#raines hair kinda stands out against the reds 😭

[quel02202]

fall teen raeda 💪

original designs pls dont steal!

reposts WITH CREDITS allowed

[lostfracturess]

Yaga mirrored his stance, the tension between them a storm about to break. "Happened to me? Dr. Gojo, have you considered the consequences of your reckless behavior? You're the one spiraling, and frankly, it's becoming unbearable." at least satoru isn't a greedy old ass 🤨🤨🤨

"His gaze fixed on you over his glasses as he turned the screen, revealing your student record, the failing grades glowing a damning red. "Tell me, which subject would you like to miraculously pass? A click of my fingers, and it's done" he's so fucking disgusting, i bet she would rather die than take this kind of... sop. brother eugh

"Satoru couldn't know about your father's death day — the reason why starting this week was unthinkable. You didn't tell him. But why, then, was he so vehemently pushing back?" i just know he does. idk how but i am sure he does. and the way he said it with firm certainty 🫠🫠🫠

"Your eyes slammed shut, but it did nothing to drown out his voice, the panic. Rain plastered your hair to your face, soaking you to the skin" it's mirroring the scene of his confession 😩😩😩😩😩 i am such a sucker for rain scenes, I don't know it makes me Feel Something™ AND SATORU WITH HER DURING THE PANIC ATTACK AS USUAL (except for the 10 chapter 😭)

"He didn't touch you, didn't offer empty promises. He simply held the jacket over your head like a shelter, shielding you as best he could against the downpour. His own white shirt clung to him, soaked through." and this? this will be the death of me. i imagine this as them against the whole world (in some way it is....) it feels so intimate :((((

"Not the absence of pain, but the strange feeling of calm, of home — something you always felt with him." I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE THEY ARE LITERALLY HOME TO EACH OTHER, MY POOR HEART

"All his attempts to distance himself, to push you away — and here you were, thrown together once again by forces far beyond your control. You hadn't sought this, hadn't chased after him. Yet, life it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor" I really think it's inevitable for them, they are really so drown to each other it's insane. and i just thought that satoru saw her breakdown just like she saw his in the previous chapter 😭 mirroring :(((

"God, you're so full of it! Your precious ego won't let you admit you need anyone, even someone who actually cares about you."

"My ego? Don't you think it's a little hypocritical to pretend you care after pushing me away?"

"You stupid woman." His anger faltered. "I'll always care, always look after you. Because I can't stand it—I can't watch you hurt. I—"." THEY'RE LITERALLY THE SAME I CAN'T HELP BUT DRAW PARALLELS BETWEEN THIS SCENE AND THE SCENE IN HIS BATHROOM IT'S DRIVING ME INSANEEEEEEE

"You'd seen glimpses of this before — flashes of protective fury or moments of vulnerability. But never like this. Never so raw, unguarded. He looked at you as if you held the key to his survival, as if your very existence was both his lifeline and his undoing.

Love."

I AM KILLING MYSELF, IF GOJO SATORU LOOKED AT ME LIKE THAT I WOULD MELTED IN INSTANT. the way you describe his feelings is so painfully beautiful 😭

"I'm not finished," you said, a hand raised to silence him. "I wanted to scream, to rage, to make you feel my pain. But I kept quiet, kept my distance. Because I knew you weren't ready to face this. And I won't force you to." BABY SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH SHE DIDN'T DESERVE ALL OF THIS, MY POOR GIRL AND MY POOR SATORU 😭😭😭😭❤️

"Perhaps you weren't so different after all" yeah you're both equally stubborn

"I love you," he finally whispered. "As long as I breathe, I'll love you."

"I hate you," you said. that's clearly not a type of confession i wanted, but it's s&c, what did i think about 😭 at least it's kinda romantic. especially his words, but when will we get a proper confession, miss nici please 🙏🙏🙏

"Nothing about this is 'okay'," she retorted. "You look like you're about to have a breakdown. You can't keep this up forever." YES MAKI OUR FIERCE QUEEN KICK HIS OLD ASS, I LOVE LOVE LOVE THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE HER!!!!!!

at least satoru isn't a greedy old ass

say it louder for the people in the back !! i know he's not really like this in the manga/anime, but like ... i need him to be an ass for the plot, so bear with me !! <3

brother eugh

why did i hear this with like the tiktok audio voice in my head 😂😂😂

it's mirroring the scene of his confession 😩😩😩😩😩 i am such a sucker for rain scenes, I don't know it makes me Feel Something™ AND SATORU WITH HER DURING THE PANIC ATTACK AS USUAL (except for the 10 chapter 😭)

yes he really is with her through all her lows and it's so ahhhh cure, romantic, idk it's everything to me !! <33 but also her with his lows?? like they are always there for each other, no matter what goes on at that time. like even if they are mad with each other, still they can count on one another ahhhh. i'm weak !!!

& i love rain scenes too, if i could i would let it rain all the time, so i'm glad we're in autumn rn in the story bc more rain and all that !!!

and this? this will be the death of me. i imagine this as them against the whole world (in some way it is….) it feels so intimate :((((

nahhh it really is them against the world yessss 😭😭

the way you describe his feelings is so painfully beautiful 😭

thank u so so much!! so gald u like the way i write emotions :')

yeah you're both equally stubborn

true ☠️☠️

at least it's kinda romantic. especially his words, but when will we get a proper confession, miss nici please

i think this is the nearest thing u can get to a proper confesion in this story ahahhaha & so happy to read u like how i portray maki. she really is the queen !!

[sparkledfirecracker]

Bucky Barnes mini series it is. I am so excited to start reading, because I seriously can’t believe you’ve been on my reading list for this long. I’ll happily kick myself,

Now let’s get started and dive in.

How far will you fall, sweetling, before time brings you back to me?

Oh this is off to a great start already. It sounds so dark. (I didn’t read the warnings, it spoils way too much)

It is the red earth under your racing feet, the heavy humidity of promised rain, the dhol-beat of your thudding heart. You can try to run from it — you do, sometimes — but it draws you back, draws you in, draws you home.

You have a way of drawing someone in so quick and so fast. It’s such a pleasure to read no matter the topic and no matter the warnings.

You always do this, don’t you? Your own little game, the running. When you love wolves, you might as well make yourself prey, racing down these sun-bright halls and daring them, sweetness, daring them to reach out of the shadows and take hold.

This might sound so stupid but reading this felt like I was reading a part of a diary and I was sneaking in what was written. Intruding the personal thoughts.

He is sweetness. He is warmth, he is a memory you treasure in the dark.

He is dead.

Punch to the gut. I should’ve known better than to hope for good things in fics 🤣.

Run until your legs crumple, until you are too tired to crawl. Run because once you do he will not stop.

I felt a haste and an anxious feeling. Like what is chasing you babe.

You’re awake now, bathed in the light of the morning, panting from the last vestiges of the nightmare you have woken up from every morning for the past three weeks. Frantic, you reach for your neck like you’ve done every morning for the past three weeks, searching for blood.

I was right for the anxious feel. Jesus, I know this type of wake up and it’s no fun.

You ache. A soreness in your bones, familiar and strange all at once. Running, constantly, from something you cannot explain or articulate, dreams you mull over and fail to understand. And then waking, frantic and screaming, begging for your life to thin air before the reality sinks in and you come to terms with this false safety.

The relatability to these words, the harsh truth behind them. Ugh, it is so well written and no I won’t stop saying it.

You stopped wearing red to work, settling for neutral lip balm and pretending it didn’t leave you vulnerable.

😩 no keep wearing the red, don’t let them take whatever it is they took away. Because it’s not just the lover from ghosts past. Ugh the phrases that match the heartbreak, devastating.

You wake, you dress, you stare at yourself in the mirror again and in your heart, weep.

Not me getting glossy eyes while reading that last whole part 😭

Baron, welcome, thank you for coming by. The brush of a hand against the nape of your neck has you turning from your desk and the papers strewn across it, facing yet more wolves in this den of your prison. The Senator gestures for you to stand and you do, keeping your gaze from his hungry eyes as yours scan over the guests he’s brought by.

👀 interesting. Run, rabbit, run 🫠, this is bad news kinda company

Good morning, Baron Zemo there, that’s the name, and yet it sits wrong on your tongue, like there’s more to him that you know and don’t all at once, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Practice it. Steady it. Measure the words like you don’t feel the pressure on your shoulder, like you aren’t looking for any excuse to escape that roaming grip.

🤢 run, it’s all bad news.

A man like him would hardly come alone and there they are, stepping in from the periphery of your vision, towering behind their employer. One dark-haired and the other blond, wearing armor and scowls and so very familiar. You know those eyes, ice and steel, and yet you don’t and — memories burst like bubbles to the pin of the very present reality of the Senator’s hand sliding down your upper arm, fingers brushing your chest you are not safe.

👀 the best duo there’s but not if they’re mean and bullies. I’ll shut up and read further, because I want to find out who or what these two troublemakers are

Don’t look back at the hungry eyes following you, don’t think about it, don’t let them see your spine be anything but titanium, don’t let the—the hand on your wrist is black-gloved and unyielding, spinning you around to face steel eyes and harsh finality We’ll take care of it.

Brave troublemakers

You’re alone. Baron Zemo slips into the Senator’s office and the door closes with a snap, leaving you in the presence of solemn and silent.

Is ‘one room’ a trope? It should be a trope, those two men are too good looking. Zemo’s protection team, I can’t.

Work it is. You can feel the eyes on you, somewhere between curious and suspicious, while you shuffle papers and try to focus on the email you were drafting. Focus.

Seriously boys, go play a card game, what is reader going to do? Cut you two with papers?

You stand without thinking, usually so used to only moving when the Senator bids you — mostly to keep yourself out of his grip — but the draw of his voice is undeniable. Like a moth to a flame, you burn your wings to please and meet the watchers’ icy eyes as you wait for the beacon to step into view.

Properly trained, the door opens, you stand, those two troublemakers can sod off.

But for now? For now the Baron takes your hand and offers you a thin smile, bowing to press gentle lips to your knuckles, ignoring the way you flinch. It has been my pleasure, my dear.

MY EASTERN EUROPEAN HALF IS SCREAMING AT THIS! IT IS SUCH AN ICK, BUT MEN LOVE IT 🙃

Run, rabbit, run.

Indeed run, because I feel there’s something brewing and it’s not going to be in your favour.

THIS WAS PHENOMENAL ALREADY AND I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO THE OTHER TWO CHAPTERS ♥️

In This Life and the Next — Chapter 1

It was Asleep in the Veins

Summary: They remember, but you forget. You can run from the ties that bind, but it'll be right into their arms.

Pairings: Immortal!Zemo x Reader; Immortal!Steve Rogers x Reader; Immortal!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Reader is Desi and Muslim Coded

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT; Rape/Non-Con Elements; Deeply, Deeply Dark; Character Death Involved; Dubious Consent; Dark!Steve; Dark!Bucky; Dark!Zemo; Political/Mafia Elements; Obsessive/Manipulative Lovers; Workplace Sexual Harassment/Assault; Political Corruption; Slight Cosmic Horror

Notes: Sometimes my writing has a playlist and this time it just has a song, please enjoy Lahu Munh Lag Gaya while reading this. This is a fic that is going to be dark and as it develops, more warnings may be added. Please read at your own discretion and let me know if more things need to be tagged.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

What is pride, but the precedent before the fall?

How far will you fall, sweetling, before time brings you back to me?

It is in your blood.

It is the red earth under your racing feet, the heavy humidity of promised rain, the dhol-beat of your thudding heart. You can try to run from it — you do, sometimes — but it draws you back, draws you in, draws you home.

(The further you run, the tighter we will hold you.)

The open terrace is an invitation, the waiting archway is a portal — it only takes one step.

You always do this, don’t you? Your own little game, the running. When you love wolves, you might as well make yourself prey, racing down these sun-bright halls and daring them, sweetness, daring them to reach out of the shadows and take hold.

(Run, rabbit, run, but we are patient and we are watching…)

He lives there, in the corner of your memory, a promise and a threat. I will always find you.

So let him, little treasure, and paint your skin with the memory of his fingertips. Remind him, as he reminds you.

Let him come to you, let him chase you down the ramparts and catch you in the courtyard. Let him wrap his arms around your waist and twirl you in the air, let him hear the song of your laugh I have memorized you like a prayer, whispered into the crook of your neck.

He is sweetness. He is warmth, he is a memory you treasure in the dark.

He is dead.

Pay no attention to the dark clouds on the horizon.

Pay no attention to the shadows on his face.

He will love you — don’t you see, don’t you understand how you are mine — but he will use you, little lamb, until you are spent. You are a lifetime, a fire, and he will take all the light you have to offer and you will place your tombstone in the graveyard that is his heart.

You will forget.

He will not.

The red threads can be a noose too, if you aren’t careful, and sweetling you can never be too careful around him.

So run.

Run until your legs crumple, until you are too tired to crawl. Run because once you do he will not stop.

(Lips touched lips and through them touched blood…)

He has tasted the blood of your love, sweetling, do you truly think he’ll ever set you free?

The scream comes from your own throat.

You’re awake now, bathed in the light of the morning, panting from the last vestiges of the nightmare you have woken up from every morning for the past three weeks. Frantic, you reach for your neck like you’ve done every morning for the past three weeks, searching for blood.

And like every morning for the past three weeks, your hand comes away clean.

But you remember it don’t you, the jaws around your throat, biting down until you go limp in their grip? Run, rabbit, run…

You’re so tired of being afraid.

Your alarm is set to go off in thirty minutes, but you know you won’t be able to fall asleep in that time. Groaning softly, you roll out of bed and set it to snooze for the day lest it interrupts your shower. The lies you tell yourself about clearing your head this way will guide you through the rest of your routine.

You ache. A soreness in your bones, familiar and strange all at once. Running, constantly, from something you cannot explain or articulate, dreams you mull over and fail to understand. And then waking, frantic and screaming, begging for your life to thin air before the reality sinks in and you come to terms with this false safety.

The water of the shower does little to ease it, but it’s enough. Enough to push you through the rest of getting ready, reluctantly.

This life could have, should have, perhaps even would have been a fairytale. The culmination of your strife, years of clawing your way six feet out of that grave of constant study, exhaustion embedded in your bones, all to become this. All to stand at the right hand of the Man-Who-Could-Be-President, all to bring him coffee and papers and write the talking points of his speeches and make yourself Invaluable to the Movement you are so sureyou believe in.

Were.

Were so sure you believed in.

It’s a slow siege.

One piece of armor, then the next.

(Bet that lipstick leaves a mark.)

You stopped wearing red to work, settling for neutral lip balm and pretending it didn’t leave you vulnerable.

(It’s nice of you to dress the part.)

Those tailored suits you once loved wearing so much now sit as moth food in the back of your closet as you drape yourself in the ill-fitting and ill-designed.

(You have such lovely hair.)

Lovely, sitting messily in a clip so his fingers can never run through raven tresses again.

Look at you.

Look at you, standing in the mirror. Is this what you are? Is this what you want to be? Is this what your promise and ambition have led you to become, shadowed and cowering in your clothes? Where is your violence, where is your passion, where is the fire?

Who are you now, lamb-to-the-slaughter, lost sheep, girl in the woods?

You wake, you dress, you stare at yourself in the mirror again and in your heart, weep.

Baron, welcome, thank you for coming by. The brush of a hand against the nape of your neck has you turning from your desk and the papers strewn across it, facing yet more wolves in this den of your prison. The Senator gestures for you to stand and you do, keeping your gaze from his hungry eyes as yours scan over the guests he’s brought by.

Familiar faces.

And not, all at once. You know those shapes, the sly curve of that smile, the effortless tousle of brown hair and yet you don’t. Like seeing them in pieces, placed on the same canvas but sparking no proper recognition.

May I introduce you to the newest member of our staff, Miss… he pulls you in as he speaks, the smile on his face too wide and too warm to be anything but hiding fangs and you can feel the want pulsing through each word as he introduces you.

Ignore him.

Ignore the pressure of his hands on your shoulders, giving you a squeeze as he stands you in front of him like a trophy. Focus on the man in front of you, and the icy curiosity in his eyes.

Good morning, Baron Zemo there, that’s the name, and yet it sits wrong on your tongue, like there’s more to him that you know and don’t all at once, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Practice it. Steady it. Measure the words like you don’t feel the pressure on your shoulder, like you aren’t looking for any excuse to escape that roaming grip.

Does he see? Does he see the way you writhe in your own mind, crawling and raw and desperate? Is that way his gaze hardens when he glances idly to the senator and then back to you? It is my pleasure. And coffee, if you please — three, no need for cream or sugar.

Of course.

A man like him would hardly come alone and there they are, stepping in from the periphery of your vision, towering behind their employer. One dark-haired and the other blond, wearing armor and scowls and so very familiar. You know those eyes, ice and steel, and yet you don’t and — memories burst like bubbles to the pin of the very present reality of the Senator’s hand sliding down your upper arm, fingers brushing your chest you are not safe.

Choose. Now. Fight, flight, or freeze? Let them see the glittering fear behind your glasses and hope they’ll save you?

Stupid girl, don’t you know?

No one can save you but yourself.

Wrench yourself from the grip on your shoulder, stalk over to the coffeepot. Just past the Baron-who-isn’t My apologies, I must be in your way.

No, no, of course not, please make yourself comfortable.

Keep it bright.

Keep it chipper.

Don’t look back at the hungry eyes following you, don’t think about it, don’t let them see your spine be anything but titanium, don’t let the—the hand on your wrist is black-gloved and unyielding, spinning you around to face steel eyes and harsh finality We’ll take care of it.

Right.

Of course.

Sergeant Barnes, please. We need not frighten our friends. Baron Zemo’s voice is silk and warmth and you should not feel so safe in the honeysweetness.

The glove leaves your wrist. Sergeant Barnes? Stands still as a statue and you step back. They’ll take care of it, and they do. The other of the two, technically, pouring coffee and trading mugs until all five of you are warming your hands with fresh-brewed caffeine.

Senator. Shall we?

You’re alone. Baron Zemo slips into the Senator’s office and the door closes with a snap, leaving you in the presence of solemn and silent.

You should get back to work.

You should say something.

You should do a good many things.

So do it.

Work it is. You can feel the eyes on you, somewhere between curious and suspicious, while you shuffle papers and try to focus on the email you were drafting. Focus.

Focus.

Don’t look back.

Don’t look at the office door.

Don’t do anything but stare at those papers, write those emails.

Focus.

You should run, rabbit.

The silence comes with whispers, winding around your ear like curls of smoke, bidding you turn around and look at the statues behind you, search their faces, ask them questions. You have so many, sweet and polite, where is your chatter?

It’s an hour before the office door opens and Helmut Zemo’s honeysweet voice filters to your ears, I’m sure your Sokovian-American constituents will be quite pleased by the bill, Senator. We shall have to honor you for your dedication to our shared people at the embassy.

You stand without thinking, usually so used to only moving when the Senator bids you — mostly to keep yourself out of his grip — but the draw of his voice is undeniable. Like a moth to a flame, you burn your wings to please and meet the watchers’ icy eyes as you wait for the beacon to step into view.

He sees you. So thorough and careful, a feigned warmth around his countenance as eyes flicker over you. Searching. Hungry. You know to avoid the gaze of men like him and so you do, looking just past his face enough to hide your discomfort. Thank you for coming, Baron Zemo. We’re thrilled to have your support. Please let us know how we can be of assistance while you’re in the city.

You will regret those words, in time.

But for now? For now the Baron takes your hand and offers you a thin smile, bowing to press gentle lips to your knuckles, ignoring the way you flinch. It has been my pleasure, my dear.

It’s when he turns that you feel it. The pain in your left hand, drawing your eyes down to the threaded ring around your finger, now tight and burning. The drumbeat from your nightmares starts up again, thudding hard in your ears as your eyes follow the red thread stemming from them.

To the three men now walking out of the room.

Run, rabbit, run.