eyes that were somehow grotesquely big for his gigantic head full of chalky hair. She doubted he had blood running through his veins, it was probably just poisonous blue slime.

There was no record of collaboration between the Six Eyes and the Odd Eye, or their clans at that. The only time they crossed timelines, they served their duties in complete separation. And when they did cross paths, the Six Eyes executed the Odd Eye.

Nothing was left behind of her predecessor. No written word to guide her, no bones or flesh to bury. The last Odd Eye went from living creature to just matter obeying physics. Erased in an instant. She’d been much younger when she read the ancient texts, flipping between pages and a dictionary heavier than her to decipher the brutality.

She didn’t sleep for days after that. She didn’t sleep the night before she was taken to the Gojo state for their ceremony of introduction, and threw up on the drive. Her grandfather gave her a sip from his flask to wash out her mouth. She could still remember the taste of bile and alcohol.

The one who haunted her those sleepless nights chewed with his mouth open, picked his nose with his knuckle, and manipulated the curvature of space and time to avoid getting wet like a snobby cat. He was also endlessly bored and annoyingly loud about it, so she trusted that he couldn’t possibly hold on to his decision to befriend her for longer than 12 hours.

Until then, she’d get the most out of it.

“What’s that?”

He gave her a sideways look, distracted. “It’s a Tamagotchi. You’ve never seen one?”

She’d seen them on TV during an outing with her mother, but knew asking for one would be pointless. Her father said she didn’t need any more distractions.

He paused at her open palm before carefully placing it there.

The sound was a little wonky, and the plastic felt kind of sticky. The tiny metallic links of the strap resisted at the joints.

“It’s been weird since I dropped it on my cereal, you have to press extra hard.”

He moved as if to try to demonstrate, but she stopped him by closing her fingers around it and pulling it out of his reach.

“I’ll keep this.”

He tilted his head to the side and opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

“We’re friends now, right?”

She stood up, dusted her knees and picked up her jacket. He followed suit, eyeing his Tamagotchi as she tucked it inside her sock. If anyone at the house caught her with it, they’d confiscate it without a doubt.

“Well— yeah? But—”

“Friends give each other gifts. Don’t you know that?”

She made her way down the stairs and through the familiar maze of roots and rocks. He followed a few paces behind, less confident with his steps, arms flailing once or twice when the wet earth sucked at the soles of his shoes. The wind carried nothing but the smell of wet soil and his questions about when he’d get a gift in return.

The cicadas and even the frogs were quiet, it was almost like the forest had paused to watch them go.

It was one of those August days when the world felt like a rice cooker.

She was sprawled across the floor, arms and legs stretched like a starfish or the Vitruvian man. Her hair fanned out around her to keep it from sticking to her neck. Her bedroom door opened like a guillotine, but she didn’t lift her head. Just kept staring at the ceiling fan, trying to convince it to go faster.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

A soft creak caught her attention, and she found him carefully placing a broomstick between the sliding panel and the frame of the wall, testing that it was wedged and tight enough so the door couldn’t be opened from the outside. It wasn’t much, but it’d keep patrolling servants at bay, or at least give him time to jump through the window.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced dramatically, grinning as usual, crouching down and dropping something like a chicken laying a giant egg.

It was a watermelon, plump and pale green with a nice yellow spot on the side.

“You stole that from my mother’s garden.”

“I liberated it.”

On the other wing of the house, their parents were having a meal together. It turned out that without the elders from either side, advisors stepping on their heels, and with alcohol involved, their parents tolerated each other. As a result, it was harder and harder to spend time apart from him. The pond, the gardens, even the kitchen, he found her everywhere, every time. One time she locked the door of the library and he opened it with a chopstick.

She sat up as he kneeled, holding out one hand and sticking his tongue out in concentration. Space buzzed faintly under his palm.

“You’re gonna make a mess again.” She put her hands over the watermelon. It was warm to the touch. She felt a bit less eager to eat it.

“I’ll be careful.”

“You said that last time,” she said dryly. “And most of the pomegranate ended on the wall.”

He frowned. “Pomegranates are tougher and—”

“Blue doesn’t work to cut fruit,” she said, standing up and walking across the room. “Reversal red would be a lot cleaner.”

“You know about reversal red?”

“Everyone knows about it.”

“That’s not true.”

“It doesn’t matter. You haven’t figured out how to use it yet,” she said matter of factly, kneeling and grazing her fingers along the edge of the tatami panel until she found the slightest give.

With a careful tug, she lifted the mat and revealed the unfinished wood slats beneath. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“At least I don’t have a super secret special clan technique that I haven’t figured out yet.”

“I’m not in a rush,” she replied, smiling at the thrill of saying it out loud. Her hands moved with practice, sliding into the small gap at the center and prying loose one narrow wooden plank. It creaked faintly, and soon a few more followed.

He crawled over, peering at the hidden nook, no deeper than a drawer. “Woah.”

“Guard the door,” she instructed, pulling out all sorts of artifacts. A crystal smoking pipe, a jar full of coins, bills and rings. A spool of red thread, a 1/144 Gundam with a missing arm, and finally, a slim dagger in a stitched leather sheath.

“Where did you get this?”

“The crows bring them.”

She wiped the blade on her shorts and nodded to the open window. As if summoned, a crow came to stand on the windowsill.

“They bring you weapons?” he asked too loudly for her liking. She pressed a finger to her mouth. He did the same, blinking eagerly at her.

“It’s just trash most of the time. But they mean well.”

He flopped down next to her as she clumsily cut down the watermelon, struggling to keep it still on the floor. It finally cracked with a wet sound, bright red.

He grabbed a piece and took a big bite. “Do you remote control them?”

She chewed slowly. The sweetness made her forget about how much better it would be cold.

“They lend me their eyes.”

“Can you do it with other animals? Like… cats? dogs? fish?”

“Fish are tricky.”

“Can they even feel cursed energy?” he asked right after, barely giving her time to react. “What’s it called? It’s not the Odd Eye, is it? You use the red string.”

A shadow walked past, making her freeze and him look over his shoulder. It passed without knocking.

He waited a few seconds before starting again.

“What about people? People are animals too.”

Without a word, she put aside the rind and began returning the objects to the hidden compartment, dagger included. She placed the wood panels and pushed the tatami back in place.

“It’s forbidden,” she finally said, grabbing another slice.

“Who says?”

“My mother.”

It almost seemed like he had finally let it go, but then he wiped the juice dripping down his chin and said with the kind of smile that made his clan members pause and freak out.

“Nothing’s forbidden if you really want it.”

She filled her chest with air and shot a seed at him from her pursed lips. It hit him square on the cheek.

Later that afternoon, the heat had decreased into something tolerable. A breeze came in through the open shoji, he was trying to copy her posture as she guided a crow onto his forearm.

“Threaded gaze,” she said.

He moved his arm a bit too fast, and the crow batted its wings, hitting him square across the face.

He spat out a tiny fluffy feather from his mouth. “What?”

“I can align my consciousness with them.”

She’d been thinking for a good hour about how to put it into words. The only person she’d talked about it with was her mom, no explanation was ever necessary.

He understood right away.

“Through cursed energy? But animals—”

“—don’t have cursed energy,” she nodded. He didn’t complain about her not letting him finish talking, too entertained by the way the crowd rubbed its head against her finger.

“What they have is pure energy. It’s another form of spiritual energy. It’s compatible. For me.”

Nothing could compare to flying, but this was a close second.

Running like the wind, low to the earth, paws barely touching the ground. The chase made her nose twitch in excitement.

Everything was vivid. The world smelled like bark and the sweat of the summer. Every leaf, branch, even the river whispered in her ears. Clear and raw. The world quieted and came alive when she was outside of herself.

Somewhere not too far, Gojo was hiding, laughing at her and the noises she made. Somewhere further away, her body was sitting on a blanket, a red string tied around her wrists.

To the west, across the river, his energy pulsed like a beating drum, teasing her. The water felt like ice on her paws as she crossed the river through a shallow stone path. No one in the world had this much fun playing hide and seek. They were the only ones.

No matter how much he hid or left fake traces of residuals to confuse her, his presence stood out clearly.

So did his voice.

“Sera!”

He never called her by her name when she was synced.

The thread snapped. Half a mile away, Sera gasped and jolted back into herself. She stood up and ran.

She found him crouched next to an old fallen tree, staring down at a shallow burrow.

Three sets of small black eyes stared up at them. They were curled together, three tiny baby foxes with bright red fur and twitching ears.

“They’re so cute,” he whispered in awe.

Something fluffy brushed past her ankles, it was the same fox she had synced with, now standing protectively between them. Her eyes flicked up at her, glassy and unsettled, ears flattened. Her tail curled as she opened her mouth and let out a high-pitched sound.

He turned to her, recognizing the residuals of her cursed energy.

“Did you know she was a mom?”

She shook her head. She should’ve guessed something was up. The fox had been restless, pushing to return to this part of the woods despite the game. Too busy playing, she didn’t think much of it. Guilt climbed her throat. She must’ve been so worried.

With no explanation, he grabbed her hand.

The clammy feeling of his palm against hers made her flinch and immediately try to pull away, but he tightened his grip and pulled her, making her stumble against his side.

The look on his face startled her. Serious. Looking in the distance, eyes sharp like blue flames.

A hiss rippled through the air.

Before she could even find what he was focused on, something shiny and metallic fell to the ground.

She hadn’t noticed his infinity blooming and covering them. It wasn’t until a second shot fired, and the bullet suspended in the infinity between them, that she realized someone was looking at them.

He moved without hesitation, dragging her with him. They warped directly in front of the man crouched in the shrubs. He was dressed like a gardener. Dusty cap, tools on his belt, dirt under his nails, forehead damp with sweat and fear. He was aiming the gun at them with shaky hands.

Satoru didn’t flinch.

Blue blasted out of his palm like never before, illuminating everything around. The man flew back, spine slamming against a thick tree trunk like a magnet snapping to a fridge door.

A branch pierced clean through him.

He twitched a few times. Sputtering and gurgling blood through his teeth.

And then he just hung limp, head dropping sideways.

Sera stared and quickly came to the conclusion that she must’ve been dreaming.

Her dreams were always vivid. That explained the smell of copper and the tight grip Satoru had on her hand. The gun, forgotten on the grass was most definitely cursed.

Yes. It had to be a dream. The day was a little weird from the start. Earlier that morning, she’d seen something strange through a shoji screen: her mother standing close to Satoru’s father. Her sleeve caught in his fist. His mouth moving, but no sounds coming out.

And now this.

She had to be dreaming, because Satoru was still gripping her hand, and he wasn’t laughing or bragging about the most impressive display of blue he’d ever unleashed. When she tried to kneel to grab the gun, he pulled her back and stopped her.

The dream version of Satoru looked at her with a face she’d never seen before. When he opened his mouth, he sounded nothing like the boy she knew.

“Are you ok?”

“It’s fine,” she reassured him. “It’s just a dream. We can do anything we want.”

His eyebrows furrowed. They were an even more intense white here. That’s when she saw his ear dripping red. It was a graze, lleaving a thin line of red that went down his jaw and got caught on his collar.

“Satoru, why are you—”

“ Serafina! ”

She barely had time to recognize her father’s voice before he was in front of her, grabbing her by the arms as he took in the scene with crazy eyes. The dead man perched on the tree. The children standing side by side. The red strings half tied around her wrists

“What were you thinking?” he snapped, some spit landed on her face. “You’re far beyond the perimeter. You could’ve—”

It was a dream, and Satoru was bleeding red, so she could afford to speak back. “I wasn’t—”

“I’ve warned you,” he cut in, and she couldn’t be as brave as she wanted. “About playing with borrowed eyes. Every minute you spend indulging in childish games is a minute taken from what matters.”

Even here her father didn’t care about anything other than the odd eye. His eyes flicked over her face, over her left eye, and then to their joined hands. His expression shifted at the end, displeased.

He yanked her away, and her arm bent unnaturally.

“Release him.”

The command was aimed at her. Her fingers opened reluctantly, but Satoru’s sunk even harder between her knuckles. Her shoulder was starting to strain. The uncomfortable feeling was oddly real.

Narrowing his eyes at Satoru, her father grabbed her wrist and pulled. Satoru let go after a breath too long, and blood finally returned to her numb fingers. His hand fell limp to his side.

“You’re both coming back with me. Now .”

A group of guards ran to them and circled them while her father told them to fetch the body. They surrounded Satoru, shielding him on the way back.

Sera looked for him through the gaps, he met her gaze as he tucked something into his sleeve, giving a smile meant for no one else to see. And it didn’t matter if she did, but she smiled back.

She waited to wake up, all the way home, until the sun disappeared, but the dream never ended.

A few days later, when Satoru came in through her window and handed her the gun for her to hide under her floors, Sera understood it hadn’t been a dream after all.

23 notes · View notes

hiimcanadia · 5 months ago

Text

Most of the time when someone tries to use "women can wear pants but men can't wear skirts" as proof that masculine women are celebrated, I see people responding that the only reason women can wear pants is because women and trans men fought for the right to do so. Which is absolutely true. However I don't think I've seen a lot of people take that argument to the obvious next step, which is that people fought so hard to normalize women wearing pants that it's simply not seen as an exclusively masculine thing in the modern era. When we talk about masculine women, we aren't talking about someone who buys a pair of skinny jeans with embroidery on the butt and wears them with a flowy blouse. We're talking about women who wear work jeans covered in dirt and layer their clothes to disguise their chests, or even wear binders. We're talking about women who have buzz cuts and thick body hair and sometimes even facial hair. We're talking about women who use pronouns other than she/her. We're talking about women who date other women. These women still face social stigma and discrimination, and are not celebrated by society at large just because crossdressing in public isn't a literal crime right now

#other thing that I've been thinking about is how even though wearing pants is seen as okay in casual settings #there's still absolutely pressure for women to wear skirts and dresses in formal settings #i remember getting teased in elementary school for wearing jeans on school picture day bc 'youre supposed to want to look NICE'#even though there were plenty of boys who were wearing jeans that day #like. how many girls did you know who were forced by their parents or even school administration to wear dresses to prom?#how many times have you seen a female celebrity get mocked for wearing a suit to an event instead of a gown?#how many times have you seen that happen at all regardless of the reaction??#2pm in the morning #vent ish

4 notes · View notes

faiszt · 21 days ago

Text

⠀

⠀⠀⠀ .⠀⠀⠀˚⠀ ⠀⋆⠀ ⠀ROBERT REYNOLDS IN⠀⠀:⠀⠀♥︎︎

01.⠀PROLOGUE⠀꒰ summary ꒱⠀ ❛❛ good men die too, so i’d rather be with you. ❜❜ he looks like he works with his hands and smells like marlboro reds⠀⠀ ─── ⠀⠀never be tempting, never show more than you should, never stop being modest and respectful, the words you heard daily from your mother. you did all that, you were everything your parents polished, until he came into your life. the pastor’s son, robert—or, as he was affectionately nicknamed, bob. the kind of trouble your mother warned you to stay away from, but what could you do when trouble had such a pretty face?⠀ ⠀⠀PLAYLIST

·⠀୨୧⠀·⠀contains⠀:⠀mentions of religion / god topics. age gap ꒰ all characters are of legal age ꒱⠀mentions of cheating. mommy issues. pastor’s son!bob x younger naive!reader.⠀no use of y/n ⠀·⠀ꕀ⠀·⠀ wordcount⠀:⠀2.2k.

·⠀୨୧⠀·⠀diary notes⠀:⠀this is inspired by “ the starling girl ” and i think it’s pretty easy to notice it. ⠀ anyway, this is also my first time writing a series, so... enjoy it! ♡

my masterlist and the guidelines! !! NEW CHAPTER

YOUR EYES were so fixed on the pastor that you didn’t really listen to him, you just stared at him, without blinking, your mind was somewhere else, although your body was there. sitting next to your mother in the church pew, you sighed, noticing how it felt like a sin to think about what you were thinking.

god knows how you would never be a bad girl. the crosses scattered around your house reminded you of who you would always be: a good christian girl, the one who listens to her parents, who respects the laws of christianity and who makes her life a temple of worship for the lord. there was nothing beyond that, or maybe they didn’t want you to know whether there was or not.

it doesn’t matter. what will you do? run away to another state? how? taking a train should be hard enough.

but, since he came into your life, your instinct to escape from the customs has practically become null. robert reynolds, the reason you prayed for god to take away the temptation. wanting a man you couldn’t have not even in your dreams was like wishing you could have bitten into the forbidden fruit.

sin.

your thoughts were thrown into disarray when you felt icy fingers pinching your arm, your mother looking at you as if you had committed a crime by simply staring. “blink your eyes, it’s rude to look at people like that.” she whispered, trying to make you understand what was right—although different people had different concepts of right or wrong, you didn’t, your mother knew what was best for you.

you did it, you blinked and looked away. looking at your feet and the little heels you wore, the highest allowed, just enough to make you look like a well-behaved and demure young lady with your dress below the knees and covered at the shoulders. no low-cut tops, shorts, tight or ripped clothes, there was nothing more important than looking respectful inside and outside the lord’s house.

if it weren’t a little strange it would be funny that you don’t know many people your own age, or even many people outside the community. no way, what could you learn from people like that? just friends from church, your parents made it clear. which, in a nutshell, meant you didn’t have many friends.

at least, you could say that the old ladies talked to you often when they weren’t trying to marry you off to some boy who made your stomach turn just by looking at him.

“mrs. reynolds would like your help in choosing the choir songs for next weekend. go talk to her, yes?” the cold fingers that your mother had always had now gently tapped your shoulder. it wasn’t a request, but an order. go and do it, that’s it.

and again, you did it. if it weren’t for the fact that mrs. reynolds loved to talk, and she talked too much, more than her mouth could handle, probably, since she always had to stop talking and take a sip from her water bottle. this forced you to walk home alone, in the cold, because you left your jacket in your father’s car. great.

you sighed, looking at your feet again, before walking out of the church with your arms crossed and a bored expression, even though that was basically your resting expression.

“are you really gonna go home alone? brave girl.” for a moment, you were startled and turned around with your eyebrows raised, a little confused, until you saw bob come out from behind his car. he was in the shadows, watching you silently until he decided to speak and come closer, he didn’t say much—the problem was how much this only increased your curiosity to understand him, when you should have stayed away.

“i guess i have no other option.” you managed to answer him after a few seconds, looking away immediately when you noticed he was looking directly at you.

bob crossed his arms over his chest, he continued to stare at you in silence as he leaned back against his car. “come in. i’ll ride you home.” it sounded like an offer, but surprisingly he seemed to use the same tone of voice your mother used when she told you to talk to mrs. reynolds, not a request, but an order.

but, you could almost hear her voice telling you not to get into a man’s car alone with him, especially at night. could it be a sign of concern? yes, but it wasn’t. mommy just didn’t want the family name to be tarnished because you decided to be the mistress of some engaged man. she was always expecting the worst from you even without any reason to.

“you don’t have to, i can walk.” you denied his offer profusely, swallowing hard again to the point where you thought he might have heard the slurred noise your throat made. “but... thank you, anyway.”

your stubbornness didn’t please him much, maybe because he could see right through you and you didn’t want to walk alone, just as you didn’t want to be seen inside his car. your concern made sense, the point was that he wouldn’t let you walk alone to your house—which he knew wasn’t as close as it seemed. “i didn’t say you had a choice, but i did said i’m gonna ride you home... so, come in.” he said a little more harshly, opening the passenger seat door as he waited for you. “i won’t park in front of your house if you don’t want me to.”

the last sentence came out as you were approaching him and makes you stop walking, thinking about how he had noticed you were thinking about it when you hadn’t said anything at all. you could have questioned, but you just nodded and got into his car, snuggling into the passenger seat, a little uncomfortable and uncertain about it all.

as the engine roared to life, you took a moment to sigh again, leaning back into the leather seat as you turned your face slightly to face the view outside the window. maybe it was easier to keep your distance from him as much as you could, you found him interesting because you felt you should, not because you knew him.

“older sister?” his voice reappeared beside you after what seemed like less than three minutes of silence, pulling up a conversation, which only makes you look at him with a confused expression. “the bracelet on your wrist... i always see you with two little girls.” oh, the beaded bracelet on your wrist that one of your little sisters had made for you, of course he would notice that, you thought.

it was a bad idea to have a conversation with him, but it was also rude to simply not answer him when you could hear all his words. “oh, yeah... yes, i’m the older sister.” you answered him, looking directly at the bracelet on your wrist as you ran your fingers over the beads gently.

“that’s nice... i really wanted to have sisters, but i only have brothers.” bob looked away from the road for a moment, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as his eyes dropped to the bracelet you were also now looking at. “and i’m not even the oldest son, so... i guess you’re the lucky one here to be the oldest and have two little sisters.”

you felt bad that you couldn’t say anything, but you really couldn’t say anything, especially when your mind was spinning around the fact that you didn’t want to be going through this. how bad would it be if someone saw you getting out of his car and it became gossip? then, your mother would find out, and...

“did you like today’s sermon?”

your thoughts trailed off when he spoke to you, again, he’s a little pushy, you thought. on the contrary, he only noticed that you were silent when you were thinking too much—he noticed every little thing in your behavior: the way your feet started moving, you stopped blinking and were breathing as if you were asleep awake, it wasn’t his insistence, it was just a remark.

“yeah, that was a good sermon... the pastor is... really good with words.” you didn’t even know what you were talking about, maybe because you didn’t remember a single word the pastor said, nor what he was talking about the whole sermon. your words made a short laugh escape bob as he ran his hand over his chin, brushing his long, calloused fingers—where you could see his engagement ring shining—against his freshly shaved beard.

he just found it funny how you seemed to barely know how to talk sometimes. “but, i’m the one who gave the sermon today.” the seriousness in his tone of voice made you raise your eyebrows, thinking that you had really been caught not paying attention to anything, so he laughed a little more amusedly. “i’m messing with you. it was my dad who gave the sermon, but you really didn’t pay attention, huh? you weren’t even blinking.”

as soon as he talked about the fact that you weren’t blinking almost the entire sermon and even imitated the way you were staring at the pastor, you laughed for the first time around him and he appreciated it more than he should have. “oh, you laugh... good to know you’re not in a bad mood all the time.” bob teased you again before his eyes returned intently to the road. “i started to think i’m a terrible driver.”

“terrible driver or not, i’m sure you’re much better at driving than i am.” you were actually talking to him, not just talking, but banter with him. your walls were really down and that was a huge problem, he was observant, more than you could notice.

bob kept that amused expression on his face, although he was keeping his eyes fixed on the road as a precaution, it was not uncommon for animals to try to cross the road at night. “don’t say that, you can’t be that bad with a steering wheel, can you?” he questioned. “maybe i’ll let you drive my car one day just so you can remember what it’s like. if you’re anything like you say, i bet your dad doesn’t trust you to drive his car.”

another laugh escaped you and you nodded, it wasn’t a lie, your father preferred you stay away from the wheel of his car. “you shouldn’t trust me so much.” you smiled, lips parting lightly when you noticed that you weren’t as anxious as before—but, that same anxiety slowly returned when you noticed that you were in your neighborhood.

“i can always give it a try.” he said, returning your smile as he parked his car under a tree about four houses down from your house. “is it okay to park here?”

you looked out the window for a moment, no neighbors around, just the streetlights illuminating the street and the tree above the car blocked the light from reaching the two of you. “yes, thank you for the ride. i owe you one.” you replied, ready to get out of the car as you took off your seatbelt, but bob grabbed your wrist. “is something wrong?”

he sighed when he saw what he did, quickly letting go of your wrist and bringing his hand to his hair, combing it back like he did quite often. “no, no... i just wanted to say goodbye, see you at church, yeah? my mom said you’re going there tomorrow to help her organize the choir song.” he said and you remembered, of course, you helped mrs. reynolds choose the song and would also help her organize everything.

“yeah, that’s right...” you nodded, still a little taken aback by the fact that he had grabbed your wrist earlier.

“i can come pick you up. i have things to do at church tomorrow too, do your parents mind? i can talk to them.” bob didn’t know how harmless this idea was, but he suggested it anyway, perhaps because he himself was only doing what he wanted to do, and not what he was supposed to do.

your breath caught in your throat at the suggestion, it definitely seemed like something you weren’t sure of his intentions for. it didn’t matter, he was just a man trying to be kind, you hoped he was. “no... no need to talk to them, just park here at 2pm and i’ll... come. they won’t mind.” lie. they would care, especially your mother, but it was just... they shouldn’t know, bob seemed so nice, you didn’t want to lose that right now when you could have someone. a friend, just a friend.

he nodded, almost giving a smile, though he suppressed it by just pressing his lips into a line. “fine, 2pm, i’ll be here.”

you got out of his car with calm steps, avoiding making unnecessary noises before crossing the street and walking slowly to the door of your house. for one last time, you turned around and saw him there, watching you from inside the car, just to make sure you were okay.

to be continued...

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

511 notes · View notes

yasministration · 5 months ago

Text

Love at first sight - Sirius Black

summary: lily's sister who goes to beauxbatons throws the party of the summer which sparks likely friendships, and an even likelier romance. wc: 2.3k

Lily came into the Great Hall the same way she always did: a determined look on her face, chin lifted up confidently, carrying overflowing papers in her arms, but something was different. Those paper she carried? They weren’t filled with head girl applications or polished assignments, no, they were party invitations.

She sat at her usual seat, and as per usual, the marauders ruffled through her papers. “Party invitations?” Whispered Sirius excitedly, as though it was something secret. Lily puffed her chest out “Y/n’s throwing a party, and encouraged me to extend the invitations to some Hogwarts students.” James cleared his throat to stop himself from choking on his tea. “I’m sorry? Your parents are letting you throw a party? The same two people who didn’t let you come over to Marlene’s tea party?” Lily grinned widely. “Well, y/n only comes home during the summers. I’m there every winter and spring break , so she kind of has a way with our parents. All she had to say was ‘this is our last summer before we graduate’ and she had them.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Marlene cut in, her face lighting up, “If this is y/n’s party, does this mean it’s going to be filled with sexy french kids?” Lily nodded happily, sharing a look with the other marauders. It was going to be the party of the year.

You and Lily were the epitome of opposites. You’d engrossed yourself in getting to know all the kids in the neighborhood and quickly because friends with your french neighbour, while Lily only befriended one — Severus. By force of being around the young boy, you’d learned his language, his language which quickly became your own. Whilst you and Lily had your own friends, no one was closer to you both than each other. You were twins, not only blood brothers but best friends. Due to your linguistic talent, you’d not only received a letter from Hogwarts on your eleventh birthday, but from Beauxbatons too. Petunia, ever so jealous of your relationship and your magic, had duped your parents into sending you away.

Petunia had ran off crying, locked in her room alone until she formed the plan of the century to break your relationship with your twin apart. “Well, they’re always together. Isn’t it better for them to learn how to live apart from each other?” And your parents had fallen for her trick. Now, you only saw each other during the summers, and your relationship was stronger than ever. But things would soon change.

The only thing Lily heard of for the rest of the day was this party. Who was she inviting? How many people would be there? “Sirius, it’s not my party. I don’t know the details. All I’ve been told is that I have these invitations to give out to people.” Sirius stared at the front of the boldly decorated invitation on the top of the pile which read in a glittery font ‘No invite, no entry!’ He ran a rough estimate in his mind and decided there had to be at least seventy invitations in the stack of papers. “Can I help give them out?”

Lily and Sirius had proudly made up a list of who to invite, or not to invite, the rest of the marauders eventually gathering around to put in their own two cents. When the invitations had been given out, Lily returned to her dorm whilst the marauders all sat in front of the black lake, soaking up the limited sun rays whilst staring at their own invitations. “This is some high end decor.” Commented Remus, turning his invitation in his hands. The fonts had been carefully chosen, and a textured disco ball sat in the centre of the page. “Yeah, according to Lily, y/n loooves to party.” Marlene added, laying on her back. “I’m excited to meet her,” started James “She sounds fun, and we barely ever hear about her from Lily.”

Sirius hummed, gears turning in his brain. “Lily said they’re nothing alike.” He recalls. It was true. You and Lily weren’t only opposites in terms of personality, but looks too. Despite being twins, you had taken all of your father’s genes while Lily took after your mother. No one ever believed you when you said you were twins, let alone siblings.

The party was nearly an entire month later. The marauders found themselves outside an ordinary muggle house, glancing at each other nervously. Had they arrived too early? Marlene glanced down at her invitation, ensuring that they were there right on time. A knock on the door and they were waiting. The door slammed open and they were met with you, a bright smile on your face and a tray in the other with an array of pink and blue jell-o shots. You weren’t the only thing that welcomed them, but the loud roar of noise from inside the house blasted them too. Remus cocked an eyebrow, thinking ‘That’s one mean silencing charm.’ “Grab a drink you guys!” You called, holding the door open with your foot as you moved to the side for them to come in. You introduced yourself over the noise, clueless to the mesmerised eyes following you.

Sirius let himself be dragged into the house by Remus, though his eyes followed you as you escaped into the backyard. Lily had been right, you weren’t nothing alike. You wore fishnets under your small denim shorts, your top exposing more than just midriff. He gulped, trying not to be caught staring at your breasts when you turned around, instead moving his gaze to the endless jewellery you wore.

Sirius heard himself gasp — apparently the french like to be early. The party in the backyard was lit, he finally noticed, with groups of people already playing beer pong, dancing to the music, and even exchanging light conversation. Lily ran to join them, trying to properly introduce you to her friends, but you were running back to the door as the bell rung once more. Apparently everyone arrived at once, because a crowd of people suddenly flooded the living room. A mix of elegant french and fast english chatter filled the air, and Sirius saw Marlene’s jaw drop, already picking the girl she was going to spend the rest of the night flirting with. Just as Lily was about to catch you, you jumped onto the coffee table, pointing your wand to your neck with an amplification charm.

“Okay, listen up everyone!” You called out, and from within the crowd, Sirius caught your eye, his muscular arms thrown over two of his friends' shoulders. You hadn’t properly noticed him when he walked in, but now? You shook the thought out of your head. “We have about 200 wizards in this house. A house that you can tell is in a muggle neighbourhood! Now, my silencing charm may be great, but it doesn’t hide magical activity! So if we can keep the magic down to a minimum and get the party up to a maximum that would be great! Where’s my music!?” And suddenly the music roared to life. Sirius shoved to the front of the crowd, offering you a hand to help you down from the coffee table. You felt your stomach jump at his offer, the light reflecting off his silver jewellery. Instead of taking Sirius’s hand, you wrapped your arms around his neck, swinging your legs off the table. Sirius snaked his arms around your waist without missing a beat, spinning you around so you let out a joyous laugh. “And who might you be?” You asked, running your hands down his chest before letting them hang by your sides.

Sirius curtseyed, miming saluting you with a hat whilst very poshly saying “Sirius Black, at your service.” You giggled, putting both your hands on his bicep. “Hey, you met Sirius!” Lily cut in, bumping you with her hip. You met her eyes, and they glinted with mischief. She most definitely knew how attracted you were to Sirius in that moment. “Come meet the others!” She didn’t give you time to respond, instead tugging you away from the curly haired boy. You waved at him, yelling “I’ll see you later!” and then “Shut up” to Lily when you turned around. You didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling like the cheshire cat.

James was the first to bring you into a hug, his hands respectfully patting your back. You turned to look at Lily, nodding in approval. Your introductions with Remus and Marlene were quick, witty comments given by each of them before Marlene so boldly asked “Hey, is that cute brunette over there into girls?” You laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to be more specific, but for you? Anyone would be into girls.” Simple to say, Marlene turned bright red, and not because of the warmth the alcohol had given her.

When Sirius returned to the group, you were already gone, dancing with your friends. He threw his arms around James’s shoulders, resting his head on his best friends’s shoulder. “James, we’re going to be brothers in law!” The boy barked out a laugh, pushing Sirius away to look at him properly. “I’m in love with her James.” Remus laughed, slapping a hand on Sirius’s back. “Well what are you going to do about it buddy?” He asked, sharing an amused glance with James. “I’m going to convince her to come to Hogwarts. Wait! First, I’m going to make her fall in love with me!” Sirius frowned at his two friends’ loud laughs, muttering something like “I’ll show you.” But he didn’t have the chance to come find you in the crowd, because two pairs of hands were placed upon his shoulders, and you appeared, saying “Come dance with me.”

Sirius almost passed out at your offer, blindly following you onto the dance floor and missing the surprised look Remus and James shot each other. Apparently, you wouldn't need much convincing to fall for Sirius. Sirius took your hand, spinning you around, and you looking him up, looking around as though it would hide the bite of your lip. Sirius’s jeans were just tight enough around the crotch, and low waisted enough that every time he raised his arms too high, a sliver of his abdomen would show as his top would ride up. You spun around in Sirius’s arms, pressing your back against his chest. His hands trailed down to your hips, tugging them closer to his own. You giggled, moving your body alongside the music. Sirius groaned, whispering the lyrics in your ear, his hot breath hitting your sweaty skin.

The next time Sirius groaned, it wasn’t out of enjoyment, it was because someone had called out your name. “Viens avec nous? Just une cigarette!” (Come with us? Just one cigarette!) You had laughed at your friend’s words, shaking your head. “Non, il est trop beau, je ne veux pas le quitter!” (No, he’s so gorgeous, I don’t want to leave him!) Sirius hummed as you turned around in his arms, putting both your hands on his chest. “Come outside with me! Somewhere we can talk!” You grinned, sliding both your hands down in his, and letting him drag you outside.

You let Sirius guide you to a less crowded side of your garden, where you could people watch without being disturbed. You pushed Sirius against the wall of your backyard, watching as his eyebrows flew upwards in surprise. “So, Mr. Black, what would you like to discuss?” Sirius felt his heart surge, its pace quickening by the second, and he was sure you could feel it under your fingertips too. “Go out with me.” He heard himself blurt, and his eyes went wide at his own question. You laughed, looking around. “Aren’t we out right now?” The silence he left you with made you giggle, leaning your head forward on his chest. “I’m just joking.” Sirius shoulders slumped down in relief, hands loosely gripping your hips.

“I don’t want this to just be a little party flirt. I want to really get to know you. You… you seem cool.” You pressed yourself onto your tip toes, leaning forward to softly kiss Sirius. He sighed as you pulled away, chasing the kiss softly, but you refused to reconnect your lips. “I’d really like that.” Sirius smiled widely, pulling you flat against his body. “And hey, who knows, maybe you can show me around Hogwarts?” Sirius nodded, replying with “Yeah of- wait, what?” You straightened your back, cocking your head to the side. “Yeah, I’m moving to Hogwarts next year. Mum and dad finally had enough of me being so far away.” You interrupted yourself with your own laugh, pushing yourself off of him and looking around. “That’s what this is! My goodbye slash welcome party. Didn’t Lily tell you?” Sirius shook his head, stepping closer to you. “Well since I’ll be seeing more of you, can I properly kiss you now?”

Nodding at Sirius, you let him tug you closer to him, bringing you into a passionate kiss. You gasped at the force of his kiss, letting Sirius slide his tongue into your mouth. Moaning softly, you brought your hands up to cup Sirius’s face, pushing your body even deeper into his. “Oh my!” You pulled away from Sirius harshly, stumbling away from him. “I mean, I knew you guys had something going on, but I didn’t know it was going on.” You felt your face flush at Lily’s words, and heard Sirius cry out from behind you “Why didn’t you tell us she’s joining next year!?” James, from next to Lily, turned to face her, surprise overtaking his features. “I wanted to see how you guys got along before telling anyone!”

Remus approached the four of you, tipsily mumbling “Marlene has a roster of like three girls right now, and I just overheard some guy saying he wants to jump in the lake. I didn’t know there was a lake.” Remus stood silently, finally taking in the scene in front of him.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe

#rainydayathogwarts #harry potter #hogwarts #marauders era #gryffindor #the marauders #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black smut #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius being sirius #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #marauders #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fluff #evans!reader #yasministration fics

838 notes · View notes

cocastyle · 1 month ago

Text

I See You Pt. 2

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 4.1k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — and here is part two for you all <3 I’m so overwhelmed and astounded by the love i received on the first part that i had to write this ASAP. i forgot how much i enjoyed writing these silly little fics and how much they help when life just feels so crazy.

some special news is that i officially have decided to make this a four part series!! so be on the lookout for the final two parts and let me know what other characters you would like to see me write for as i get back into the swing of things :)

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Y/N L/N was used to being alone.

After the Blip, that was all she had ever known, all she had ever allowed herself to know, because that was what she deserved.

After all, she had single handedly ruined everything in her life and everyone else's all because of a moment of hesitation. It was her fault that half of the universe had disappeared and that she had lost control of her powers and killed so many people the year following. It was her fault that her friends and family had died and that she hadn't been there to bring everyone back or to prevent Tony from sacrificing himself for something she had done.

She deserved to be alone. All she ever did was screw up everything she touched and get the people she cared about killed.

Tony. Natasha. Steve. May.

Anyone who had ever cared about her was gone. May had been the last one to care about her, having helped raised the girl from the moment she moved in across the hall after her parents divorced. She had been there for both of her parents' deaths, always keeping her from succumbing too hard into the darkness even when she wanted to do nothing other than give up.

It was May's death that had been the final nail to the coffin, sending the girl spiraling further into herself than she had ever gone before. She hadn't known how to stop it and, if she were honest with herself, a part of hadn't wanted to anyways. She just continued to let the darkness consume her, the last of her light dimming to nothing but the dull flicker of a candle as it reached the end of its life.

When she had first entered the void, she thought that was it. That reliving all of her regrets and worst memories would be the reason her light finally snuffed out. A part of her welcomed it, was ready for it all to end.

But then there he was.

Bob.

And for the first time in such a very long time, her light had shone just a little bit brighter.

There was finally someone else just like her, someone who understood her in a way that she barely understood herself. Someone who saw her.

In that single conversation she had allowed herself to see a future, one that wasn't filled with loneliness, but with understanding. A future where she had someone else's back and they had hers. A future where she didn't have to go through it alone because she wouldn't be alone. She would have Bob.

But now even he was leaving her. Running further into his own nightmare just to keep the darkness away and save her from himself.

"Bob!" Y/N cried out, the panic raking through her body so quickly that the only thing she could think to do was to lunge for the boy as he broke through the wall of her nightmare and into the next room.

The darkness let out a roar of anger at both of their actions and a force hit her so hard that it sent her slamming into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Y/N let out a groan of pain as she struggled to push herself onto her feet, but by the time she was up again, the wall had sealed itself up and she was left trapped in the same memory as before, forced to watch as she attacked Tony over and over again.

"No," she muttered, scrambling helplessly over to the part of the wall that Bob had just gone through. "No, no, no, no. Bob!" Her fingernails were against at the wall, her hands turning a blinding white as her powers tried to grab any sort of footing that it could.

If she could just get through, she could save him. She could protect him from this all consuming darkness that she had been trapped within for so long.

She had barely made a dent before her hands suddenly fell through the wall as though it weren't even there to begin with, then hardening just as quickly so it could latch onto her. Her breathing grew ragged as she tried to pull her hands out, her eyes glowing white as she attempted to break free.

But she knew that she couldn't escape. This wasn't an accident after all. This was a retaliation for what she had done.

Y/N continued to try and pull her hands out, but the room merely spun around until she was dangling mid air. It was then that the wall began to pull back from her hands in a tauntingly slow sort of way while the floor disappeared from below her and turned into a swirl of shadows. The girl's eyes widened slightly and she desperately tried to keep a grip onto anything that she could, but her hands slipped out from the wall before she could even blink and she found herself in a free fall.

"No!" she cried out, but it was too late. The room seemed to melt away as she fell, darkness surrounding her until there was nothing but the endless void.

Y/N screamed out in anger, but was silenced when her body slammed against the ground that she hadn't even realized was there.

Her whole body was reeling from the pain, a loud ringing in her ears as she laid there and tried to catch the breath that had been knocked from her lungs. It took a minute but she finally attempted to sit up, her eyes still unable to focus on anything due to the darkness that surrounded her.

It seemed she had been right about the retaliation and if the feeling that someone or something was watching her was not enough to convince her then she wasn't sure what else would.

Bob may have saved her from being killed in that moment, but he hadn't kept the darkness away, hadn't kept Void away.

She could feel him watching her, could hear the soft whisper of thoughts that echoed around in his head. She couldn't hear what the whispers were saying. Every time she reached out to listen, it was like Void was pulling back. But she could feel what he was thinking, knew that he was curious more than anything.

Y/N ignored him, instead letting her eyes flicker around the room and hesitating on a small light coming from a little ways away. She pulled herself up onto her feet and slowly walked forward, squinting against the brightness as she grew closer.

It was only when she was right in front of the light that she realized what it truly was. Her memory.

It was different than the others. Instead of standing in the middle of the scene, it was like she was watching it from the screen of her phone and every time she tried to get closer to see it better, the memory moved further away. Y/N finally stopped trying to get closer in favor of looking to see what the memory was.

Her past self was standing by the Statue of Liberty, covered in grime and sweat with a cut on her face so deep that it made her subconsciously reach up to her own face and touch the scar that was in the same place on her temple.

A boy stood before her or at least she was pretty sure he was a boy. He was so blurry that it was hard to make out anything but his figure and the brown hair on top of his head. The type of blurry that made her rub at her eyes to try and make the scene clearer, but all it did was make him even blurrier.

Who was that?

Her eyes flickered over the scene and she frowned slightly, not even remembering what this memory was.

No sound came from the memory, but Y/N could see her mouth moving, could see the tears that were rolling down her face as she shook her head at the boy and seemed to be begging him to stay. The boy's body moved as though he were saying something back, his body language one of pain and sorrow as he attempted to console her. He pressed his forehead to hers and Y/N felt the faint ghost of a touch against her skin.

She didn't even realize she was crying until the tears were rolling down her face. She gently touched her face in surprise, suddenly overwhelmed by a sadness that she felt deep within her bones.

The boy pulled away and Y/N watched as her past self crumbled to the ground in despair. Y/N's heart ached at the sight. It felt as though someone was pressing down on her lungs and the room suddenly felt way smaller than it had been before.

The grief that washed over her told her enough to know that no matter who this boy was, he had meant a lot to her and she had lost him. Just like everyone else.

Why didn't she remember this?

"Interesting what the mind forgets, but the body remembers," a voice said from behind her. Y/N tensed slightly, her eyes not leaving the scene as she watched the boy walk away from her before the memory started all over again.

That feeling of loss was indescribable and for a moment, Y/N wondered if this was the He that Tony had been talking about, but she didn't let herself dwell on the thought long. Whatever this memory was, it was nothing but that — a memory.

Bob was what was happening right now and he needed her.

Y/N steadied her breath and turned around. She let out a soft gasp of surprise as she came face to face with Void, not expecting him to have gotten so close without making the hint of a sound.

He was nothing but the shadow of a man, darkness incarnate with two glowing white pupils that stared intensely at her.

"What is this?" she muttered.

"It's your memory," Void stated.

"I don't understand," she replied, shaking her head slightly.

Void tsked and let out a sigh of disappointment before as he leaned closer, what should've been his nose only inches away from her own.

"I don't get it," he admitted after a moment of ignoring what the girl had said.

"Don't get what?"

"What it is that's so special about you," he answered. "This is the first time someone has ever been able to make him feel something and. . .it's just you? Y/N L/N? The one who got half the universe killed and then tried to find herself at the bottom of a bottle? You're. . .nothing."

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly, but she held herself together as she asked through gritted teeth, "Where is he? Where is Bob?"

Void chuckled darkly at that, finally pulling away from the girl as he took a step back as if to get a good look at her. "I guess you are pretty in a way. I'll give Bob that much," he muttered. "And there is that same darkness within you. Don't act so surprised. Of course I know it's there. What did you say before? Like calls to like?"

Y/N tensed slightly, her face paling as she realized that it Void had been with them the whole time. That he was always with them. She stilled at that thought, but didn't let it cross her mind again in case he managed to see inside her head.

Instead she tried to clear her mind of his taunting words and let her powers slowly reach out in attempt to worm their way into his mind. She was met with nothing but a dark force that quickly cut her off.

Void chuckled darkly, "It's cute that you think that was going to work."

"Was worth a shot," Y/N muttered and attempted a half hearted shrug, doing everything within her power to appear as uninterested as she could despite the ice crawling up her veins under his gaze and the feel of his powers gently caressing her own.

"Hoping to find where Bob is?" Void asked, his voice a bit mocking. "He left you, remember? He left you just like everyone else. Why would you want to find him? He's probably forgotten about you by now anyways. He told you about that, didn't he? The blanks in his memory? That's all you'll ever be to him."

Y/N didn't grant him the dignity of a response to that, instead turning her gaze back towards the memory. She felt his annoyance almost instantly, but with it came the slight flicker of the shields around his mind. It was so brief that she almost hadn't sensed it.

Almost.

Y/N glanced back towards Void, titling her head slightly as she said, "I might've been trying with the intention of finding Bob, but I got to say I'm way more curious to know why you're really here." Void was quiet and she took that as her sign to continue. "I guess I was hoping I would be able to see what made you so curious. I wanted to—"

"What? Read my thoughts?" he interrupted.

"Yes," she admitted. "But, now that I think about it, I don't need to read your thoughts to know what you're thinking. You're already telling me plenty just by being here to check on me."

"And what would that be?" Void asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"That you're scared."

Void was on her in a second, his hand grabbing hold of her face painfully as he lifted her in the air. She struggled in his grasp and the white of his eyes grew brighter as he stared at her, all the amusement gone and having been replaced by the anger flooding his senses. It was only then that he faltered, that he slipped up and let his emotions get the best of him. The defenses around his mind flickered and Y/N took advantage.

She was in his head before Void knew what was happening and the moment he felt her powers wrap around him, he was instantly back in control and shut her out.

But it was only that mere second that Y/N had needed, a second to be able to glimpse just where Bob was hiding and to lock onto his presence within this maze they were in.

"Got him," she smirked and Void's grip on her face tightened before he threw her to the ground.

"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice nonchalant despite the rage radiating off of him. Y/N pulled herself back up into a sitting position. She would not show him weakness. "There's no way you'll get out of here. No one has ever—"

Void stopped sharply, the two pricks of white that were his eyes disappearing for a small second as he blinked, surprise replacing his fury.

"No one has ever what?" Y/N asked, but she already had a sneaking suspicion of what had caught his attention. Someone had broken through these nightmares and they were coming for him.

Void titled his head slightly as he gazed off in the distance before he quickly snapped his eyes back towards Y/N. "Doesn't matter," he finally said. "Enjoy this new room of yours. Took me a while to work my way into your brain the way you've been trying to do my own. This particular memory is one I especially enjoy. So much pain and regret. Funny that you don't remember it." He shrugged slightly as though the thought already bored him. "Oh, well. Your mind might not remember, but I know your heart does." Void lazily waved his hand in the air. "The body remembers what the mind forgets and what not."

And with that, he was gone, having disappeared within the shadows between one second and the next.

But Y/N had all she needed now. She stood up and closed her eyes, allowing her powers to focus on nothing but Bob and that flash of light within him that glowed just like her own which had only grown brighter since the moment she met him.

She smiled softly at the sight of it and her body began to glow as her powers lashed out against the darkness of the room, the nightmare dissolving as it were nothing.

I see you, Bob. I'm coming.

- - -

Something was wrong.

Bob had thought he was finally taking control the moment he had started attacking Void, but this feeling creeping up on him as he threw punch after punch? It wasn't right. Something was wrong and it wasn't just the situation he was talking about.

Something was wrong with him.

But he couldn’t stop, not even when the rest of the Thunderbolts yelled after him as the room pulled them further and further away. Not even when he felt that familiar tug growing closer and closer.

Even when he felt her enter the room, he still couldn’t stop. It was like the darkness had sunk its claws into him and wouldn’t let go. All he could do was punch and punch and punch and nothing could stop it.

She was behind him now, her powers having tossed aside every single thing thrown in her direction like it was nothing but an annoyance. The team was yelling out something, shock in some of their voices probably due to the sight of the girl, but Bob couldn’t process any of it.

Y/N knelt down beside him, her powers reaching out and gently brushing against the edges of his mind. He knew she saw it, all that pain and loneliness that swirled within him. He felt her own call out to him, that same tug from earlier pulling hard against his heart.

Bob wanted to look at her, to end all of this and just hold her and apologize for leaving her like he had. He thought he had been doing the right thing, but none of this was right. The only time he felt okay had been when he was with her, but now he was afraid he was too far gone.

He wanted to scream for her to help, but even his mind was a storm of a million thoughts that he wasn’t even sure she would’ve heard him if he had tried. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he punched Void and he felt the kiss of a touch brush it away before her arms were wrapping around him, her body a steady weight against his own.

Bob threw another punch, but it was slower this time, Y/N’s embrace grounding him enough to start to realize where he was once again. He threw a few more punches as she whispered, “I’m here. I’m here.”

Her voice was shaky and he felt her own tears against his face as she held him and it was enough to have his fist pause in the air. Void titled his head as he looked at the boy, but Bob had turned his attention to Y/N, to her warmth, to the feel of her breath against his neck and the distant smell of lavender in her hair.

“I’m here,” she whispered again and Bob swallowed thickly. She gently brushed the back of his neck with her thumb and he softened against her, tears filling his eyes.

Words failed him so he sent the thought out to her instead, a question in his tone as he said, You found me.

I’ll always find you, she answered.

Bob’s hands dropped to his side at that, still clenched into fists but no longer punching Void. Y/N shifted so she put herself between the two and Bob leaned into her touch, shaking slightly as the darkness stopped at his shoulders.

“If you can't fight it, what makes you think he can?” the void taunted her, but Y/N ignored him as she dug her face into the crook of Bob’s neck.

“I’m here,” she assured him. “I’m here.”

"No!" the void cried out. "She doesn't understand. She doesn't get it. No one ever will. You're nothing."

Y/N held onto Bob tighter in that moment and Bob knew she was thinking of all the times she had probably said those words to herself. She moved her head so that their foreheads were pressed against one another and she shook her head slightly as she said, “Don’t listen to him. You’re not nothing, Bob. You’re. . .you’re everything.”

Bob cried at those words and he felt Y/N lift a hand up and heard the screeching of metal before he found himself being tackled by the Thunderbolts who all were quick to pull him into their embrace. He felt Yelena hug him from behind, her head resting against the side of his own. He felt John hold his clenched fist against his chest, his grip strong as he held the boy. He felt Ava, Alexei, and Bucky and the fierceness of their hold on him. The tears wouldn’t stop falling and a soft cry left his lips as they all held him as if they loved him, as if he mattered.

Void narrowed his eyes at Bob, his voice coming out rough as he said, “There will always be just us.”

“We’re here. You’re not alone,” Yelena whispered and Bob let out a sob as he let himself feel the embrace that was wrapped around him from all of his friends.

His friends.

Those two words felt so foreign to him, but it was enough to have him stop fighting against them.

You’re not alone, Y/N’s voice repeated into his head, the boy squeezing his eyes shut as his hand shakily reached up to rest against her neck and pressing her closer to him. I see you, Bob. I see you.

“He’s nothing. He’s always going to be nothing,” Void hissed and Bob winced at his words. Y/N shifted slightly, her lips pressing a soft kiss against his forehead before she pulled away.

Bob opened his eyes, hesitating slightly as he saw her turn to Void and stare down at him with sadness in her eyes. To his surprise, she reached out and gently touched the side of Void’s face, the darkness coming to an abrupt halt. The way he didn’t lash out at her told Bob that he was just as surprised as he was.

Void recoiled slightly as if her touch burned, but Y/N moved with him, her hand a steady presence against his cheek as she said, “I see you.” Both Bob and Void stilled at those words and the weight of what she was truly saying.

“I see all of you,” she whispered, her eyes flickering back to Bob who could only stare at the girl wide eyed. Tears were streaming down his face as the others held onto him and it was in that moment that he felt something break within him.

He couldn’t stop the sobs that were racking his body as he felt the darkness slowly release its hold on him enough that he knew they had won even if just for now.

He wasn’t alone.

The room began to melt away, the darkness receding as they all began to fall back.

Bob looked to the girl in a slight panic, knowing that they were about to escape and that he had no clue when he would see her again. He had so much he wanted to say to her. What if he forgot? What if this became another blank in his memory and he never saw her again?

He opened his mouth to call for her, but she already knew what he was thinking.

Don’t worry, Bob. We will see each other again, her voice whispered in his head with the gentleness of an ocean breeze in the early morning. Her eyes never left his own even as he felt his friends pulling him back.

She leaned forward, her fingers gently brushing the hair from his face before lingering against his cheek.

Bob softened slightly under her touch and neither of them broke eye contact as the Thunderbolts pulled him back and they broke free of the hold Void had placed on them all, their bodies falling back onto the streets of Manhattan while Y/N’s voice whispered a promise into his mind and straight to his heart.

I’ll find you.

857 notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 6 months ago

Note

Dukedom au but instead of the men noticing reader post marriage, they already notice her pre marriage like maybe before they went to war and meet each other. She use to be so radiant especially on her debut to society. She dances John and Simon and they were entranced since then. Maybe she likes sneaking out bro mingle with the commons and met Johnny and Kyle that way. Then war happened and many other things by the time they were back they’re not exactly expecting their dream girl to be unmarried, she’s so beautiful why would she be unmarried, besides they have each other now.

Imagine their surprise when they found out not only is she unmarried but rather unpopular in society for one or two petty reasons too.

ANONNNNN I LOVE YOUR MIND

It wasn’t until after his return from the military- when he finally came home with Simon by his side, Kyle and Johnny already settled into their places in his household- that John actually heard the full extent of the rumors surrounding you.

You were barren, they said. Damaged. A woman past her prime who had rejected too many suitors out of pride and was now paying the price. Not docile enough to be a good wife, too much of a spitfire. Hysterical, the last time you had snapped at a man who had gotten a little too close to you. A stain on your family’s lineage, who were trying desperately to marry you off.

Kyle had been the first to bring it up, muttering about what he’d overheard at the bakery one morning while helping Johnny’s parents prepare for the day. Johnny, normally so cheerful, had been uncharacteristically quiet about the whole thing- quiet in that dangerous, simmering way that meant he was ready to fight anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.

And Simon?

Simon had just looked at John.

“Fix it.” he’d said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

But it wasn’t simple.

Not when the love John felt for you had been complicated from the start. Not when Kyle and Johnny and Simon already occupied so much of his heart, and the idea of forcing you to share that space- even with men who adored you already- felt like asking too much.

So he waited, and waited.

He waited until he saw you again, looking so perfectly soft and sweet and untouched by the harshness of the world around you, even despite all the hate-filled rumors aimed your way, it nearly broke him. He waited until Kyle started dropping more and more excuses to see you, until Johnny began dragging you into their outings, until even Simon- gruff, stoic Simon- began pausing to ask how you were doing when he saw you in passing.

He waited until he couldn’t not ask.

And when he finally did- when he knelt before you and offered you everything he had, everything he was, everything they were because he would keep anything a secret from you- you didn’t answer right away.

“John…” You were at a loss for words, eyes shifting to a fro. You could hear your parents practically yelling at you to just accept, no matter what, within your mind.

Your cheeks turned warmer than a furnace, and you lowered your head, gritting your teeth. “Surely you all know that- that I’m not… exactly the best candidate for you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Your eyes widened, mouth falling open, and he wanted to kiss that expression off your face. Replace it with something happier, brighter.

“It doesn’t matter.” John repeated, voice soft and so painfully fond. “They can say all they want. It’s you who I care about- we care about. Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters, except for your happiness and what you want. So I ask again… will you be my Duchess?”

You bit your lips, ignoring the tiny little voice of your nanny scolding you for your terrible nervous habit. You wanted to accept. You ached to accept.

“Promise me, John,” you breathed out. And he listened, more than anyone else ever has. “Promise me. I won’t ever be a simple accessory on your arm, or a forgotten relic in your home. I won’t be brushed aside, while everyone around me is loved. Please, John. If you can promise me that, then I accept.”

And for John?

It didn’t even take him a second before agreed; already, he could imagine the relief that the others would have, as well.

He could also imagine you, blooming in their home.

905 notes · View notes

sempiternalmuze · 28 days ago

Text

Running Through the Halls of Your Haunted Home

Jack Abbott x doctor!Reader who has some problems being loved

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, hurt comfort, reader runs away for a bit (story takes place when shes back), Robby being Jacks best friend, age/jobs not really established, implied not great childhood for reader, jack loves her ohmygod??, jack would never leave her tbh, a bit more flowery than i'm used to writing so let me know, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

Five months. That was the timeframe Robby had laid out for you when you'd came to him a few days after Christmas, explaining that you needed a break, need time away from the Pitt, the city, the state. He'd been kind enough to not ask too many questions, but you knew he'd hear it sooner than later directly from Jack during one of their therapy sessions.

So three days after Christmas you packed your bag, grabbed your passport, and changed your number. From one day to the next you had gone from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center to Portel, Brazil with Doctors Without Borders.

And you lived. You took the time you needed to find your peace again, to pick up the pieces that you had left behind in the dusty apartment Jack and you had shared.

But now it was May-- and Robbie was calling your number every few days. And today when you answered he'd sounded at about wit's end.

"Time's up kid, we need you back here." He sighed, and you could almost see his hand running over his face, tired and no doubt thinking about a fourth—fifth—coffee.

You had stayed silent for a moment, playing with the sheet of your hammock. You glanced at the tents set up by the river, kids running around in a game of tag, parents watching from the sides as they spoke to the other doctors on your crew.

"What if I told you I liked it here more? Then what?" You said, glancing back at the water.

Robby lets out a throaty laugh, one that pulls you away and forces you back to the shuffle of the Pitt. "Because if you did, you would've just said that."

It's a valid point— and true. You wouldn't be asking, wouldn't be hoping he'd tell you any different. You probably would have blocked him, sent an email to Gloria and moved on with your life.

"And I also know what you've got waiting." He whispered. And he was right. You wouldn't just leave like that and not tell Jack. The only reason you had been able to do it the first time was because you knew it was temporary, and small fold in the story you two shared.

"How is he?" The weight was heavy on your shoulders, an invisible force that only left in the depths of night and that was if you were tired enough to fall asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow. Jack was strong, and smart. He'd been through so much worse than a girl who was afraid.

"Well...he visits the roof a lot more now. The first few weeks were...well they were real bad kid." He pauses, like considering what would be too much to tell you. "I offered him to come stay with me, get away from the apartment, but he said he liked it. It gave him a reason to hold on."

Reasons to hold, how very Jack Abbott of him. To want to have hope, to find the reasons even though he wasn't sure where any of it would lead.

"He'd doing better now, I don't have to act like a hostage negotiator too much these days. He comes out to the park with us after work and he makes jokes with the new med students. But he misses you, a lot."

You nodded with a hum into the phone. The sun was so peaceful this time of day, it bounced off the water and on to your skin. You let your eyes close and let your mind drift back to those months ago, from even before the fight, to when things were still solid between the two of you.

Walks in the park after a long shift, hands intertwined as he poked fun at you for your decisions during a shift. The nights spent in bed, room slightly too cold because otherwise you'd burn up with his body heat. Even on the days when it was hard, when his active duty days caught up to him, there was still something to have, because he'd let you hold him, let himself talk and talk about the people and the days of roughing it, of the bad things he saw, of the pain of a leg that was no longer attached to his physical being.

"Kid, I gotta let Gloria know by tonight. Are you back?" Robby's voice broke through the speaker with a crack of static.

"Of course I am Robby."

Now you were running through the airport, hair a mess, sanity hardly in tact. Cassie had been kind enough to come grab you after dropping off Harrison with Chad for the weekend. Today and tomorrow would be your days to get settled, then straight back to it on Monday.

"I've missed you so much!" She squealed, arms wrapped around your center tightly. "You have no idea how much it sucks to have to take on that waiting room with myself and Javadi." She laughs.

"Oh I bet, what would you ever do without me?" You laughed. You held her tight before you both crawled into the car. She started the engine, waving off some security yelling at her and took off.

"How was it?" She asks, face covered in excitement.

"It was amazing Cassie. The people, the pace, the location, all of it was just-perfect." You sigh and throw your head back. "I think it was exactly what I needed."

"That's great." She says. Her tone tells you that there's something else, something on her mind that she isn't saying out loud.

It takes about three minutes of uncomfortable silence and a red traffic light for her to turn to you. "Have you talked to him?"

Cassie was one of about four people who definitely knew what was going on between you and Jack, one of a few who knew lengths you'd go for one another. Her tone is soft, prodding but not overstepping.

"No, Cass I...I didn't want to do anything that might...I don't know, hurt more than it already would?" You sighed. You covered your face with your hands. "I felt horrible, for taking off on him the way I did. But I just...I knew that he'd make me stay."

Cass nods along, listening. She takes your hands in hers, holding it softly over the center console. She doesn't push or try to interject her own thoughts about the whole thing into your mind. She knows you well enough to know that no decision you made came lightly, that it took hours and hours of thought and careful planning.

The light turns green and the car starts moving again. "You don't have to go back so soon. You can stay with Harrison and I if you want to." Cass offers, a small glint in her eyes.

You take a moment to consider before looking out the window. "I need to go back Cass. To my home, to my stuff. I need to go back to him. I ran once but I'm ready. I finally feel ready to face what we left behind." You smile, hands gripping the door handle a bit too tight.

Cass nods and hums. "Just know I'm there. If you need me."

And that's what the conversation is left at. Fifteen minutes later your left staring at your building. Cass offered to go upstairs with you, but you'd elected to face it all yourself.

There were two options that stood in front of you. One, Jack was home, asleep, getting ready to head to bed and face another grueling night shift. The blackout curtains would be drawn and the apartment quiet. Would the floorboards remember your steps or creak under the unfamiliar weight of your long lost body? Maybe they would, and then they'd wake him, and you'd have to explain the last five months of your life to him while he was half asleep.

The other option was simple, he wasn't home, maybe getting groceries before he inevitably came home to crash out on the couch. It had irked you so much when you first started dating. The way he'd get off a few hours before you and offer to do the shopping, just for you to come home and find him asleep in the most neck sore position possible, jacket barely off, jeans twisted too tightly across his legs. But eventually it became a comfort, the way you could rouse him and make him follow you to bed, where you'd help him take off his prosthetic, rip off his scrubs in return for a clean shirt and pj pants. Or sometimes when you were both so tired after a rough day you could snuggle yourself between his arms, him hardly waking up, but still opening his strong arms so you could press against his chest.

And you find yourself hoping it can be like those distant couch sleeps. That he'll be there, asleep on the couch, and you can just lay with him, head pressed against his chest, snuggled right below his chin as his fingers splay over the middle of your back, gripping you as to not let you disappear again.

So when you turn your key into the lock, you take a deep breath. With the click sounding, you push the door open. You roll your suitcase in first, setting it to the side. Then you pause, listening. There's silence, and for a moment you think you're safe. The buzz of the AC when it clicks on startles you, but not as much as the man standing before you.

Jack stands near the couch, hand holding on to it, like he might fall over. He wears a tight black tee, some washed jeans and his tennis shoes. When you finally meet his eyes you see something, a glint of pain? Maybe sadness, maybe shock. His hair is slightly longer along the sides, his facial hair a bit more clean shaven than the stubble you had last seen him in. He doesn't move, neither do you. Its like the saddest cowboy stand off you've ever witnessed.

The click of the door behind you finally breaks the silence. You take a step forward, placing your keys down on the entry table. You can't tear your eyes from his. You wish you could read his face, know where to start on the long list of apologies and begging of forgiveness.

"I know you probably hate me. I know you maybe wish I would have never come back. And I know when I left we were in a bad position, a position that I never wanted to be at with you." Jack opens his mouth to say something, but you're quick to silence him with a raise of your hand.

"But I'm here. I'm here because I love you. Because I never wanted to leave in the first place. And you are the first stable thing I've had in my life since med school." A sudden hiccup burst from you, followed by tears. You couldn't stop it. In an instant your face was crumpled, warm, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Sweetheart..." Jack mutters, marching towards you until his arms swaddled your frame, arms pressing tight around your ribs, fingers grasping at your hair. His face pressed deeply against the crown of your head, and his chest pressed perfectly against your ear until you could hear the thumping of his heart.

"Jack Abbott you— God you fucking took my life and put it back together in ways I didnt think possible. You showed me that I could be loved. I was worthy of love and attention."

You pulled away, Jack's arms still resting across your waist, fingers digging in, as though fully releasing you would mean you walking out the front door forever this time.

"And I ran. I ran because I was so fucking scared that you'd wake up and decide that I wasn't worthy, that you didn't need to be here. And I wouldn't be able to handle that." You glanced at him, and while your vision remained slightly blurred, you found that he was already looking back at you. For a moment you thought pity might be the thing coursing through his dark eyes, but you realized it wasn't even close. It was more like concern, fear.

"I picked that fight because I thought it was the only way to get you to leave. But you didn't. You refused to leave, to give in. And that made me mad." You laugh, wiping your face. Jack cracks a smile, followed by a small chuckle of his own.

"You made me mad because instead of doing what everyone else has done, you planted your feet. And that made me the most scared." You said, staring down at the ground. Jack gave you a moment to collect yourself, and when it seemed your breathing had finally calmed a bit, he took your hands in his, fingers intertwining with his own, his calloused palms pushing against yours.

"I planted my feet because I knew exactly what you were doing." He says, soft, speaking more into your hair than into the open space around you two.

"It was a stupid battle, and you're not stupid, so of course I knew what you were doing. Because I know you, sweetheart." he chuckles a little, the sound vibrating in his throat. "And more importantly, I planted my feet because I wanted to stay. You have never ever been anything short of the most beautiful, loving, smartest, strongest woman in my life. You are the best thing I've had in years." He sighed, his hand lefts yours as it moved up your arm, until it fell onto your jaw, guiding your eyes to his.

"And you put me back together. And I love you for that." He finishes. Neither of you two move, letting each others words swell around your embrace.

Your eyes drop to his lips, soft and kind. He doesn't hesitate, pulling you against him, letting your lips grace each others for the first time in months. You sigh, pressing your body against his. He holds you close as you two drink each other in.

Eventually he pulls away, rests his forehead against yours.

"I've missed you."

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

#sempiternalmuze #jack abbott #the pitt #dr. jack abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott imagine #dr abbot x reader #jack abbott fanfic #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfiction

381 notes · View notes

lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

Text

Pretty girl

Yandere Percy Jackson x Aphrodite!Bimbo fem!reader. (Slight Yan! Aphroditesiblings)

Plot: Maybe the power of your beauty worked a little too well on him. Percy can’t get you out of his head.

-£ he’s aged up and I’m thinking of book Percy

Warnings: Spoilers for the books? Yandere tendencies, Jealousy, Percy being possessive, Percy thinking he as some of claim on you, Reader being a bit naïve and the baby of her cabin, and not knowing how to fight, Percy being kinda mean to the reader, over all toxic.

if there was one thing he wanted in this life. it would be to call you his.

percy never saw anything more beautiful in his life then when he looked at you for the first time when he arrived at camp. sitting with your sisters and giggling as they braided your hair, you didn’t notice him. he was with luke while getting to know the camp, he just stopped at stared at you. his cheeks flushed and heart beating faster as he heard the faint sound of your cute laugh. the older boy took notice and realized what was happening.

“Aphrodite’s daughters, the one in the middle is y/n. She’s the camp’s sweetheart, I don’t think there is a mean bone in her body.” Percy pulled away from you for a second to look at luke but just went back to you. “is she seeing anyone?” luke just laughed and patted him on the back.

“Aphrodites cabin keeps her away from anyone other then them, no one as been bold enough to try. So good luck,” after a few seconds of standing there like a love struck idiot he was pulled away and forced to go found out who is godly parents is.

Percy was proven right when he tried to approach you many times. your sisters just glared at him and pulled you away without you noticing he was even there, and he tried so many times. that only tempted him more. so he started following you around and watches you. laughing, playing in the water as your sister watched, or brushing your hair. where ever you went he wasn’t far behind.

this sparked his yandere behavior. he was convinced you were waiting for him to take you away. you need someone to kiss the ground you walk on and protect you. he was always watching you and when he went a day without seeing you he get cranky.

luckily, after months of just watching you he was finally able to find you alone with no sibling in sight. he watched you with a smirk as you cut through the air with your sword and played pretend. he never saw you in training or around, and never with any weapons. you must have snuck away from your cabin and tried to train yourself.

it was adorable how you thought you could teach yourself. being so weak and clumsy. Percy watched for a few minutes as you copied some simple moves you must have saw and small screams.

it wasn’t until you tripped over a root sticking up from the ground he was rushing towards you.

“Poor thing,” you turned your head at a voice behind you while you sat on the ground getting your pants covered in dirt. “Need some help?” as you looked up at him he realized how bad he had been craving to have your attention on him. he was close to you now. all alone. this was his opportunity.

embarrassment set inside of you and your body heated up and started to sweat. you looked away from him and started to get up on your own. “how much did you see.” You picked up the sword and played with the handle.

“not much, just you taking a nasty fall.” You nodded your head as he spoke and started to walk closer to you. “I could help if you want, I’ve fought a few things before.” His cheeky smile and tone made you look at him. You knew who he was, of course you did. he saved camp, he stopped a war. he was a hero.

and the most handsome boy you have seen.

it was unreal to think about how he was talking to you now. offering to help you after you embarrassed yourself in front of him. “um, you can if you want.” the small sound of your voice made his heart pulse faster. he was finally getting what he wanted. so he only smiled and grabbed ahold of your hand that held the sword.

as he spoke he moved behind you and wrapped his arm around your waist and pushed your foot back to get you balanced. his other hand still holding yours. you could barely focus when he was so warm, your crush was helping you! Percy noticed how quiet you got and he was so smug about it. “Y/n.” He looked at you as your eyes stared over his face barely hearing the words from his lips.

“Not much going on in that head, hmm? Maybe fighting isn’t for you.” his hand took the blade from your grasp and he stepped away from you. you got shy when you realized he had caught you staring.

your fingers play with the ends of your camp shirt, “I wanna protect myself.” He titled his head and his hand reached up to play with your hair. “You have the camp to do that, and of course I’ll keep you safe. But you just have to stay and look pretty.”

you looked so embarrassed and shy at his statement you eyes stayed away from him and stood awkwardly. Percy smiled and chuckled, “Maybe you should hang out with me? I could teach you a bit to protect yourself…Or you probably don’t wanna-” as he spoke he started to move away from you, knowing you’d actually take his offer.

“No, no! I’d love to.” You reached for him again with a smile. “Please.” He looked back at you and let out a fake sighed. if only he could show the huge smirk he had to fight back. you were just to easy to manipulate.

“then you stick by me now then, pretty girl?” you nodded your head and clapped your hands excitedly now having someone to train you. but Percy was happy you would stay by him now and no one could pull you away from, he had his hooks in you. and so what if they tried? not like they’d find their bodies anyway, who would look in the lake? no one would miss them away.

all that matter was you and him.

#percy jackson x you #Percy Jackson x reader #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #book percy jackson #book percy #yandere percy jackson #yandere percy Jackson x reader #x fem!reader #yandere x reader #sfw

3K notes · View notes

lucy-literates · 20 days ago

Note

Hi 👋🏻☺️, hope your doing well. I was wondering if you could possibility write something were reader is redhead with curly hair and also dating Arthur Leclerc, and so she feels bit insecure because his known for dating blondes and she feels like she not his type and she gets a bit of hate especially when she's seen with Arthur at the Monaco gp.

Hello :) I am doing well thank you, and I hope you are too! I love this, it feels so sweet yet authentic at the same time. I hope this is what you had in mind, enjoy! My inbox is open :)

Red

Both your parents have red hair so, naturally, you do too. You loved your hair. It curled perfectly, sparkled like a flame in the sun, and brought out the colour in your eyes. You had always copped a bit of flak about your hair growing up, but you blocked it out. They were just jealous and didn’t know it yet.

You would come home after school every Friday and get ready for the race weekend, if it was one. You had your Ferrari shirt and cap on, posters of drivers and car hung on your walls as you cheered for Ferrari to win.

You smiled whike the fond memories flooded your mind. You were at yet another practice where your now boyfriend and Ferrari reserve driver, Arthur Leclerc, was speeding around the track. Wearing red with your red hair did give the outfit an odd look, but you loved being your authentic self.

You hadn’t gone public yet, but you love being with Arthur. He’s sweet, kind, thoughtful, loyal, everything you could ever need or want in a boyfriend. Occasionally you saw pictures of Arthur with last girlfriends, how the public missed them going together. That made you worry. Were they going to like you just as much?

You didn’t notice it at first, but after a while, you found a similarity. All of them had blonde hair.

Every

Single

One

That made you nervous.

Arthur had asked you to join him at the Monaco GP. It would be your first public outing together, as a couple, and you were worried out of your mind.

Would the public like you?

Would they hate you?

What would they say to you? To Arthur?

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

Your hands shook slightly as you adjusted your curls in the mirror of the hotel room. You’d taken extra care with them today — even using the serum Arthur swore made your hair smell like vanilla and sunshine — but your reflection still felt unfamiliar.

Red on red. Hair like fire, cheeks flushed with nerves, cap in hand. The Ferrari shirt that had once felt like armor now made you second-guess everything.

Why hadn’t he dated anyone who looked like you before? Would people tear you apart online? Would they think you didn’t belong at his side?

The sound of the door unlocking made you jump. Arthur strolled in, face flushed and hair messy from the sun. He grinned the moment he saw you — and it was like the world stopped spinning for half a second.

“You look like a flame,” he said, stepping closer, dropping a kiss to your temple. “My flame.”

You forced a small smile and looked down. “I feel more like a warning sign.”

He stilled. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just nervous about today.”

Arthur was quiet for a second, before his fingers gently caught your chin and tipped your face up. “Mon cœur, talk to me.”

You hesitated.

Then it all spilled out in a low whisper. “You’ve dated so many girls before. And they’re all… blonde. Beautiful. Everything I’m not. And now we’re going public and I just… I don’t want to embarrass you.”

His face softened immediately — that familiar tilt of his brows when he was both surprised and heartbroken you’d ever feel that way.

“You think I’d ever be embarrassed by you?”

You shrugged. “I’ve seen the comments already. Some of them are nasty. They don’t think I’m your type. That I don’t fit.”

Arthur’s voice was quiet but certain. “The world doesn’t get to decide my type. I do. And you are it.”

You blinked at him.

“I mean it,” he continued, brushing a soft curl back behind your ear. “The way your hair lights up in the sun? How you never pretend to be anyone else? You’re real. You’re fire. You’ve got more passion in your pinky than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re mine. And I’m proud of that.”

Your throat closed up for a moment. “But what if people say awful things today? What if they hurt me?”

“Then I’ll be right there,” he said. “Holding your hand. Kissing your cheek. Giving them even more to talk about.”

You laughed a little through your nerves. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m in love,” he replied easily. “It does that to me.”

And just like that, the fear didn’t vanish — but it shrank. With Arthur’s hand in yours, it always did.

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

The sun glinted off the water, and the paddock buzzed with energy and camera flashes. Arthur walked proudly beside you, hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like you were the most important person in the world.

There were whispers. There were stares.

And then Arthur turned to you, lips brushing your cheek as he smiled for the cameras.

“You’re stunning,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

The internet would probably have a meltdown.

But you didn’t care.

Not when his love felt louder than the noise.

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc x reader fluff #monaco grand prix #monaco gp 2025 #grand #prix

256 notes · View notes

j0shuahongs · 2 months ago

Text

Sanctuary

summary: In which Jeong Jaehyun, the heir to a mafia empire, falls harder than he ever thought possible — A lot of donuts, death threats, and a ride-or-die romance that not even the world falling apart could break.

word count: 2.6k

pairing: jaehyun x female!reader

content: mainly fluff but with mentions of violence, blood , kidnapping scene, threats and danger implied, brief description of gun violence, minor injury (not on jaehyun tho lol), a bit of angst / hurt but it's mainly fluff, i promise!

a/n: hello! i wrote this fic back in 2023 and wanted to post this on jae's birthday back then but life happened (oops) so this was put on hold for two freaking years lol but hey now it's finished! yey! It's been a long time since I wrote fluff (or anything at all) so I hope it's okay enough to read. please please please let me know what you think :)

"Still don't know why Boss has someone like Madam," one of the personnel shook his head in disappointment, lighting up a cigarette before taking a puff.

"Yeah, if I were him, I'd get an eye candy for sure," the guy beside him shrugged in agreement.

"I heard a lot of supermodels were all over Boss back then," another chimed in. "Even a famous celebrity used to like him!" he added.

Jeong Jaehyun — or what everyone calls him, Boss — is the son of the district's former mafia leader.

When Jaehyun came of age, his father immediately retired and handed him the family business.

His family poses as entrepreneurs in public, attending conferences and pretending to run an office just for appearances. But keeping a low profile doesn’t exactly work when people can’t take their eyes off Jaehyun.

He’s so good-looking that heads turn when he walks into a room, and people sneakily take pictures of him like he’s some rare collectible. A lot of people want him — for his looks, his money, his power. Many have tried to use him for their own gain, but once they found out who he really was, they backed away fast.

But when he met his wife, she never cared about any of that. She said none of it mattered because it didn’t define him. Up until now, he still doesn't know what she saw in him — but he’s forever thankful she did.

She was his many firsts: his first love, his first girlfriend, his first kiss, even his first real friend.

It had always been hard for Jaehyun to make friends growing up since he was sheltered by his parents. Given their dangerous situation, they were strict and cautious with anyone who came close to their child. Besides the children of his father's workers, Jaehyun never really had real friends — just loyalty.

He still remembers the first time he met her.

Actually, she loves to reminisce about it, but him?

He was mortified.

He had been forced to attend one of those boring conferences just to show face. Words were going in one ear and out the other while he fiddled with a pen, scribbling nonsense on a napkin now soaked with ink. Jaehyun quietly groaned in frustration.

How long is this going to take?

He decided to make a move for refreshments — an excuse to escape his seat. As he neared the food table, the scent of coffee woke up his senses. He fixed himself a cup, bringing it close to his nose, eyes closing as he inhaled the sweet aroma. Suddenly, he felt a hand reaching out in front of him. Out of instinct, Jaehyun grabbed the arm in a tight grip. His eyes shot open — ready for a fight — only to find a girl staring up at him, wide-eyed. Both of them froze.

"I-I just want some donuts..." she said carefully, her voice small. She gestured toward the pile of glazed donuts beside him. Embarrassed, Jaehyun immediately let go and stepped back, giving her space. She muttered a quiet "thank you" and slipped past him.

He mentally cursed himself for acting like that in public, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. When he looked up again, he saw her happily biting into a donut, her head shaking slightly in satisfaction. He didn’t even realize he was smiling along with her — until he noticed the red finger marks slowly forming on her arm.

"Oh my God, I am so, so sorry," he stammered, reaching out, then pulling his hand back, unsure what to do. She bit into her donut, holding it between her teeth as she examined the marks.

"It's fine," she shrugged, taking the donut out of her mouth. "I, too, get defensive when it comes to donuts," she joked, then finished her pastry.

Grabbing another donut, she walked past him again. "You should get some before they run out," she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before returning to her seat.

Jaehyun just stood there, dumbfounded. His eyes followed her until she sat down, acting like nothing had happened. After the conference, he rushed over to her to apologize again, but she kept waving him off, insisting it was fine. Still, the guilt gnawed at him. He had done far worse things before — and felt no remorse. But this? This he couldn’t forgive himself for.

Since then, he was like a lost puppy, constantly tailing her, and apologizing over and over.

"Mr. Jeong—"

"It's Jaehyun," he interrupted quickly.

"Okay," she paused, amused. "Jaehyun, please. How many times do I have to tell you? I am fine!" she laughed.

He still wasn’t convinced. She sighed and lifted her arm, twisting it so he could see the redness fading.

"See?" she said warmly. "Don't worry about it, okay?" She smiled at him.

When their eyes locked, Jaehyun felt something flutter in his chest. Her smile widened, and somehow, the heavy feeling inside him eased away. He had no idea how someone he just met could make him feel this way.

"You didn’t hurt me," she reassured.

"At least let me make it up to you," he insisted, sadness lingering in his voice.

She sighed. "Fine. You can make it up to me by buying me a dozen glazed donuts," she teased, grinning.

Jaehyun immediately nodded. After that, he kept asking her out — initially under the excuse of "making it up to her." But soon enough, both of them realized it wasn’t about the incident anymore.

Jaehyun was surprisingly shy, despite his intimidating looks and aura. She couldn’t believe someone like him had never dated before. When he finally revealed the truth about who he was, she accepted it — and him — without hesitation. She accepted all his baggage, ready to help him carry the weight. He had never felt so grateful in his life.

When news spread that Jeong Jaehyun finally had a significant other, threats started pouring in — from jealous admirers, those seeking revenge, and rival syndicates hoping to use his relationship as leverage to get to him. It began with anonymous texts, emails, tweets, even sticky notes and white envelopes left on her desk — all filled with hate and danger.

She tried to brush it off, pretending it didn’t affect her. But when Jaehyun found out, he was livid.

He would do anything to protect her.

But they had warned her, hadn't they? She ignored them, holding her head high. But hatred doesn’t like being ignored.

One night, they made good on their threats. It happened so fast — a sharp yank, cloth over her mouth, darkness swallowing her whole, a car speeding into nowhere. But even as panic surged in her chest, she forced herself to think.

Stay calm. Think.

She didn't scream.

She didn't cry.

Instead, she memorized everything — the number of men, the way they spoke, the turns the car took, the muffled sounds from outside. Little clues Jaehyun would know how to piece together.

They tied her to a chair in some abandoned warehouse. Ropes bit into her wrists, but she kept twisting subtly, loosening the knots.

Time. I just need time.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when the door slammed open.

And then — him.

Jaehyun.

Her Jaehyun.

But not the soft one she knew.

This was the devil everyone whispered about — storm-eyed, radiating death.

He was a storm unleashed. The enemies barely had time to react; gunshots split the air, bodies dropped where they stood, blood slicked the concrete floors

In minutes, it was over. Jaehyun stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, fists clenched, rage radiating off him like a second skin.

Until he saw her — tied to a chair, eyes wide.

"(Y/N)!" he choked out.

She was already trying to free herself but froze when their eyes met. For a moment, something passed over her face — something that shattered him.

Fear.

Jaehyun froze, his breath catching in his throat.

No.

Not her.

For one heart-stopping second, he thought she was afraid of him. And that terrified him more than anything.

He felt his heart drop, and his stomach twist painfully. His hands went cold. He felt like a stranger in his own skin.

Was this who he had become?

A man even she couldn't look at without fear?

He felt like he was suffocating. He didn’t think he could survive it.

It terrified him — not because of what it said about her, but what it said about him.

But then... he looked closer.

Her eyes weren’t full of terror — they were full of sorrow.

It wasn’t fear of him.

It was fear for him.

For the life he lived.

For the blood he shed.

For the war he was drowning in.

Her hands trembled not because he terrified her, but because she knew this kind of life would destroy him — piece by piece.

Jaehyun's gun slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. He stumbled toward her, falling to his knees like a broken man. His hands gripped her shoulders, his face wild.

"You okay?" His voice cracked, a jagged plea in the silence that followed.

"I'm fine," she said, heart pounding but voice steady. She even managed a small smile. "Told you I'm tougher than I look."

He pulled her into his chest, trembling harder than she was. "I should've protected you," he rasped, his voice breaking.

"You did," she whispered back, her voice low, steady, holding him together. "You found me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks, mixing with the blood splattered across his skin. His voice cracked like a fragile thing breaking apart.

He looked at her like he expected her to turn away.

To hate him.

To leave him.

But she didn’t.

Slowly, gently, she leaned forward, the ropes falling loose around her wrists. She cupped his bloodstained face in her trembling hands.

"I'm scared," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "Not of you... but for you."

Jaehyun sobbed — a raw, wounded sound that echoed through the empty warehouse. He buried his face against her stomach, clutching her like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And she let him.

She held him close, rocking him gently, even as tears filled her own eyes.

In that bloodstained warehouse, surrounded by death and chaos, he found salvation in her arms.

Later that night, Jaehyun sat beside her on the couch, staring at the quiet city lights through the wide glass windows of his penthouse. The blood was gone. The warehouse was a memory. But he couldn't stop shaking.

She sat next to him, her small hand resting over his heart, grounding him. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

Finally, Jaehyun broke the silence, his voice hoarse. "I almost lost you today," he said, not looking at her.

"You didn't," she replied softly.

"But I could have." His jaw clenched. "Because of who I am. Because of this... life."

She squeezed his hand. "I know what I signed up for."

He shook his head, almost angrily. "You didn’t sign up for this. You deserve better than this world." He finally turned to face her, and the pain in his eyes was unbearable. "You deserve someone who can give you a peaceful life. A safe life."

"I don't want a peaceful life," she said, eyes steady. "I want you."

Jaehyun felt something in him crack open.

He didn't even realize he was reaching for the small box hidden deep in his pocket — something he had been carrying for months, never brave enough to use.

Until now.

With trembling fingers, Jaehyun dropped to his knees again, this time not in defeat — but in devotion.

Her eyes widened as he opened the box, revealing a simple but beautiful ring. No flashy diamonds. No gold. Just a thin silver band — something sturdy. Something real.

"Marry me," Jaehyun said, voice thick with emotion. "Be my family. Be my home."

Tears welled up in her eyes. She smiled — that same smile that melted every wall he'd ever built around his heart — and nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

He slid the ring onto her finger, his hands still shaking. Then he leaned his forehead against her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

When the news broke that Jeong Jaehyun finally had a significant other, threats rained down harder than ever. But it didn't matter anymore. Because when Jaehyun looked at her — his wife — he didn't see fear or doubt.

He saw a future.

Because Jaehyun would burn down the world for her. And he'd smile while doing it

"Boss is such a simp for Madam," the guy chuckled, blowing smoke through his nostrils.

The other men laughed along.

"And what if he is?" a low voice asked.

"Well, it's pathe—" The guy stopped mid-sentence when he looked up and saw Boss standing right there, staring him down. Startled, he shot up from his seat as everyone else scrambled and backed away. They bowed deeply, not daring to meet Jaehyun’s eyes.

"Up," Jaehyun commanded.

The smoker slowly stood straight, even as his knees trembled. Jaehyun approached, towering over him until the man's back hit the wall. Jaehyun eyed the cigarette still trembling in the guy’s fingers. He took it from him, rolling it between his fingers as ashes fell to the floor.

"I don't give a fuck if you talk about me behind my back," Jaehyun said, voice calm — almost lazy. "But if you talk shit about my wife..."

He pressed the lit end of the cigarette into the side of the man’s neck, twisting it cruelly until the ember died. The man gritted his teeth, fists clenched in agony. Jaehyun tossed the extinguished cigarette onto the floor. A burn mark seared into the man’s skin — a warning.

And this was nothing compared to what Jaehyun was truly capable of when it came to her.

The other men recoiled, clutching their own necks in fear. "Are we understood?" Jaehyun asked.

"Yes, Boss!" they chorused, bowing deeply before scattering like leaves in the wind.

"Sweetie..." a soft voice called from behind.

Jaehyun’s entire demeanor melted as he felt her arms snake around his waist, pulling him into her warmth. He turned his head to the side and found her hugging him from behind, her cheek resting against his back.

He smiled, tilting his head toward her. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she grinned, her voice full of sunshine.

Jaehyun turned back to the man in front of him and jerked his chin at him, signaling for him to leave. The guy scrambled away with a hurried bow.

"Let’s go buy groceries?" she asked sweetly.

"Sweetie, you know we can’t go out much," Jaehyun said gently.

She pouted. "But I want to spend time with my husband."

Hearing her call him that made him melt all over again.

He turned, kissing her pouting lips into a smile. "Okay," he gave in easily, threading his fingers through hers, pulling her protectively into his side. She wasn’t just precious to him — she was sacred.

Jaehyun tightened his hold on her hand, glancing down at her with a soft smile.

He never thought he’d be lucky enough to live like this — to chase after little pieces of normalcy, to laugh, to argue over groceries, to hope.

As long as she was with him, Jaehyun could endure the storms. He would tear the world apart to keep her safe, no matter the cost.

But tonight, he just wanted to be a husband buying milk and eggs with his wife. And somehow, that felt like the greatest victory of all.

200 notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 4 months ago

Text

Like a Phoenix (6)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: mentions of murder, death, blood, knives, dead parents; crying; self blame; injuries; fever; tension; worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: I came to notice that the word counts in my chapters differ significantly from one chapter to another. I apologize if this is weird for you. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

There’s a new kind of silence between you now.

It extends and winds itself into the trees, wrapping around unsaid words like an ivy branch.

This is not a natural silence and not the kind that felt almost comforting a day ago. It’s prickly and tense and laden and you hate how restless it makes you feel.

Each breath you take seems deafening, each movement you make achingly deliberate, and every moment of eye contact is a crack of electricity with no set destination.

Turns out, Bucky has been angry at you.

And he has chastised you for joining the fight in the first place.

But not in the way you’d expected.

You had braced for it. For venomous flames sprouting from his tongue. Ready to take anything he might throw at you.

You anticipated a different kind of anger, one that was intense and vocal, manifesting through harsh words and direct blame. Your stomach was a knot of anxiety, hands clenching.

The guilt has been bubbling within you ever since hurling that dagger, and you were ready for his rage to pour over it like oil on flames, transforming it into an intolerable blaze.

But Bucky didn’t give you that.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t even raise his voice.

It was slow and withdrawn, enough to expose the sharp rocks underneath. If anything, he sounded worn. The kind of worn that digs itself deep into a man’s soul.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” he said, voice rather quiet, flat but somehow heavy. His hand has scrubbed over his face in a rough movement, as if trying to erase a hurtful memory of you standing there like the helpless girl you were, blood running over your temple. “You didn’t help. Didn’t even know what you were doin’.”

His words hurtfully slipped deep into your mind. Not because they were cruel, but because they weren’t. He didn’t berate you for stepping in, didn’t accuse you of foolishness. He simply sounded tired. Like someone who’s seen this before. Like someone who didn’t have it in him to carry the weight of your recklessness on top of his own.

It hurt more than anything he could have said in anger. There was something underneath the fatigue, something defeated, but also sharp. Disappointment, maybe - at you, or himself. Or fear. Or guilt. Or everything at once.

You braced yourself against his wrath, but instead, he gave you this hidden reprimand that left you feeling small.

It made you want to say something. Offer some sort of apology to soften the ache his words ignited in you. But the words stayed stuck between your heart and mouth. I’m sorry would have been so simple to say, but it didn’t feel like enough.

And so you just nodded your head to acknowledge you heard him. That you understood. Although you did not. Although your mind was a scrambled mess.

You saved him. You acted when you thought you had no other choice. When the alternative was losing him, and somehow, that felt more unbearable than the thought of taking another man’s life.

Yet, his words rang with truth. You didn’t know what you were doing when you started scrambling for that dagger on the ground. Nothing seemed logically possible. You just were desperate to act. Desperate to be helpful for once. But were you?

You saved him, but does he feel saved?

You only watched him as he turned on his heel, the line of his shoulders as stony as could be. He began to clear the area you stayed without another word, without a single glance back at you. Though he did keep you in his peripherals.

That’s when the silence started.

Because all you could do was sit there, unmoving, your thoughts a flurry of confusion and guilt and so many more twisted versions of those emotions.

The image of the man you killed still ticked in your head, counting the minutes you were leaving his metaphorical blood on your hands. It won’t ever stop counting. It will count you dead.

At one point, you forced yourself to rise and felt the heaviness of a tired body dragged down by a stinging stab at your side.

Bucky only tilted his head in your direction but didn’t meet your eye, continuing to tie knots, secure straps with his jaw set and clipped movements.

The routine of clearing your chosen sleeping spot for the night was basically the same as the last weeks but it felt so much more different today.

The river has been cold, shockingly so. The icy water irritated your skin, currents tugging at you as if meaning to pull you under. But it somehow grounded you in a way that nothing else had since the fight. Painfully so. It cleared a narrow path in your mind, through the wildly jumping and flickering memories.

You scrubbed at your hands, your arms, the hem of your dress, but no amount of washing could take away the feeling that still holds you captive. No scrubbing would be able to wash the blood from your hands because this is rather figurative. The metallic tang of it lingers in your nose. It will always stay.

Just like the sensation of that dagger slipping from your grip, its blade penetrating flesh, the extinguishing of life in a heartbeat. The frozen expression of shock and anguish cast over this man’s face.

Bucky washed himself as well.

You heard the faint click of metal, the soft rustle of fabric, and turned to him. He didn’t seem to care that you were only a few feet away, standing in the water with your dress on. Or maybe it was a deliberate decision not to move to another part of the river to clean himself. You weren’t sure.

But he did not so much as glance in your direction as he unbuckled his armor and pulled it off. He moved methodically. Not even thinking about it.

And then he peeled off his shirt.

Your breath caught, your fingers curling against the smooth stones at the river’s edge as you didn’t take your eyes off him. The faint moonlight that had illuminated the clearing earlier was gone, the silvery glow of the moon replaced by sunlight. And it painted his skin. It played with it. Each muscle of his torso and arms etched with stark definition.

But it wasn’t even the sheer strength of him, the building muscles that drew your attention. After all, you’ve seen him use them. You’ve seen them strain his armor across his chest.

It was the scars.

The crisscrosses over his chest, some jagged and irregular, others clean and straight as though left by a scalpel.

And then there was his left shoulder.

The scars there were different, deeper, more savage. The flesh around his shoulder and upper arm was tissue, cratered, and puckered, stretching away from the shoulder like the aftermath of some violent attempt to sever his arm completely.

It’s the thought - not the sight - that made bile rise in your throat.

And he didn’t even care about you watching. Maybe he didn’t even notice.

He moved toward the river without hesitation, stepping into the icy water as though it were no colder than a warm bath. His breathing was controlled, his muscles didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed detached, sterile. Movements so robotic.

And it reminded you of something. Or rather someone. A soldier. A soldier of the navy army. Your fathers. Yours. Rumlow did say he was a soldier once.

You should have seen it earlier. Should have noticed the similarities. Should have been able to recognize it in the way he carried himself. But it was clear to say that he no longer acknowledged himself as a soldier of your army. It was clear to say that the manners of the soldier in him were something he revolted against.

He crouched in the shallows, water lapping at him the same way it lapped at you but he didn’t pay much mind to the currents. He only cupped a handful of it to pour over his head.

You shouldn’t have been watching him. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The beat of your heart was a crazy commotion in your chest. It was shock churning with embarrassment and another feeling you could not seem to identify. Or did not want to.

These scars are stories you couldn’t begin to imagine. Stories he hasn’t dared to share and probably won’t ever bother to tell. And still, there was something sacred about watching him so completely stripped of what always seems like two layers of armor, both literal and metaphorical.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon, on something far beyond the river, something far beyond this moment. The strength of his stare was palpable, as if he was seeing ghosts that only he was able to perceive. He looked tight-lipped, his expression unreadable. But there was something sitting on his shoulders as tangible as the scars that marred them.

One hard swallow and you felt your throat closing tight. There was intrigue in the jumble of unfocused thoughts surpassing the barriers of your mind, while your rightful feelings begged for the right words to come out.

How could someone bear so much and still keep moving? How could he carry all of this - whatever it truly is - and still find the strength to protect you, to shield you, to chastise you for risking yourself for him?

You thought back to the fight although you didn’t want to. The way he moved looking so deadly, how he stepped protectively in front of you without a moment’s thought for his safety.

Just who is this man? It is a question that has been plaguing you for some time now.

Not just the man who stood in that river, water coursing over his scarred body, but the man behind the scars, behind the silence, behind the bitterness that lingers around the peripheries of all he says and does.

He turned then. And the look that cut over you was making you heat up despite the cold water. There was no surprise, no embarrassment, no anything. Just a studying look that lingered a moment too long.

“Finish up. We should keep moving.”

And with that, he stood, water streaming off his skin, and moved to the bank to retrieve his shirt and armor.

Your cheeks remained burning.

And then you were trailing him again. Through the woods.

You walked in his shadows, his presence looming even when he didn’t speak. There was something tipped about him, something like restrained that made it seem like he was trying to keep himself together. The air brimmed between the two of you with a strange energy, a fraught tension that was an uneasy, almost elemental pull.

The ache in your side flared with each step, but you didn’t complain, didn’t utter a single word.

He checked on you more often than probably necessary, his glances quick but searching. Narrowing as they flicked to your wound.

Every time his eyes met your own they carried something thick, but when he looked away he seemed to leave behind emptiness as if he was turning the locks to prevent you from coming in.

And all he said were short commands, clipped and dry.

“Sit there.”

“Hold this.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You followed his instructions without protest, without question, because the look in his eyes left no room for argument. His tone didn’t invite conversation, but it was not cruel. It was not sharp. It simply was matter-of-fact, just like everything else about him. Practical. Precise. But aloof.

The tension between you felt like it was building something, but you didn’t know what. A confrontation, maybe. Or a confession. Or nothing at all. Maybe this was how it would be now - this silence, this distance, this shared yet separate burden.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you stopped to rest. He spouted an improvised campsite like every night - a small clearing, flanked by plump pines with their branches woven in dense roofs. The ground is mildly plush because of moss and littered with fallen leaves. Life seems to thrum in the forest around you, with crickets chirping and small animals rushing through bushes but it’s still muted by the tension yet to fold from the air.

Bucky set to work straight away, gathering firewood and checking the perimeter with sharp eyes.

You dropped your tired bones onto a decaying log, exhaustion pulling your shoulders down, mind not able to settle. You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself.

There was something about Bucky in this moment that felt unreachable. As though the man you had come to know - the man who shielded you with his body, who taught you to throw a knife, who hated seeing you fear him - was retreating. Pulling back into himself. And you hated that you didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

Your emotions swirled fiercely and unmanageable. It wasn’t just the guilty prick lying in knots in your stomach, but it was accompanied by fear and anger. Though you didn’t even know if it was directed at him, at yourself, or even the world that had shackled you into this lunacy.

When he finally sat in front of you, the fire crackling softly between you, you avoided each other’s eyes. Perhaps even each other’s presence altogether.

There was something feeling almost intimate, as though the firelight had drawn you closer even as the unspoken things between you kept you apart.

You thought about things to say that might ease the tension, but your chest felt too heavy to let any word come up.

And so you sat there, the firelight flickering in between, the forest shedding all its secrets in the dark.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how you would face it.

All you knew was that the silence between you edged on being both a barrier and a bridge, and you didn’t know which it would become.

You sigh heavily. Relieving the day in memory and emotion.

The ground beneath you feels harder tonight, the ache in your muscles sharper, the wound at your side a constant throb you’re not able to ignore.

The forest floor is rocky, the thin carpet of leaves and moss providing little cushion against the roughness of the roots and stones pushing at you against your back.

You’ve been lying here for what feels like hours, though time has lost its meaning since the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

The night is thick around you, with the stillness broken from time to time by the faint rustling of branches overhead, stirred by a wind too weak to reach the forest floor.

You know he’s there, just a few paces away. His presence is profound. As tangible as the pain in your side and the sting in your pride. He is silent. Too silent. He isn’t sharpening his knife, a sound you’ve come to associate with him as much as his footfalls when he resigns to pacing at night.

But he doesn’t. He isn’t even shifting. The rustle of his movements absent in the hush of the woods.

But you know that he’s awake. You can feel it in the air between you. A vibration, almost imperceptible.

He’s lying there too, as still as you are, but his stillness is different. Alert. Vigilant. You don’t dare turn your head to check, don’t dare disturb whatever you hold between you.

You wonder, what he’s thinking, whether he’s still angry with you, whether he’s even capable of anger right now. He seemed so tired earlier, so worn down.

You stay with your back to him, trying to match his silence with your own shallow breathing so as to convince yourself you are not even there at all. That you’re somewhere else entirely. Anywhere else.

Maybe even the palace.

It comes back to your mind immediately in vivid detail. The soaring arches of marble halls, lanterns casting their diffused glow through the gilded walls, the cool and polished floor beneath your feet.

You picture your chambers, the bed that had always been too large for a single person but always felt too small to hold your restlessness. The bed you would give anything to climb into right now.

You can almost feel the silky and soft linen sheets against your skin, pillows downy and cuddling your head. Almost hear the palace life at night, the distant sound of guards patrolling, wind whispering through stained-glass windows.

You can almost taste the security of it, the confident certainty that tomorrow would come as it always had, with the same routines, the same expectations, the same smiles.

But the more you picture it, the more it mocks you. The differences are too sharp, too cruel, too much and it makes a lump rise in your throat. A knot that feels like it’s tied to the weight in your chest, tugging you further down.

You think bitterly about the irony of wanting the home you had once longed to escape more than anything now. You had believed freedom to feel bright and airy but it only ever feels disgusting and cold and everlasting.

Out here, beneath the sky, encased in a moon of brilliant enormity, you feel incredibly small, tender to your soul, and so unanchored to anything.

You feel lost. Lost in a way you didn’t think was possible. Lost in a way no map or compass could ever remedy. You thought you already were a lost soul as the princess in the castle but you’ve been so off the rails.

Your heart seems misplaced in the way it’s beating, uncertain where to send the blood. Your thoughts are darting like startled birds, too quick to catch but too loud to ignore. But all that resounds in your mind is the reflection of your desire extending infinitely into the emptiness you have yet to flee.

You stare at the faint pinpricks of light above, stars that barely break through the tangled mesh of branches. It is beautiful in its own way. So vast and wild. But tonight, even that feels like a cage. No. It feels like you are the only caged thing in it.

A faint heat blooms behind your eyes, the pain of too much thinking with nothing resolved.

None of this makes any sense. The freedom you thought you wanted came at a cost you weren’t prepared to pay. You have nothing but the clothes on your back and the man sitting silently behind you, watching the dark as if it might rise up and devour you both.

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to escape the palace and see the world beyond it. You thought you understood what that meant. Oh how wrong you were.

Your lips press together as a tear slips free. It seems to come out of nowhere, tracing a hot path down your cheek like a secret you need to keep. Your jaw tightens at the vulnerability you can’t suppress, biting on the inside of your cheek, pearling saliva in your mouth. Though the harder you try to will away new tears forming, the harder it becomes to hold them back from spilling over.

More wetness pools in the corner of your eyes. This is weak. You know that. And you hate it. Because he might hear it. He might hear you losing your mind. But you can’t let him. You won’t.

You shift slightly, turning your face toward the ground as though burying it in the crook of your arm might somehow hide it. From yourself. From him. From the forest.

The grief and guilt and helplessness all twist inside your chest like a knotted rope not so easily undone. You feel so utterly adrift, like a ship lost at sea with no stars to guide it home. And the funny thing is, there are stars. But they won’t steer you home. Because there is nothing like it.

Your shoulders shake ever so slightly with the effort of staying silent. You can’t bear the thought of him knowing, of him looking at you with those eyes of his and seeing your inner turmoil, hearing the sobs that tremble in your throat. It terrifies you. Bucky has his own demons. You’ve seen them in the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his gaze would drift past anything like he was seeing something else, something darker.

You swallow hard, letting the tears fall - silently enough you hope - leaving them to soak into the earth beneath you.

Clenching your fingers into the fabric of your cloak that hangs over you, you attempt to find stability in it.

Another wave of tears spill over and you bury your face deeper into the cook of your arm, pressing hard against your mouth to muffle the sound. Bucky can’t see you this broken and so far from the person you thought you were supposed to be.

You struggle to breathe through your grief, your inhalation raspy and shaking enough to make the ground underneath you seem to tremble. Telling yourself to quit crying and mend all your broken pieces of composure, but your tears keep pooling down your cheeks in hot trails. They nearly bleach the coarse fabric of your cloak and soak into the damp earth beneath your head.

You hope you are well enough hidden in your bubble of sadness, where no one, even yourself, is welcome to look too closely.

“Princess?”

It’s low, rough at the edges from disuse, yet somehow startlingly gentle. The sound hits you like the fresh air on a day of cold winds.

Your entire body goes cold, muscles locking up, stiff as if turned to stone. Even your shoulders freeze in place. But there are still tears falling from your eyes. They don’t stop. They never do when you need them to. You start clenching your teeth, shutting your mouth down so tightly with a bit of a bite so that you can actually feel the coppery taste in your mouth.

You don’t answer.

There’s a pause, long enough that you think he’s given up. Maybe he’ll pretend he didn’t see. Maybe he’ll let this moment pass through memory-

“Are you cryin’?”

It isn’t an accusation, nor is it dripping with the condescension you’ve heard from others who thought tears made you weak. There is curiosity blended with a softness that is unfamiliar for him, as if he is surprised by the possibility but not unkindly so.

You swallow hard and press your lips together to smother any sound that would give you away, despite the fact that he already knows you are crying.

It’s your self-esteem that demands you to be quiet, but your body betrays you with each shiver, each sharp hitch in your chest.

Bucky shifts behind you. The rustle of movement reaches your ears. It grates against your nerves, making you wish you could sink into the ground and vanish from sight.

You don’t know if he moves closer, or just sits up. But it seems he prefers not to intrude upon your delicate space.

A weary sigh. “How’s your side?” His voice is quiet.

You absentmindedly touch your side, where a mix of blood and sweat has dried into a sticky mess beneath the bandage Bucky put on earlier. A hot pulse runs through the wound, prickling like raw heat. But it hardly warrants any thought amid the other pains that eat away at you.

“It’s fine,” you finally utter, though your voice is hoarse and brittle, barely a whisper. You sniff out a sob.

“Don’t make me check it out myself.” His tone is almost light, close to teasing, but with a solemn undertone that squeezes your heart.

A soft huff escapes you more as breath than laughter. “You would not dare.”

“You sure about that?”

A beat of silence falls, and you realize with a strange sort of relief that he is trying to draw you out, to break through the darkness of your thoughts.

“I said I am fine,” you say softly, sniffling into your arm.

He doesn’t press you, but you hear him shift again, as if considering whether or not to take your word for it.

His next words sound closer.

“Good,” he says simply. “Don’t need you keelin’ over on me.”

There is an air of concern in the silence between you. You feel his charged eyes on you. They won’t leave you for a second. They burn you.

The pause continues to linger once more but he seems strangely patient behind you.

He lets out a long breath. “You never stayed down,”he states then, his tone somewhere between chastisement way too soft for him and admiration way too admiring for him. “Told you to stay back, but you didn’t listen.”

His words pass right through you, piercing to the core. His tone does not mean for his words to sting but they do. Your chest is buzzing brutally. So ruefully. Disgraceful.

You didn’t listen. You didn’t stay down. You tried to help, and look where that has gotten you - wounded, broken, and sobbing into the dirt like a child who wandered too far from home.

“I was trying to be useful,” you whisper, voice hitching slightly with your breath. A sob shakes your shoulders.

“Could’ve gotten yourself killed out there.”

“Why does it matter?” you murmur, voice cracking. A shiver whacks your spine. Your fingers clench around fabric. You inhale a wavering breath.

Bucky exhales sharply through his nose. More rustling behind you. “Well,” he grounds out somberly. “M’ supposed to keep you alive, not the other way around.”

You sniff. Then huff sobbingly. Vulnerability drops from your words like the tears from your eyes. “My mother is dead. It is not like she would know if you completed your debt.”

You didn’t think your words through and now they sit uncomfortably between the two of you. You still feel his eyes on your back. But if you regret those words, then why don’t you make the effort to take them back?

“I know,” he says after a beat, quietly, nearly softly. Almost careful. There is no rebuke, no anger. It’s a simple acknowledgment.

The wind sways the trees beside you, absorbing all the emptiness left by your words. You squeeze your eyes together tightly and then rub the two fresh tears away from your skin.

“But I would,” he adds after a long pause. His voice is deep, resolute and something in it tries to form an understanding within your mind.

There’s a pause again, thick with things neither of you can bring yourselves to say.

But then you break it with a shuddering breath.

“What did she do for you?” Your voice sounds barely louder than the leaves in the wind around you. You don’t dare turn to him.

Silence goes on for long enough that you believe he might not have heard you, or perhaps ignored you altogether. But you hear him adjust his position again behind you.

“What?” His voice is rough, hinting at uncertainty.

“My mother,” you clarify, though you are sure he knows. Your heart is a balled-up pain in your chest. It strikes you with every beat. “What did she do for you? To make you promise something so huge?” You don’t have to clarify that part as well. He knows what he promised. And you still wonder if he resents that promise, if he resents you for being the living embodiment of it.

Tightly wound energy buzzes around you, coming from him. Bucky is not in your line of vision but he feels gripped with tension.

An exhale sounds out. It is measured, careful even. But so heavy. Profound. Meaningful.

You don’t want to be pushy. But his past is a labyrinth you don’t have the map for and you are tired of getting lost in it. Tired of not finding a way out. Or to the very center of it. Depending on the exits you take. Depending on the dead ends you meet. Depending on how tight the walls all around are pressing in. Every path you take just doubles back on itself, each question about him folding into another.

“She was so good,” you acknowledge quietly. Maybe even to yourself. You need to get the ache off your chest with words about the loving mother you lost. To him or yourself, it does not matter. “She always looked out for people. She gave so much of herself. I used to think it was exhausting - how much she cared. But-” you swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “Whatever she did for you must have been huge.”

The longing in the hollow between your ribs is moving to the surface and colors your voice. You see her in your mind’s eye - the way she moved through the court with so much regal grace but stopped for even the lowliest servants. You miss the warmth in her voice when she spoke your name, as if it was the most important word in her kingdom.

A sob silently muffles against your arm as you press your face further into the ground. You just exposed yourself with this confession. Being so vulnerable and fragile by crying in front of him alone.

You would have believed him to brush it off. To lay back down with an annoyed sigh and ignore you and your drama altogether.

But even if you thought he might actually carry on this conversation, never would you have imagined it to be like this.

“I’m sorry.” His words resound so deep, carry so much weight that it catches you off guard. “For your loss.” He exhales a sound more felt than heard.

It’s the first time he has offered condolences. It’s the first time he acknowledges, really acknowledges the magnitude of what you’ve lost. And it’s genuine, remorseful in a way that makes something crack behind your ribs.

The sincerity in his voice stops your breath.

You turn then, unable to stay with your back to him any longer. The ground shifts beneath you as you roll over, blinking against the brim of lingering tears.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice delicate but earnest.

Your gaze captures his and it gets strong in the air. His eyes are dark and piercing, faltering now at the sight of your tear-streaked face. He works his jaw, muscles moving under tight skin as he seems to bite down on words he does not know how to say.

The discomfort glimmering in his expression is telling, but so is the gentleness hiding underneath. Something softer, something unspoken but unmistakable.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. All that there is, all that you feel is this glance held between you two, stocked with grief and understanding and something profound. Things that haven’t been there before.

And then, after his eyes study you for a while longer, intense and all, he breaks the quiet with a resigned sigh. As if he can’t believe he is doing what he does. “She saved my family,” he murmurs roughly, clearing his throat and avoiding your eyes. “My ma and little sister. Becca. Sent 'em away to another country. Made sure they were looked after, by trusted people.”

You don’t know what sinks in first, the surprise of him even telling you, or the revelation itself. But the knowledge strikes painfully inside you. Each beat of your heart bumps against a bruise you can’t see.

Words form and dissolve in your throat, swallowed before they can escape.

You take your time to organize your thoughts.

“Why were they in danger?” You know he probably won’t answer that. This is already more than you expected, more than you ever thought he’d share.

A hand moves over his face and he rasps out a sound resembling a cough. “They’re safe now. All that matters,” he says gruffly, shaking his head and brushing it off.

He doesn’t look back at you and you almost regret asking. Something swells in your throat. Maybe your next words. Maybe the meaning of them. “She never told me,” you stammer, hardly above a whisper, voice still laced with tears.

“She promised to keep it to herself,” he utters uncomfortably.

Your chest feels as if it might burst because of the jingling of pride and sorrow and pain all mixing together in a way that now has you unable to distinguish one from the other.

You take a second to listen to the leaves in the night breeze, followed by the crackle of branches settling deeper into the earth. But it seems rather drowned out beneath the thrum of your pulse, too insistent in your ears.

Shifting your gaze to the ground, you follow the uneven patches of dirt and scattered pin-needles with your eyes. You pull the cloak tighter around yourself, half to shield your shivering body against Bucky’s gaze and half to shield it against the cold.

Bucky’s presence in front of you grazes your skin and races into your nerves.

Turns out he did move closer to you while your back was toward him. He’s not in touching range, but close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating softly from him, an assurance piercing through the chill. It is strange and reassuring and terrifying in equal measures.

Your lips again begin to tremble and you press them together to stop the quiver before it betrays you further. But it’s no use. Your heart is beating too loudly, trying to outrun the revelations now planted within you.

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment. But his gaze rests on you. The fizzling tension in the air feels anything but hostile, but it cannot be categorized. It’s subtle and soft and also intense.

You inhale a shaky breath. The sound of your ragged breaths is unbearably loud. “I am sorry,” you ground out, voice rougher than wanted.

Bucky shifts. His brows run together in a furrow. His confused eyes meet yours before you avert them again. “For what?” he asks slowly, his tone gentle but curious.

Your throat constricts. “For everything,” you say, hating the way your voice shakes. Saying it like that is easier than pointing everything out one by one. You are sorry for being reckless, for getting hurt, for dragging him into your mess, for existing as the burden he was forced to carry.

There is a long moment of silence. Bucky’s gaze is fixed on somewhere in the woods, lost in thought, and then he exhales slowly. It drags his shoulders down. “Ain’t your fault,” he mutters heavily.

There is a soft quality sounding in his tone, like he is trying to be gentle though it doesn’t come naturally to him.

Tears prick your eyes again. You blink hard, willing them into submission, but you are losing. A tear rolls down your cheek - bright and warm against the cold air. It makes you flinch slightly, hating the display of weakness.

Bucky does not move away.

The world seems unfathomable wide and unmoving but at this moment, it is only you and him.

You begin to lift your hand to wipe the tear away, but Bucky seems to be faster.

His long and rough fingers touch your skin almost in a careful way. Calloused knuckles sweep across your cheek, followed by the pad of his thumb, wiping the tear away with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. The touch is fleeting but it is left burning on your cheek.

You freeze a little, not really knowing what to do about the intimacy of the moment or if you even deserve it. The ground feels harder beneath you. Almost like an unforgiving bed for your body, and that is nothing compared to the wound twisting inside your chest.

Bucky’s hand slips back to his side and you instinctively follow it with your eyes before looking back up at him. His shadowed and shifting blues hold your own in a way that keeps you from turning away. There is that softness attached to his expression.

You swallow, the lump in your throat giving you full determination to stay. You bite down on your lower lip in hatred of how it quivers.

“Get some rest.” It might as well be a whisper spoken only for you. “We’ll have to keep movin’ soon.”

And though you grant him with a nod, his eyes don’t leave you for another few heartbeats.

****

You wake up with the sun in your face and birds singing in your ears.

The brightness of the sun stings in your eyes, still slightly swollen from crying.

Taking a deep breath, you savor the refreshing and strong smell of wood and soil, the earthiness due to the damp ground and new pine.

You blink hard against the sharp light, gritting your teeth, eyes feeling grimy after what couldn’t have been more than a few broken hours of sleep. Your muscles feel stiff and sore like every morning and you carefully move them around on the rocky ground.

Awkwardly rolling on your side provokes a jabbing pain that comes from the wound and pours itself into the very core of your bones. So incredibly uncompassionate. Wincing, you grab hold of the bandaged wound. Bucky will probably be on you right away and make sure to change the dressing again. You dread it already. Not wanting to show an ounce of weakness in front of him again. The crying was enough quite frankly.

But then confusion creeps in. Your limbs grow fidgety. Fingers tapping. Feet shifting.

Because something feels off. It’s too still, too quiet in all the wrong ways. Birds are chirping, leaves are swishing, but those are not the sounds you are straining your ears for.

Where are Bucky’s footsteps pacing the perimeter? Where is the crackle of the fire he always stokes back to life before dawn? Where is his voice telling you to pack up?

You turn your head sharply in search of him, expecting to find him standing somewhere between the trees, sharp-eyed and alert the way he normally is. But he is not there.

Your heart slips into your throat and panic flares in its place. Sweeping your gaze back across the clearing, you let it slice the air for a glimpse of his broad form.

And then you see him.

Still on the ground.

The sight makes you pause. It feels wrong. Something prickles down your spine. He’s always up before you. Always. But it seems not today. And there’s got to be a reason.

Uneasily, you sit up, the bedroll crinkling beneath you. You look over at him worriedly.

Bucky’s brows furrow in deep creases onto his skin, conflict etched everywhere. His lips twitch, forming words that never quite make it past the threshold of sound. Sweat gleams on his forehead, catching the morning light in beads that glisten. A ghost of a shudder flicks through his body.

Your stomach knots. Bucky looks in pain. You don’t know what kind of pain it is. But there seems to be an emotional component, a sort that goes deep, almost like that of someone with a hunger reaching down to eat away at the very soul - life refusing to give him a break.

The groan that slips out of him is a tortured sound.

Instinct draws you closer before you can talk yourself out of it. Your hand hovers over his shoulder, indecisive. You wonder what he would want you to do. To wake him? To let him work things out by himself? You don’t know. You never know with Bucky. He bears his burdens quietly, a fortress with walls too high to scale.

Each breath that makes his chest rise and fall is labored and strained. His fingers curl into the dirt as though he is fighting something you can’t see.

But seeing him like this - so undone - makes an ache spread across your chest that you didn’t expect. He looks nothing like the unbreakable soldier who’s been your reluctant protector. The very man scolding, bandaging, and guiding you through nights and days of peril. Bucky this unguarded is unsettling you. But worrying you even more.

You fight the urge to comfort him with whatever is stressing him out in his sleep. But Bucky is not the man to take solace easily. So what can you do?

You hover there rather awkwardly, knees pressed into the earth, hands hovering at your side.

Branches around you sway like nothing is happening.

But your heart is racing inside your chest. Tension knots your shoulders, pulling them upward, closer to your ears.

“Bucky,” you whisper, voice as hushed as the rustle of leaves.

He doesn’t stir. Well, he does, but not to the sound of your voice. Muscles tic and shudder uncomfortably and his head lolls to the side, in your direction, but his eyes stay closed. He does not wake.

Your fingers twitch with the longing to smooth the furrow in his brow, to brush away the sweat that runs down his temple. But you stay rooted in hesitancy.

Your throat bobs with a swallow but the knot stuck there refuses to loosen.

Thorned thoughts and worries lie thick and knotted, climbing up the walls of your mind and scratching against them as you stay kneeling beside Bucky.

He groans again, shifting a little. And that’s when you notice something. A dark splotch on his right shoulder. You hardly even register it at first. But it spreads. And the color demands attention. A stark crimson, savage against the muted browns and greens of the world around and the dirty grey of his shirt.

Blood.

Your breath stutters painfully at the back of your throat. Fresh blood. He’s bleeding.

It leaks wetly through the fabric of his shirt, staining the edge of the brown armor strapped across his chest, discharging slowly but it only makes your pulse pick up. It spreads like ink dripping from a feather onto parchment.

For a moment, your brain is struggling to rationalize this. The forest tilts, and for an absurd moment, you convince yourself it’s a trick of the light. Shadows, perhaps, cast by the trees overhead. But shadows don’t glisten like that. Shadows don’t spread in sinister blooms.

A sharp jolt of fear grips your chest, spreading chaos through your veins. It makes them tremor and causes your skin to prickle with urgency.

Leaning closer, you try to get a better look, tracing the rise and fall of his chest. His brown armor is scuffed but intact, yet the dark stain has crept onto the leather straps as well. He’s hurt.

How? Why? He didn’t mention being hurt. Not once. There were not even signs, no grimaces or falters in his movements.

When he washed himself in the river the day before, you noticed the blood on him. But you assumed - god, you assumed - it wasn’t his. That it belonged to the fallen men. You were distracted. By the sharp lines of his scars and the story they told. By the bulk of his body - embarrassingly. You should have looked closer. Should have seen him getting hurt this way.

Questions collide in your mind, splintering and darting and tumbling over one another. And you hate that you can’t answer any of them. How could he have hidden this from you? Is this why he hasn’t woken up before you? Is this why he sleeps so restlessly, his body shivering and stuck in whatever nightmare grips him so tightly?

You basically let him down by assuming he’s inscrutable. How foolish. How silly. Because here he is, bleeding and in pain. Silently. Because of course, he wouldn’t tell you. Of course, he would shoulder the burden alone, just as he always does. As though his pain is something negligible, unworthy of mention.

Anger pikes beneath your worry. How dare he. How dare he be so reckless with himself after all the lectures he’s given you.

Goosebumps rise as a chill snakes its way down your spine. He looks so vulnerable like this, too much so for a man like him. You don’t like it.

You let your shaking fingers hover near the stained fabric. But you don’t want to touch it, don’t want to confirm what your eyes already tell you.

The blood is not gushing, but it is fresh enough. And the coppery scent tangles up cruelly in your senses.

“Bucky,” you mumble, voice unsure.

He does not respond to you. His brow furrows deeper.

This isn’t right. None of this is right. He’s supposed to be the one who knows what to do, who keeps you both alive and moving forward. He’s not supposed to lay here bleeding and shivering in the dirt, just another thing to bear without complaint.

The skin of your palm burns as your nails press into it. You won’t let him do this to himself. You’ve already seen too much loss, felt too much helplessness. And if he thinks he can just bleed in silence and carry on like nothing is happening, he is sorely mistaken.

Your breath snags, every single one feeling sharp, splintering on the way out. Erratic and barely controlled.

The fingers creeping towards him are trembling and hesitant. You don’t know if you should disturb him in this position. But the sweat running along his face practically makes you anxious.

His lips move to utter an incoherent murmur. The sound is hoarse.

Your heart stumbles. He’s never appeared so open, so unguarded, in a way that it feels disconcertingly intimate. Sharp lines and stern resolve are what should characterize him, never this mess of tension brought low by an injury and dreams you can’t see.

The heat of his skin makes you feel nauseous as your fingers lightly graze over his temple. His dark hair is damp and sucked to his forehead and you tenderly tuck the few sticky tendrils away. Carefully, you try to wipe away the sweat with the dark fabric of your cloak. Your movements are gentle but clumsy. Your hand is shaking. His skin is feverish. It makes you chew the inside of your cheek. You only touch him as lightly as possible as though the wrong pressure might cause him even more harm.

You put off your cloak and cautiously drape it over him.

And while doing that something sitting beyond him catches your eye.

You let your gaze drift in between the trees behind Bucky, to the soft green gleam of familiar leaves peeking from a tangled cluster of low ferns. You almost let out a gasp.

Your hand falters in its path across his brow, gaze fixed on the spot behind him.

It is a narrow plant with pointed leaves, faintly shining you in the eyes. Pale white and pink flowers with star-shaped petals tucked between the greenery are swaying with the breeze. Recognition sends your heart stuttering.

Lady’s Balm.

The name blooms in you, coming into your mind with so much meaning. You basically hear your mother whisper it to you through the trees as if she were right beside you.

You remember her leading you through the palace gardens, her palm pressed warmly against your back when she would bend low to show you this very herb, nestled along others.

She would brush her fingers over the soft petals while telling you stories about ancient queens who would carry sachets of Lady’s Balm into battlefields and about healers who would save lives with nothing but their knowledge of the earth.

You carried those stories in your heart, the wonder of them filling you with something akin to admiration and belonging.

A strange, giddy anticipation wells up inside you, picking its way through that heavy gloom that has been your unwanted companion for some time now. It feels so bittersweet.

You can help him. You can do something instead of simply sitting here, wringing your hands in uselessness. You can make a tincture, or at least dress his wound with something that might actually stave off the worst of it.

Purpose hums in your body, and you steal another quick glance back at Bucky to asses his situation before starting to go for the plant. The blood has stopped spreading, for now, darkening only the patch of fabric near the wound.

The relief of that is enough to make you rise to your feet, neglecting the protest of your muscles. The forest floor feels bumpy, though you cross it with some speed, heart racing out of urgency.

Dropping to your knees in front of the plant, you let your fingers caress the leaves just like your mother used to.

It is just like you recalled. Fragrant and earthy, with a faint bitter aroma that lingers on your fingers. You gather some leaves gently in your hands, heart thumping with an unusual mingling of excitement and hope, mindful not to damage the roots. The pedals tremble as you cradle them in your hand. The clean scent wafts upward.

Glancing around, you scan the undergrowth for more treasures. If Lady’s Balm grows here, there might be other herbs nearby - ones that could help with Bucky’s pain and fever. The thought propels you forward, breath quickening with hope.

There is a strange consolation, an off kind of reclamation of loss that is making its place within you. The palace gardens may be far behind you, out of touch forever, but the knowledge your mother gave you remains. It’s something linking you to her, to a past that wasn’t always filled with tears and sorrow.

You might not have the grandeur of the palace gardens at your disposal, nor the apothecaries who once served your family, but you have your mother's knowledge.

And the knowledge alone that you even are able to do something for him kindles a spark of resilience.

After a glance back at Bucky to see him still lying there, you get pulled deeper into the woods, walking through the bushes and trees to continue your search. Picking your way over crooked roots and patches of moss, slick with morning dew, you don’t try to rush yourself to be more aware of everything you might encounter.

The leafy arms of ferns brush your fingertips. The air clogs with dampness and smells of earth upturned.

Sunlight seeps through the trees in scattered golden shafts, each catching drops of water clinging to the leaves, making them glisten like tears.

Anticipating eyes dart over patches of greenery, intently looking out for familiar shapes and hues.

Then, your fingers graze a cluster of pale green leaves, serrated like tiny teeth.

Feverfew.

The small white flowers nod in all directions. You kneel, your heart lifting with recognition. Feverfew to bring down his fever. Delicately, you pluck a few stems and tuck them into the folds of your blue dress.

Wind passes through branches above you. You continue your path, walking deeper into the woodlands. Shadows grow longer and the air begins to get cooler.

Wild mint catches your eye next. Its aroma is sharp and sweet and you breathe it in with a sigh of relief. Mint is calming and cleansing and you swiftly gather the crisp leaves and stash them in your dress.

A mass of red clover blooms stand just beyond, brilliant petals contrasting with their surroundings. You remember your mother telling you about its blood-cleansing properties, transporting the energies of fight and rescue into one's body. A warrior’s ally she had called it with a smile. The soft blossoms graze your skin when you pick them.

Somberly, you notice that this is the first time in weeks that you actually hear her voice in your head. So sweet and kind. So clear in your mind.

You picture her kneeling in the place garden with dirt under her fingernails. A queen who never minded getting her hands dirty.

It has been some time since you thought of her in this way - not as a woman cloaked in velvet and responsibility, but as the woman who taught you to recognize healing in unlikely places. The woman who regarded plants and petals with the same respect she offered to diplomacy.

It’s a strange kind of thing connecting your past to your present. You never would have imagined that knowledge born in the meticulously tended gardens of the palace might come to use in the deep and untamed wilds. But now you are following in her footsteps.

There is something grounding about it. Each plant you recognize pulls you closer to yourself, where and who you once were before everything broke apart. You feel like it makes you no longer just a runaway princess, no longer just a burden Bucky has to drag around with himself. You can actually do something, however small, to care for him for a change.

The thought is a support as you plunge deeper into the forest, eyes skimming the underbrush. There is less sunshine now slicing through the foliage above, shadowing the trees around you slightly. Wildflowers juxtapose against the green with splashes of violet, indigo, and pale yellow.

Your gaze lands on another familiar plant, wide-leaved and glossy. Yarrow. A faint smile curves your lips. “For wounds,” your mother had said with that air of confidence, “to staunch the bleeding.” she made you memorize the shapes and uses of innumerable herbs, always patient, even when your attentiveness wavered.

You don’t know if she ever believed you could actually make use of that knowledge one day. But you’re beyond thankful that she taught you anyway. And well, perhaps, she even knew that you would leave the palace life one way or another. You just don’t think she imagined it the way it actually happened.

Crouching, you pluck a few sprigs, making sure to avoid trampling the grass around. The scent lingers on your fingers - sharp, almost peppery. You tuck the narrow into your pouch with the rest. The weight of it is reassuring against your hip.

The forest around you seems indifferent to your presence but generous with her gifts. And somehow you are in tune with that.

With each step, there are new herbs catching your eye. A patch of goldenrod dances under a shaft of light, bright plumes illuminated in it. The twisted tendrils of wild thyme cling to a rocky outcrop.

Your mother would have loved this place. The thought fills you slowly, almost carefully. But it does. She would have knelt right there next to you, her keen eyes picking out the smallest details, her hands sure and deft.

Something presses against the base of your throat. It’s thick and impossible to gulp down. You force yourself to concentrate. Grief is always waiting for a great moment to rise to the surface like the horrible thing it is. But you force yourself to concentrate. It won’t serve any purpose to help Bucky now.

Nevertheless, this connection to her brings some strange comfort - a reminder that she is not wholly gone. She exists in your memories, in the knowledge she gifted you, in your bones. And here within this wild beauty of the forest, you feel closer to her than you have in what feels like ages.

So much has been taken from you - your home, your title, your sense of safety - but not this. Stubborn as the forest itself, this little gift from your past remains in your possession. And for the first time in a long while, you hold onto it fiercely.

You sweep through the bushes, looking if there is something more you haven’t noticed yet. Secretly though, you want to float out of this moment, where the burden of the world and its demands soften thanks to the flying leaves and the scent of wild things.

But Bucky waits. His fever waits. The blood staining his shirt and the torn flesh underneath wait.

Lastly, you pick some pine needles off the ground in a hurry and turn with the herbs you already collected, your heart lightening but still troubled. The path back is not marked, but you know your way. You know because it feels like the forest is guiding you as ludicrous as it may sound.

And as you make your way back, you realize that this place of nature is teaching you something your old life never could. How to survive. How to care. How to fight for what matters.

Even if that fight takes place in a shadowy forest, with nothing more but leaves and hope as your allies.

“Y/n!”

You freeze.

“Y/n!”

The calls of your name sound frantic through the denseness of the forest. They bounce off the trees, becoming tangled in the wind.

“Princess, where are you?” Bucky shouts, alarm stirring in his voice. “Say something, come on!”

A startled breath lodges in your throat, making the sounds rising to meet his desperate shouts stay stuck, leaving you to stay silent.

Your hands tighten around the bundle of pine needles and leaves in your grip, knuckles blanching as you stay rooted.

Then there’s rushed movement behind the sound of cracking branches and the scrape of bark as he seemingly barrels through the underbrush without a care for stealth or his injury. There is fear in it. He does not weigh his words and steps carefully. He is in panic.

Your name resounds in the air over and over again and the urgency in it startles you.

The way he says - or rather screams - your name stuns you. It sounds strange hearing it this way. Not in idle conversation, not in teasing disbelief, but with a gravity that matters more than anything. He says it as though it’s the only word that matters.

Another crash rings out around you. It’s nearer this time. You can hear his breathing - raspy, harsh, and wild, as if he is racing through the forest without regard for where his feet are landing. You’re surrounded by leaves crunching and twigs snapping.

“Princess, come on, don’t do this to me!” His voice wavers and cracks. Dread marks his tone. “Y/n!”

You’re not sure if you remember to breathe. Your lips part, instinct telling you to call out to him, to assure him you are here, but you don’t know why he is so worried in the first place. The call stalls halfway up your throat, dissolving into silence before it can break free.

Your legs twitch with the urge to move, to step toward the sound of him, but they lock in place.

It’s like the world closing in around you, that pine and musty smell saturating your senses. Sun rays shatter down from the canopy, drenching leaves in crystalline gold. Speak, you tell yourself. Say something.

But then he already bursts through the brush, eyes wild, chest heaving breathlessly, and looking utterly disheveled. His face is flushed, and damp with sweat that makes some strands of dark hair hang onto his skin.

His crazed eyes lock onto you in an instant and you see the exact moment relief crashes over him, folding into something aching.

“Goddam it,” he exhales, stumbling forward. His voice is thick. “There you are.”

Before you can get a word out, he crosses the distance separating you with a few long strides. His hands find their way to your face, fingers rough but careful as they cup your cheeks. He tilts your head up, urging you to meet his eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he demands breathless. Sharp eyes are searching your face, your body, every inch as though expecting you to go limp in his arms any second. “God, please tell me you’re okay! Are you okay?”

You blink up at him. Baffled at this concerned display of him. Bucky’s thumbs slide over your skin, steadying you even as his own breath shudders. His eyes are so intense, they pull you in. Every second that passes without an answer from you seems to grate on him.

“I’m fine,” you reassure, voice as weak as you feel.

Despite your answer, his eyes won’t stop searching you. His hands won’t stop holding you.

“You weren’t answerin’ me. Why weren’t you answerin’ me? And what the hell are you doin’ out here? What were you thinking, huh?” His tone drops an octave. But despite the hardness of his his tone, there is something vulnerable in the loosening strength of it due to the persistent fear and concern lingering there.

Blood rushes through your ears, so loud, it becomes deafening. “I was looking for herbs,” you manage, lifting your hand slightly as evidence. “For you. For your wound.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, confusion slanting across his features. “Herbs?”

“For a tincture,” you explain softly, voice coming easier now. “To help with the fever. And the bleeding.”

He blinks, just staring at you for a moment, trying to comprehend. His thumbs swipe your skin absentmindedly. And then his gaze drifts down to the green bundle clenched against you. His expression rearranges itself - something tender slipping into the creased lines. A brief hesitation tugs at the corners of his mouth.

He lets his hands rest against your cheeks for a moment longer, reluctant to let go. You try not to like the feeling of them, but there’s nothing you can do because it feels actually really good. Grounding. You can feel the warmth of his calloused fingers, the tremor that hints of adrenaline still coursing through him.

“Scared the hell outta me,” he mutters hoarsely. “Woke up and you were gone.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” His fingers flex faintly against your skin at the sound of his name. “I did not mean to,” you add, guilt building for leaving him alone like this. “I thought you needed the rest. And I wanted to help.”

A tightness pulls at his jaw, muscles twitching beneath his skin. There is something fraught and substantial hanging in the air between you.

He considers you for a while. Lips part, but brows soften. He seems contemplative. At a loss for words for a laden moment. You hear his breathing balance out slowly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he starts, almost gently, voice softer now. But there is something suppressed in it - emotions he does not want to let in. “I don’t want you to go off alone, alright?”

You nod faintly, the smallest timid smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “I just wanted to do something.”

Bucky draws in a deep breath. The movement in his throat is slow, his adams apple jerking with a swallow, as if trying to push past something sharp.

His hands now retreat slowly from your face with a breath that shakes just a little and he looks almost nervous for a second. Bashful. But he does not take his eyes off you.

The sounds of his desperate calls for you recede to your memory. The tension is still there.

Bucky clears his throat and scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, loosening the damp strands. Perhaps he is trying to banish the last remnants of panic. A hesitant gulp catches in his throat before he can compose himself. “Wake me up next time. Don’t matter what for. Just- just wake me up, alright?” he says gruffly, some of the tension bleeding out of his voice. There is a weariness instead, a seriousness that matches his exhaustion. “Don’t want you runnin’ off alone into the woods.”

Something hot coils in your chest. Your hands turn clammy around the herbs. You nod. “Okay.”

The pause stretches interminably between you, with neither of you moving. Maybe he acknowledges how far you would go to prove yourself useful - including yourself into a fight you obviously were not capable for, killing a man, stomping through the woods alone the very day after in search of plants that would help concoct a healing tincture.

The apparent concern he felt for you does not feel like it’s choking you. Rather, it creates room for something else - something not fully developed, but real.

“I am sorry,” you whisper, earnestly, meaning it in a way that spreads far beyond this moment.

He looks at you. There is a stillness to his expression, seeming to carefully guard his thoughts and emotions. “Just don’t do that again, yeah?”

You bob your head, eyes shifting to the ground for a moment, your heart still thudding in strange patterns.

Something seems to have fallen into place between you. Something discreet yet important enough to serve as a link that connects you both, tying you together in a way neither of you can comprehend as of now.

“Forests have secrets,” he said gently. “It’s practically what they’re for. To hide things. To separate one world from another.”

- Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

Part seven

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983

387 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 3 months ago

Note

For one piece request what about platonic shank with his daughter, that was obsessed by the whole pirate world because of her beauty now shank has to keep an eye on her so she doesn't get kidnapped

What a strange... predicament to be in.

Yandere! Platonic! Shanks with Daughter! Darling

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Blood, Murder, Isolation, Attempted kidnapping mentioned, Dubious companionship.

Honestly, I just pity you in this situation.

Any plans or dreams of having a normal life are shattered due to your charm.

You're well known in the pirate world... but not for the reasons you wish.

Many know you for being part of the Red Haired Pirates.

You're the daughter of Shanks, yet...

Many, unfortunately, know you for how pretty you are.

Being the daughter of an Emperor of the Sea already makes you quite the target.

Being pretty makes you an even bigger target.

After all, imagine the power someone would be given if they married the daughter of Shanks?

Safe to say, most of your life has been under the protection of your father's crew.

Shanks knows he isn't the best father at times... Yet he tries to do what he feels is right.

You're just so damn... vulnerable in this pirate world.

Shanks doesn't like how you're practically targeted by everyone.

Maybe he adopted you when you were older?

He didn't take you in just because you're pretty.

In fact he probably did it because he felt bad you were targeted by people like, oh I don't know...

Other Emperors or even Warlords?

Then of course he doesn't like how Marines target you too.

Even less so when you officially join Shanks' crew.

Shanks being an overprotective helicopter parent is understandable in this situation.

You're like Boa Hancock and sometimes Shanks wonders if you came from the same island....

The red haired pirates and many who are associated with them usually leave you be or protect you.

Anyone else... tends to be a threat.

I don't imagine you make many friends due to how the world ends up forcing your father to act.

You're both big targets due to status and Shanks constantly has to deal with people trying to be your suitor.

Shanks sees you as his sweet little girl... even if he adopted you as a teen.

He has such an intimidating aura when others try to talk to you.

You could be trying to have an innocent conversation with someone only for Shanks to be nearby... Haki practically radiating off him.

If Shanks' mere presence doesn't drive someone off and they seem to be a threat, he'll remove them by force.

He's even hesitant about friends unless they've shown they're an ally of Shanks.

He even trusts Luffy to a degree around you because... well... he knows Luffy wouldn't harm you.

The rest of the Straw Hats? Ehhh....

Shanks is used to people making moves against him.

Poor you no doubt has trauma due to past abduction attempts.

Be that for ransom, marriage, whatever...

You'd probably be too scared to leave your father's side, much to his relief.

After all, he was the one who saved you.

As long as you're by his side... You feel safe.

It's ironic as normally one would not feel safe around a yandere.

Yet when the entire pirate world wants you for one reason or another... you need someone to be there for you.

Shanks offered to be that help... Now he doesn't have to worry about abducting you because you trust him.

You need him...

How could he not help his beloved daughter?

It's unsurprising that Shanks murders for you.

After all... Pirates will not leave after a stern talking to.

Shanks already has to deal with other Emperors trying to get you for forced alliances or genuine desire....

It's safe to say he'll turn to bloodshed at times despite being a pacifist most of the time.

After all, if he doesn't show he can back up his bark with a bite...

No one will leave you alone.

It's scary to see Shanks covered in blood.

Yet afterwards he's always by your side, putting down his sword while he checks you over.

He always sees if you're okay, apologizing for what he had to do before ushering you back to your own room.

He loves you... but he also has to show the world he isn't an Emperor to be messed with.

He doesn't want you to be a bride of Kaido or married off to one of Big Mom's kids... or even worse be near Blackbeard...

Let alone be a marine pet....

Shanks wants you to be happy.

To make you happy, he needs to protect you.

You don't seem bothered to be on the ship all day as long as Shanks takes you places....

Not only that, but you believe every word he says.

Shanks promises keeping you in isolation is to protect you...

He'll try to limit his bloodshed, but sometimes it's necessary.

Shanks will do anything for his precious little girl...

Even if it means a bit of blood to keep the world away from you.

#yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #yandere shanks #yandere shanks x reader #platonic yandere

279 notes · View notes

owuwi · 3 months ago

Text

THE MEETING.ᐟ

➤ jackie taylor x sadecki!fem!reader

.ᐣ properly meeting your brother's girlfriend.

⤷ cw: mentions and brief descriptions of bullying, loser!masc!reader, mentions of homophobia, jeff trying to get freaky with jackie in front of his family (not so descriptive).

──────────────────────

it's been a while since jackie felt this nervous.

for the first time, she was going to meet jeff's family. everyone knew meeting your partner's family meant things were getting more serious, yet jackie—deep down—knew jeff wasn't the type of guy to do such thing.

he was a kind guy, though good looking and quite popular. girls didn't hesitate to throw themselves at him, even when knowing he was taken. the only reason why he arranged the dinner was because he and jackie had only gotten back together again and he wanted to reassure the girl—they had a... weird relationship going on recently; this wasn't the first time they've broken up and gotten back together—.

as she fidgeted with the gold necklace hanging from her neck and stared at herself from the mirror, she couldn't help but truly think if this was what she wanted—how she imagined her life. her parents thought of jeff as if he was the one for their daughter, so jackie felt obliged to think the same way.

with a sigh, she took a last glance to herself—straightened the beautiful, floral dress she was wearing and brushed her hair a bit more—before walking out of the bathroom and leading towards the door of her room.

the sight of her boyfriend's car parked outside her house was one that slightly surprised her, given that jeff wasn't a punctual person. maybe, just maybe, he actually wanted things to be better.

though she was quickly proven wrong the moment she saw you stepping out of the car and walking towards her.

she knew you, you were jeff's sister—and the complete opposite to him. you were a timid, calm girl; only making yourself visible whenever it was absolutely necessary. she felt bad for you since she'd never seen you with any friends, but especially since she'd witnessed the way people treated you.

the times she'd seen people roughly shove you against the lockers, mock you, trip you over, were more than she could count. the way she'd seen jeff—your own brother—ignore you, talk shit about you with his friends, confused her more than she could explain.

"jackie, hey." you greeted her, eyes roaming the other girl's figure—admiring how she looked with that dress.

truth be told, you couldn't figure out why such a sweet girl like jackie taylor was dating your brother. sure, it was the typical romantic movie cliché—the team captain dating the jock—yet you knew there were so many others who could treat jackie right.

"jeff he uh—... he asked me to come get you..." you quickly explained the reason why you were there, fidgeting with your fingers as you nervously continued to look at her.

you and jackie had never actually spoke to each other—mostly thanks to jeff's efforts to keep you two apart, not wanting you to 'scare her away'.

"of course he did..." jackie whispered under her breath before forcing a bright smile. she then walked over to where you were and, louder than her last comment, thanked you.

the ride back home was weird, to say the least. it wasn't uncomfortable yet neither of you said a word—the car filled with the soft melody of the song 'If You Leave' from the 'Pretty In Pink' soundtrack cassette you brought along with you.

jackie's sudden laugh disrupted the tranquil moment, an unsure smile forming on your lips at the sound. "i'm sorry, i just would've never imagined you listening to Orchestral Manoeuvers In the Dark." she said, a tiny smirk appearing on her face as she looked at you.

if someone else told you this, you would've immediately thought they were making fun of you—though not jackie. many imagined jackie as the typical popular, mean girl, yet she was the complete opposite to that. she'd never hesitate to help someone, she was always oh so soft and gentle with everyone who crossed paths with her.

"what's wrong with them?" you quietly asked, the smile on your lips not as tight as it was before. "nothing! it's just—... you know, i thought you'd be... blasting whatever rock music you seem to listen to." she explained, not once hesitating about letting her thoughts out.

despite not actually knowing you, she could tell you had a more esoteric music taste simply with the way you dressed—your dark, baggy clothes hiding almost every inch of your skin, your combat boots which resonated with every step you took, the multiple chains and rings decorating your hands and neck.

as your house came into view, the figure of your brother standing in the front door became visible. you were praying and—silently—begging for another moment like this with her, enjoying her presence and hoping to become her friend.

"mhm... next time i'll play you all the cassette i have." you replied with a sudden boost of confidence as you parked the car.

fuck, why would you say something like that?

luckily, the other girl didn't find this comment weird—or, if she did, at least she didn't show it—, she simply laughed a bit before humming.

before either of you could comment anything else, jeff opened the passenger's door and helped jackie out of the car—though she managed to let out quick 'thank you' before her boyfriend roughly closed the door.

being alone had never truly bothered you; yet in that moment, you couldn't help but feel as if there was something wrong with you. you knew you could never do what your brother was doing—introduce your future girlfriend to your family—and it left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

your mom and dad had an obvious preference towards your brother, but they were still your family and you felt the need to show them the good stuff that would happen in your life.

with a shaky sigh, you unbuckled your seatbelt and walked out of the car, mentally preparing yourself for the situation.

inside the house, the smell of homemade food immediately attacked your nostrils in the best way possible. the sound of your mom's laugher could be heard from the kitchen and you figured jackie was there with her. on the couch, your dad and jeff were watching a soccer match.

deciding to help, you silently set the table, knowing your family would scold you if you went up to your room. the occasional sound of jackie's voice was nice, and oh did it make you want to be her friend.

it didn't take long before the meal was ready and everyone gathered at the table—jeff and jackie, obviously, sitting together. after saying grace, everyone was silent; though not for too long.

your mom started to, subtly, question jackie—what hobbies she had, how were her grades in school, the normal stuff—. with the way jackie was sitting in front of you, you could perfectly see her every reaction; the way her eyebrows lightly furrowed, the way the corners of her mouth twitched.

the way her body suddenly tensed.

the glance she sent jeff wasn't a common one and you were begging he wasn't doing what you thought he was. you knew jeff was the type of guy to get very touchy with girls—even if jackie didn't know that—.

you've definitely thought about telling jackie the truth; the way jeff had seen and talked with other girls in those times he wasn't with her, yet you were afraid of the consequences it would bring.

beneath the table, the blonde guy sneaked his hand past the hem of his girlfriend's dress, fingers slowly sprawling over the soft skin of her inner thighs. with a gentle smack, she pushed his hand away, a deep blush spreading all over her pale flesh in embarrassment.

to say the dinner went well was an understanding, your family all liked jackie and so did you, maybe more than you should. up in your room, headphones on while listening to 'If You Leave', your mind wouldn't stop replaying the moment alone you had with the other girl.

you wanted to get to know her more and you were praying she felt the same way.

──────────────────────

THE BETTER SADECKI MASTERLIST.ᐟ

#jackie taylor #jackie taylor x fem!reader #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #THE BETTER SADECKI.ᐟ #wlw #lesbian #yellowjackets x female reader #ella purnell #my stuff:3

277 notes · View notes

writesvani · 1 month ago

Text

coming down | 08

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): sexual tension, body image issues, self-consciousness, crude language, implied sexual content, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of past trauma, substance references, toilet humor, illness, physical discomfort, vomiting, food-related discomfort, anxiety, frustration, teasing, manipulation, objectification, inappropriate comments

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,5k // date: 2nd of May 2025

CHAPTER EIGHT — Wicked Games; proceed with caution...

AN: she’s baaaack, yuh yuh yuh. where are my coming down enthusiasts at? y/n, gojo, ren, and the whole chaotic side character crew are back, and i’m pretty sure i’ve missed them more than i’ve missed sleep. this chapter? one of my absolute faves. and oh, just WAIT until next chapter. it’s about to get wild in here, so buckle up.

i'm not doing a note goal for this one, mostly because i have no idea if anyone’s still around, honestly. i’ll just let this chapter set the tone for future note goals. if you liked it, PLEASE comment. i miss the hell out of you guys analyzing coming down. your asks keep me alive. this fic was my debut baby, and when it gets some love, i get all warm and fuzzy inside. help a girl out, please.

Gojo Satoru might be many things—insufferable, unreasonably pretty, allergic to boundaries—but one thing he isn’t is a liar.

And God, how you wish he was.

You wish he’d just been being his usual drama queen self when he dropped the bomb about your parents planning a cozy little family weekend getaway with his. But no. That would’ve been too easy.

Instead, here you are: imprisoned in the backseat of your parents’ car, Ren snoring against your shoulder like it’s his full-time job (drool included, of course), some truly offensive country song groaning through the speakers—not the Taylor Swift kind, the "my truck left me and so did Jesus" kind—and worst of all? No weed. Not even a crumb.

Three full days of pretending to be a model child while your parents pretend they didn’t once threaten to send you to military school.

Ren could’ve driven with his own parents, but with four younger siblings stuffed into their car like a clown show, he chose to suffer in silence beside you instead. His parents are trailing somewhere behind, probably already regretting accepting your parents offer to tag along to this trip.

And behind them? In a white suburban car so pristine it makes you want to commit arson, the Gojo family rides like some kind of godforsaken Hallmark commercial.

And in the backseat of that SUV? You know exactly who's there.

He’s probably reclined like he owns the world, earbuds in, looking like a Pinterest board made of sins and smugness, those glacier blue eyes already locked on the back of your parents’ car like he's psychically manifesting chaos.

You swear you can feel him smirking.

You are not going to think about that.

You have bigger things to worry about—like your dad giving you the side-eye every time you reach for another snack, as if carbs are a federal crime. Like surviving three whole days without a single hit of your precious joint, because your parents finding out about your “ways of life” would absolutely send them into cardiac arrest.

There’s also your mom’s Olympic-level passive aggression when you mention your grades dropped just a little, and of course, maintaining your sanity around Ren’s siblings—because even though you actually like kids, spending an entire weekend mediating tantrums isn’t exactly your idea of peace.

And Gojo Satoru? Yeah. He and his perfectly polite, terrifyingly well-dressed parents—mostly his mom—are just the cherry on top of this absolute disaster cake you're being forced to eat with a plastic spork.

At least you have Ren. Thank God for that.

When the cars finally pull up to the hotel, you're… surprisingly satisfied. It's a solid four-star place—not too fancy, not too run-down. Aesthetic enough to snap a few spicy Instagram pictures when your parents aren’t breathing down your neck. The exterior is minimalist, modern. The kind of place that screams we’re middle class, but we have rich taste.

You mentally give your mom her props—she always had the patience (and obsession) to hunt down places that are both budget-friendly and cute enough to make it seem like life doesn’t suck.

Five minutes later, the Gojo family glides in like they’re the finale of a fashion week runway. His dad steps out first, offering a polite nod and a quick, warm smile to everyone—including you.

You smile back. You've always liked his dad. He’s… real. Grounded. The type who doesn’t look at you like you’re broken glass someone else has to clean up. He never judged you. And that’s rare.

Even your own parents used to judge you. Maybe they still do. Probably.

But whatever. You're here now. You’ll have your room key soon. You have Ren. You can survive this.

Probably.

“I see everyone’s arrived,” Mr. Gojo finally says, voice warm as he leans down to high-five Ren’s little siblings. They giggle and swarm him like he’s Santa in a business-casual jacket. All except Mark, the only teen here, because he's too cool for that. Classic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mrs. Gojo chimes in next, her voice sugary sweet and her smile dazzlingly fake. You watch her eyes sweep the group like she’s mentally organizing everyone by usefulness. Then her gaze lands on you. It flutters for a moment—just long enough for you to notice—before it returns to its tight, polished place on her face.

“Mrs. Gojo,” you say, plastering on your own customer service grin, “long time no see.”

“Long time indeed, sweetheart,” she replies, the endearment curling around her teeth like poison in honey.

“Hello everyone,” Gojo says politely, too politely, and your eyes almost roll out of your skull. He even bows slightly. Who is this man? Certainly not the one who once lit a blunt with the candle on your birthday cake years ago.

His mom nods, positively glowing, pleased with her son's pristine little act—an act she doesn’t even realize is an act. You wonder how smug she’d look if she knew her beloved boy wasn’t a perfect Catholic child but a campus menace with a body count longer than the Bible she swears by.

You and the others exchange quick greetings before making your way into the hotel.

“Kids, don’t touch that!” Ren’s mom cries out, nearly tripping over a suitcase as she tries to wrangle her four hyperactive children. The chaos doesn’t let up until you're finally at the front desk, and the receptionist starts handing out keys.

You’re satisfied with your roommate for the weekend—Ren. His parents look way too pleased about that, flashing each other hopeful glances like they still think there’s a shot of you two ending up together. It’s sweet, in an oblivious kind of way. Ren’s not comfortable talking about his sexuality with them yet. He once told you he probably never will be. And that’s okay.

Still, you’re beyond relieved you don’t have to spend three days trapped in a room with your parents. So, Ren it is.

His parents and siblings are piling into one of those family-style suites—like the ones that look suspiciously like apartments, what’s the name for that again? Your brain short-circuits at pulling the right term, as usual.

Your parents are tucked away in their own room, of course. And the Gojos? Also in their own little suite. Naturally.

Gojo Satoru, golden boy deluxe, gets a room all to himself. Because apparently, sharing a room with you and Ren is beneath him. Or maybe that’s just his mom’s rule. Not like she’d ever let her precious son share space—let alone four walls—with the girl who once turned his life into something similar to a PR nightmare.

Not after everything.

You’re thankful for that, though. So, so thankful.

“Jesus, why do I feel like Gojo’s mother shot disapproval down our spines the second she spotted us?” Ren sighs, shutting the hotel room door behind him and dropping his suspiciously large suitcase with a loud thud.

You flop onto the bed, one brow raised. “Because she totally did. She hates us—well, mostly me. You’re just collateral damage.”

“True. I’m only hated by association. Otherwise, I’m just too damn perfect.”

“You are, bestie. Did you see Gojo’s little bow? I almost shit myself from how fake it was.”

“YEAH. But also—Gojo’s always been polite to elders. Not even surprised, honestly.”

“Hey. Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not defending him, I’m literally just stating facts.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude.” You wave him off. “Anyway, when’s dinner? I haven’t eaten since this morning. My mom said the food here is, like, divine or whatever."

“Seven. Sharp. My dad spammed me with messages about it—apparently I’m too likely to forget.”

“So, an hour?”

“Mhm.”

“Bro, I’m going to starve.”

“Suck it up, pretty. Food’s coming soon.”

You nod, dramatically collapsing onto the bed with a groan, arms spread wide like you’ve been through war.

Ren, ever the neat freak in disguise, is already unpacking both your suitcase and his, folding your clothes into perfect little rectangles.

“Why are you unpacking us for a two-day trip?” you mumble, watching him from the bed. “We can just dig through the suitcase like normal people.”

“Because,” he says, holding up a pair of your red lacey thongs, “Wait—why did you bring these to a trip with your parents?”

“You never know. Maybe I’ll meet a cutie and finally get laid.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

He sighs, still folding. “Anyway, I’m doing this because it calms me down. I’m nervous about the whole thing.”

“This thing?”

“This trip, bestie. I can already feel how awkward it’s going to be.”

“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know why Gojo’s parents even accepted the invite.”

“You mean his mom?”

“Obviously. She is the devil reincarnated.”

Ren chuckles, holding up one of your shirts. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me…”

“Oh? Spilling tea already?”

“You know how my mom gossips like it’s a full-time job, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, apparently your dad and Gojo’s dad started some kind of business thing together. They’ve been hanging out more.”

“I knew about that. Still doesn’t explain this cursed reunion.”

“Patience, drama queen.” He sighs, folding your thong with way too much care. “Word is, Mrs. Gojo was so against it.”

“Could’ve never guessed,” you deadpan.

“She even made a whole ass scene. Said he was mixing the firm with your ‘deranged’ family—just like her precious son got mixed up with you.”

You blink. Then smirk.

“Me. The deranged daughter. Honestly? Poetic.”

“Yeah, and your dad was pissed,” Ren says, tossing a hoodie into the drawer. “He almost backed out because of it. But Mr. Gojo? He needs your dad for this deal. So he ended up apologizing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Mr. Gojo apologized?”

“Yup. And then your dad went off about how you’ve changed, how you regret what happened, how it physically and mentally hurts him when someone bashes his daughter’s name.”

You blink. “Damn. Didn’t know my dad was dramatic like that.”

Ren smirks. “Yeah, you probably got it from him.”

“Rude.”

“So Mr. Gojo made his wife apologize to your dad.”

“Okay, but Ren—that still doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

“Stop interrupting me, then.” He folds another shirt, clearly enjoying the drama. “Anyway. Turns out this trip was already planned by your parents and mine. Like, a while ago. Some family bonding thing.”

You groan, flopping onto your stomach. “That sounds like something my mom would do.”

“But here’s the kicker,” Ren leans in like he’s about to drop nuclear gossip. “Mrs. Gojo accidentally let the whole fight with your dad slip to my mom during brunch. And you know my mom. She called yours instantly. So your mom spilled the rest of the tea.”

“I literally can’t even keep up anymore.”

“Honey,” Ren says, flopping beside you, “we’re trapped in a high-stakes episode of Real Housewives: Family Feud Edition.”

You snort. “With better outfits.”

“And worse intentions, anyway,” Ren continues, “your mom was still bitter about the whole thing. She told my mom to invite the Gojos and something like, ‘If she’s really sorry, she’ll accept the invite. Let her see for herself how much my daughter has changed.’ So, my mom invited the Gojos—and, well, the rest is history.”

You scoff. “There’s no way that woman is sorry.”

“Obviously not. She’s probably here just to witness your downfall.”

“Right? Like, I still can’t believe she called me and my whole family deranged. Okay, maybe I am—but my parents? Please. They’re all perfect smiles and pristine public image. 10 out of 10.”

“It’s just because they defended you back then. That’s what pissed her off.”

“Yeah, well, what’d she expect them to do? Side with her? Sure, I was fucking Satoru and snorting coke, but I was still their daughter.”

Ren chokes on air, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ—never thought I’d hear ‘daughter,’ ‘fucking,’ and ‘snorting’ in the same sentence.”

You grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Ren and you spend the rest of the hour just chilling—him folding clothes like it’s a religion, you sprawled out across the mattress, shoving your phone in his face every two minutes with some cursed TikTok. He complains you’re distracting him, but laughs every time. So, who’s the real clown?

Eventually, you both freshen up for dinner and head downstairs, stomachs rumbling. But the second you step into the hotel restaurant, the situation becomes very clear.

There’s a parents’ table—all polished smiles and subtle judgment—and then there’s your table. Or more accurately, the kids’ table. Gojo, that smug little fucker, is already there, looking completely at home. He’s sitting with Ren’s younger siblings like he belongs there, entertaining them with whatever golden garbage is coming out of his mouth.

Next to them: two empty seats. Perfectly positioned. Reserved for you and Ren, obviously.

You wave toward the grown-ups’ table, and they all wave back. Even Mrs. Gojo gives you one of those creepy royal family waves—wrist twist and all—that makes your skin crawl.

Ren slides into the seat beside Gojo with a resigned sigh. You follow, flopping down next to him.

“Hi, hi, hi!” Ren’s 10-year-old sister Ivy chirps, practically bouncing in her seat.

You immediately grin and squish her cheeks. “Hi, love. What are you eating?��

“Pizza! It’s so good. Wanna try?”

“Absolutely, hand it over.”

“Ivy, sweetheart,” Gojo cuts in, voice dripping with fake concern, “I’m not sure you want her lips on your food.”

You whip your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. Seriously? In front of children?

Ivy looks confused. “Why? I don’t mind sharing my food. What are you saying, Sato?”

Gojo leans back, fake-smiling like the menace he is. “Just saying you should be mindful about who you share with.”

“Well,” Ivy says with the confidence of a child raised by wolves and angels, “I’d rather share with Y/N than you. She’s way cooler. You act like a boomer.”

You nearly choke laughing. Ren full-on wheezes. Gojo’s smile twitches.

God, you love this kid.

“That’s so true,” Ren’s little brother, Mark, finally looks up from his phone, smirking like he’s about to drop some wisdom on everyone. He’s 13, at that age where he’s convinced he’s the smartest person in the room. “You’re literally one of those guys who refuses to download TikTok and just watches Instagram Reels.”

Gojo scoffs like he’s offended. “TikTok is a disease. You’ll see when you get older,” he says, attempting some kind of lecture.

Mark just flips him off, unbothered. You can practically hear Gojo’s ego deflating.

“Markie, Mom said that finger is bad,” Marie, one of the youngest ones pipes up from her seat, twin brother in tow.

Her brother, sensing an opportunity to team up, nods seriously, clearly siding with his sister. You watch with amusement as their little pact forms.

You lean over to Marie and whisper conspiratorially, “Middle finger’s only okay if you show it to Satoru, okay?”

Marie’s eyes light up like she’s just been handed the keys to the kingdom. Without missing a beat, she raises her hand, dramatically exaggerating the gesture like she’s in some kind of spy movie. Her twin brother quickly shields her from the parents’ table, then, with all the confidence in the world, Marie flips Gojo off.

You catch the corner of Gojo’s eye from your side, and he glares daggers in your direction. Oh, he looks pissed. Cute.

Ivy mutters under her breath, panic creeping into her voice, “Put it down, Mom will see you.”

But Marie, completely unfazed, smirks. “Damn, Marie, what the hell did I do to you?” Gojo’s voice is laced with disbelief.

“Nothing,” she says sweetly, eyes wide in mock innocence. “It’s just fun.”

You almost choke on your water, Ren laughing next to you. Honestly, you’re not sure which is more entertaining—the kids or the way Gojo’s about to combust.

“You’re such a bad influence,” Gojo mutters, aggressively shaking salt onto his fries. You lean back in your chair, casually taking a bite of your burger. Honestly, you love how your mom always orders for you when you're on vacation. It's like a mini vacation from decision-making. But, as always, in the back of your mind, old habits creep up—you can’t help but wonder how many calories are in this thing. It’s like a reflex you wish you could shake.

“Right, and your mom seems to agree,” you say, casually leaning back even more. You can practically hear the gears grinding in Gojo’s head. His expression shifts, his jaw tightening, and his grip on his sparkling water turns borderline aggressive.

“I’m not my mother.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed,” you smirk. “But you’re on track to become her one day.”

Ren, who has been silently shoveling fries into his mouth this whole time, glances back and forth between you two, clearly enjoying the show. Nobody else at the table is really paying attention to you and Gojo. Marie and Chris are too busy discussing the finer points of their 6-year-old drama. Ivy’s lost in a YouTube video, and Mark is texting his girlfriend like he’s in some secret love affair.

“You’re just trying to get under my skin, aren’t you?” Gojo mutters through gritted teeth.

“Am I succeeding?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“No, you’re just getting more ridiculous with every word.”

“Ah, classic defense mechanism. Takes one to know one.” You flash him a grin, leaning back even further as if you're lounging on a beach.

Gojo looks like he might explode. Ren's just trying to finish his meal in peace, but you can practically hear him snickering under his breath. At least one of you is enjoying this.

Gojo glares at you, but you can see the twitch in his jaw as he tries to keep his cool. You’ve got him just where you want him—irritated but unable to show it too much. It's almost too easy.

You smirk, taking another bite of your burger, but your thoughts stray for a moment to the old, familiar spiral about calories. You shake it off, chewing slowly, focusing on the conversation instead of your own head. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife, but it's a weird kind of comforting. You've known Gojo long enough that this playful banter has become the norm. Still, you can feel how different this interaction is compared to years ago, and not in the good way.

Ren, sensing the growing tension, clears his throat. “Maybe we should just let it go, yeah?” he says casually, but the amusement in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to resist whatever retort he wants to shoot your way. "You're just full of shit, aren't you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Says the guy who can’t stop talking."

“Touché,” Gojo mutters, but there's a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Ren snorts quietly, clearly trying to keep his composure. “At least it’s entertaining.”

You look over at the kids, who are still blissfully unaware of the subtle war happening between you and Satoru.

You lean back further, making sure Gojo knows you’re not backing down from this. "I’m just speaking the truth. You’ll become your mom whether you like it or not. It’s in your blood."

Gojo’s eyes narrow, but he can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

"Means," you pause dramatically, "that you’re a little too much like her already. Pretentious, overly controlling, and maybe—just maybe— a little lonely."

Ren coughs awkwardly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalates. "Alright, alright. Can we just eat in peace, please?"

Gojo turns his glare on Ren, but it’s not as fiery as before. “You’re one to talk,” he says, eyes flicking back to you. “You’re both just as bad as each other.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You’re welcome for the entertainment.”

At that, Gojo just sighs, letting the conversation fall silent. You, on the other hand, can’t help but feel a little smug. Sometimes you don’t need to win an argument to win, you just need to get under his skin. And it looks like you did just that.

You don’t expect what comes after dinner.

The original plan was simple: after a long day of forced family interaction, you and Ren would crash early. No more chit-chat, no more smiling politely. Just sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But then you overheard your parents gushing about the hotel amenities—a jacuzzi, a sauna, a whole pool area “designed for relaxation.” And like the menaces you are, the plan shifted. Operation: Late-Night Spa was born.

Except fate had other plans.

“Ren?” you call out, knocking gently on the bathroom door, where he’s been holed up for the past twenty minutes.

“I’m dying,” his voice comes out muffled and despairing. “I can’t stop shitting. It’s like a crime scene in here.”

You blink. “Okay. First of all—why the hell would you describe it like that?”

“Because you asked how I was doing!” he yells, voice strained. “You don’t get to complain when I answer honestly.”

You sit outside the bathroom like an abandoned child, knees pulled to your chest, dramatically sighing. “This is not how I imagined our spa night.”

“Neither did I!” Ren cries. “Every time I travel and eat hotel food—every goddamn time. My intestines turn against me. They betray me like an ex who suddenly discovers therapy and self-worth.”

“I mean… maybe it’s food poisoning?”

“If it was, you’d be on this toilet, too. This is personal. This is targeted.”

You wince as the sound of a flush echoes through the room, followed by the telltale rustle of clothes. You brace yourself—and you were right to do so. The bathroom door creaks open, and with it, a scent of death wafts into the room.

“Close it!” you yell, scrambling to your feet like your life depends on it.

Ren groans and slams the door shut again. When he finally emerges—for real this time—he looks like a shell of a man. His skin is pale, hair damp with sweat, steps uneven as he stumbles toward the bed like he’s survived a war.

“Babe,” he croaks, collapsing onto the mattress, “why does this happen to me?”

“I don’t know,” you say gently, flopping down beside him. “Maybe it’s psychological. Like... a gut-level rebellion.”

“It’s very much physical too,” he grunts. “I’m literally hollow.”

You snort. “Well, at least you’re emotionally consistent.”

He throws an arm over his eyes. “This vacation sucks.”

“Give it one night. You’ll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever happened, and I’ll be dragging you out of the sauna before you melt into the floor.”

Ren lets out a pitiful whimper. “Tell my future husband I loved him.”

“Sure. Do you want me to deliver that message before or after I pour bleach on that bathroom floor?”

He weakly flips you off, and despite everything, you both laugh.

“Wait,” Ren croaks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why aren’t you getting ready for the spa?”

You glance over at him, sprawled across the bed like a Victorian maiden struck down by consumption. “Because you’re sick. I’m not going if you’re not going.”

Ren jerks up with a sudden burst of energy, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’re skipping a free spa night because I have diarrhea? Do you hear how absurd that sounds?”

You frown, folding your arms. “What am I supposed to do there without you? Soak in lavender-scented loneliness?”

“Exactly! You'll relax. Channel your inner peace. Get into your Zen or whatever it is normal people do when they aren’t shitting their souls out.”

“But I can’t just leave you alone here like this.”

“I’m not sick sick,” he insists, waving his hand dismissively. “Think of it like… a mild allergic reaction to overpriced hotel food.”

“If this is mild, I’d hate to see what severe looks like.”

“You don’t want to know,” he says with a haunted look. “Once, in Spain, I—”

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.”

He chuckles weakly, eyes closing again as his head flops back onto the pillow. “Look. You staying won’t magically cure me. No offense, babe, but your presence isn’t made of Imodium.”

You blink at him. “So you’re just… throwing me out?”

“No,” he groans. “I’m lovingly shoving you toward a steamy, eucalyptus-scented escape while I suffer in peace. There’s a difference.”

“Ugh.”

“Please,” he whines, dramatically. “Don’t make my diarrhea worse by staying here and making me feel guilty.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But if I drown in that jacuzzi from sheer sadness, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he mutters, already half-asleep. “Just don’t haunt me.”

You hover for a second longer, chewing your lip, guilt gnawing at your insides. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not about the spa at all. Maybe it’s about not wanting to be alone right now. Not after dinner.

But you don’t say that. You just grab your stuff and head for the door.

“Oh, and if you see any hotties,” Ren calls out, “text me. I need to be emotionally prepared for tomorrow.”

You turn, arching a brow. “Ren, babe, you quite literally can’t stop shitting.”

“That just means I’ll be sparkling clean and ready for action if the universe decides to bless me,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously under his blanket cocoon.

“You’re the only person I know who can connect explosive diarrhea to sex.”

“It’s because I’m gifted. A prophet, even.” He fans himself dramatically. “Now go. Shoo. Get your ass in that spa. Stop prolonging your inevitable rebirth in a sauna.”

You hesitate in the doorway, watching him nest deeper into the pillows, color slowly returning to his cheeks. “You sure?”

Ren’s voice softens just a bit. “Yeah. I’m fine. Go live your best life. Just don’t come back with stories unless they involve hot people and bad decisions.”

You smile faintly, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll bring you gossip. Maybe even a name or two.”

“Godspeed, my love!” he yells after you, already pulling the covers over his head. “And don’t let anyone ugly flirt with you—I refuse to live vicariously through bad taste.”

The spa cabins are stunning, admittedly. Too clean. Too perfect. The kind of place that makes you feel like you’re already failing at relaxation the moment you step in. The walls are pearly white, soft lilac vines curling at the corners like some fairytale you don’t believe in. The hotel name is etched on the door in cursive, trying a little too hard to be elegant.

You peel off your clothes and slip into your most flattering bikini—the one that says I tried without looking like you did. Family friendly, just in case. You toss your clothes into the locker and twist the key into your backpack. The lock clicks, even though you know no one’s desperate enough to steal anything here. No one’s hungry. Everyone’s too full of money, wine, or disappointment to want anything you have.

The pool is the first stop. It’s massive, quiet, glowing faintly under soft lights. Pale blue tiles, water warm enough to trick you into thinking you’re safe. It’s almost romantic. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You dive in.

At first, it’s a release. Your limbs stretch out, your body finally feels like it belongs somewhere. You do a few laps, chest rising and falling, muscles burning with that old, aching nostalgia. You remember what it felt like to be strong. To not think twice before diving. To breathe deep and stay under water just for the thrill of it.

But your lungs don’t agree anymore. Years of not training. Years of cigarettes and weed.

Years of saying I’ll quit soon.

Now you can’t even hold your breath long enough to stay under. Your strokes lose strength halfway through. Your body floats, but not from peace. From weakness.

The tension leaves your muscles—but frustration takes its place.

Heavy, bitter frustration.

You don’t want to feel weak here.

Not in this pretty place.

Not tonight.

You wipe the water from your eyes, jaw clenched. No more swimming. No more pretending.

Jacuzzi it is.

You walk toward it, dripping and quiet. Because what else are you supposed to do—keep swimming in the disappointment?

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe never again.

The jacuzzi is hidden from the pool by a wall, the kind that doesn’t quite touch the floor, leaving a gap where you know someone could easily peer through. Not that you would ever do that. The two spaces are separated enough that the pool’s quiet hum doesn’t invade the jacuzzi’s warm embrace. There’s a barrier, but it’s a shallow one. A suggestion of privacy.

You didn’t expect to see him here. Of all the places, of all the times.

Gojo Satoru is reclining in the jacuzzi, arms draped lazily over the sides, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he’s a god surveying his kingdom. His eyes, a pale blue that matches the water swirling around him, seem to glow against the soft lighting of the room. You’re not sure if it’s the water illuminating his eyes or the other way around. Either way, it’s mesmerizing. Unsettling.

He’s too perfect. Too effortless. Too him.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze in the doorway. For a moment, you think about retreating, slipping back into the pool. It’d be safer, less there, less him. But the thought of him winning that little battle is enough to make your chest tighten.

So you do what you always do when faced with him: you power through.

You step in and sit at the opposite end of the jacuzzi, a little too loudly, plopping down like you didn’t just have a mini existential crisis about sitting in a hot tub. The water is hot, soothing, and the bubbles feel good against your back. You lean your head back, trying to ignore the fact that he’s right there—smug, annoying, and totally at ease.

“Well, well…” He says, voice dripping with that teasing edge that always gets under your skin. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Same goes for you,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the water, pretending to focus on the swirl of bubbles around you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his tone light and amused, “You’re here because you knew I’d be here.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see. “You’re delusional.”

“Let me guess,” he leans back further, eyes gleaming with mischief, “Maybe you were too bored at the sauna. Nah, you wouldn’t go to the sauna alone. The massage finally over? Nah, you’d look more relaxed if you had a massage. Or, or, or… maaaaaybe you realized you can’t swim as well as you used to.”

You snap, the last thread of your patience wearing thin. “Can you shut the fuck up for once? I literally didn’t ask you anything.”

Gojo’s grin widens, that infuriating smirk curling up at the corners of his lips. “So that’s a yes, baby. Knew it.”

“If you knew it, baby, you didn’t have to speak,” you shoot back, your voice dripping with the kind of sass you only reserve for him.

But he’s not fazed. Of course he isn’t.

“You used to like me all mouthy like that,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, teasing but with a hint of something else. A pull you can’t quite place.

“Key word: used to,” you respond quickly, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, there’s silence. The water hums around you, the air heavy with something unsaid. Gojo’s gaze drifts over to you, but you don’t meet his eyes. You can’t. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s slipping, and you’re both trying so hard to pretend nothing ever happened between you two.

But Gojo’s never been one to let things stay quiet for long. And you’re both too far gone to ever turn back.

“Nice tits,” he says with a smirk, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. “That bikini suits you.”

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes, surprised by his boldness.

“I’m just saying, it looks great on you. You got your tits done or something?” He raises an eyebrow playfully.

“First of all, no. Second of all, maybe you should keep your compliments to yourself,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

He chuckles. “I’m not trying to offend you. Just think you look good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “You could’ve kept that to yourself.”

He leans back, not missing a beat. “Where’s the fun in that? I think it’s nice to tell people when they or their assets look good.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

He grins like he’s won some silent game between you two. “I bet you’re feeling all flushed now. It’s probably the heat of the water.”

You give him a look, trying to dismiss his words. “Not even close.”

He leans closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I could think of a few ways to make this moment even more... interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, resisting the urge to laugh. “Yeah? Well, I’m not sure you could pull that off.”

He smiles, a little too smug. “Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” you say, a challenge in your tone.

He leans back with a devilish grin, clearly enjoying himself. “Game on, then.”

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea @eolivy @4thansstuff

@crankyarchives @mrswanggae @blobbyblogsdraws @saoirses-things @linaaeatsfamilies @momoewn @hellish4ever @emneedshelp @gojoscumslut

130 notes · View notes