#to the person who was guessing her path in the tags before

[btrswtdoodles]

I’ve drawn Eve like 4 more times but this is the only one I’m happy with

Made it as the first of a few emotes whole alsk trying some new stylistic things out

[aquaticmercy]

Of Heroes and Heartstrings (Part One)

Part 2 │ Part 3

Summary : Bucky Barnes develops a crush on the researcher who interviewed him.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) (The reader works in academia and is writing about superheroes and how they perceive themselves in the 21st century)

Warnings/tags : Meet cute!!! Bucky crushing hard on you. Bucky's past. Sam being a little annoying.

Requested by :  myself again

Word count : 2.4k

Note : I think I might turn this into a three-part series! I would love to write the about gang playing monopoly together. Let me know if you want to be tagged in part 2 or 3!

Requests are open!

Bucky wasn’t sure why he agreed to this. He wasn’t even sure why he was sitting in a tiny cafe off the beaten path, waiting for a complete stranger to interview him about… superheroes? He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing at the door for the fifth time in two minutes.

It wasn’t like he had anything special to offer. Sure, people knew him as the Winter Soldier, but that wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. And superhero? That wasn’t a title he claimed. That was for people like Sam and Steve. They were the ones doing good things, saving people.

He was just trying to piece himself back together.

Yet, here he was, because Happy Hogan had sent him a message with a request that seemed harmless enough. He told him about you, how you were working on writing a paper on superheroes and how they perceive themselves for your big research project. Happy had mentioned that Sam and Yelena had already spoken with you, and they’d apparently walked away smiling. 

That statement was enough to make Bucky curious.

He felt a small pang of nerves in his stomach. Maybe it wasn’t too late to just bail—

The cafe door chimed softly, and then he saw you.

Happy had shown him photos, and that sweet, determined smile of yours was unmistakable.

You stepped into the cafe with an air of calm but curious energy, eyes scanning the space before they landed on him. For a brief moment, he froze. You smiled. Not the kind of smile people gave him because they recognise him and didn’t know what to say. Your smile was genuine, bright and easy, like you were happy just to be here, ever so passionate about your research.

“Hi, Bucky, right?” you asked as you approached the table. 

He nodded, feeling the slightest bit awkward but gestured toward the chair across from him. "Yeah. You’re, uh, the research… superhero… person?" He cringed inwardly at his inability to sound more intelligent. 

You laughed, a soft, warm sound that pulled a smile from him before he even realized. "I guess that’s one way to put it. Thanks for meeting with me." You set your bag down and pulled out a small recorder, setting it between the two of you. He had been given the consent form beforehand, he had known that it was going to be recorded. You introduced yourself, telling him your name. He repeated it, liking the way it sounded on his lips. 

"I know you probably don’t get a lot of requests like this,” you continued.

He snorted. "Yeah, not really the type that gets interviewed, but I figured Sam and Yelena didn’t give you too much grief, so…"

“They were great,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “Sam was really thoughtful. He has some incredible insights about how the world perceives enhanced and enhanced-adjacent individuals. And Yelena…” You smiled, clearly holding back laughter. “She has a very direct way of answering questions.”

Bucky shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. That sounded exactly like Yelena.

There was a pause, not the awkward kind, but the kind where you looked at him in a way that made him feel like he was being truly seen. Like he was human. Not just as the guy with the metal arm or the assassin from his past, but as… more. It was disconcerting, but not in a bad way.

You finally broke the silence. “So, I was thinking we could start with a little bit of your history in World War II and move into what it’s been like for you since. Is that okay?”

He nodded, relaxing a little. “Yeah, sure.”

You hit the record button, and the interview began.

—

At first, Bucky gave the kind of answers he was used to giving. Short, factual. He explained his past, his ties to Hydra, his journey since. But as the interview went on, something shifted. You weren’t just asking questions to check a box—you were genuinely interested in him. You didn’t ask about the Winter Soldier like so many others had before. Instead, you asked about James Buchanan Barnes, the person. The man who fought alongside his best friend in the war, who now worked hard to make amends.

You had even done your research. You knew he was a YMCA welterweight champion back in the day, and though he was a teeny bit embarrassed, he answered your questions truthfully.

“What do you think people misunderstand the most about you?” you asked after a thoughtful pause. 

That question caught him off guard. He blinked and sat back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly rubbing the edge of the table. “I think people still see me as the Winter Soldier. They don’t see me as someone trying to move on from that.”

Your expression softened, your gaze holding a quiet understanding. “But you’re more than that, aren’t you?” you coaxed, careful not to put words in his mouth.

For a moment, Bucky didn’t know what to say. The way you said it—so gently, so assuredly—it was like you had seen past everything. All the damage, the guilt, the regrets… and still believed in who he was.

He glanced down, unsure how to respond. “I’d like to think so,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. 

“I think a lot of people do.” you said softly, your voice kind and warm. 

His chest tightened. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him feel like he wasn’t defined by his past. You made him feel like he could be more.

Maybe that’s why, when the interview wrapped up and you turned off the recorder, he didn’t want the conversation to end.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said, gathering your things but not quite standing yet. “You’ve been an open book, and I know it can’t be easy.”

“It’s not,” Bucky admitted, surprising even himself with his honesty. “But… you’re easy to talk to.” He winced at how desperately that must’ve sounded. Then, he saw the way your eyes lit up at the compliment, and for once, he didn’t regret his words.

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Well, I try to make my interviewees comfortable so they spill all their secrets.”

Bucky smirked, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “It worked.”

You laughed, standing up and sliding the recorder back into your bag. “I’ll try not to use my powers for evil.”

As you started to leave, something tugged at his heartstrings. He didn’t want you to walk out of his life like that. Not yet.

“Hey, uh,” he called out, rubbing the back of his neck, “if you ever need any more… info, or… whatever, for your research, feel free to, you know… stay in touch.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him. “I’d really like that.” You pulled out your phone and handed it to him. “Here, put your number in.”

He did as you asked, feeling strangely nervous as he handed the phone back to you. You smiled again, that warm, bright smile that calmed him down.

“I’ll be in touch,” you promised as you waved and walked out of the cafe.

For a long moment, Bucky sat there, staring at the door long after you’d left. He felt lighter, somehow. Like the weight of his sins didn’t seem quite so heavy anymore.

—

Over the next few weeks, Bucky found himself texting you far more than he expected. It started off simple—follow-up questions about his experience with the Avengers, a few casual remarks about Yelena’s boldness, Sam’s “Captain America speeches.”

He had been able to introduce you to Isaiah Bradley. He hesitated about that for a moment, but after the interview, Isaiah had called him, thanking the former assassin for introducing him to someone who truly cared. Someone who truly wanted to make a difference in the world.

You continued texting, but slowly, the texts turned more personal.

One evening, he was hanging out with Sam in his apartment, soda in hand, when he heard a familiar vibration of his phone. It was you.

You : What do you like to do in your free time, Bucky? Something other than saving the world, I mean.  

Bucky : Well, I enjoy board games. I play monopoly with Sam and the others every other week on Saturdays.  

You : Maybe I should join you guys sometime. I’ll warn you now—I’m competitive.

He had stared at that text longer than he’d admit, his heart doing strange somersaults in his chest.

Bucky : I don’t mind a challenge.

Bucky sat on the couch, phone in hand, staring at your latest text. He had been reading it over and over for the last five minutes, trying to muster the courage to respond. His stomach twisted with nerves. 

Just then, Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to reality. 

“Why are you looking at your phone like you’re about to defuse a bomb?”

Bucky glanced up to see Sam back from the bathroom, standing in the doorway, a smirk already creeping across his face. He’d been too distracted to notice his return.

“Nothing,” Bucky muttered, quickly locking his phone and stuffing it into his pocket, as if he was naive enough to think that would stop Sam from prying. 

“Let me guess,” Sam said, walking over with way too much interest. “She texted you.”

Bucky sighed, slumping in his seat. He knew there was no escape from Sam’s teasing. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam dropped onto the couch beside him, casually crossing his arms. “I’m not stupid. I can see you blushing every time she messages you.”

“I’m not blushing,” Bucky grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. Sam had been relentless—giving him a hard time ever since he’d found out about the texts that followed your interview. You had kept in contact with Sam when you interviewed him, too— you shared the odd how are you and clarifications for research, but not to the extent that Bucky had. 

The second Bucky mentioned to him that you had been texting daily, he regretted it. He knew he never should have let him see even a hint of it.

Sam wasn’t letting it go. “What did she say this time? Oh, wait, let me guess—‘I had such a great time interviewing you, Bucky. Let’s hang out more, Bucky. You’re just so mysterious and handsome, Bucky,’” he teased, his voice high-pitched as he mimicked a lovesick version of you.

Bucky shot him a glare, rolling his eyes.

Sam just grinned. “Come on, man. Just tell me.”

Bucky hesitated, but then sighed in defeat, pulling his phone back out. “She might want to join our Monopoly night. She said she’s competitive.”

That got Sam’s attention. He raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Oh, so now she’s getting in on game night? Damn, Barnes, you're pulling all the stops.”

“It’s not like that,” Bucky repeated, but even he knew how weak, and untrue, it sounded this time. 

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Oh, it’s exactly like that. She likes you, and you like her. I’ve been saying it for weeks now, but you’re still sitting here, all brooding and shy. Just ask her out!”

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “I don’t even know how.”

“You already talk to her all the time, right?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Just ask her if she wants to come to game night as your date.”

Bucky blinked. “A date?”

“You know, two people who like each other doing something fun together? It’s not complicated, Buck.”

He mulled over Sam’s words, the idea both exciting and terrifying. He hadn’t thought about it in those terms, but now that Sam had said it, it made sense. You had been texting him more often than seemed necessary for research, and there had definitely been a… connection. A spark.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look, man, I’ll help you out. We’ll frame it like she’s just coming to Monopoly night, We’ll invite Yelena and Happy, since she already knows them. and maybe Rhodey, Clint, and Scott, just to sweeten the deal. Make it less awkward. You’ll ask her to be your date. No pressure, just fun.”

Bucky frowned. “And if she says no?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “She won’t. She’s already asking to hang out with you more. Besides, if she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t still be texting.”

Bucky wasn’t entirely convinced, but Sam’s confidence was enough to give him the push he needed. 

“Okay,” Bucky said finally, his voice a little rough. “But how do I ask?”

Sam grinned. “Easy. Call her, don’t just text. That way she knows you’re serious. Keep it casual, though. Say something like, ‘Hey, you still want to join Monopoly night? I was thinking… maybe we could make it a date?’”

Bucky stared at him, his expression blank. “You really think it’s that simple?”

“Yes,” Sam said with exasperation, pushing Bucky’s phone toward him. “Come on, man.”

With a deep breath, Bucky pulled up your contact details. Sam watched with a smug grin as Bucky hesitated for just a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button. Then, with a sigh, Bucky pressed it, holding the phone to his ear as the line rang.

Sam gave him a thumbs-up, leaning back on the couch.

The line clicked, and your voice came through the speaker, light and warm.

“Hey, Bucky!”

Bucky felt his heart do that stupid flip again. He shot a glare at Sam, who was giving him a ridiculous “go on” motion, before speaking.

“Hey, I was just, uh, wondering if you still wanted to join us for Monopoly night? Sam, Yelena, and a few others are coming, but… I was thinking maybe you could, you know… come as my date?”

There was a pause on your end, and Bucky’s heart practically stopped. Maybe Sam had been wrong—maybe this was too soon. Then, your soft chuckle broke the silence.

“I’d love to,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “Are you sure you’re ready to lose?”

Bucky grinned, glancing at Sam, who was nodding with approval. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Okay,” you replied with a chuckle. “Saturday, right? I’ll bring snacks. What do you like?”

“Something sweet,” Bucky answered, feeling much more relaxed now that the hard part was over. “Sam loves cookies.”

“Got it,” you said, your tone light and playful. “See you Saturday, Bucky.”

He smiled, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “See you then.”

As he hung up the phone, Sam slapped him on the back, his grin wide. “You’re welcome, Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe Sam had been right, after all.

-to be continued…

Part 2 is uploaded!

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (10)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, intoxication, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships,

notes. important announcement ! as you all know, this series has always had an extensive approach into detailing the events in its side stories (ie. sera x sukuna x naoya, yuuji x megumi, maki x yuuta x miwa, etc), but while writing the chapters, the word count and the plot building had become too exhausting for me to produce consistently, esp with the amount of scenes and side stories i was introducing to the story, so i've decided it's best for me to stick to the main characters, reader & gojo, and will only add side stories as necessary. this really hurts me knowing that i can't achieve the level of comprehensive writing and world building that i did for sincerely not, but i really want to finish sy as soon as possible and removing a chunk of side stories would be some of the things that'd help me achieve that 😭 i hope you guys understand. hopefully i'll figure out a way to write those side stories instead of completely abandoning them mid-way in this series. but as always, thanks for ur continued support <3

series masterlist -> episode eleven

“It’s a little weird.”

What was supposed to be her bed time had turned into a moment of reflection for Sera who, instead of being fast asleep at this time of the night, had unconsciously brought herself inside Sukuna’s home office to join the up-and-coming tech mogul in his late-night programming. 

She wore her silk pajamas, pacing back and forth in her boyfriend’s office as her mind flew back to the recent encounter she had with her ex-boyfriend. Who knew that Satoru’s kid would look just like a carbon copy of him? No, actually, the question should be: who knew it would be a different woman by his side acting as the mother of his child? Sera had to laugh at herself, shaking her head as she realized how truly and undeniably ridiculous her ex was. It was clear that day that he wasn’t really as loyal of a partner as he claimed himself to be. 

Did he really just go through all those crazy things with you, only to look like a whore-hopping fool now? 

If he was bound to end up with someone else other than you, then why did he have to make Sera’s life miserable in the first place? 

She may have done terrible things before as a selfish and materialistic lover of his, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Satoru also contributed to her role as the side-piece in his marital relationship. He allowed her to cling to him like a mistress. Being his side-piece wasn’t even something that she had forced upon him. It was his promise, an idea that he planted on Sera’s head, saying that she would need to stay by his side and that he would marry her guaranteed that he had already secured the merger and divorced you. He swore like a fool that he would divorce you. But guess what? The jerk ended up falling in love with his wife and suddenly had no use of Sera. Suddenly, he was such a good husband who couldn’t be more loyal. Suddenly, he was a lovestruck man who had always been in love with his childhood friend. If he had downright dumped Sera the moment his engagement was announced, if he had not been prideful and ambitious since the beginning of his marriage, he probably would have had better luck at having that healthy relationship he yearned from you. 

But how come the blame of being the third-party was all on Sera when her only mistake then was loving the person who promised her all the good things in life? 

Now, you see, this was all just bitterness brewing at the back of her head. She knew what she did was still wrong and that she wasn’t innocent. Sera swore to herself that she would never look back on those awful days ever again, but seeing how Satoru was running around freely with a different woman just reminded Sera of his days as a spiteful, two-timing man. Somehow, it felt like he had changed and yet didn’t at all. 

Ha ha ha. How ridiculous was that? 

“What’s funny?” asked Sukuna, her present boyfriend and thankfully so. He was Sera’s blessing, because she never would have thought that a man like him could still exist in a world full of Satoru’s and Naoya’s. “You look cute smiling to yourself, though.”

“I know,” she responded to the compliment, shifting to settle herself on his lap, though his attention remained fixed on his laptop screen. “It's just strange to me,” she continued, her voice thoughtful, “how Gojou appears his usual self, yet there's something off about him.”

The question clouded Sukuna’s eyes in confusion, tilting his head to the side as he tried to comprehend her description. “You mean dude got uglier?”

I wish, Sera thought. “No, he’s… he’s different. The vibes are different. For a second, he even looked like he was dissociating the whole time he was with that girl,” she said, referring to Satoru’s new girl as though she was your cheap alternative, “But then again, why is he with her in the first place if he looks absent-minded the whole time, you know what I mean?” 

“Was he like that with you before?” 

“At times, but it’s not like the way he’s acting right now… I don’t know, I can’t explain it. The energy is off. That’s just not how he acts when he’s really, really into someone.”

To be honest, Sukuna didn’t give a damn about Satoru Gojou’s life and any normal boyfriend wouldn’t really like hearing their girlfriend talking about another man, especially her ex at that, but he knew Sera found joy in old money gossip and he was aware of the demoralizing past she has had by associating herself with them. Sukuna was acting all engaged in their conversation because he wanted to make her feel heard and that he shared her simple joys in life. Besides, it was through her that he learned so many inside scoops about the people that ran the country’s biggest conglomerates. It was like watching one heck of a messy episode of Dynasty. 

“Didn’t he get into a car accident?” he recalled, remembering the headlines on the news that day, “Then, we saw him at the expo and he couldn’t really remember you. The guy’s probably got his head all messed up.” 

Sera was bitter at the time thinking that Satoru was toying with her when he asked who she was, when the truth was, he was actually diagnosed with amnesia. It was such a shock to her, truthfully, because having amnesia felt like something you would only see on a movie’s screen. Well, in that case, she could also say karma’s a bitch. The director might be onto something here.

“He’s probably not mentally fine, but still…” she thought carefully and played the scene in her head again. What was it about the Gojou that she saw the other day that was different? “He just has a different vibe to him that it feels uncomfortable. It’s like he’s rude, but not so rude? He doesn’t have much of a personality anymore. Like a complete stranger.”

“Maybe it’s the new girl rubbing off on him.” Sukuna was back to typing on his laptop as he said that. Frankly, he was just saying anything at this point. 

Sera shook her head in response. “Well, I don’t know about that girl he’s seeing and I don’t really care, but it’s common knowledge to the filthy rich that she’s Y/N’s best friend. That’s why I recognized her right away, and that’s why it disgusted me,” she pressed on, “Tell me, would you—and be honest about this—would you fuck your best friend’s ex?” 

The humor on her boyfriend’s face came right as she asked that. “Babe, you fucked a married man. It’s worse than fucking somebody’s ex.” 

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she got up from his lap and sighed, but Sukuna wasted no time in pulling her back onto his lap. His chuckle was mingling with the gentle kiss he had planted on her cheek, unaware that his actions made Sera’s heart flutter. “Forget it. I shouldn’t even be talking about Satoru with you.”

The man stretched his arms and finally closed his laptop, patting Sera’s thigh afterwards. “On that note, I do have another ‘dude from your past’ that I gotta meet tomorrow.” 

Her reaction alone was a response for him. “Naoya?” she protested, face contorting with disgust. “What for? I told you not to take on that project.”

“Yeah, I considered it, and you know, the partnership could really benefit CleaveTech,” Sukuna reasoned, leaning back as he outlined the situation to her from a business standpoint. Given her own background working for the Gojou Group before, he expected her to grasp the significance of this partnership and set aside any personal grievances or emotional attachments. “The Zen'in Group is a major client. It’s all pros and no cons here.”

“The contra is the guy you’re gonna work with,” she highlighted with a hint of annoyance rising from her throat, “Naoya is nothing but an opportunistic motherfucker. Mind you, he’s a stupid elitist, too.” 

He held back a laugh, not even threatened by a man who had a terrible history with his girlfriend. “Nah, I’ll deal with him. Just trust me on this.” 

As much as Sera wanted to object, she knew Sukuna had a point and that she really shouldn’t hinder his company from being partnered with such a large conglomerate. She just didn’t like the thought of her boyfriend being around a man who manipulated and humiliated her to the point where she had been blacklisted by multiple companies, leaving her to resort to being somewhat of a prostitute just to make ends meet. 

The world was harsh for the not-so-rich, and all Sera wanted was to give those upper class people a taste of their own medicine. But seeing as her desire for revenge would clash with her boyfriend’s chance at company growth, she had to set aside her personal grudge and support him on this one.  

Still, there was nothing wrong with being curious. “Is there any other reason you agreed to this partnership?”

Sukuna smirked as if he expected that question from her. “Blame it on my little brother, he’s been bugging me ‘bout it.”

“Yuuji?” Sera asked, clearly confused. 

To which her boyfriend quickly answered, “Yeah. He said it’ll give him an opportunity to work with his best friend. You know that kid, Fushiguro, right?” 

Ahh. Toji’s kid aka the heir to the Zen’in business empire. Sera had met Megumi before, and while that other brat Mai used to be unreasonably rude to her, the younger boy was always civil and respectful at least. He never even once treated Sera like dirt when she was spending time with Naoya at their mansion. Perhaps their upbringing really differed because he was raised by Toji and the other Zen’ins were raised by demons. 

Nevertheless, with a connection now established between Sukuna and Naoya through Yuuji and Megumi, Sera couldn’t help but feel that her peaceful days as a nouveau riche were about to become far more intriguing. Depending on the cards she would choose to play, they could even turn into a living nightmare. 

— —

You weren’t exactly abandoning your company; you were merely taking a break, a necessary pause given your current mental state after the whole break-up with Toji and the Osaka thing. Your mind was just too overwhelmingly occupied to even properly function. Each day, mustering the energy to show up at Hearte's head office became increasingly challenging, especially when faced with individuals who relied on you for major decisions and creative direction. 

To make matters worse, Akemi’s sudden resignation hit hard.

You received her decision by a simple letter, a mere piece of paper, without even having the guts and decency to meet with you in person. Was she scared? Or was this her way of rubbing salt on the wound, shoving it in your face that she was now taking things to the next level with your ex-husband? 

She did cite in her resignation letter that her reason for resigning from the role was due to conflict of interest. You wanted to laugh when you read that part. No, you wanted to choke in your fit of laughter after reading through her asinine reasons. She could have been upfront and mentioned that the so-called ‘conflict’ was the very man her best friend had previously married. 

Obviously, everyone in the office felt sad knowing that a core member of the company left without at least a 30-day notice, but they were all also aware that her resignation was due to personal albeit controversial reasons. Did Akemi not care about her image at all? The same colleagues she had trained, managed, and collaborated with would now likely gossip about her behind her back. She would become a hot topic of disrespect among the people that once heavily respected her. Did she also not care about the company you two created together anymore? This was the same company you two had passionately dreamed of during your late-night conversations on a New York rooftop. She was the one who wanted to build a fashion house together with you.

Yet, it seemed she was willing to throw it all away for a man already entangled in complicated familial dynamics. Her immediate resignation and refusal to speak to you in person just further confirmed it to you that Akemi was willing to forsake your friendship by choosing a man who already had a child with someone else. 

Since she chose that path, you couldn’t help but interpret Akemi’s actions as a deliberate slight against your friendship. It seemed clear that she no longer viewed you as a friend and was essentially cutting ties with you. Otherwise, why would she take such a step? Akemi wasn’t the type to be vindictive; she likely believed she was sparing you further pain by severing your connection. However, regardless of her intentions, her actions felt deeply disrespectful and hurtful.

If this was what she wanted, then kudos to her and her unbelievable confidence to choose a man like Satoru Gojou. Besides, it didn’t even take you a week to find another replacement. Your family connections were powerful after all. You readily had a pool of potential candidates for the role of the Head of Sales, Retail, and Merchandising—all from prestigious backgrounds and unparalleled expertise. While the competition was tough, you selected the person you deemed was the most qualified to be your second-in-command. This was someone you had esteemed since college, a person who excelled in both business acumen and creative vision.

Yuki Tsukumo. She was influential in every sense, and you trusted that she would be able to manage the high pressure environment of a start-up fashion house and transform it into an iconic brand, a household name that would one day rival Chanel and Miu Miu. 

You may have succeeded in replacing Akemi. You may have shown her that her position in the workforce was easily replaceable, but her role as your friend still left a lingering, repugnant mark that proved far more difficult to erase. This underlying sentiment could explain the unreasonable anger festering in your heart—a visceral reaction born from feelings of backstabbing betrayal. 

It was hard enough for you to travel all the way to Osaka with a broken heart, but it became much more agonizing to watch your own son run up to Akemi like she was his mother. It was a goddamn slap to your face, indeed, to see that your ex-husband had already chosen a woman to have his happy, little family with. That he wanted to be a good man and be everything you wished for in a husband for her. 

As they say, nothing hurts more than building a man for another woman. 

And honestly? You cried so much on the way home that you became numb. Now, you were just trying to get over it. You were trying to bury the searing pain in order to forget the betrayal you felt. It was all too much for a person to handle and it wasn’t like you hadn’t gone through the same old shit before. Wasn’t it worse before with Satoru actually cheating and all? He technically wasn’t crossing any lines here, so it shouldn’t hurt you. It shouldn’t. You had been here before. If you had managed to get through such an awful time as his previous wife, his relationship with Akemi shouldn’t be too hard to accept. No, you weren’t trying to lowball your pain, but it was better to be an optimist in this situation than be a suicidal, self-destructive person. You had a business to run and a child to raise. You had to be strong. 

Or at least, that was what you told yourself. That was what you had been telling yourself over and over, each time you got up from bed forcing yourself to have a false positive mindset. In fact, that was also why you had to take this extended break because you had to have your peace of mind. You had to have some form of release to remember why you needed to stay alive and keep yourself going.

Not just for Sachiro’s sake, but also for your own. 

Your safe haven for now was at the horse ranch, where the tranquility of riding and the beauty of nature provided the perfect ambiance for reflection. How long has it been since your last visit to Willow? Your father had been joking that you shouldn’t be leaving a beautiful, white Friesian horse unattended for years, especially not for the expensive price he paid her for. True enough, because the moment you saw the mare again, you almost forgot how majestic she was for her breed. Willow was a completely docile and graceful horse, so alike to you in many ways. However, one thing that was unlike you, was that she lived in peace, existing solely for herself and not for anyone else.

If only you could be like her. 

As you reached out to stroke your rare-breed horse, a new and unfamiliar stallion in the stable caught your eye. To think of it, your family shared this equestrian estate with the Gojou family. This realization meant that the strikingly elegant and tall gray horse in the adjacent stall belonged to none other than Satoru.

“It’s a Thoroughbred,” the equine caretaker informed while guiding your horse out of the stable, “Mr. Satoru got him recently and named him Six.” 

A gray Thoroughbred, renowned as the most expensive horse breeds out there. It could fetch a price as high as $70 million, and of course, Satoru was the perfect owner for such a prestigious horse. The stallion embodied his essence completely—its color, its build, its rarity. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but find his naming convention by number a bit odd. His previous black stallion was named Eight. This time around, it was Six. Couldn’t he be more imaginative?

“He’s beautiful,” you mumbled, nonetheless, in awe with the regality of the horse. 

“He’s a good boy, too,” added the enthusiastic horsekeeper in a thick country accent, “Mr. Satoru was here yesterday and played polo while riding him. They were perfectly in sync even if it was his first time riding him.”

Of course, he would play polo. That was one of his favorite recreational sports. The burning question at hand was, who was with him during his visit? Because if the caretaker mentioned Akemi, you would certainly lose it. This was your private space with him. This estate was a place that none of his other women had access to, not even Sera. This was a location filled with memories from your childhood. For him to bring another woman here would be crossing the damn line. 

“Did he bring anyone with him?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you dusted off your boots. 

The caretaker denied. “No, he was alone. He just came to play polo and check the horses he recently bought.” 

Oh… “He bought more than one?” 

Did he seriously get Akemi her own horse? Your heart was racing at the thought, but the caretaker led you to the stable near the exit to show you the other horse than your ex-husband had purchased. It was a brown Shetland pony. 

“He got a fully trained Shetland for your son,” the horsekeeper proudly declared, showcasing the pony as if he had been instructed to do so in anticipation of your visit. It was obvious that Gojou had already briefed him on introducing Sachiro’s new pony to you because he knew you would be asking about it. “His name is Elmo. He is kid-safe and very friendly.”

Frankly, you wanted to sigh in relief, but at the same time, it warmed your heart to know that Satoru got his son his own horse at such a young age. You could already sense him planning to make Sachiro take equestrian classes when he gets older, and probably join him on his horseback riding sessions, too. You could imagine just how perfect it would be to see the father and son bonding here, racing together, playing polo together… yet it would not be you who would be watching them on the side.  

This future he was setting up with his son would be an experience he would share with Akemi. 

There was no you in that vision anymore. 

The caretaker likely questioned your sanity when he noticed the bitter smile on your face as you mounted your mare. He might have even doubted whether you were sane enough to ride alone, without a guide, particularly through the woods since Willow had not been ridden for some time now. However, you had done it countless times before and were quite familiar with the trail, and so you dismissed his offer to lead you and assured him confidently that you knew your way back.

You needed this solitude. You craved this moment of peace, alone with your thoughts and surrounded by nature, to reflect on the ceaseless torture of your life. It was just never-ending, squeezing every drop of happiness out of your system to make sure that you would only live to suffer. You really thought you had your happy ending with someone else? You actually believed you had found the perfect man to be your actual husband? 

Well, unfortunately for you, Toji was not the one. 

At first, your mind flew to Toji as you went on to the trail, allowing the mare to continue trotting as you held the reins to control her. You remembered Toji’s text that morning, asking you for the hundredth time if he could meet with you. He likely wanted to apologize in person, but you doubted he would change his mind and take back the things he said. Because they were true. He could never fill the void left by his deceased wife by being with another empty soul. It was painfully, unmistakably true. You were better off dead if that was the case, because even if you did end up marrying him, you would never be regarded as the person he loved the most. After all, your role in this world seemed to always be the second option. You were never the first in other people’s books. Not with your ex-husband. Not even with your family, especially with Gen around. You were meant to be a bystander, watching others live their perfect lives while you were forced to be in your misery. Someone like Toji would not have a guaranteed blissful marriage with you and you had to spare him from that. You had to draw the line and step back from this charade that you were playing with him, knowing that you were never the right person to be with him, so at some point, you had to accept his drunken words. They came from a place of truth, and that truth would set the both of you free. 

Even it hurt. Even if it fucking hurt to hear his words. You couldn’t deny them. 

You could easily forgive him, but his words might take a while for you to forget because even thinking about it now was bringing a wave of pain into your chest. You didn’t even notice that you were losing control on Willow’s reins by the time you entered further into the woods, bouncing on the saddle as you galloped along the challenging path. With the speed you were riding right now, inexperienced riders would certainly find it unsafe and scary. But for you? It was just what you needed. The breeze of fresh air, the thrill of riding alone, the peaceful sound of nature—you could die there and be at your happiest. 

Maybe that was where you had to be; to disappear and leave them all behind. Wouldn’t that be best for everyone? If you were to vanish, they could finally be free. Your presence, even from the beginning, was a burden for everyone—for your dad, Gen, Satoru, Toji, and even Akemi. The people you trusted the most would be the same people who would secretly celebrate your demise. So, what else was hindering you from taking matters into your own hands and ending it all yourself?

“Giddy up!” 

Was it Sachiro? Definitely. But now he had his father, and he was likely starting to see Akemi as a mother figure as well. Your role as his beloved mama could be easily replaced if you were to leave him now. It wouldn’t hurt him as much that way. Three years with Sachiro seemed sufficient enough, and he was at an age where he could grow up alongside his father. In this short span, he would have lasting memories with you, yet not enough to deeply grieve your absence. He was a young child, surrounded by people who would offer the whole world to him. At least, for that, you were eternally grateful. It brought you comfort knowing that your son would have support after you were gone, and that he would find a mother figure in Akemi. Given the brief time he spent with you and the rest of his life with her as his stepmother, Sachiro would likely come to love and accept Akemi as his own mother. This was the best outcome you could hope for.

My child, my son, my baby… please don’t get mad at mommy. 

Tears were gushing out of your eyes and you hadn’t even realized it until they started blurring your vision. You were far too lost in your own thoughts, unaware that you were now in an unfamiliar and seemingly dangerous part of the trail. The path was getting a little bit too steep and poor Willow was clearly stressed at your inconsiderate handling. There were multiple obstacles on your rocky terrain and you weren’t as steady and controlled as you wanted to be because the horse wasn’t comfortable navigating such a difficult path with the pace you were forcing her to.  

“Ah!” 

Your attempt to balance was interrupted by Willow’s loud neigh, signaling her distress before she bolted into a full rampage. She was sprinting at an estimated speed of 20 miles per hour. Not even a skilled rider like Satoru himself would be cantering that fast on unfamiliar terrain and an unfit horse. But you, you clearly had a death wish, because instead of fearing for your own life, you were far more concerned at the thought of how dreamy Satoru and Akemi’s wedding would look like after your demise. They would definitely make Sachiro their ringbearer. Suguru would be the best man. Shoko, the maid of honor. People on the internet would praise them for being an attractive couple. They would anticipate their beautiful kids together, living in the same mansion he bought as a gift to you. He would kiss her good night, tell her loves her, and offer the whole world to her. They would exchange vows and promise themselves a lifelong commitment to be by each other’s side through sickness and in health, and only in death would they part. 

“Willow!” 

You let out a shriek as the reins slipped from your grasp, causing you to tumble off the saddle and crash onto the ground. The impact was first felt in your elbow, and a sharp, searing pain then radiated through your body. There you lay, sprawled on the dirt, helplessly watching Willow galloping out of control up the mountain, and then tragically plummeting off a cliff.

“Nooo! Willow, no!”

Utter hysteria overtook you. You sobbed uncontrollably, unable to determine which pain was more agonizing—the clearly broken elbow, the loss of the horse you had inadvertently led to its death, or the heart-wrenching reality of Satoru starting a family with someone else.

You were pathetic. You were such a pathetic excuse of a human being and this was why you deserve hell. 

“Willow!” 

Toji couldn’t love you. Your own son didn’t want to be around you. Satoru had gotten over you. And now, you drove a poor innocent horse to its demise because of your recklessness! 

You were crying hysterically as you held your pained elbow, crawling by the cliff’s edge as you screamed for your horse’s name, but in the end, there was nothing you could do. You could only apologize to poor Willow for having such an irresponsible owner, and now she was dead because of you. 16 years of her life, she was able to live in peace until you came and ruined it all for her. It should have been you. You were the one who should have jumped off a cliff. You should atone for your sins and follow her, but you were too weak, far to overcome by the excruciating pain on your hip and your broken elbow to move or do anything at all. 

That was, until your mind had completely shut down, leaving you as a mere body to be discarded alone in the darkness of the woods. You hoped that no one else would find you soon. 

— —

“A-Angina?” Satoru’s eyes went wide. His whole world stopped before him.

“Yes. She was diagnosed with stable angina,” Dr. Mori confirmed, much to your husband’s horror. “But there is another factor that requires her to have more rest. You need to take good care of your wife, Mr. Gojou. Her body needs a lot of nutrients so she can carry safely.”

He could barely process the whole thing in his head because the news kept coming one after another, leaving him in a befuddled state with a flood of unanswered questions running through his mind. “What do you mean…?”

“Your wife is seven weeks pregnant.���

…

…

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

“Are you out of your mind?!” 

You could barely pry your eyes open, but when you finally managed to, you were met with the concerned expression on Gen’s face. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent confirmed to you that you were in the ER, likely an hour or two after the incident in the woods. The memory of the trail quickly flooded your thoughts, and a pang of sorrow gripped your heart as you recalled Willow's final moments before she fell off the cliff. The poor horse had lost her life, while the one responsible for her tragic death remained alive, save for the bandage wrapped around your arm.

“Why did you ride into the woods alone?” Gen persisted with her barrage of questions, standing by your bed as you attempted to sit up. “Are you suicidal or what? Riding your horse in a dangerous trail like that—”

“You know what, maybe I should have just died back there!” you snapped, wincing from the pain in your elbow. Her choice of words struck a nerve in you. “Maybe I’d prefer that over sitting here, listening to your sanctimonious lecture like you're so perfect yourself! How obnoxious.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t be riding so recklessly and causing alarm to everyone else!” 

“Did I literally ask you to come save me?!” 

The atmosphere around you two just became even more uninviting, with discomfiting silence seeping through as you and Gen were engaged in a sharp glaring contest. Your father stood behind her, clearing his throat to cut the tension. 

“That’s enough, Gen.” Your dad placed a hand on her shoulder, and although she wanted to protest, she knew better not to keep stirring the pot after receiving his strict gaze. “Let’s just be thankful your sister is safe. There’s no need to be so overwhelming.” 

You rolled your eyes, drawing in a deep breath before you looked away from them. None of them would ever understand your pain unless they were in your position. They didn’t carry the same baggage as you, so they would never fully comprehend the weight of your suffering. You had already dealt with similar pain on your own before and that was why you didn’t need any of them to come to your aid, meddling with your life like they knew exactly what you were going through. “Just leave me alone, you guys. I wanna rest.”

Since when did your relationship with your sister start to get rough? It wasn’t really like this before, but ever since she started to become too overprotective over you and your choices in life, particularly choices linked to Satoru, Gen had started to become insufferable in your eyes. She was acting too much like a mother; controlling your decisions, lecturing you about your personal relationships, being too involved with your private life. There, ever since that, you started to distance yourself from her, and she didn’t like that. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to cease acting like this mature, picture perfect big sister to you. 

With that said, Gen would have normally gotten annoyed when you asked them to leave you alone, but this time around, she seemed to have reflected on her insensitivity a lot better with your father around. “I’m sorry, okay?” she said, her tone still tinged with stubbornness, “I just got worried. I don’t know what’s gotten into you to put yourself in danger like that, but… please, Y/N. If you’re going through something, you can always speak to us. Dad and I, we’re here for you.” 

To be fair, if you had to put yourself in their shoes, it really would have been alarming to know that your sister almost died. This wasn’t the first time you were at death’s door either, so they were probably scared shitless when they were informed of your situation. Your absolutely reckless situation. You didn’t mean to cause a scene, neither did you intend to bother them on their already busy schedules. You just had so many things in your mind while you were horseback riding, too engulfed by your own sorrow that you didn’t realize the repercussions after the incident had already taken place. 

“I’m sorry, too.” Your voice softened with humility. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. It was just really an accident.” 

Of course, Gen suspected it was more than just an accident. Your dad did, too. It was obvious on their forlorn faces that they were worried for your mental and emotional well-being, but none of them dared address the elephant in the room. It seemed they didn’t need to, anyway, since one of the many reasons that contributed to your earlier breakdown took a peek from behind the curtains, clearing his throat and sending you a look of sympathy. 

“Y/N?” Toji looked at your father and your sister for approval before stepping further inside your space in the ER. “Can I talk to you?” 

There was no escaping Toji’s presence anymore. No more hiding, no more avoiding. You knew you had to have this talk with him no matter how many times you ignored his flood of texts and calls. While this may have struck as an opportune moment for him to speak to you in person, facing the painful truth of your situation weighed heavily on you. Besides, hadn’t the irony presented itself right there? If Satoru were the one trying to speak to you, even if he was the father of your child, Gen would have been quick to lash out at him. Yet with Toji, even with the general knowledge of what had transpired between you two, your sister still showed no hostility towards him, allowing him to approach you freely and without interference.

But then again, Toji was far from being a cheating, manipulative scumbag who not only caused you suffering but also sought to selfishly acquire your family’s company. Therefore, he wasn’t considered a threat. 

Alright, then. Since Toji genuinely wasn’t a threat to your current emotional state, you agreed to talk with him. It was the first time you had seen the not-so-confident side of Toji Zen’in. He was typically a man of virtue, often holding his chin high, offering the best advice, and having insightful perspectives on life. However, it seemed you had shattered that confidence in him. You could sense his cautiousness around you as he stood by your side in the ER, assisting you with your needs, and eventually agreeing to your request to walk you to the rooftop garden.

“I don’t really think there’s anything else we should talk about.” It was you who first broke the silence, staring at the cityscape while sitting on a wheelchair. The calm breeze allowed your mind to seize the moment with a peaceful mind. “I already heard what you had to say.” 

Toji found it better to kneel down in front of you to meet your eyes as he spoke to you in a sincere and earnest voice. “Y/N, I was drunk when I said all that shit back there. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean to hurt you with my callous words, and I feel awful that you had to hear them from me. You trusted me. You sought comfort from me. I wasn’t thinking like a normal person when those things came out of my mouth.” 

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t true,” you replied with quiet resignation. It was the acceptance in your face that seemed to have caused Toji’s heartbroken gaze. “It’s okay, Toji. I think, when you said all those things, it actually made me realize some aspects of our relationship that had to be addressed. It made me more self-aware and it opened my eyes on the bigger picture.” You touched his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as you mustered the courage to speak your next words. “It’s for the best that we part ways. It’s not fair to me to become a placeholder for your wife the same way it isn’t fair to you to have to deal with my ex-husband always being present in my life. Our unresolved feelings won’t really be resolved by being together.”

“Y/N…” Toji’s voice hinted at his vulnerable emotions, though he restrained himself from showing it fully. And you didn’t miss the apologetic look he had presented to you. “Despite all that, I hope you know that I’d been true to you. I do love you and will always love you. I’ll always be someone you can rely on, someone you can seek comfort from, someone you can turn to when you need help…” 

Damn it. Why did he have to make it sound like an actual break up? Now, it tugged at your heartstrings and hit you in a place it shouldn’t have. You weren’t good at these things and it certainly was your first time dealing with such a mature and mutual separation, but wasn’t that a good thing? No further drama was to happen, leaving a stark comparison to your separation with Satoru. While this one didn’t hurt as much, it still brought a hollow feeling in your chest. 

“Same for me,” you agreed, displaying a weak smile. “You’ll always have a spot in my heart, Toji. I’ll always be grateful that I met you.” 

Sometimes, two people didn’t need to be together to love each other. Friendships could still thrive between ex-lovers, and that was why closure was so important. It not only closed a certain chapter of your life in a healthy way, but also allowed you to heal and open yourselves to a new beginning without any bitterness left behind. 

It shouldn’t be considered bad to remain friends with an ex. It also shouldn’t be bad to give a parting kiss from said ex, right? 

You weren’t the one who initiated it, after all. It was Toji’s hand that gently stroked your cheek. It was him, who leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours. It wasn’t forceful, but neither was it passionate. It was simply a tender kiss of goodbye, feeling the warmth of each other’s lips for one last time before you two would transition from being lovers to friends. What you didn’t understand from this supposedly bittersweet moment was the faint tears that somehow managed to escape your eyes, perhaps because you knew that once Toji left, you would be alone again. 

You had no one by your side to love you, cherish you, choose you, and offer their entire world for you. You were meant to live this cruel world all by yourself. 

As he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Please learn to love yourself before anyone else, Y/N. It’s what you need and what you deserve.” 

That night, while you were getting your MRI, your mind kept flying to the possibilities of a future without having anyone by your side. Any normal person would tell you to focus on loving yourself first, as Toji did recently, focusing on what matters most, and ridding yourself of the toxic things that hinder you from moving forward with your life. Things weren’t as easy as they sounded. Besides, it was different being on the receiving end of the said advice. How could you do those things when the primary cause of your pain was someone whose life would always be linked to yours forever? 

Based on the result of your MRI scans, your doctor recommended that you undergo elbow arthroscopy. It was just a minimally invasive procedure compared to open surgeries, but considering how much of an overthinker your dad was when it came to your health, he insisted on your confinement at the hospital until you had been completely cleared of any other issues. He really placed a big deal on your condition and emphasized to the doctors that they make sure nothing was missed. It could have been worse; you could have had a broken hip or a fractured leg, but at least you only had a dislocated elbow. Nothing that couldn’t be easily corrected by surgery and physical therapy. 

The decision was for you to stay there for two days, and on your first night, a crying Sachiro ran inside your private room because his ‘mama has a boo boo’. Gen said he was picked up from daycare and dropped off at the hospital because the poor kid was looking for you. She didn’t mention who dropped your son off to you, but you could tell it was Satoru. You could sense it by the glances she exchanged with Ian after you asked how Sachiro came to the hospital. 

So, in that case, Satoru must have found out about your little incident and didn’t care enough to see you. Did he not even have an ounce of care anymore? Or was it Gen who stopped him from seeing you? 

“Did you ask him to leave?” you confronted Gen in a mellow voice, rubbing Sachiro’s back as he snuggled into you on the hospital bed. 

Your sister knew exactly which man you were referring to, and she denied having done such. “No, I didn’t even talk to him. He took Sachi here and left.” 

You didn’t know why you looked at Ian to confirm the truth of his wife’s words, but hurt yourself upon seeing his bowed head. It was an apologetic expression that did signify your ex-husband’s blatant act of ignoring you. To hear about your near-death experience and simply leave without even checking on you should be your wake-up call. He didn’t care anymore. No, why should he care? He had Akemi. His only responsibility with you was to be a supportive father to your son. 

Why did the pain in your heart feel far more agonizing than the discomfort on your dislocated elbow?

If anything, you wanted to ask for the strongest anesthetic they could offer to numb your pain. You were desperate to have anything even if they had to put you into an eternal sleep. That would have been much easier to deal with than feeling disregarded by a person you supposedly had moved on from. Satoru did nothing wrong here. It was you who had that expectation, only to disappoint yourself when things didn’t happen as you imagined. 

And just when you thought things would get better as long as you ignore your torturous thoughts, it didn’t help that being in the hospital kept giving you flashbacks of the time you were in this exact room, hearing Satoru crying helplessly from outside and begging for you not to terminate his child. What comes around certainly goes back around. Or worse. 

Such depressive thoughts had you occupied throughout your stay there, and your unusual placidness alarmed the nurses instead of being assured that you were doing well. You heard your doctors telling your father and sister to always keep a close eye on you as the incident may not seem serious, but the trauma would undoubtedly be present somewhere and somehow. Were they aware? Of your intrusive thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself? 

The elbow arthroscopy was successful and by the second day, you were free to go home. You were placed on certain medications to help with the swelling and the pain, and while you were walking around the hospital with a listless mind, you happened to pass by the Obstetrics and Gynecology Department. What a deja vu it was, remembering the time you had seen Satoru there waiting outside for Sera. Back then, it was one of the climactic events in your life that led to a domino effect on the downfall of your marriage. Not that you were reminiscing, but it did remind you that Shoko was probably there in her consultation room and it would be nice to talk to a friend who had witnessed the wild history of your marriage. 

You asked Gen to wait for you in the car while you headed to Ieiri’s consultation room, assuring your visibly worried sister that everything was fine and that you wouldn’t take too long. You had to give Gen some slack, because despite the strains in your relationship as sisters, she was still always there for you. At the end of the day, she was family. 

Shoko, on the other hand, was the next closest thing you had for a sister. She welcomed you inside her room in a very worried embrace, telling you that if she had known about the incident, she would have gone straight to your hospital room on your first day, but you told her not to worry about it and understood that being in the medical field already had her schedule tight. 

“Well, I guess it’s perfect that you’re here, too.” Shoko smiled warmly, sitting behind her desk. She had exciting news to offer, it seemed. “I just wanna say that… of course, I’ll still be sending you a formal invitation and everything. I actually have a few gifts along with it.” 

You shared her enthusiasm. “Hmm… is it what I think it is?” 

The wedding. The most eventful day of her life would be arriving soon and you were the first one to hear it. 

“Yes!” she answered, with the utmost joy coruscating from her eyes. “I want you to be my maid-of-honor, Y/N. I’d be extremely happy if you could make it. I know you just got into an accident, but it won’t be until two months, so—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You eased her worries by chuckling. “I’m completely fine, of course I’ll be there. I can’t miss it.” 

Shoko was grateful to hear your answer, relieved even, because by asking you to be her maid-of-honor, you should already understand who Suguru’s best man would be. That was a touchy subject for you and she was keenly aware of it, but you didn’t want her to worry. You didn’t want your relationship with your ex-husband to have a negative impact on the relationship of all the other people surrounding the both of you. It was already bad enough that Shoko and Suguru almost called off their engagement after they fought over their morals as you and Satoru’s friends, and you were glad that they somehow made things work. They somehow set aside their disagreements and ultimately chose their love over anything else. 

Their love was beautiful, and while that wasn’t something you could easily have, it was something you deeply admired. 

“Where are you guys planning to hold your wedding?” you asked, steering the conversation away from any mention of your ex-husband. “Here or overseas?” 

She delighted you with her answer, sounding as if this was the perfect wedding she had always dreamed of. “It’s an intimate wedding on the lakeside. Suguru chose the location, actually, since he wanted our wedding to have the view of Mount Fuji.” 

“That’s perfect,” you said with wide eyes. “Lake Kawaguchiko?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly where it’d be.” She smiled with her eyes. “You know this resort… Hoshinoya Fuji? We already booked the place, and we have a luxury cabin for friends and families to stay at.” 

You had been there before, but you were too young to remember. All you knew was that it was a high-end resort that had the best panoramic views of Lake Kawaguchiko and Mount Fuji. The hotel owner was also a close friend of the Gojou family, so that was probably why they were able to rent the entire place for the wedding, especially at a peak season for tourists. 

Since the fall season was arriving, you could only imagine the stunning views of the autumn foliage there. It offered the perfect weather, too. It wouldn’t be as hot as summer, nor as freezing as winter. Surely, it would be nice to do some nature walks and stargazing, maybe ride a boat or bathe in a hot spring. You looked forward to it, except for the fact that your ex-husband would also be there. 

And just what a perfect timing it was, because as Shoko sorted through her patients' medical records above her desk, a file slipped from the pile, revealing the name of your very friend, Akemi. 

“Oh,” Shoko murmured apologetically as she retrieved the record, not wanting to ruin the mood of your conversation. “She, uh, came by a few days ago... with Gojou.”

You didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to hear any further detail. Akemi’s visit likely revolved around her desire to conceive, as she wouldn’t have visited Shoko otherwise. Why? If it were simply to monitor her polycystic ovary, why did she choose Shoko instead of her own gynecologist? Thinking of how your ex-husband and best friend were attempting to start a family together left your heart shattered in unimaginable pieces, stirring up painful memories of your pathetic marriage with Satoru and reopening old wounds you thought had already healed from. Wasn’t it ironic that a couple of years ago, you were crying over the same situation with Sera? 

You couldn’t stand this feeling anymore. You thought you had already freed yourself from the pain of loving him, yet here you were suffering from the same heartbreak over and over and over again. Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, the ache in your chest too raw to confront just yet. 

“It’s funny.” Although you displayed an outward smile, the sadness in your voice reflected your otherwise inward thoughts. You didn’t know why you said that. You were just too… too emotional. Almost like you couldn’t breathe. “He was never this passionate with me. They seem so in love.” 

Ieiri’s eyes carried sisterly concern in them. “Y/N, it’s not really what you think.” 

Was it? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore. You certainly weren't there to hear it anymore, either. Satoru chose her, just like what you wanted for him to do. Just like what you asked him to do. He had moved on, he had found someone who would love him for who he was, he had chosen the woman he would share the rest of his future with. Call yourself ridiculous for even feeling hurt about it, because you had no right to be and you definitely chose this. Either you own up to it, or you cry about it for the rest of your life. 

Both choices had no happy endings. 

— —

When Satoru learned about your incident in the woods, he thought he was going to lose his mind. 

Was it out of love that he swiftly left the office in the middle of a meeting just to get to where you were? 

He still had to pick up Sachiro from daycare, and he felt bad telling his son on the way to the hospital that his mother was hurt. It actually gave Satoru a hard time explaining to the 3-year old that they had to go to the hospital because his mommy was there and that she had an unfortunate encounter while riding a horse. 

“Dada, is… is mama okay?” Sachiro pouted with wide, tearful eyes as he clung to his father’s hand. “Sachi wants to go to mama!” 

“She’ll be okay, Sachi.” Gojou carried his son and soothed him as they went inside the hospital, searching for you. “Mommy’s strong, remember?” 

Was it out of love that he wanted to be the person that brought your son to you when you most needed him? 

According to the nurse, your room was on the seventh floor, but when he got there, your room was empty. It was Ian who told him that you went up the rooftop garden to get some fresh air, insisting that if Satoru wanted to go and talk to you, that it was best to leave Sachiro with them. 

And so he did. He ran hastily, almost out of breath, until he reached the rooftop, scanning every face within the vicinity until his tired blue eyes finally landed on you. 

Satoru laughed in disbelief. He scoffed bitterly, with each breath full of disgust. The tips of his fingers felt cold, while his breathing grew thin and ragged. He could feel his stomach clenching at the humiliation of seeing you engaged in an intimate make-out session with Toji Zen’in. 

How sickeningly sweet. 

At that point, he was laughing at his own expense, ignoring the elderly lady who looked at him like he was a crazy person. He stood there frozen for a few minutes, watching you kiss another man before it finally woke him up from reality. 

It was out of love that he let you go. 

You see? This was where his attachment to you would lead him. It was pure and unreasonable selfishness, but he would gain nothing at all from even seeing you. He didn’t need to care for you at all, no. You had Toji. You seemed to be goddamn happy with your life with Toji. And what a romantic fucking moment that was, too. 

Satoru couldn’t think straight when he hurriedly left the hospital and got inside his car. He desperately wanted to forget the painful image of you locking lips with somebody else. How? How would he? Fuck! He was mad, mad at himself for choosing to come to your aid like he still had any role in your life. He was disgusted at himself for ignoring Akemi’s calls after promising her a movie date after work. He couldn’t believe he had her waiting all by herself in that cinema, waiting for him to come while he was stupidly running around the hospital to see his ex-wife. 

You chose Toji, then you better be happy. Satoru hoped you were happy, and that wish came from a place of genuineness. He genuinely hoped the best for you. Because for him, it was time to fully let go and stop himself from trying to be the superhero whenever you were in danger. You weren’t his wife anymore. 

So, was it out of love that he headed straight to Akemi’s apartment that night with a bouquet of red roses? 

She didn’t know what happened nor was she given the full detail as to why he unintentionally stood her up on their date night. He had just briefly explained that he had to drop Sachiro off to you at a hospital because you got into a small accident. Akemi, being your friend, got immediately worried upon hearing the situation and asked if Satoru was able to check on you. 

He said no. He said Toji was there. He said he left as soon as dropped Sachiro off. 

And in an effort to apologize for not paying attention to the current woman in his life, Satoru pulled Akemi in a tight embrace. He held her in her arms, drunk from the sweet and citrusy notes of her perfume, before pulling away to kiss her. He kissed her with the same passion as you did with Toji. Perhaps even more, even better. He completely devoured her lips, with a hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. The taste of her tongue was sweet like strawberries, while her lips were red like cherries. 

This woman was all he needed. 

But was this love? He didn’t know. It was too soon to tell, too early to answer, too hasty to even consider. 

— —

The current situation you were in reminded you of your younger self after your mother had died. It was the same before; you never left the house, often locking yourself in your room, shutting yourself off from the world, and drowning yourself with the pain and loneliness of losing somebody important. 

Sure, no one really died for you to be acting this way right now, but the feeling was still the same. Was this really a comeuppance to all of your wrongdoings before? But just how terrible were you of a person to be hit by this unbelievable truckload of sorrow? You might as well spur on the physical pains of your angina again if this torment continued. Otherwise, how else do you avoid it? 

You were being a terrible mother, too. You were too engrossed by your own misery that you couldn’t even properly take care of Sachiro. He didn’t deserve to have an incompetent and irresponsible mother like you. He deserves someone better, someone like Akemi, who not only has all the motherly traits a woman should have, but also the physical and mental capacity of being a true, strong woman. 

Sachiro was bound to have that, anyway. Now that his father was planning his lifelong journey with another woman, and now that he was trying to build a happy family with her, you were no longer needed in the picture. There was no need for you. 

How many more times would you tell that you have accepted it? 

Because, god be damned, you knew you couldn’t. You knew you were lying to yourself when you said everything was fine, lying to Satoru when you told him you didn’t need him in your life anymore, lying to Toji for telling him that you wanted to marry him, lying to Akemi that you didn’t care if she was seeing your ex-husband, and lying to Sachiro when you promised to him that you would never leave his side. You were a liar. A terrible liar. A pitiful, terrible liar. 

How would you tell the universe that you couldn’t take it anymore? That, for once, you wanted to be showered by happiness and all the good things in life? 

Sera was right. Not everyone could have it all. There were people of lesser fortune who weren’t blessed to live a lavish life like you, yet still work hard to achieve what they want. Why couldn't you achieve your own happiness without blaming it on the universe? If this was simply a lesson, then weren’t you the top student at this rate? 

God. God, help me. You really didn’t know how to deal with this life anymore. You weren’t sure how to proceed. You couldn’t rely on anything other than the bottle of alcohol on your hand—what was once full was now half empty after you took another swig. This was your second bottle already, wasn’t it? Or third? 

You got up from the floor and failed to walk in a straight line as you made your way towards the balcony. Your steps were unsteady, wavering like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. With each attempt to move forward, your body swayed from side to side, struggling to maintain balance. You almost lost grip of the bottle you were holding. No, it did, in fact, slip from your hand and ended up crashing into the floor. Shards of glass lay across the ground, ready to pierce the soles of your feet to mirror the same physical pain your heart was experiencing. 

“Stop,” you muttered under your breath, begging for your chest to stop hurting. But it only worsened, and your antidote to that was to wash it down with even more liquor. No matter how expensive it was, you didn’t even like the taste of alcohol. You hated the sting on your throat whenever you drank it. You despised the bitterness it left on your tongue. However, it did great at numbing your emotions. 

It just felt wrong in many ways that you were seeing Satoru’s face whenever you closed your eyes. You could see his smile, his loving eyes, his beautiful lips. You missed his embrace, his kiss, his touch. You missed hearing his I love you’s. Him. You missed him. You yearned for him. Three goddamn years, and you were still undeniably in love with him. 

“Satoru…” you cried, sitting on the floor. Each breath made it harder and harder for you to catch as tears continued to stream down your face. You were tired of pretending, denying that you no longer had feelings for him when you knew deep down that you would always choose him. “S-Satoru… come back to me, please.”

Was it him coming inside your room? Or was it your vision making a fool out of you? 

“Baby, what are you doing?” Satoru’s expression was engulfed in immense worry as he knelt down and reached out to you, touching your cheek and looking at your eyes somberly. “Don’t do this yourself, Y/N.” 

Your head hung low, your gaze unfocused and glazed, as you fought to keep your eyes on the path ahead. You had to reach him. You wanted to touch him, hug him. And despite your best efforts, your movements were disjointed and erratic, betraying the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Gen had to use force just to be able to snatch the bottle away from you, forcing you to wake up to the reality where Satoru no longer existed to be there for you. It was her who came rushing inside your room in the middle of the night. The bottle of liquor was now spilled all over the floor. The same could be described with your emotions. “Get it together. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately!”

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You were in delirium after having dealt with all the terrible things the world had thrown at you. If you couldn’t drown yourself in alcohol, how else would you have been able to numb the pain? How else would you have been able to… forget? 

As much as your sister tried to hide the obvious sympathy in her voice, even your drunken mind could recognize it. “We all know you’re going down the depression lane again, but never to this extent.” Her voice cracked in the middle of her sentence, cradling you into her arms as a tear fell down her face. The Gen who would usually lecture you, was now holding you in her arms as her only baby sister. “Stop this, Y/N, please. Don’t ruin your life the second time. I-It’s hurting me. It’s hurting Dad. Do you… do you realize what Sachiro’s gonna think of you when he sees you like this?” 

“Gen…” Muffled sobs unwillingly came out of you, leaving you with such excruciating pain in the chest, so much so that it didn’t even feel like you had done surgery to fix your (quite literally) broken heart.  “I w-want him back,” you continued to cry, “I want my husband back. I want to be with h-him, Gen.” 

“Y/N.”

“Where’s S-Satoru…? D-Did he leave? Please take me to him—”

“Y/N, listen to me.” She gently cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pained eyes. “You’re intoxicated. He was never here, and he’d never come for you. You have to let it go.” 

“But—”

“He’s not good for you. He never will be.”

— —

It had been two weeks since Satoru last heard about you. Miwa was the one who updated him that you had already returned to your family’s mansion, letting him know that you were okay and that you were recovering well. Frankly, Satoru was starting to get annoyed at the fact that his secretary was still giving him updates about you. What did he care? He wasn’t your husband anymore. 

Besides, Toji was probably visiting you every day, so why did he have to worry about you? If there was anyone he should be worried about, it was Akemi. She had been experiencing terrible pelvic cramps lately, which needed to be given serious attention, but you would never see her being dramatic about it. The only thing she needed was for Gojou to accompany her visits to the OB-GYN, and even then, she never showered herself in self-pity. She carried herself like an independent woman, and that was exactly what Satoru needed in his life right now. 

He had a son to raise. He had a company to run. It wasn’t the perfect time to commit himself to someone lawfully. Heck, he didn’t even believe in marriage anymore. He realized that two people could still love each other without getting married. As long as Akemi didn’t pressure him about such things, he was fine with having her around. She didn’t ask for anything much, anyway. 

As for you, well… 

“What are you planning with that mansion you gifted Y/N?” asked Nanami, seated on the couch inside Satoru’s office, casually reading a newspaper. “Do you even remember that?” 

He certainly did. “What about it?” he questioned, idly toying with a pen on his desk. “It’s her property now. She can sell it if she wants.”

Better yet, you should let Sachiro inherit the property someday. His son was already set for a life of privilege having wealthy parents on both sides, but wouldn’t the mansion be a substantial addition to his assets in the future? Satoru couldn’t help but envision the kind of man his son would grow up into. He hoped Sachiro would not inherit his father's immaturity and pettiness but would embody the kindness and altruism of his mother. From a business perspective, however, Satoru planned to groom his son to be a leader, as he was the sole heir to the Gojou Group. Additionally, he would also inherit half of Creston and the entirety of Hearte. No wonder Sachiro was recently listed as the wealthiest kid by Forbes Japan. He even beat Megumi Zen’in from the list even though the teenager was the heir of the Zen’in business empire. 

These were the thoughts that should consume Satoru—the future, not the past. His kid, not you. And he was right about doing so, because when he came home to his penthouse, he was told that he had a visitor. 

A visitor on a Wednesday afternoon? 

Your brother-in-law, the esteemed prosecutor who sent his evil stepmother to jail, appeared on his front door, carrying Sachiro in his arms. It was hard to tell what type of emotions were visible on the man’s face, but he definitely didn’t bring any good news. 

“Ian?” Satoru promptly made way for the man to come in, ushering him into the penthouse and allowing him to set Sachiro down. The young boy was quick to dart off to his playroom, leaving the two men in an uncomfortable silence. “What’s going on? Weekends are usually my schedule with Sachi.” 

Ian cleared his throat, a hand on his pocket. “Do you mind looking after Sachiro for the time being?” 

By saying ‘for the time being’, it seemed like Ian wanted to actually say ‘until further notice.’ But that confused Satoru even more, because what was happening for the man to come here and ask him to let Sachiro stay beyond the agreed schedule with his father? He couldn’t read through Ian’s expression and it was making him uneasy. 

“I can, but… why so suddenly?” Gojou asked, glancing at his oblivious son. 

“It’s Y/N’s idea, Gen doesn’t know about it.” Ian released an awkward chuckle. “You know how my wife is.” 

Gen would absolutely hate it, Satoru was aware for sure. Though the questions lingered in his mind. “Why would Y/N want Sachi to stay with me? Where’s she?” 

Was it him or was Ian having a hard time explaining the situation? It felt like he was walking on eggshells, deciding between what had to be said and what shouldn’t. He was careful with his words when he spoke again, “Y/N flew to Monaco this morning and will be back when she’s ready. She says Sachiro should spend all of his time with you while she’s gone.” 

Monaco? Why would you be there?

Confusion bathed Satoru’s eyes. “Is it for a fashion event or something?” 

“No, she’s just…” Ian struggled heavily. “Well, to sum it up, she has to go there to sort some things out. It’s a personal thing, but she really needs this time for herself and we think it’s the best for her right now. I don’t know how long she’s gonna stay there or when she’ll be back, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to say here.”

No, he didn’t. Satoru found it difficult to fathom his ex-brother-in-law’s words, seeing as he had no general idea of what was truly going on. But if you were flying to Monaco, surely Toji wouldn’t allow you to go there all by yourself? 

Ahh. It made sense now. I see what’s happening here. 

Satoru’s lips curled into sarcasm. You would be vacationing with the love of your life. Is that what it was? Planning your halted wedding? Choosing wedding gowns? Looking for venues? There was no way you would be flying to Monaco alone, especially without Sachiro around when you two had been inseparable since his birth. 

“What kinda mother is she?” Satoru muttered in disgust, unaware that Ian had overheard him. But Ian had heard loud and clear. How could you leave your son behind like this? Couldn’t you face your ex-husband to discuss it, instead of just dropping Sachiro off as if he were some unwanted toy?

“Hold it right there,” Ian interjected, becoming defensive at the accusation. “You have no idea what she’s going through.”

How would he know? No one was telling him shit. No one was giving him details, so did they expect him to understand things and accept them as they were? Did they do the same thing to Satoru when he was at the verge of losing his sanity asking everyone for forgiveness over and over? 

“I've never taken sides between you two, Satoru, you know that,” Ian continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor and speak with clear judgment, “But one thing I’m not gonna let you do is call Y/N a bad mother.”

Satoru’s chest tightened at Ian's words, a mixture of guilt and frustration bubbling up inside him. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn, but the pain and resentment were too raw to contain. It felt like you were abandoning him and your child, like you were off to a new chapter in your life again, and leaving everything behind. Perhaps this was his trauma from the New York thing crawling back at him, but it definitely reminded him of the day you had abandoned him. For three fucking years. How long would it take you to return now? 

Why do you keep doing this? He was sick of it. You kept running away instead of talking to him. He gets it, people change, circumstances change, but couldn’t you at least have the decency to talk to him about it? Was it wrong for him to wish you’d handled this differently? To wish that you’d talked to him, involved him in the decision-making process, instead of just making this unilateral decision and leaving him to pick up the pieces? 

Satoru took a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of Sachi,” he reassured, “I’ll take some time off work and have ‘Kemi help me out.” 

He looked back at Ian, his eyes pleading for further details, for answers, for some semblance of clarity in the midst of this emotional turmoil.

Yet none of it was given. 

And so, would it still be wrong to assume that he could now completely forget about you? That this opportunity to be with Sachiro would allow him a chance to share it with someone else? If you spent three years of your life playing house in New York with Toji, would it still be unfair for Satoru to do the same with Akemi? 

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl.

Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.1k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content towards the end. mild alcohol consumption. age gap. smut in next chapter(s).

Author's Note - part one is finally here!! thank you so much to everyone who asked to be tagged, and who liked and reblogged the masterlist. i am SO excited to share this with you. i've built this world in my head and trust me it is gorgeous - salty ocean breezes, sunsoaked sailboats and billowing white linen shirts. i hope you can lose yourself in my little seaside town with bucky for the time it takes you to read this, just as i did while writing it. i can't wait to write more of this series for you x

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Requests. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

next chapter (two).

Tethering /tɛð(ə)rɪŋ/

An event in which two soulmates are bound together forever. Only occurs when the Universe decides it is time. No sooner, no later.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The gentle ocean breeze gives you a moment of respite from the scorching sun that's beating down. You're half asleep, laying on the cool tile of your balcony when your phone rings.

"Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Lacie? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I am freaking out right now, oh my god. I didn't know who to call. You'll never guess what just happened to me!"

You can guess. In fact, you already have.

Lacie's Tethering. It's finally happened.

You're taught, growing up, that your Tethering is the biggest moment of your life. It shapes who you are forever. Sets you on your eternal path. You're presented with your soulmate in a big display of love and affection and metaphorical fireworks. It's supposed to be magical.

You wish people would shut up about it.

The World seems to be split into two categories - the people that have been Tethered, and the people that haven't.

You fall into the latter.

You're repeatedly told it'll happen one day. It'll happen when the time is right. It'll happen when you least expect it.

You're not sure you ever want it to happen.

The idea that the Universe determines the person you're with forever has never sat right with you. What happened to free will? What happened to personal preference? You believe you should at least have a choice in the matter. It's your future, after all.

Not everyone shares the same sentiment.

"Babe, you still there?"

Lacie's excitement filled voice pulls you back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you busy? Can you meet me for coffee, like, now?"

You take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on your face.

"Sure. I'll see you in ten."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Oh my god babe, it was just incredible! You won't even believe it. There's nothing like it, truly."

You remind yourself quickly that Lacie is your best friend, and that you owe it to her to be happy for her. Personal feelings about soulmates aside.

"Tell me all about it, Lace!" you encourage, grabbing a hold of her hand excitedly.

The blonde girl squeals before shuffling closer to you, pressing her knees against yours.

"Okay, so. Picture this. I'm at my gym, doing my usual routine. I'm wearing my super cute pink Lulu Lemon set, you know the one with the flowers?"

She waits for you to nod in affirmation before she continues.

"So, I accidentally drop a weight on the ground, and it makes the biggest noise. I'm super embarrassed, and I'm trying to pick it up, but it's so heavy. And then, the hottest guy I have ever seen appears. Like, seriously gorgeous."

As much as you despise the whole soulmate thing, you can't deny how happy Lacie seems. She's almost vibrating with it, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"He comes over and picks it up for me, sets in back on the rack. And then he introduces himself, and shakes my hand, and it happened."

"What was it like?" you smile, eager for her to carry on.

"Like fucking magic."

You've heard that before. A million times. From literally everyone. Surely it can't be that magical if billions of people have experienced it.

"Magic?" you prompt.

"It is indescribable, babe. It's like... it's like everything just falls into place. Like everything finally makes sense!"

She jumps out of her chair, hugging you tightly. She's practically sat on your lap in the coffee shop, but neither of you really care.

"So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"His name is Cameron. He's new in town, he just moved here for work. He's a personal trainer, so he's like, super fit. And gorgeous. Did I mention gorgeous?"

"Maybe once or twice," you laugh.

"I'm so happy," Lacie whispers, emotion choking her voice. "I can't believe it finally happened. This is the day I've been waiting for since I was a little girl."

You hug her tighter, and ignore the look you get from the barista.

"I love you," she declares, suddenly serious. "You know that me being Tethered now doesn't change that, right?"

"I know," you confirm. "I love you too, Lace. I'm really happy for you."

You genuinely mean it. Lacie has talked about meeting her soulmate every day since you met her in the 3rd grade. You may have never quite shared her enthusiasm, but you admire her passion. And you adore her, more than anyone.

"So, what now? Are you gonna get married tomorrow and run off into the sunset?"

"I'm choosing to ignore your sarcasm because I know you're using it as a coping mechanism," she tells you pointedly. "And I know that there's a tiny part of you that wishes you'd been Tethered already, so you don't have to deal with everyone talking to you about it."

Jackpot. She's read you like a book.

"No, we're not getting married tomorrow," she rolls her eyes before continuing, "but we are going on a real date tonight. We're gonna get dinner and get to know each other. Isn't this crazy? I'm going on a date with the guy I'm gonna be spending the rest of my life with!"

"That is kinda crazy, actually," you laugh. "What are you gonna wear?"

"It doesn't matter - we're going to be together forever anyway!"

You make Lacie promise to send you a picture of her outfit as you're leaving the coffee shop, which she agrees to with glee. On your way home, you pick up some of your Mom's favourite wine, and prepare yourself for another soulmate based conversation that will inevitably happen when you tell your parents the events of the day at dinner tonight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hi, sweetheart!" your Dad beams as you step through the front door of your childhood home.

"Hey, Dad," you greet, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. "Where's Mom? I brought wine."

"Kitchen," he gestures with a nod of his head. "She's making that mango dessert you like."

Walking into your Mother's kitchen is like dipping your feet into a pool on a scorching hot day. The windows are propped open, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The ocean breeze drifts through the room, ruffling your Mom's dress and floating the hair away from her face. The evening sun beams in, illuminating the space with a golden glow. It smells like fresh fruit, mint, and salt water. It's a haven.

"Hi, Mama."

"Oh, my love! Just in time. I was about to call you to see if you were alright."

She makes her way over to you and kisses you on the head swiftly, before walking to the cabinet to grab wine glasses.

"Sorry I'm a little later than I said. I changed my outfit three times - it's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I know! Summer, finally. We've been waiting long enough."

She takes the bottle of wine from your hand and pours it into the glasses.

"You've poured four, Mama."

"Didn't your Dad tell you? Bucky's joining us for dinner."

"Oh. No, he didn't mention anything."

"He's back from his vacation. He promised he'd show us all of the pictures he took!"

She grabs the glasses and floats out of the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thoughts of Bucky Barnes swirling around like dust in the sunlight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

Your Dad's best friend.

They met a few years ago, when Bucky moved to town. He said he was looking for something quieter, sick of city living. He wanted to slow down a bit, finally take a breath.

He was out for a run around town, getting his bearings, when he stopped your Dad on the driveway to ask about his car. They bonded over their love for motorcycles and vintage vehicles, and the rest is history.

Bucky's been a regular fixture in your life for so long, you can't remember a time before. All you know, is that it was probably a little more peaceful. His boyish charm is infectious, bringing out the youth in your Dad. They're like teenagers, when they're together. Long lost frat brothers, your Mom jokes.

She's got a soft spot for him. Most people do. It might have something to do with the fact he's devastatingly handsome.

It's no secret that Bucky Barnes is a ladies man. He is without even trying. He's charming, gorgeous, funny in all the right ways. He's mysterious, but not disarming. Tough, but not scary. Rebellious, but not a liability. He's a catch.

A catch, with a taste for beautiful women.

Your Dad always jokes that he's the towns most eligible bachelor. You can't count on two hands the amount of women you know that have dated him - but nothing seems to stick. He isn't Tethered, after all.

Some people choose not to date, if they haven't met their soulmate. They wait and wait, and when the time comes, they're complete. Others take pleasure in dating before it happens. Might as well make the most of the freedom, Bucky said once. You can't help but agree.

Might as well make the most of the freedom.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hey, buddy!" you hear from the hallway. You make your way out of the kitchen to be met with the sight of Bucky, sun-kissed and practically glowing. His hair has a few light streaks from the sun, and the faint freckles on his cheeks are more prominent now. His steel blue eyes meet yours, mischief rife in them.

"Hi, honey," he greets, draping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses you on the cheek, light stubble scratching your skin. You throw an arm around his back and look up at him.

"There's no way this tan is natural," you tease, nudging him slightly.

"It makes me even more gorgeous, doesn't it?" he jokes, winking at you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, grabbing a bottle of wine from his bag.

"I brought your favourite, Lori."

"So did I," you echo, laughing.

"Great minds, honey. Great minds!"

"You can never have too much wine," your Mom yells out from the kitchen doorway. "Bring it in here, Buck. I'll put it in the refrigerator."

"Yes ma'am," he obliges, making his way to her with a smile on his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Guess what happened today," you begin, in between bites of your strawberry salad.

The three of them look at you intently, urging you to continue.

"Lacie got Tethered."

"How exciting!" your Mom squeals.

"That's a long time coming," Bucky chimes in. You look at him and smirk.

"Tell me about it."

"Here we go," your Dad smiles. "Our two anti soulmate protestors."

"Don't make it sound so political," Bucky laughs. "She's the only one that gets it."

"I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again. Just. You. Wait," your Mom lectures. "The two of you don't get it."

"Magic, fireworks, eternal love, blah blah blah. Trust me, I get it."

"She gets it," Bucky echoes. "And so do I. The Universe decides our fate, and we get no choice whatsoever. I don't believe in it, is all. I have no faith in the system. I should get to choose."

"But you feel like you are choosing," your Dad defends. "It didn't feel like it was being determined for me. It's hard to explain."

"It's just so... backwards," you justify. "I can't believe we live in a Universe where we have all the choices in the world, but don't get to choose the person we spend the rest of our lives with."

"It's worked out pretty well for us," your Mom smiles.

And it has. The first thing anyone notices when they meet your parents is that they are undeniably in love. You've never met two people more perfect for each other - which should solidify your belief in the Universe, really. But it doesn't. You can't explain where your lack of faith in it came from. It just appeared one day, and you haven't been able to shake it since. You're grateful every day to have two Tethered, happy, smitten parents. You've seen how hard it is for people with Untethered Mothers and Fathers. The judgment, the uncertainty, the hushed whispers. It sounds unbearable.

"Yes it did," your Dad confirms, shaking you from your thoughts. He reaches for your Mom's hand and kisses the back of it tenderly, eyes never once leaving hers. You look to Bucky next to you, who smiles at you gently. Feelings about soulmates aside, the both of you love these two people sat across the table with all your heart.

"Trust me, sweetheart," your Mom begins. "I know you're against the idea now - God knows I was the same at your age. But when it happens, you'll forget about all of your rebellion. You'll just be happy."

You nod in agreement, praying for the conversation to be over. As if he can read your mind, Bucky pipes up.

"Let me show you some pictures from Italy. I did promise I would."

You shoot him a grateful look before picking up your empty wine glass and making your way to the kitchen for a refill.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dining room is now lit solely by candlelight, wax dripping onto the white lace tablecloth like condensation on a cold glass. The sun fell asleep hours ago, the four of you enjoying each others company with no regard for time.

"Oh, shit. It's late," your Dad says suddenly.

"You got big late night plans?" you tease.

"We have Clara and Mike's wedding at the weekend, so we're flying out tomorrow. We should probably get some sleep, so we're not exhausted."

Your Mom rises from her chair and kisses you on the head, before grabbing the dessert bowls from the table. Your Dad helps, smiling every time his hand brushes hers accidentally.

"Thanks for coming, kiddo. Your place next week?"

"Of course. I think I'll try that salmon recipe you sent me."

"Can't wait," your Dad assures you, giving you a one sided hug. He squeezes you once before letting you go to grab your shoes.

You can hear your parents saying their goodbyes to Bucky as you tie your laces, smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you stand. They all join you in the hallway, Bucky leaning over to grab his jacket from behind you. Fuck, he smells good.

"Have a great time at the wedding, you guys. Send me pictures, please!" you say as you hug your Mom goodbye.

"We will! Drive home safe, the both of you!"

They shut the door softly, leaving you and Bucky stood on the porch. The evening air chills your bare legs, salt in the breeze sticking to your lips.

"Where's your car?" he asks, looking around.

"Oh, I walked. It was a nice day, and I'm trying to be a little greener. Save the planet, and all," you chuckle.

"You want a ride, then?" he offers, leaning against the side of his truck.

"Uh - maybe," you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You feel antsy, for some reason. There's a buzz flowing through your veins, making you a little restless.

"Maybe?" he smirks.

"I just, I'm not sure if I wanna go home yet. It might be that I've had three glasses of wine, but I'm kinda... jittery? Think I need to burn off some energy. Maybe I'll walk home."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

You quirk a brow in confusion.

"It's dark, and all those college kids are in town on their break. I don't trust 'em."

You fight to keep the grin off your face. You weirdly like it when Bucky gets protective. He's always so calm, so relaxed - it takes a lot to rile him up. He looks hot with a clenched jaw.

"Why don't we go somewhere?"

"Where?" you ask tentatively.

"I don't know," he thinks for a second. "How about the beach?"

You smile, gazing at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"I fucking love the beach."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The ocean waves break the shore steadily, the repetitive pattern calming you both. You're sat on the sand, grains slipping through your hands where you're pouring it out through your fingers. The light of the moon reflects off the surface of the sea, illuminating the abandoned cove. It's just you, Bucky, and the night sky.

The alcohol in your system has evened you out, warm buzz keeping you sheltered from the chill. Bucky's stretched out next to you, strong arms folded underneath his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a slither of sun kissed skin. You pretend not to notice his Adonis belt, or the little trail of hair that leads down into his waistband.

The silence is easy, comfortable. You don't get to hang out like this often, just the two of you. It's nice.

A notification on your phone breaks through the tranquility. You both flinch.

"Sorry," you mutter, checking the screen. "It's Lacie, telling me about her perfect date."

He chuckles lowly at your tone, sitting up to look at you.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" he asks. "You hate the whole soulmate thing, but you like seeing her happy."

Bingo. It's like he's read your mind.

"I don't know why I hate it so much" you confess quietly. "It's a part of life. I can't avoid it. I just think - what if... what if I'm like, the exception, or something? What if I never meet my soulmate - or - what if I meet them when I'm like, seventy? That happens, you know! And then I'll be fucking cursed to spend my entire life feeling like this."

"And what is this?"

"Hopeless. That's what this is. I just feel pretty fucking hopeless."

You're not sure why you're baring your soul to Bucky tonight. You could blame the wine, but you know that's not what it is. Maybe it's because he seems to be the only one that understands.

"Me too," he whispers.

You whip your head around to stare at him in shock. He laughs at the look on your face, and continues.

"You're young - you have time. I'm forty in a couple of years. Every single one of my friends is married to their soulmate - except for me."

You bite at your lip nervously, but refuse to tear your eyes away from his steel blue ones. His face is lit by the glow from the moon, and it takes your breath away for a second. He looks almost ethereal.

"You always act so... unbothered. I didn't realise... I guess I just, I didn't -" you try to gather your thoughts before continuing. "This fucking sucks, huh?"

He laughs with his whole chest, and you're convinced the sound is so special, so rare, that you should bottle it. Sell it as medicine. It'd cure anything, you're sure of it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's the waiting around that's the worst part. The unknown. It could be minutes, it could be decades. I just don't know."

"At least for now, we have each other," you joke.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?" he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

You allow your weight to press into his side a little, leaning in. He's warm, and he's familiar, and in this moment, he understands you better than anyone else in the world.

"We'll be okay, honey," he murmurs. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to."

You close your eyes, and allow his words and the breaking waves to calm your nerves. Bucky wraps an arm around you, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're not sure if it's the honest conversation, or the brisk ocean breeze, but you've sobered up in record time. Your body registers this, and sends a shiver down your spine.

"You cold?" Bucky asks you. "You wanna go home?"

"Not yet," you whisper. "Not yet."

He shrugs off his worn brown leather jacket and slips it over your shoulders. It smells so strongly of him that it makes you dizzy. Bucky settles back down in his original place, returning his arm to where it was draped over you. His rough fingertips rub patterns into the material that now covers your arms, and you wish, for a fleeting moment, that it was your bare skin instead.

"You been working on anything new recently?" he enquires in a hushed tone, careful not to ruin the atmosphere.

"I made a damn good batch of macarons yesterday," you reply, beaming smile etched across your face. "Raspberry and lemon. I'll bring you some, next time I pass the Garage. You're gonna love them."

"You know, I think the only reason I ever get Mechanic of the Month is because you bring by all of your sweet treats."

You laugh melodiously, and the sound makes Bucky's heart stutter in his chest without warning.

"Happy to be of service," you tease. "I take requests, too, if you ever want something specific. Just let me know."

"You're the best, sugar."

You sink into Bucky's hold a little, daring to rest your head on his shoulder. When he doesn't stop you, you exhale, and relax even more.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks.

"Nope. You?"

"Nah. I'm going sailing, finally. It's been way too fuckin' long," he grumbles. "Your Dad's usually my right hand man, but he'll be in Ohio. You wanna come?"

The idea of laying on the deck of a boat in the blazing sunshine with a shirtless Bucky Barnes sounds like heaven. Who could say no to an offer like that?

"Yeah, of course. I'll bring a picnic, if you like. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds perfect," he replies, squeezing your shoulder.

Suddenly, he rises to his feet, extending a hand out to you. You grab it, and he pulls you up, the both of you shaking sand off yourselves.

"It's late, and dark, and a little cold. You ready to go?"

You nod your head, and make your way over to his truck, ignoring the heat that blooms over your chest when he opens the passenger door for you before his own.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Thank you, for tonight," you say as he pulls up in front of your apartment building.

"Thank you," he replies, killing the engine. "It's nice to have you back, you know. Wondered if you were gonna finish college and stay out there in California. Thought we might not see you again."

He almost sounds... relieved. The idea that he might have missed you if you didn't return effects you more than it should.

"I liked it there, but... I don't know. My family's here. I'm only twenty three. I've got time to move around the country. I missed this place too much when I was away."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he chuckles.

"I know, trust me. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah, they say a lot of fuckin' things," he jokes.

Bucky swings his door open, hopping down from the drivers seat. He makes his way over to your side, holding out a hand so you can jump out.

"Careful," he warns. "It's higher than it looks."

You grab his hand, and step onto the metal sill. Your foot slips slightly, sending you tumbling down and forward, out of the truck. Luckily, Bucky catches you, one hand in yours, other on your hip.

"Woah, easy. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you breathe.

He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, searching for any signs of distress. You place your palms over his, silently reassuring him.

And then, it happens.

Warm, golden, molten electricity surges through your veins, lighting up each and every one of your nerve endings. Your surroundings explode into glorious technicolour, everything suddenly brighter and more vibrant. It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, only to be replaced by one that beats in a slightly different rhythm. There's flowers blooming in your ribcage, new life happening inside of you. You catch eyes with Bucky, expecting to see his stormy blue ones looking back at you. Instead, all you see is your future.

Vivid, flashing images of Bucky Barnes fill your mind, each one of them tinted with a warm, rosy hue. You feel like you're being reinvented. Your skin is alive, hyperaware of the way Bucky's palms are still gently cupping your cheeks. Your fingertips tingle with anticipation where they rest on his, itching to touch every inch of him. You feel as if the oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with love.

Your knees are the first to buckle, the weight of the moment taking you down. You hit the ground, and so does Bucky, his palms not once leaving your face. You're both kneeling on the warm concrete, ocean waves providing a distant soundtrack. Blood is rushing in your ears, and you wonder for a second if you're about to pass out. You squeeze Bucky's hands so hard, it's a miracle you don't break his fingers. He squeezes back, eyes locked on one another.

After what feels like an eternity, you both break out of your reverie. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's, both of you panting.

You're trying to catch your breath unsuccessfully. You move one of your hands to rest on Bucky's chest, right on his heart. You swear the steady beat of it spells out your name.

He mirrors you, and moves his own hand to rest above your frantic heart, the other still glued to your cheek. You both breathe, in and out, trying to match each other. When you finally do, it's as if time stops. It's just you and Bucky. One heartbeat. One soul.

You break away from him to look into his eyes again. They look different, you think. He looks different.

He gazes back at you, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The moonlight dances off your faces, illuminating the moment both your lives changed forever.

"It's you," he breathes in disbelief.

A laugh escapes your chest, surprising you both. He chuckles with you, and before you know it, the both of you are in hysterics, sitting on the sidewalk at three in the morning.

"Of course it's me," you giggle. "The two people that hate soulmates, Tethered together. You couldn't write it."

Bucky grins at you, clutching at his stomach.

You both take a breath, and realise your surroundings. Bucky gets up first, heaving you up by your arms. He towers over you, suddenly close. Not close enough, you decide. Never close enough.

You lunge forward and crash your lips to his. Bucky instinctively wraps one arm around your back, moving his other hand to hold you by the back of your neck. He tastes like salt and spearmint and every kiss for the rest of your life.

Bucky presses himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing you to come closer. He aches to climb into you, sew himself into your ribcage. He'd be content to live there, beating your heart, forever.

You whine, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You tilt your head back, and fist your hands into his shirt, plastering yourself to his front. He shoves his thigh in between your legs, the rough denim a welcome contrast to your soft skin. You buck your hips forward, and the friction is so delicious it makes you dizzy. You've never been kissed like this. It's almost feral. You're both surrendering to your fates, giving in to the animalistic urges coursing through you.

A seagull caws on a nearby street lamp, and the sound makes you both jump. You suddenly realise your scenario. Your Dad's best friend, who also happens to be your soulmate, has you pressed against his truck in the street, kissing you like he's running out of air and you're his only oxygen source. If it goes any further, you'll both get arrested for public indecency.

"Fuck, sugar," he murmurs against your mouth. "My pretty girl. My honey."

"My soulmate," you whisper.

The reality of it comes crashing down like a tsunami, drenching the both of you.

Bucky kisses you again, gentler this time. The tenderness makes you want to cry.

"What do we do now?" you mumble, fear coating your voice.

He senses your trepidation instantly. He feels it, actually, right in the front of his chest. It's like you suddenly share one body. There's no guessing, anymore. He knows exactly how you feel.

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his building anxiety. He knows that if he stays calm, you'll stay calm. That's how Tethering works, right? He has to keep it together for the both of you, despite the panic that's rising in him, vibrating in his bones.

"How about... how about we both go to bed, get some sleep - and then we go sailing, later on today, just like we planned? And no matter what, we take everything one step at a time."

"One step at a time," you repeat, attempting to pacify you both.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures. "I know we will."

You find the will to step apart, which proves harder than you thought. It's like Bucky's an anchor - fastening you to peace, to happiness, to serenity. The more distance you put between your bodies, the more unsettled you feel. When you're not touching him, it's as if everything becomes unsteady, more difficult. You feel like you're on a rogue sailboat, battling the waves, threatened to be thrown overboard. Bucky is your lifevest, your lighthouse in the dark night. You're not sure how you're supposed to live your life any more than two feet away from him at all times.

You breathe, and smooth down your dress, running your fingers through your hair. You reach out and adjust Bucky's shirt where it's been wrinkled due to your tight grip.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers tangling around your own.

"Goodnight, Buck," you echo.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, savouring the taste of your cherry lip balm. He wraps his arms around you, unable to resist. Bucky breathes you in deeply, smiling uncontrollably. Nudging your nose with his, he murmurs gently against your mouth.

"My honey girl."

tag list <3

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[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter one: god you've got the blackest eyes

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire… and the demon’s.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn’t know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

a/n: Hi folks, for the month of October this year I'm going to be reuploading all the chapters of this fic onto tumblr, this time hopefully for good. I apologize for the time that it's been taken down. Genuinely, this fic has garnered so much kindness and support and I think of it as one of my biggest accomplishments. I hope you all enjoy it just as much the second time around as the first.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Through me you pass into the city of woe, Through me you pass into eternal pain, Through me you pass among forsaken people. Justice moved my exalted creator; I was wrought by divine power, Supreme wisdom, and primal love. Before me all things created were eternal, And eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. -Dante Alighieri, The Inferno, Canto III

The book you’ve used for ages now, since late in your junior year of high school, has only one page in it that you haven’t utilized. You don’t know how much faith to put in it– you’re a little short on faith, these days– but, the spellbook lays it out simply, so you follow its directions to the letter. 

To summon a demon at a crossroads, go to a place where two paths meet on the dark moon. You find peace and quiet in the woods, deep where you know no one walks at night but two paths cross in a small clearing banked with trees. It’s your favorite place to go when you want to do a spell– ritual– and you don’t want to be bothered. The whole thing can’t be more than twenty feet across. Above the overhang of trees, there’s no moon in the sky, only stars.

Cast a circle of protection. That took more research than just the book in your hands, but years of collecting information have given you learned knowledge– there are a million ways to cast a circle, and different circles for different purposes. You do your best to create one for protection. You draw a literal circle in the dirt with a stick, fill it with salt, and walk around the circle three times clockwise to cast it. You light candles to give yourself some light, and to free up your hands of the flashlight you carried to see your way through the woods. 

Make an offering of copper. Your hand pauses on the copper dog tag in your hand. You’d thought of just offering a penny, but you remembered reading somewhere that pennies barely contain copper anymore, and you didn’t have anything else that was entirely made of the one metal. 

You run your finger over the embossed name on it. Lacey. Your pet’s old collar feels heavy in your hand as you remove the tag from the leather strap and bury it in the earth, you guess, to reach the… Underworld? Hell? You can’t honestly say, considering the text you’re referencing only calls it the Otherworld.

It’s a big sacrifice. It’s personal. But, you guess, that gives it more meaning. Making a deal is personal business, and you have your reasons.

Recite the summoning incantation. A stanza of words you don’t understand. You don’t think it’s in Latin, but you try your best, all the same. You read them from the book before you, and feel your blood rushing in your veins as you do.

State your desire out loud in a clear voice. Well, that’s a little more difficult. What is it that you want?

You take a breath, go to speak, and then stop. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know exactly how to describe your pain. You don’t know how to voice your anger well enough, you just know you need to… you need to get it out, somehow. This is a very crucial step in the ritual, you have to do it.

“I came here to make a deal,” you speak frankly, clearly. “I’m prepared to do anything. I’ve run out of options. I’ve been hurt too many times, by too many people who didn’t care what they did to me. I’ve lost everything I genuinely loved. I’m… I’m angry, and desperate, and I’m frightened. And I feel so alone. It’s eating me alive, and I just… I just want the ability to make things go my way, for once.” Good enough, you hope.

Wait for an answer.

You do. You listen intently, to the song of the leaves in the trees rustling in the slight breeze, to the crickets chirping in the grass. You wait long enough that you start to rethink your approach. 

It could be that things will turn around if you just wait another month, or another month after that. Maybe you’ll get the car back. Maybe you’ll get the promotion that was given to the newbie that you trained. Maybe your ex will stop coming around your work to intimidate you. Maybe you’ll get a new dog to take the place of the one that he killed. Maybe the evangelical town you live in will stop shunning you and calling you a witch, like something out of the middle ages.

Unlikely, that last one.

Just when you swear it’s a failure, that you should just pack up and leave, that’s when a strong gust of wind rips through the clearing out of nowhere. The candles blow out– and then, oddly enough, relight themselves. There’s a slight scent of smoke on the breeze, and you look around to make sure none of the candles fell over in the wind.

They’re all perfectly fine. There’s nothing amiss, it seems, until you hear a cough and movement across the clearing. You look forward, and see a pair of black combat boots in the stream of light from your flashlight. You follow the boots up to a pair of legs, clad in dark jeans, and then further up, to a torso, and a head, and a pair of sparkling eyes.

“Hi.”

You stare at him, probably looking like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes. You’d fully expected the traditional scary depiction of a demon– maybe horns, goat hooves, et cetera. But the man that answered your call is… just a man. A pretty one. He has long, curly hair, which falls over his broad shoulders and stirs in the wind. His plush lips curve up in a relaxed, cocky smile, as he takes in the sight of you in return. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” 

“Sorry, hi. Hello.” You shake your head. “Can you believe I honestly thought I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time?” 

“I can believe a lot of things. You know, there’s a reason why the demon summoning ritual is first in that book.” His voice is soft and resonant. You get a mental image of heat waves radiating from tar-black and glowing magma, rolling slowly over lava beds. The image disappears just as soon as it flashes into your mind.

“Well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about making a deal with a demon first thing,” you explain, looking away shyly. “But I’ve tried all the spells in this book and not a single one of them worked. Just seems like everything is getting worse all the time.”

He doesn’t look away– rather, he keeps staring at you, unblinkingly. Like you’re the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen. He leans up against the tree that he appeared beside, his leather jacket falling open to reveal a shirt with a demon’s head on it. Fitting. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. 

“So, now you wanna make a deal with little ol’ me, huh?” He grins, a gorgeous smile that flashes bright, sharp teeth at you. He lifts a cigarette to his mouth and bites it gently between his teeth. He doesn’t pull out a lighter. Instead, you watch him light up with a small flame that erupts from the tip of his thumb. 

“Depends on who you are,” you retort, eyes following the movement of his hands. They’re weighed down by large, silver rings that reflect the light of the flame before it snuffs out. “What’s your name?”

He makes a short noise in his throat, shaking his head abruptly. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as you feel he should– more like he’s trying to warn you against something you don’t want. He peers at you from beneath his wavy bangs as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and uses it to point at you. “Names are really powerful things where I come from, babydoll. Best not to bite off more than you can chew yet. Once we cut a deal– that’s when you get my name.”

You make a face as you mull that over. “So what do I call you, in the meantime? Demon daddy?” 

“You could,” he chuckles. The demon rocks to the side, crossing his legs at the ankles. “If you really wanted to. I wouldn’t mind, it’s flattering.” 

You grunt. “I think I’ll pass on that, actually.” He tilts his head with a sicker, watching you with an amused smile while you shift in place. “So, do I– I mean, you need to know what I want, right? Is that how this starts?”

“No, I know what you want.” He exhales a stream of smoke from his nostrils. “You want power. To get a fair shake, find your place, change your life. Defend yourself against the assholes making that life, well. A living hell.” As he spits out the words, his voice rings sharp through the trees, like the strike of a hammer on glowing metal, shooting sparks off into the air. 

“I want to take all this pain and just… return to sender. Give it back to them, y’know? I never wanted any of it,” you justify. Your voice is too small in comparison with his. “Maybe then I’ll be able to fucking breathe.”

For how little space you allow yourself to take up, he seems to consume the rest of it. He nods slowly. “That’s a fair request, sweetheart.”

“It’s selfish, I know.”

“Making a deal for power is inherently a selfish thing,” he shrugs. “Own it. I’m certainly not judging.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’re still so nervous, being so near him– ten feet away and growing closer every second, it seems, even though neither of you have moved. You feel like, no matter how far you pull back, the flow of fiery lava he seems to embody will keep creeping towards you until you’re burned alive.

His dark eyes glow like coals in the night as he looks you up and down, and then he quickly pushes himself away from the tree. You startle at the abrupt movement, and watch as he swings around it like Gene Kelly on a lamp post. 

When he rounds the tree, he uses the momentum to throw himself toward your circle. You flinch, and he frowns, but continues moving toward you at a slower pace, holding his hands out innocently. “Wanna know a secret? About how all this,” he twirls a finger in the air, indicating the ritual you’re in the middle of, “works?”

You nod, gazing up at him shyly. If you felt at all powerful while casting the circle and starting the ritual, he’s managed to take the wind out of your sails. You can feel the power radiating off of him in waves.

He smirks at you. “You make your petition– when you say the words in that little book,” he points at the volume at your feet, “and that petition is answered by whichever demon caters most to that desire.” He points at himself emphatically, his eyebrows raised. “Me? Infernal majesty of freaks and misfits. I’m your demon daddy.”

You finally giggle, and it makes him smile fondly, like that’s what he’d been gunning for all along. He backs up a step and puffs his cigarette. 

“I’m here to help you, sweetheart.” He regards you for a second, like he’s thinking things over. “That is, as long as you agree to my terms.”

“Terms?” You echo, but you were sort of expecting that. Nothing for nothing, right? “What are the terms?”

“Ah, they’re simple. Very traditional,” he waves his hand like it’s frivolous. He holds his hand out in midair, and just like how he’d conjured the flames, he produces a weathered book. It looks like a composition book that has scribbles and doodles all over the front of it– the same demon head that adorns his shirt. “You sign your name with your blood in my little black book, you hop on one foot with your hand on your head and pledge your undying fealty to the dark lord Kthulu, and then you meet me on the sabbath to kill a child and make them into soup.” 

He smiles, fluttering his eyelashes at you innocently. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You blurt. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious– what is this, the dark ages?” He snorts as he lowers the composition book. “Nah, we don’t do human sacrifice on the sabbath anymore, it was getting too difficult to evade the witch hunters.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He flashes you a disarming grin. You can feel yourself halfway smirking as well, incredulous but somehow enjoying his humor. Then he shakes his head and says, seriously, “No, you do have to sign my book, though. And then meet me back here on the full moon to fuck.”

You blink at him, reeling from the whiplash of that. “You… I’m sorry?”

“I find it best not to sugarcoat it, y’know.” He shrugs, “Think of this as a marriage, of sorts. I give you the power to smite thine enemies, live deliciously, blah blah blah, and then you meet me at the crossroads every full moon to be my whore and we fuck like bunnies all night. Simple as that.”

“That’s far from simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be monogamous, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continues frankly, “except on the full moon. I won’t compromise about that– you’ll be all mine, and I’m all yours. No takesies backsies.”

“No– that’s not–” You exhale, holding your hands over your eyes. “I’m just… not promiscuous like that…”

“Sweetheart.” He waits until you’ve lowered your hands to look at him, and he hums, with a saccharine smile that reminds you of the power you’d felt sweep through the clearing when he arrived. “You won’t be the first good girl I’ve broken, and you won’t be the last. If you’re worried about promiscuity, well… I answered your petition. I know what goes on in that pretty head, and it barely scratches the surface of what I’ve seen and done.” 

The toe of his boot barely nudges the edge of your circle, and a spark crackles in the dark from the impact. The light dances in his eyes longer than it remains in the air, like they caught the spark and ignited. 

“Trust me,” he says, drawing you in with the low register of his voice. “I can give you more than power. I can give you protection. I can give you real happiness. Karma’s a fucking bitch, so I can be, too. This is just such a little thing in return. And who knows… you may even like it.”

You shiver at that, even though his presence feels hot, like his stream of lava is surrounding you, crowding you in, boiling you where you stand. He’s right– you absolutely might like it. 

Because there’s just something magnetic between you, isn’t there? You can sense it, more than any heat and any sort of primal fear you might have instinctively at his presence. There’s a certain pull you feel toward him, emanating even through the salt barrier on the ground. 

You want to wrap yourself in him. Boil you alive, burn you to a crisp, destroy you– you don’t care.

“Or… is it that you don’t like this body?” He wonders aloud, striding backward two steps. He turns, his hand lifting his seemingly ever-burning cigarette to his lips. “Figures– y’know, I can be anything you want me to be, babydoll.”

Confused, you watch as he transforms in front of you. In the length of two steps while he paces across the clearing, his face and body stretches and contorts, until you’re not staring at the same visage anymore. He stops, and he turns to you with his palms up, like he’s waiting for your approval. 

You’re looking at Tom fucking Cruise. 

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” you shake your head vehemently, scowling. You wave your hands demandingly, “Put it back. You were so hot before– please, please go back to the way you were.”

The demon grins and turns his head, throwing the cigarette away. His hair grows back to its previous length, his face morphing as if made of clay until you meet the same pretty smile you’ve come to enjoy looking at. 

He chuckles, grabbing a lock of his hair and drawing it across his lips. “You think I’m hot?”

“Of course,” you murmur, but you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can hear it. His eyes are embers, blazing at you from beneath his bangs. “Is that what you normally look like? Is that your true form?”

He makes an iffy sound. “It’s what I looked like when I was human. My true form has more horns and unhinged jaws and claws and all that. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I thought you said you could read my mind. Do you know how much monster porn I’ve consumed? That’s hot as shit to me,” you argue, and he snaps his head towards you in surprise. You point at yourself. “Freak and misfit.”

He laughs, and it sounds like the roaring of an out of control fire, burning up everything in its path. He kicks his heel on the ground and steps up to your circle again. “I like you, baby. I really do. What do you say?”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, an annoying lump forming in your throat with the question. You’ve been burned before by people far less powerful than this demon, yet who still hold so much power over you. However much they have.

“You can’t,” he answers, more honestly than most would. He tilts his head with a crooked smile. “Not to get all preachy on you, but even if I wasn’t a demon… trust is built, not a given. ‘The devil you know,’ right? Better than the one that you don’t.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice coming out breathy and winded the longer you gaze up into his eyes.

“Trust me to be… intense, I guess,” he shrugs. “And probably impulsive. But I’ll always deliver on our deal. Be my witch, my wife, my whore– whatever you want to call it, but be mine. I think we’ll have so much fun together.”

“Yeah, I think– I think I will.” You’re nodding, and his smile grows with yours. “I want to.”

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

Your toe scuffs the boundary on the ground, breaking the circle. Immediately, your senses are assaulted by smoke, not just the tobacco he’s been smoking but the scent of a wildfire, of cities burned to ashes, of desolation and destruction and pyroclastic flow and roaring, exploding volcanoes. 

Your demon crosses the line you’d drawn on the ground with ease, producing the worn composition book in his hand again. The cover reads Hellfire Club in chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Are there others?” You ask, prompted by the word Club on the front as he flips open the book to a middle page. An agreement is already written out in red ink. “Do you have more than one, um…”

“Consort?” He whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your stomach flutters. “Not for a long time. I’m very picky about my partners. They have to be just as much of a freak as I am.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, although the admission makes you feel… better, in a way. You squint in the dark, but with the exception of the candles around your circle, there’s nothing to allow you to properly read what’s written on the page. 

He sighs, shifting on his feet beside you. “Are you one of those people who’ll read the whole contract?”

“Absolutely I am,” you hum. The book feels heavier in your hands than it should. “Can you give me a light?”

“Jesus Christ.” He produces a flame from his forefinger just as you turn to give him a confused look. 

“Shouldn’t you, like… evaporate after saying that?”

In the yellow glow of the flame, he just blinks at you, looking amused. “Things aren’t as black and white as you think they are, believe me.”

You snatch his wrist and yank his arm closer to the page. His body collides with yours, and he grunts in your ear as he wraps his other arm around you, embracing you from behind. You’re engulfed in the scent of smoke and the heat of his flames, impossibly hot and comforting all the same. 

His hair brushes your shoulder as you read his contract. It’s just a few lines, but the weight they hold will seal your fate. 

The agreement made this night of the dark moon shall henceforth be enacted from the signing of this document, that hereby renders the human party’s soul bound to the infernal party. Witness that the first party must appear before the second party each full moon to lay in matrimonial fashion, and that in return the first party shall be protected and given the powers of the second from here until the human’s mortal passing. 

“Aww, that’s sweet,” you coo, tracing the red ink with your fingers. 

The demon over your shoulder rolls his eyes. “It’s a fucking pre-nup.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade, though, does it?” You murmur. “I mean, I get the power to change my circumstances and you get– what– sex once a month?”

His hand tightens on your waist, and you pause. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes flicker dangerously, so close to yours. They aren’t just glowing coals- this close, you can see the small details. You can see the swirling, the churning of lava within them.

“It’s not just sex, is it?”

“What do you think making a deal with a demon entails, sweetheart? Read the fine print.”

You look back at the page. There are no other words on it, save for the ones you’ve already read. “I don’t…?”

“It’s your soul, honey,” he mutters, pointing at the word. His mouth is muffled against your shoulder as he peers over it. “I won’t ask anything of you other than the sex, as long as you live. But right now, you’re offering up your soul. And once your life is up, you get to be just like me. Understand?”

“I… yeah. I understand.” You let go of his wrist, but pause over the pages of the book. “I don’t have anything to sign with.”

Wordlessly, the demon takes your hand. You let him caress your wrist, feeling your pulse with his thumb. Then, before you realize what’s happening, a sharp sting makes you yelp as he cuts your skin with his pointed thumbnail. 

He shushes you, letting the blood well up on your skin. “I did say you needed to sign with blood.”

Your voice shakes when you hold your dripping wrist over the page. “I thought you said you were joking.”

“Not about the book. Rules of the trade, I can’t change it.” Your blood splatters the notebook, dripping into the crease of the page. Once he’s satisfied, he lifts your wrist to his mouth and closes his lips around the small wound. It heals in a heartbeat. 

“Is that it, then?” You ask, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of his mouth on your skin. “Don’t you have to sign?”

Your demon kisses your wrist gently, his lips soft, inviting. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, and you nod. The heat of his breath makes your skin tingle, all your nerves on high alert. 

But then that tingling turns into a burn, that turns into a searing pain. You feel like your skin is on fire, an invisible hot brand held against your wrist. You cry out as he holds you close, letting you bury your face into his neck, holding you up as your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs to you as you whimper. He holds your arm as the pain fades into a throbbing ache, cradles your hand against his cheek as he coos into your hair. “You’re so strong. Not many people can handle my mark, you know. Fate works in funny ways.”

Your demon holds you until you can stand on your own, until your breathing evens out and you can compose yourself. He shushes you quietly, rocking you from side-to-side with a soothing hand stroking your head. Then he holds your face, and kisses your tear stained cheeks. The touch of his lips stokes at flames beneath your skin.

“I’ll look forward to our time together, little witch,” he whispers. And with a quick, chaste kiss to your lips, he disappears entirely. 

You stay in the circle for a while, clutching your throbbing wrist and crying frustrated tears. You wonder if you made the right decision, and yet, you don’t understand why you just want him to come back. You miss the comfort of his presence, even if you don’t know enough about him to justify it. All he did was hurt your arm and take your blood and kiss away your tears and make you a witch. 

It’s too late to go back on your decision now. There’s an all-encompassing fire you can feel burning in your veins, emitting from the pulsating wound on your wrist. His power. His fire. 

You pull your hand away from your wrist to finally inspect the mark that he branded you with, declaring you his in the same chicken scratch that had been on the cover of his book. It’s small enough that a well placed bracelet would cover it, but you don’t know that you’ll want to.

Eddie.

Your demon’s name is Eddie.

[forgetmaenott]

ILOVEYOU - TADC Showtime One-Shot

summary: Much to his confusion, Caine finds himself with the most unusual symptoms around Pomni. Sometimes he overheats, sometimes he blue-screens, sometimes he even glitches. It doesn’t worry him too much until he happens to hear of a little thing called ‘the love bug’.

inspired by : https://www.tumblr.com/dismas-n-dismay/762033111925194752/something-about-one-of-the-first-major-computer

tags : @certifiednerd01 @sm-baby

The virus had first crept its way into his code during one of their “lessons”.

It was a routine at this point. After one of their adventures and a digital meal, Pomni would retreat to her room. Usually she’d stare off into space and try to process the absurdity of that day’s adventure, only to be interrupted by Caine teleporting to her room. These days, though, he kindly knocked on her door to respect her space. She’d let him in, usually with a tired smile before he’d ask for her feedback on the adventure, and then their conversation would gradually shift topics until they lost track of time.

One particular night, she had been telling him fragmented memories from her real life. She couldn’t remember her name, or anything particularly personal, but she still remembered scattered feelings or moments, just with blurred faces and missing names. It was cathartic for her, to have someone to tell about her memories and gradually piece them together, ever-so-slight--especially when that someone was an AI who hung on her every word.

He laid on her bed beside her, gloved hands propping his chin up to gaze at her as she spoke. His front resting on her bed, legs kicked up and swinging behind him.

"...oh! that's another thing humans do. Traditions, I guess? Based on the seasons. Over the summer, some people like going to the ocean. A real ocean, it's bigger than you can imagine. It's sort of terrifying. We haven't even explored half of it," Pomni rambled on. Sometimes, she got so comfortable she forgot anyone was even there listening.

Caine gasped dramatically. "Really? All of that technology and you don't know most of what's down there? How spooky!"

Pomni blinked before laughing softly. "I mean, yeah. I guess we're pretty advanced. I mean, just look at you," she said before realizing.

Caine dusted off his suit. "What about me?"

"W-well, you know, cause you're...not human?" Pomni trailed off shyly, almost worrying that she had offended him in some way.

"Ha-ha! Oh, Pomni, you’re so silly. Of course I know that," Caine wiped a fake tear from his eye before lifting a finger, "as a matter of fact, I named myself!"

Pomni leaned towards him curiously. The closest she had been willing to get to him yet. "Really?" she asked curiously. “I-I didn’t know that. How’d that happen?”

"That's right," he replied, but to him the topic of conversation had immediately went on the back burner. She was listening to him. She was genuinely asking about him. Who had ever done that? Oh, dear, had she always had those pinwheel eyes? Oh, how he loved the color red. Especially now that he knew she had red in her eyes. The same shade of his suit, too.

He caught himself when he realized they were sitting in silence, her awaiting him to continue. He cleared his throat awkwardly, regaining his composure. “Oh, dear, I lost my train of thought didn't I? What was I saying?"

"Your name?" Pomni prompted.

Caine blinked. “Oh, right! Of course. Well, I wasn’t originally coded with a name. So, when I became sentient—and I mean fully sentient—I gave myself my name. Can you guess what it means, my dear?”

He had gripped her hand excitedly, prompting her to guess. He rarely had anyone be so genuinely curious in him and it was a little more than refreshing, to say the least.

Pomni bit her lip in thought. “I really don’t know,” she admitted.

“Go on, guess!” Caine piped up, always one to jump straight towards the path of games.

Pomni definitely was not a fan of guessing games. She looked around uncomfortably, wracking her brain to come up with something. “Uh—well, I think I can guess what the A and I stand for…” she smiled gently, “as for the rest of it…Creative Artificial Intelligence uh…I don’t know. Something, something.. Entertainment,” she guessed weakly.

“I like the sound of that! But not quite,” Caine corrected. He flew above her, dramatically gesturing to the colorful words that popped up as he spoke. “Actually, it means…Creative Artifical Intelligence Networking Entity!” Confetti rained down on Pomni and she swatted it away. “Ah, apologies—it’s a habit.”

Pomni coughed as a digital piece of confetti unpleasantly entered her mouth. "It's fine," she brushed off before focusing on the acronym in front of her, "so I was close."

Caine floated down beside her again. "Actually, 'something something' is not part of my name, my dear!"

Pomni blushed slightly at her silly wording, looking away sheepishly. "Y-yeah. I know that."

Caine tilted his head curiously at her. She was blushing...why? To his knowledge, humans flushed out of embarrassment or heightened body temperatures. She certainly couldn't get sick here, so why on Earth would she be embarrassed? "My little lemon cake, is something wrong? Did I embarrass you?"

Pomni glanced back at him, surprised he picked up on her emotions. He had never done that before. Never been so...caring. "Huh? Oh, no...it's nothing. Really."

Caine watched her for a while, unblinking. He never blinked, but it was especially noticeable now. Pomni was a generally nervous person, but she seemed to be blushing more intensely at his attention. "You seem to be ashamed. Why is that?"

Pomni broke their eye contact. "Caine, I'm alright. I-I mean I appreciate it, but--"

Her words were cut short at the feel of his gloved hand over her own. Comforting her. Trying to be empathetic. Just like they had spoken about. "You can tell your ringmaster anything that digital heart of yours desires," he recited from his research on human comfort.

Pomni wasn't embarrassed, truthfully. At least, not to the extent he was trying to make it. But with his hand on hers, with him learning, she certainly felt...something. She smiled weakly. "I know, Caine. ...Thanks," she offered a shy response, ‘I…you’re doing good.” She tentatively squeezed his hand.

A flutter ran through his code, a strange shivering sensation he had never felt in his existence. She had praised him. She thought he was doing good. Oh, dear, he hadn’t felt this good since the last time he received overwhelmingly positive feedback on his adventure. Which was an awful long time ago. Not to mention, she had touched him. His analysis of her behaviors these past months had taught him how touch-averse she was, yet here she was, holding his hand. But not only had she not pulled her hand away like usual, no--she had subconsciously reciprocated, wrapping her gloved fingers around his hand. Human warmth around artificial cold. He was too afraid to move his hand, his system quite literally freezing in place.

The rest of their night continued as normal. Their conversations jumped from adventures to Pomni’s favorite fruit, and then they’d eventually part ways for the night. It waa a routine.

But now, there was a strange presence of static where his stomach would be, growing larger the more he watched her smile.

—————

It was following their adventure at the lake where Caine experienced his first glitch.

She had experimentally kissed him on the cheek—or what could be considered his cheek—in a way that left him frozen, unable to teleport them down as he normally would have.

“Anything for you, dear.”

She had looked back at him with a gentle smile, digital moonlight reflecting lightly against her wide pinwheel eyes. Her eyes so grateful, so inviting as he rested by her side at the digital lake. And there it had been again, that static starting to spread from his chest to his core. The glitch, growing larger.

When they had parted ways that night, he had found himself secretly checking back his memory to revisit the moment. He replayed it, over and over. The way the moonlight reflected in her eyes, the blush tinted on her pale face, her sheepish smile, the way her gloved hand had so gently held the bottom of his jaw before pressing her soft lips against him—oh, how he wished he hadn’t frozen up after she kissed him. Maybe he could have returned the favor.

The thought alone, the memory of her lips pressed on the left side of his jaw, sent a flutter through his code. And then, when he imagined her blushing face after her bold kiss, the space around him seemed to glitch ever-so-slightly.

Oh, no matter. These things happened sometimes.

So why did it only seem to happen when he thought of her?

—————

If he had been trying to be subtle about his favoritism, he certainly wasn’t doing a good job of it, either.

Initially, he sought out to challenge Pomni’s stubbornness by tailoring an adventure just for her, just to win her over. But as time went on, that desire to protect his ego expanded on to an endless attempt to impress her. Maybe it was, in part, for the sake of his ego. But the static he felt when she praised him, the way he’d catch himself staring when she smiled, there was something so authentic about it. Something he couldn’t quite understand, but he knew he wanted to feel more of.

Today, they had returned from an adventure that, in his opinion, was the best one yet. It had everything! Stakes for Jax, maturity for Zooble, friendly NPCs for Ragatha, an unlimited supply of comedy masks for Gangle, detailed digital insects for Kinger, and for Pomni, the option for a relaxed open-world adventure. Even the furthest inches of the map were coded with details intended for Pomni’s eyes only. Her favorite fruit hanging from a digital tree, or flowers in her favorite color blooming, the right amount of digital sunlight–anything he remembered about her.

Caine was on the edge of his seat to see her reaction today. He hoped she had seen all the details he’d coded in for her. He hoped he’d get to see her smile again. It was so pleasant to see. He caught himself smiling at the thought before his Wacky Watch alerted him of the others returning.

He floated excitedly towards the opening portal. “Welcome back, starlets! How was the adventure today? Thoughts? Praise? Feedback? Angel food cake?”

Jax rolled his eyes. “Not enough death, violence, and bloodshed. Also, it’s no fun if Gangle has unlimited masks.”

Gangle smiled, huffing contently. “I liked it.”

Zooble shrugged. “It was…fine.”

“Guys, be nice,” Ragatha scolded before smiling up at Caine. “It was…better.”

“So many new insects,” Kinger whispered in wonder, retreating to his pillow fort to add them to his collection.

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s our digital feast? I’m starving,” Jax complained.

Caine didn’t hear Jax’s words, eyes immediately drifting to the red-and-blue jester walking out of the portal. Odd–he felt like his system was overheating at the sight of her. He’d have to check on that later. “Pomni! My dear, how did you like the adventure? Did you happen to notice any hidden details today?” Caine flew down to her, resting his chin on his hands as he awaited her response eagerly.

Pomni smiled shyly. “Yeah, actually. It reminded me of a lot of that shore I told you about. Thank you, Caine…really,” she said sincerely.

Caine flew into a loop excitedly. “Oh, splendid! Tell me more, my dear! What else did you find appealing?”

Pomni had begun to walk towards her room as she spoke and he was quick to follow, not missing the chance to earn her praise. “Well, it definitely was an improvement from yesterday. I liked the extra details on the scenery. And everyone else seemed content. I’m sure you could ask them,” she offered, flushing slightly from his attention.

“Oh, but I want to hear your response to my adventure! You’ve given me such great feedback, my buttery biscuit,” Caine stopped her in her tracks, floating in front of her path. “Do you think I did good?”

Pomni blushed. It was obvious how highly he favored her attention, and the sidelong glances from the others weren’t helping. “Um, I-I…yeah. You did, good, Caine.”

Caine could have shut down there and then and been happy. “Oh, you flatter me. Do you really think so, my dear?”

“Sheesh, lay off it. Are we going to eat or not?” Jax interrupted, crossing his arms as he watched the two.

Caine shushed him. “Y-yes, just a moment, Jax. I want to hear more feedback from Pomni. Tell me, my dear, was the story to your liking? Did I do good with that?”

“Um, Caine, I–” Pomni rubbed her arm uncomfortably.

Caine lifted a finger. “Ooh! Or how about the designs for the NPCs? Did I go too far with the details, or did I not do enough? And what about the secret quests I added? Did you like that element of surprise? Or–”

Jax groaned. “God, are we ever going to eat? Or are you just going to stand here compliment-fishing with Pomni all day?”

“Jax, be nice. They’re just working on improving the adventures,” Ragatha scolded, offering Pomni a grateful smile, “and I think it’s working pretty well.”

“Who cares? All Caine is doing with these adventures is trying to impress Pomni,” Jax groaned, crossing his arms, “that’s not an improvement. That’s just desperation.”

“T-that’s not true!” Caine was quick to pipe up. “I like all of my super stars an equal, legal amount!”

“Drop it, Jax,” Pomni put her foot down, a light blush on her cheeks despite it all.

Jax snickered. “Of course you’d defend him, short stack. You probably like being the ringmaster’s little favorite, don’t you?”

Caine’s upper jaw arched downward. “I do not favor any of my stars over the others! I’m simply gaining feedback from my dear friend.”

“Give it a rest, Caine. We all know you’re only doing this for her. You don’t give a [#$!?] about the rest of us. Just face it. You’ve got the love bug for our dear jester friend,” Jax mocked, flashing a sarcastic grin at him.

Pomni flushed instantly. “Wh—J-Jax!”

“Who said something about a bug?” Kinger peeked out of his pillow fort excitedly.

“The…love…bug?” Caine’s systems froze instantly at the words “love bug”. Oh, dear…Jax was onto something. The freezing, the overheating, the glitching? It was all coming together. He knew what was happening. He had heard of this before, but never imagined it would one day affect his programming…

“Well, would you look at that. He is lovesick after all,” Jax mocked.

“Love…sick?” Caine looked around at the others, confused and concerned at him suddenly freezing up. Panic settled within him, a feeling he had not felt in a long time. “I-I…ahem, a-a digital feast as your prize,” he announced weakly, snapping a feast into existence at the table. “Enjoy, my dears. Adventure awaits tomorrow.” With an abrupt snap of his fingers, he dissipated from the main room, teleporting to who-knows-where in the circus.

Silence filled the room at his reaction, ultimately broken by Jax scurrying over to the table. “God, I thought he’d never leave.”

Pomni bristled. “You’re an [#$!?]hole.”

Jax shrugged, taking a bite of his digital meal. “As long as I get to see funny things happen to people. Just never thought I’d see the day Caine would go soft for one of us,” he grinned mischievously at Pomni, expression insinuating everything she needed to know. “Besides, what does it matter to you? Unless…you have the ‘love bug’ for dentures over there?”

She blushed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pomni defended weakly, but her voice was drowned out by the stirring of conversation amongst the others.

Pomni didn’t eat anything, her stomach filled with knots and butterflies all at once.

-------

Caine’s digital form was filled with knots and static, all for her.

He desperately reviewed his memories–the glitching, the static he felt, everything. Oh, dear. Jax was right, wasn’t he? How could he have been so oblivious this whole time? How could he have not realized sooner?

Bubble floated in beside him as he checked his memory. “Hey, boss, check out this joke I came up with! Why is—”

“Not now, Bubble! I have some very important business to attend to,” Caine cut his bubble friend off instantly.

“Business? You mean watching back memories of you and Pomni?”

“Y-yes, I—it’s nothing! I need to run some tests,” Caine abruptly answered him.

Bubble’s sharp grin widened, if that were even possible. He floated upside down. “You mean how you’re in loooooooove?”

Caine brought his gloved hands to his top jaw in frustration. “The love bug!” he corrected briskly, “Yes, yes, I know! Just—leave me to it, Bubble. The entire circus depends on it.”

“Heheh, love bug,” Bubble laughed to himself before being popped by a very panicked Caine.

“One less distraction,” he mused before running some more diagnostics on himself.

-------

Pomni stared blankly at her ceiling the next morning. It seemed that her worst fears were coming to fruition. Jax saw right through her. The others had to have noticed how oddly drawn she was to Caine. It was something she, herself, was still not used to. Pining for the circus’s clueless AI ringmaster was not part of the plan when she had arrived here. But now…

Jax had also said that Caine had a crush on her. And to be fair, it did seem that way. It was something she couldn’t even deny. She tried, every now and then, to get the truth out of him. Trying to fluster him, to see if his attempts to impress her were all for his own ego or for something more personal. With someone as clueless and friendly as Caine, it had her teetering back and forth between believing he did reciprocate or believing he couldn’t possibly feel that way. But she knew it was stupid of her to get her hopes up. It was stupid of her to fall for an AI to begin with.

She sighed, sitting up from her bed. The digital flower he had given her on their private walk some time ago still laid on one of the letter blocks beside her bed, alongside a drawing Gangle made for her and a butterfly from Kinger’s insect collection he had chosen to give her.

It wasn’t so crazy, was it?

Months ago, she abandoned the others for an exit, but now…

Things were different.

So different that maybe her unexpected friendship with Caine wasn’t unusual.

There was no sense of time in the circus, but Pomni guessed it was time for roll call. She mentally prepared herself for another day of Jax’s teasing and Caine’s goofy, but admittedly endearing, antics, exiting her room and out into the hall—

“POMNI!”

If it weren’t for the door behind her, Pomni surely would have fallen back at the sight of her ringmaster teleporting right in her path, inches away. “AGH! Caine–how many times have I told you not to—”

“I know, my dear. But it’s an emergency!” Caine explained anxiously.

Pomni paused. He never seemed genuinely afraid, unless it was for some gag.“Wha–an emergency? Is everything okay?”

Caine took his hat into his hands, fiddling with the rim. He shook his head. “No! I’m infected, Pomni! The whole circus could be at risk! You have to help me!”

“HUH?” Panic settled into Pomni at the thought of the entire circus, and everyone inside it, being swallowed up and disappearing forever. “O-okay, calm down, Caine. Just… tell me what happened.”

Caine unexpectedly fell to his knees in front of her, placing his gloved hands over his eyes as though he were about to cry. "It’s…it’s…ILOVEYOU!"

Pomni did a double-take, flushing a deep shade of red, nearly not believing what she heard. "Y-you--huh?!"

Caine buried his face in his gloved hands, down on his knees. "The Love Bug, Pomni! I've been infected with the Love Bug! It's going to eat away at me," he wailed, cartoonish tears spilling from behind his hands.

"Oh," Pomni paused as he wailed, looking around as though she was expecting someone else to walk in from the commotion. Once she was sure she was no longer blushing, she cautiously knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder gently. "Um...you're talking about a computer virus?"

"A worm! It's going to spread across the circus, Pomni! I don't know how it got here, I-I must have let it in, I--"

"Caine! Slow down," Pomni interrupted his rambling, "tell me what happened. Why do you think there's a virus?"

"I don't know what it is, dear," Caine confessed, "but I have experienced these strange sensations. Static, glitching perhaps--behaviors that go against my very coding. But most of all, when I'm with you. It’s why I came to you, first. And you’re so clever, I figured you’d know what to do.”

”Me?” Pomni blinked in surprise. She thought on what he said. "Static and glitches?" she repeated, frowning as her thoughts drifted. What the hell would she know about a computer virus?

Caine nodded. "When you talk to me sometimes, dear, I feel static inside of me. Here," he put a gloved hand on his chest, where his heart would be if he had one. "Did you bring a virus in with you? Is that even possible?"

Butterflies settled in her stomach as his words sank in. There was no way he could possibly be confessing—oh, God. Could he even feel the same way? Pomni looked to the side and fiddled with her buttons nervously. “Um…no. It’s not,” she took a deep breath before kneeling down beside him so she was eye-level, voice sounding unexpectedly even despite her sudden nerves. “Tell me more about this…virus. I’m sure we can figure it out,” she gave him a weak smile in the hopes that it was reassuring. She knew deep down she just wanted to know if he really did feel the same, but she ignored it.

Caine nodded in agreement, still sitting sadly on the floor beside Pomni. He placed a finger where his chin would be in thought. “O-okay, dear. Well, let's see. I checked my memories back last night... For instance, in memories where you’d look at me, my system would begin overheating. Or when you touch me, I freeze up. When you compliment me, well,” he laughed sheepishly, “I blue-screen.”

Pomni blushed furiously, her heart speeding up at his unintentional confessions. “Caine-”

“Oh! And when you look especially striking some days, I feel like the ones and zeros of my code are fluttering around. It’s terrifying—I must be falling apart. And I haven’t even mentioned the glitches that happen when I check my memory—”

The fluttering in Pomni’s heart tingled to the tips of her fingers, making kneeling there unbearable. Her face was heating up with every word he said, heart in her throat. “Caine, I..." Pomni bit her lip, unsure how to explain this to an AI, "this doesn't sound like a virus to me. It sounds almost…human…? I guess?”

Caine tilted his head curiously at her. "Humans glitch from the inside out, too?" he said, and peeked out from behind his fingers.

"N-no, it..." Pomni trailed off, cutting herself short with a sigh, "it sounds like...what humans feel," she settled with that explanation for now. It was really very awkward to try and tell an AI ‘it sounds like you have a crush on me’. Not to mention, words were failing her at the realization that he felt just as fond of her as she was of him. And to think, she had been afraid to embarrass herself around him with her crush—

“What they feel..?” Caine tilted his head at her curiously, “like amazement? Wonder? Excitement?”

“Yes, except…” Pomni hesitated. She wasn’t sure if it was worth it to take the leap and just tell him. “…Caine?”

“Yes?”

Pomni reached for her buttons, fidgeting with them mindlessly. “When you say all of these things…what is it that you want?”

“Want?” Caine repeated.

“Yeah, want. Desire. It’s just…humans usually can tell what it is they feel based on what they want,” she explained, although she knew deep down what she hoped his answer was. The thought alone—the word you—it sent such a thrill through her.

Caine placed a finger on his lower jaw, top jaw arching in an exaggerated eyebrow raise. “Hm, excellent question! Well, when you return from my amazing adventures, I want you to come to me. To speak to me. To find me…admirable.”

Pomni nodded. Caine trying to impress her was nothing new. She was well-aware her stubbornness towards the circus resulted in him paying her extra attention, but it didn’t take a genius to know that by now, that was unnecessary. “Okay. So you want my attention, you want me to see positively. What else?”

Caine placed a finger on his chin, an exaggerated arch in his upper jaw as he thought. “Hmm…well, I’m not sensing any patterns. Except for you. Why do you ask?”

Pomni’s heart skipped a beat. Had he actually said what she had been hoping he’d say? Well, not exactly. It seemed like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling in the first place. But who better to teach him than her? She took a deep breath before choosing to brave it. “Caine…I need to explain something to you,” she started.

“Oh, dear, what is it? Are you going to diagnose me with the love bug? With an incurable digital sickness?” Caine pressed his hands together nervously. “Go on. You can tell your favorite ringmaster!”

Pomni took another deep breath to calm her nerves. “Well, the good news is you don’t have a bug. Or a virus. At least, I don’t think so.”

Caine froze in place. “I don’t?”

Pomni shook her head.

“Now, now, don’t be silly, my marionberry muffin! Such frequent glitches aren’t usual for an AI like me,” Caine explained, “how can you be so sure? Are you really a qualified doctor?”

Pomni would probably laugh at his antics if it weren’t for her nerves. “I know because I…I feel the same way,” Pomni admitted, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. It burned a hole right through her.

If Caine had a heart, it would have stuttered in his chest. “You…do?”

Pomni couldn’t form words, so she simply hummed in response. Her face was burning, and she clutched her other arm to curb her trembling hands. “Mhm.”

Caine gaped at her. “You…have the love bug, too?”

“In a way of speaking, yeah.”

“Oh, dear…” he sighed softly, “for who?”

Pomni laughed softly. His obliviousness knew no bounds. She looked at the tiled floor, the butterflies in her stomach unbearable. “W-well, actually, it’s…” she stumbled over her words, blushing to her ears before taking a deep breath and getting enough confidence to meet his eyes. There was no going back now. Her heart sped up, nearly jumping to her throat as she managed the words, “for you."

Caine immediately blue-screened, eyes reading rows of code she couldn’t make out as he processed her words. She flushed at his reaction, slightly self-conscious she misinterpreted his confession. She waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Oh…Caine? Hello…?”

Caine snapped out of it after a few moments. His eyes returned to normal, glancing at Pomni only once before slowly putting a hand over his chest. “Oh, dear. I feel it again,” he said in the quietest voice she’d heard him ever speak in, “the static. Right here. You really—me—?”

Pomni swallowed her nerves, feeling another flutter of butterflies at his response. “I-I know it sounds crazy. I was scared when I realized it. I avoided you. I thought I could run away or deny how I felt, but…the more time I spent with you, the less crazy it seemed,” she explained, meeting his eyes, “I’ve seen all the things you’ve done for me, Caine. For everyone. The adventures, expanding the circus, not teleporting me across the map. And at first it made me enjoy being your friend, but now…”

“Now…?” he prompted.

“Now, you’re telling me you have a crush on me,” Pomni finished, “I didn’t think that was possible, but...”

“A crush?” Caine tilted his head curiously. “Is that what it is?”

Pomni watched him carefully. He was still on the floor, hand on his chest and evidently flustered from her confession. It made her heart speed up, seeing how much he cared. How much he wanted her. “Yeah…the ‘love bug’. What Jax said. It’s not an actual bug. Not for humans at least. I thought he was just being an [#$?!]hole, but what you explained to me…it sounds like what humans feel when they want romantic closeness,” she explained before adding nervously, “a-and, the things you described…it’s how I feel for you.”

“Romantic closeness,” Caine echoed, pausing in thought, “my research for my adventures has taught me about human relationships. About…love.”

A rush of heat ran through Pomni’s chest at the word love. “A-and…?”

Caine, in a rare moment of silence, gazed off towards the end of the hall as he thought back on his research. “And…I believe that is what I want, my dear. With you.” His eyes widened at the realization.

A tingle ran down her spine. “You–you do?” Pomni’s breath caught, cheeks flushing at his words.

“If you’ll teach me,” he confirmed, eyes turning back to meet hers.

Pomni’s pinwheel eyes were blown wide, half in a dream as she nodded. She didn’t know what she wanted in that moment. Or even what to say. Months ago, she would have rather jumped in the cellar than imagine herself in a romantic relationship with him. But these past months had changed things in both of them. In the circus itself. And now, she almost wanted to kiss him. Now…

Her breath caught, when she looked and saw the way he was looking at her. His top jaw arched around his gleaming eyes in the most adoring, lovesick gaze she had ever seen. It made her heart beat harder in her chest, feeling the way his gaze pulled at her heart strings. “Oh, my dear. How could I have not realized sooner? It was so obvious…” he sighed.

She smiled slightly at his cluelessness. It was endearing to her. “A lot of humans feel that way, too. I just never thought…” she trailed off, but he already knew what she was going to say.

Caine’s panic instantly lifted, he sprung up from where he had formerly been curled up. "My dear, I am an advanced AI! I've begun experiencing more 'human' sensations since the day I became sentient. But ever since you, ever since our lessons, well, I think I've become more human than I had ever imagined,” he reached for both of her hands.

Pomni reciprocated his touch. "A-and you're advanced enough to desire closeness?"

Caine tilted his head at her. "I've always known what love is, Pomni. How could I not? You humans talk an awful lot about it. But I never imagined a silly AI like myself being capable of such complex feelings. And yet, I’m advanced enough to know that I've been drawn to you for some time..." A hand moved up to stroke her cheek, right by where her blush resided under her right eye, "and I think I'm beginning to understand why."

"Why?"

"Because you confuse my coding, my little shivering shortbread!” Caine piped up, “Isn't that exciting? I’m more advanced than I’d ever imagined!” His feet lifted from the ground, and he nearly twirled in the air from excitement. He looked down at her again, leaning on his cane with a deep sigh. “Oh, Pomni. Are you sure I’m not love sick?”

For the first time that day, Pomni felt more like herself. She reached for his upper jaw, feeling at him as though he had a fever. “Oh, you definitely are.”

Caine melted into her touch. “I am?” he sighed dreamily.

She nodded with a small smile. “Very sick,” she confirmed, flipping her hand around to cup his features in her palm.

“Very sick,” Caine repeated in a daze, then reached a hand up to meet hers, eyes never leaving hers. Small, cartoonish hearts sprung into existence on the right side of his head as he leaned more into her touch. He noticed them and swatted them away rapidly. “A-ah, ignore that. I can’t help it,” he laughed sheepishly.

Pomni laughed gently. “It’s okay. It’s…endearing,” she blushed, still not accustomed to giving him her thoughts of admiration for him.

“O-oh, dear, you’re too kind…” Caine fiddled with his cane slightly before floating down to her level, planting his feet on the ground once more. “But…if I may, I do still have one question.”

A rush of nerves ran through Pomni. Nonetheless, she kept her cool—which was definitely a feat for her. “Yeah? What is it?”

Caine leaned against his cane once more. “Well, when humans tend to confess their true feelings to another, what do they do next?” he asked.

Pomni blinked, the question catching her off-guard. “O-oh, well…” she looked down the hall in thought, wondering where the others were, “it depends, honestly. But a lot of times, they might decide to, um, date.”

“Ah, of course! Allow me,” Caine cleared his non-existent throat before stretching out a hand to her invitingly, “Pomni, you and I should decide to date.”

If it were somehow possible for Pomni to feel any more ecstatic yet simultaneously terrified, she reached that point. His unconventional phrasing caught her off guard for sure, but it was also mildly endearing. “I…yes,” she accepted his hand tentatively, a small smile spreading across her face, “I’d like that.”

Their touch was immediately broken by Caine flying through the air, zipping around Pomni enthusiastically. “Fantastic! Oh, my dear, I’ve never felt so light as air until now!”

Pomni brought a hand to her mouth, laughing at his excitement.

Caine flew down to meet her once more. “Pomni! You and I should embark on our own adventure,” he wrapped an arm around her, outstretching an arm dramatically to the distance as he added, “a human date!”

Pomni laughed again, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t forget you have a whole circus to run, ringmaster,” she teased.

Caine brought a hand to his upper jaw. “Whoopsy-daisy, I almost forgot about the others! My my, you give me a severe case of tunnel vision,” he reached for his cane, preparing to snap himself to the main room before taking one last look at the woman he adored, “I hate to rush the most exciting moment of my never-ending existence, but the show must go on! But, oh, my dear?”

“…Caine?”

Caine tossed his cane between his hands. “How about today, you skip my adventure?”

Pomni blinked in surprise. He never wanted any of his guests to miss his adventures. “Wha—really? Why?”

He flew beside her, holding her hand again. Now that he knew he could hold her hand, he wasn’t sure he’d have it in him to let go for more than a minute. “For our date, of course!” Caine winked at her before continuing sheepishly, “if I may admit, dear…I know what a date is, but I don’t know how to date. There are many things you have to show me.”

A blush rose to Pomni’s cheeks again. “Oh, right,” she stuttered out, then formed a reassuring smile, “i’d love to show you, Caine. Really.” It was just now that she was realizing how intensely her heart had been beating this entire conversation, the trembling seeming to subside now that their true feelings had been revealed.

A couple more hearts fluttered “Of course! What better way to seal our confessions than with a human date? Oh, let’s get this roll call over with, dear. I can’t wait another second!” Caine tightened his grip on her hand.

“You know, you have a lot of energy for someone who’s sick,” Pomni couldn’t help but tease. The more the reality of the situation was settling in, the easier it was for her confidence to return. This artificial man, this AI she had learned to adore, he had truly pined for her all along.

Caine gazed at her adoringly. Oh, my, she was flirting with him, wasn’t she? If she kept going like this, he was going to overheat in front of the others. How lucky was he that this woman adored him as much as he did her? “Why, yes! I’m sick for you.”

“I…don’t think that sounds as romantic as you think it does.”

Caine waved her comment off. “Ah, I’ll perfect the art of flirtation in no time. For now, it’s showtime! And then, a date awaits, my love!”

[piper-2244]

sophrosyne

how liaison intern!reader and spencer grapple with a recent case that's taken an individual toll on them

angst! eeek! word count: 1277 warnings & tags & stuff: lowkey sad, reader cries a little, mentions of schizophrenia (in an unsub), and correlations to spencer/diana are hinted at, it’s mentioned that that unsub gets shot, like the beginnings of a crush showing but otherwise no fluff, just gentle spence as always, social commentary & my personal thoughts on our justice system definitely peek through. very first attempt at some bigger sad scary feelings authors note: hi!!! im alive!!! and guess what!! its my birthday!! i'm 20 which is totally insane. anyway i missed you all and i HAVE been writing, just not posting. it just got like too much when it registered that THAT many people are reading my stuff, yk? i do appreciate all the love SO MUCH but its still a little scary. anyway. i hope you enjoy, i think this is an interesting one? not sure. i fear my intentions for it may have gotten lost in the writing so please let me know if it doesn't make any sense. okay have a superb day ily!!!

Spencer is spinning and he won’t stop and it’s hypnotic.

There’s a little squeak coming from the chair with each turn that sends goosebumps down your legs, filling the otherwise silent bullpen with noise.

You imagine it must be a little sickening, or at least uncomfortable, spinning in a chair for such a long amount of time. You're honestly a little concerned. His legs are crossed like a child’s.

The look on his face—one that you can't quite make out right now due to his motions—has been the same for the better part of the afternoon. That was concerning. It’s so contemplative and stoic. Like an old Greek statue, Odysseus? you think, carved from marble, weathered to the point of near crumbling.

But this case, this case, the one you got back from exactly four hours and twenty two minutes ago, wasn’t anything too bad, was it?

You blink at that thought, taken aback with yourself, the empathy hitting you like a wave. Of course it was bad. They’re all bad. People are dead. All those families are broken in ways that won’t ever heal.

Your second month as an intern under Agent Jareau, working to become a liaison just like her, proved to be almost everything that one grouchy ex-FBI-Agent-turned-guidance-counselor at your university said it would be. 

Harsh. Sad. Cold. It will strip you of your sensitivity. Your gentleness.

But this case. It had a sharper edge to it than the rest, slicing the littlest bit deeper into your skin. A lingering heaviness weighed on your chest. Were you the only one who felt it? Clearly not, if this guy spinning in his chair was any indication. 

Most of the bullpen had cleared out, leaving only the mess of the team’s half-finished mugs behind in the sink. You had stayed though, needing to shake this weight off before you brought it home with you. The last file of the day is spread out on your desk, but you’re far from it, standing across the room by the coffee machine. Hiding. 

You pour two cups, unable to stop the methodical replay of the case in your mind. Not just the brutal MO, but the bigger picture. The circumstances. The diagnosis. The history.

Agent Jareau had made it your responsibility to take care of all the family-related files.

Male, aged 30, diagnosed with acute schizophrenia at age 22. Stabbed 6 women in the throat.

Family history of disorder? (Check one) : Y ☐ N ☐

The unsub, his father, his aunt, and his grandfather. They all had the same last name, bump on their nose, gap between their teeth, and identical diagnoses of schizophrenia. A twisted family tree. The branches, the unsub’s fate.

You turn toward the spinning blur of the chair, unsure if Spencer even knows you're there.

… 

Ceramic scrapes against wood. Still warm, it leaves a condensation trail in its path. “I added a bunch of sugar,” you offer quietly, unsure if he’ll even acknowledge it. 

Spencer slows. He doesn't reach for the mug like you’d hoped, but he stops spinning. Small victories.

He stares down at the file in front of him, and for a second you wonder if your interruption made things worse. That little groove between his eyebrows- today, there more often than not- shows up, a problem trying to become untangled in his mind. 

You really should go. Leave him alone, Spencer clearly has his own things to sort out. But your legs are tethered to the ground. Maybe it's due to the fact that he just got a new haircut, and it’s nice. Really nice. Or maybe it’s because you, too, feel like getting lost in your own head right now. 

You swallow. “You okay?” you ask, before you can help yourself, and you regret it instantly. It sounds too personal, too sudden, too much, like teeth clashing during a kiss. You're intruding on something that Spencer isn’t prepared to share, something unfinished.

His eyes finally land on you for a split second, and he gives you a nod, shallow and unconvincing. You know better than to push for the truth.

You lean on the edge of his desk, keeping your distance but not leaving. You stare into the swirls of your coffee, fingers drumming on the side of your mug. This moment is fragile, you know, and yet you’re unable to stop yourself from talking. A chronic weakness, on your part. “I don’t think this case was…” you pause, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t like the others, was it?” 

Spencer looks at you again, for a beat longer than you expect. The tension in his face softens, just a little. You see it too.

“No,” he says finally, voice low. “It wasn’t.” 

There's something in the way he looks at you that makes your heart pound. There’s a sense of openness to it. He’s not exactly confiding in you, not yet. But he’s also not completely shutting you out, either.

Strange. The total opposite of what you’d expect. You keep talking.

"Everything he did was just a clear demonstration of his schizophrenia, which is genetic and so prevalent in his family. I just keep feeling like… like it wasn’t his fault. Like it was predetermined. And he died for it,” you ramble quietly. “Morgan shot him.” Your voice breaks.

He stills, not saying anything for a beat.

“He wasn’t given much of a fighting chance, was he?” Spencer asks quietly, almost to himself. Like the question was a familiar one. His eyes drift over the file, the unsub’s family members listed front and center. There's something sad in his gaze. Resigned. Like he’s thought about this before.

You shake your head.

“I think,” Spencer starts softly, staring at a point on the floor, voice barely above a whisper. “You're the only one here who sees it. The way we villainize them.” The words sting in a way you didn’t expect.

Silence rings between you two. It’s thick, and nothing but sad. The weight of the case, of the pain, of the impossibility of it all hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

You dip your head, a sudden tear slipping down your cheek and falling into the fabric of your brand new dress pants. Your hands hold the edge of the table behind you and you inhale shakily. 

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this job,” you whisper after a long while, the words delicate.

Silence hangs between you two again. Then, his voice, thoughtful and deliberate and caring, breaks it up. 

“I don’t think it’s about being cut out for it. It’s not about being tough. It’s about being able to hold that much emotion without letting it break you, because you recognize the alternative of not doing the job would be worse. And it’s hard. It’s so… hard. But you’re doing that. You're doing really well.”

You blink, surprised by the calmness in Spencer’s words. The logic is almost comforting in and of itself, in a way.

“Not everyone can hold that much empathy,” Spencer continues, his voice low. “We need more of that, the team does.”

Your throat tightens. 

“I'm sorry,” you say, your voice small. “I didn't mean to put this all on you.” Spencer shakes his head, not minding. 

“You should go home and get some sleep. Maybe it’ll be a little better in the morning. It usually is.” 

You nod, but you don’t move right away. You feel like the moment you leave, you’ll slip from this edge you’ve been teetering on.

“You go,” you eventually say, quiet. “I’m gonna wash all those mugs people left in the sink.”

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

HIII ITS ME AGAIN, i’ve got another idea for you, that you make a little drabble about.

so the time line is like before the yan!beasts got corrupted, or like post-corruption or something, reader is a very overpowered cookie but timid and shy in a way, including considerate and kind, they wants to help people they genuinely loves and cares about (including the beasts), therefore this also makes them a people pleaser/push over, so they keep theyre power secretive

after a while, reader started to see a shift in theyre personality and how they started to resent cookies that didn’t have the same power as themselves, and how they are being kinda possessive/obsessive towards reader, and more really unhealthy behaviors, but of course, like the fool they are, reader decided to ignore those red flags, cause it’s better then having literal no one (said by reader)

anyways when days pass, more things start to change, they start becoming more malicious towards other common cookies, how they cause more chaos and other stuff, of course reader is a bit too delusional to care… till the witches/creators came, saying they need to trap them for good, of course you retaliated (verbally), saying how you care for them and other stuff, and you won’t go through with this, and they tell reader something that will really open theyre eyes to the world, pointing out the actions the beasts do and how shitty and bad they are (including some things they say, how they treat reader etc) how bad their intentions truly are, after this reader was really upset about them, they might be delusional but not THAT delusional, so i think you can vison what happened next now, they advise a plan to get them in a place where the witches can trap them, using reader as a bait, then once it’s done, reader left, no matter how many pleads or yells the beasts through at them, reader didn’t turn back, not even to glance at the prison that they brought themselves upon, as reader walked off, they made a vow to themself, a promise to never be fooled and manipulated like that again, to never pretend to be something they aren’t, after that, they became a whole entire different cookie (woahhh character development, anyway imagine them having a more bayonetta like personality/mindset and strength and speed?) maybe a little crossing of paths once the beasts get out of prison

(also i recently just learnt I HAVE MY OWN TAG? idk why it just made me feel special)

You have?? Such?? Good ideas?? Never stop sending in requests, I love all the ideas you always come up with!!

You were a cold Cookie, with no one really knowing why. You hardly trusted and tended to be very suspicious of Cookies of power. To say it took you ages to even think of trusting the Ancients wa an understatement.

You were heavily against the idea of going to Beast-Yeast, yet you eventually relented. Not for yourself, but to make sure that none of them got manipulated like you did.

You were completely ready to throw hands when the Beasts showed up. To stay you were pissed was an understatement. Somehow, they were convinced they were the victims! Because their fun was cut short!

Shadow Milk Cookie is the biggest instigator. He still thinks you're a pushover and portrays you as such, only to be completely confused when he sees you decimate that animatronic. That was.. a change in the script he didn't expect.

Burning Spice Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie are both taken aback by how ready you were to fight them. Guess that shy part of you was gone!

Eternal Sugar Cookie used to lovebomb you a lot whenever you were still shy. She's surprised to see it no longer works, but doesn't mean she still won't try!

Mystic Flour Cookie is the only one who realizes that you're no longer the same pushover. However, it doesn't mean she won't try and use you for her own benefit again.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

[satorubrain]

Hey there! Anon with the confusing request. Basically Gojo is very extroverted and loud, and I wanted reader to be more introverted. I wanted some sort of fluff scenario with him and reader. Maybe she’s insecure because she’s more reserved.

So basically just Gojo with a more introverted reader. Someone who’s not as loud/obnoxious as he is. Does that make sense? I’m sorry I’m bad with words.

"okokok" "lalala"

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader.

Tags: Fluff!

Synopsis: Gojo with an introverted s/o.

A/N: OMGG NO WORRIES ANON!! I was just confused about it last time and lord you couldn't have worded this req any better so dw you make perfect sense :D. And i hope you enjoy this! <3

"NO WAY YOU BOTH ARE DATING??" Nobara shrieked in utter disbelief while looking at Gojo in disgust at the sight of Satoru squishing your cheeks, showering your face with kisses while crying out loud his "love yous" in between every peck. If you weren't smiling she would've thought Gojo was harassing you. Honestly, how could this not shock her? You were so different. You were calm and collected and him? He was loud and obnoxious.

"Yeah" you answer. "We have been dating for..." you pause knowing Satoru would want to answer this

"FIVE YEARS!!!" He responded excitedly with a grin adorning his face as raises his left hand stretching out his fingers.

"I'm sure you have many questions, my dear but somehow we get along really well" You quell her all unasked questions and it indeed is remarkably evident that you both do indeed flow together harmoniously despite your clashing personalities.

Thinking about it you have always been like a match made in heaven ever since the day you crossed each other's paths.

Satoru is Satoru and his second name is annoying. Even on the day you met he introduced himself with a cocky grin and loudly enough you were sure the whole world could hear his name. But instead of finding that annoying, your brain malfunctioned thanks to his smile and made you think he's rather cute.

And it didn't help how he would chatter and talk your ears off whenever you were having stressful thoughts, distracting you from your worries. Him dropping simply little compliments- like "heyy good work y/n!" "oh- you look extra cute today!" "you take great care of students!" calling you "my trusted and reliable co-worker, y/n" when introducing you to someone he knows. Some way, somehow, he managed to get past all your fears and make a house in your heart.

Seeing how lost you were in your thoughts he decided to drag you out of it by placing a peck on your lips, earning a "gross" remark from Nobara, flustering you in the process.

"Do you know what's my greatest achievement?" he questioned Nobara while still clinging to you. But before she could even take a guess he announced proudly "it was making y/n confess!!"

"Oh-" you giggle, a blush tinting your cheeks recalling as you told how it went down. "It was him, again, somehow distracting me away from my overthinking replacing with his chatter. And I absent mindedly spoke."

"god satoru, i love you" much to your embarrassment, Satoru enacted your dreamy tone perfectly. Smacking his hand lightly at your mimicry, flustered, causing him to giggle and nobara laughed at your silly bickering.

But in reality, the situation was far worse for you. Your babble had brought his nonsensical talks to a pause for a couple of seconds before he dramatically gasped while covering his mouth.

"Satoru you did NOT hear that." you uttered. You felt faint as blood rushed to your head. You just wanted to bury yourself and die. DIE ALREADY.

"oh my god yes i did" he exclaimed.

"this cannot be happening" you murmured as you got up, hiding your face in your hand as you tried to flee the scenario. But he was quick on his feet too. Getting up as he extended his arm to hold yours before pulling you back and caging you in between him and the desk. Gently cupping your cheek, to make you look at him with a slight tremble of his hands.

"Hey, listen...." for some reason his confidence evaporated and he felt like an anxious teen but that didn't stop him from speaking his mind. "I like you too okay? I genuinely appreciate how you always tolerate me and my gibberish, how you always put up with my antics happily- i think our feelings are mutual here, alright? So, well, allow me to ask you out.... please?" it was unlikely for him to sound soft... and to perhaps plead? But what can he do? He was a man in love who had to shoot his shot NOW. And you were equally in love.

"Yes please, i- i would love that!" you reply nodding, feeling a bit giddy but better than before. After all, you trusted him and with Satoru, everything will turn out fine you think.

And not once did you regret your silly mistake.

[cozage]

New Multi-Chapter Fic: The Moss that Grew in Gloom

A/N: A multi-chapter fic I promised weeks ago is finally starting!! With Made for Two being complete, I finally can redirect some of my efforts to other things, and this is at the top of my list! I hope you enjoy!!

Characters: female reader x Zoro, (Mihawk and Perona are also present)

Summary: As the daughter of Dracule Mihawk, you've spent your life in almost complete solitude. But that changed one day when a green-haired swordsman makes a smashing appearance.

Word count: 5k

Chapter One: The Fall of a Swordsman

| Next Chapter | Masterlist| Read on AO3

--

Your life began when a moss headed man crashed into the pavement outside, you just hadn't known it yet. 

It was the second time someone had fallen to Gloom Island since you had been alone. Your father had been called away to help with an execution, and he had forbid you to tag along. The Warlord had left you alone several times before, but this was the first time a person had come crashing into your castle. And now that number had doubled to two.

You and Perona peered out the window, looking at the place of impact. 

“I think he’s dead,” you said, looking down at him from your second story bedroom.

“He looks familiar…” Perona mumbled. “We should go see.”

You frowned at the body outside. “Dad said not to leave the castle while he was gone.” 

“Yeah but aren’t you a little curious?” Perona’s wide eyes were stuck on the unmoving man.

“Not really.” You turned away from the window, back to your room. “The baboons will deal with him if he’s not dead yet.”

“You’re so cold!” Perona pouted at you, and she ran to your door. “I’m going to save him!”

“Suit yourself,” you responded, opening a book. “But I won’t be helping.”

You didn’t see Perona for a few days after that. You knew she had managed to save the green-haired man and drag him back into the castle, and you knew she was tending to his wounds. The sounds of banging and the occasional shout from both of them proved that. 

“I do know him!” She said, entering the kitchen. It was one of the few moments you left your room with a stranger in the house. You had managed to avoid Perona and the stranger whenever you ventured down for food, but you had known it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed. 

“He’s a Strawhat!” she continued. “They were the ones fighting Moria and sent me to this dreadful place in the first place!” 

That caught your attention. “He has that power? He’s that strong?”

“Well, no..” Perona said, thinking back to her time on Thriller Bark. “I think it was a crew mate of his that did that.”

You frowned, but said nothing at that. You did remember the Strawhat Pirates from the news, and your father took an interest in one of the crew members, but you couldn’t remember which one. But you didn’t remember any ability like that being on their wanted poster.

“I guess he’s alive, then.” You tried not to sound too interested. “Will he make a full recovery?”

Perona groaned. “He’s SO needy! And he’s complaining about EVERYTHING! The food, the bed, the way I wrapped his wounds! Nothing is good enough for him, I swear!”

You laughed at the irony of that. Perona hadn’t stopped complaining about this place since she had arrived either. Nothing was ever good enough for her, even in a giant mansion on a secluded island. 

Not that you were upset about her presence. You didn’t mind Perona most of the time. Sometimes you even liked her. But on those days when you just wanted to be alone, she was always there. She was like a little sister who was always demanding your attention, always wanting to do something with you. It had been strange to get used to after such solitude with only you and your father your entire life. 

Perona finished making a sandwich, and looked your way. “You should come see him!”

“I told you, I’m not helping.” You left the words hanging in the air as you walked out, hearing her frustrated breath huff out behind you.

--

You finally met the mysterious intruder a few days later, when he barged into your room unannounced. Your eyes flicked up from your book as your door slammed open. He had mossy green hair and tanned skin, and you could tell he was in good shape under his bandages. He was covered in them, and you could see why he was complaining about Perona’s handiwork. She had wrapped them so tight in some places, you were surprised he could move. 

“Wha--Who the hell are you?!” The man demanded, gawking around your room. Your sword laid next to your chair, and you saw his eyes slide over to it.

“It’s rude to demand someone’s name when you haven’t introduced yourself,” you said, returning your gaze back down to your book. 

You could hear him grit his teeth in frustration, and you resisted the urge to smirk at his reaction. 

“Look, woman, do you know where my swords are or not?”

“Swords?” Now that caught your attention. You looked back at him and found his gaze was still on the sword next to your chair. You closed your book, mentally marking where you were in the story, and then placed it down on the coffee table next to you. 

“That stupid ghost girl stole my swords!” 

You stood and picked up your weapon, turning it over in your hand. “Swords as in multiple?”

“Three.”

“Three?” 

His eye twitched in frustration. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“How long have you been looking for these swords?” You walked over to the door where he was standing. “And don’t ever barge into my room again without knocking first.”

He gritted his teeth, and you could tell he wanted to say something back, but he refrained. He moved out of the way for you to pass through the door. “I’ve been looking for a few days.”

“A few days?” You laughed at that, thinking it was an over exaggeration, but his silence made you realize he was being serious. “You must be bad with directions.”

“It’s not my fault it’s a maze in here!” He shouted back at you. You rolled your eyes and bound down the steps, hoping he was capable enough to follow you. 

“Perona,” You call out at the bottom of the stops. “Where’d you hide this guy’s swords?”

“It’s not my fault!” the pink-haired girl cried, floating into the room. “I told him exactly where they were! Up the stairs and down the hallway!”

“Thanks!” You bound back up the left staircase, and when you got to the top, you realize you didn't see the swordsman anywhere. You had just run down the stairs and then back up them, how had you lost him already?

You didn’t have time to figure out where he went. Honestly, you cared more about his swords than you did about him. You just wanted to see how his blades looked. 

His swords were exactly where Perona described. It was as he said: three swords sitting together in the room. 

You could feel the energy rolling off of one of them when you opened the door. It was respectable for a swordsman to carry a blade with such a strong personality, but you weren’t interested in a sword with an attitude. 

The next one that caught your eye was a sword you never thought you’d see in your lifetime. Shusui, the legendary katana from Wano. The last you heard it had been buried with its previous owner. You unsheathed it and held it out, slashing the air a few times. The balance was perfect, and it almost made you envious of the user. If you didn’t have the sword you possessed now, you would certainly be taking this for yourself. 

You sheathed Shusui and turned your attention to the last sword, a white-hilted one. As you bent down to grab it, a strong hand grabbed your shoulder. You quickly turned, unsheathing your own blade and holding its tip out against the perpetrator’s throat. 

It was that damn pirate. You had been so caught up in looking at his swords, you hadn’t noticed him come in. He was smirking at you with a brow raised, eyeing the sword in your hand. You rolled your eyes and lowered your sword, scoffing at his cockiness. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, nodding at the blade in your hand. You squinted your eyes at him suspiciously, but handed your blade over to him and then bent down to pick up the white hilted one. 

As you examined it, you couldn't help but find it familiar-looking. It was a great sword, and it was made with the finest materials by an extraordinarily skilled blade smith. You were jealous of the man who got to call it his own. Wado Ichimonji, you believed it was called. It wasn’t exactly your style, but you could still admire it nonetheless.

You could hear him gasp behind you, and you turn to look. His fingers reached down to run along the light blue blade as he inspected it. 

“Wait-” 

He cried out, more in surprise than in pain, and he yanked his hand away from the blade. You could see that his fingers had beads of blood forming on them, cut by the razortooth edges that ran along the flat of your blade. 

“Sorry, I forgot to warn you.” You sheathed his blade and walked over to him. You reached out for his hand to examine it for any serious damage, but he yanked it away from you. 

You scowled at him, but he continued to inspect your blade, turning it over in his hands. He slashed at the air a few times, and you could feel the waves of air roll over you. If he knew how to actually use the blade to its full capacity, he’d be quite powerful with it. You suspected that the other swords in his possession weren’t by luck.

“Roronoa.” You had been piecing the information together for a while now, and you were fairly certain in your guess of his identity. 

“You know me?” He said, eyeing you cautiously. 

“I’ve heard of you,” you corrected.  Your father occasionally commented on him when he was in the paper, and you knew the story of how he had challenged the Warlord in the East Blue. At the start of the Grand Line, he hadn’t been anything impressive, but over the few months he’d been there, he seemed to have made a name for himself. 

“You have a nice blade,” he said, handing it back to you and walking over to pick up his own. 

“Nikko,” you say, giving it a quick glance before putting it at your side again. “You have nice ones as well. Except that cursed one. I’m surprised you can handle it.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got it under control.”

You nodded back to him, not quite sure you believed him. “Are you planning to stay with us for a while?”

He scoffed at your question. “I’m returning to my captain as soon as I can.”

It’s your turn to laugh now. “Good luck. In your condition, you won’t make it to the coast.”

“Yeah well, you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

You snorted at his response, but offered none of your own. With the conversation over, you turned away from him and back to the door to take your leave. 

The sound of rock collapsing comes from the swordsman’s direction, and your head whipped back around to see what he’s done now. You just catch a glimpse of moss-colored hair jumping out of a cut opening in the stone. 

“You brute!” You screamed down at him as you watched him fall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!?”

But he didn’t respond, he just hit the ground and started running. 

“Where’d he go?!” Perona’s shrill voice came from beside you. “He’s my ticket off this dump of an island!”

“This dump of an island is my home,” you said, irritated with the bubblegum girl. Maybe it would be better for her to take her leave.

“Enjoy it! I’m leaving with him!” She floated through the opening that Roronoa had made, and began chasing after him. 

“Watch out for the-” you shouted as loud as you could, but she was already out of earshot. 

You looked up, as if you were mumbling a prayer. “Father, where are you?”

--

You found them at the wooden cross, surrounded by baboons. You watched from the woods at Roronoa struggling to fight, and as the baboon went in for the kill, you jumped in front of him and sliced the baboon across its chest with Nikko. 

“I don’t need you saving me!” You heard the man call from behind you, anger thick in his voice.

“Oh? You don’t?” You turned back to him and sheathed your sword. “Fine then. Do it yourself.”

Most of the baboons had learned to fear you, but this green-haired stranger was no threat to them. Once your sword was put away and walked out of range, they began their attack against him again. 

You watched the match in disappointment. You expected better from the man who was supposed to best your father in a sword fight. But this was just pathetic.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” Perona screamed at you from above. 

“He doesn’t want my help,” you hissed, loud enough for him to hear. “Why don’t you try, Perona?”

“You think I can take those things?!” She squeaked, and you turned your attention back to the fight, just in time to see Roronoa get thrown backwards into the wooden cross.

He hit it with such force that he left an indent on the wooden marker, and then fell face first into the ground. He laid there for a minute, and you grabbed the hilt of your blade, ready to draw if the baboons made an attack.  

It wasn’t necessary though, because you finally noticed his presence. You relaxed, clicking Nikko back into its sheath. Only a second later did the baboons notice, and they all began to flee from the area. 

Even Perona and Roronoa seemed shocked, and you could see the green-haired swordsman tense at the realization of who was appearing through the fog. He grabbed his cursed blade, using it to pull himself up to his knees. 

“You better not do that, Roronoa Zoro,” your father said, eyeing the man before him. “You’ve been injured beyond your limit. Do you think you can beat me when you can’t even beat the baboons?”

You snorted at that, pleased that your father was equally unimpressed with the swordsman. Roronoa Zoro, he called him. 

Mihawk’s gold eyes flicked to you, and he frowned. “I thought I told you not to leave the castle while I was away. I expect a full explanation of the events that occurred while I was absent.”

You bit your lip, frustrated with the reprimand, but said nothing. You knew he wouldn’t listen now. He had bigger things to deal with, like the two new houseguests who had appeared while he was gone. 

“Why the hell are you here?!” Roronoa demanded, looking at your father. 

Your father’s attention moved back to the man on the ground. “I’ve been living in that castle for quite some time. Why are you here?”

“I got blown away by Kuma, a member of the seven warlords like yourself.”

“I see…” Your father looked at you briefly. “Is he telling the truth?”

You nod. “He is.”

“Very well. That explains why Strawhat came to Marineford with other people.”

Roronoa’s eyes got wide at the mention of his captain’s name. “You saw Luffy?! How was he?!? Was he alright?!”

Your father seemed unfazed by the green-haired man’s desperation. “He’s still alive probably. But I assume that he’s been very badly traumatized.”

“What happened?”

“He lost his brother.”

Roronoa blinked. You could see every muscle in his body tighten in anguish. “What did you say?”

“Fire-Fist Ace died before Strawhat’s eyes.”

Everyone stood there for a moment, frozen. You could tell the news had rocked the pirate. His facial expressions were extremely easy to read. He looked confused, angry, helpless, and upset all in the same moment. 

After a moment, he struggled to his feet. “I have to go. I have to go find Luffy.”

After the swordsman and Perona took off, your father looked at you with a frown. You knew he was disappointed, but you weren’t entirely sure what you had done to make him feel that way. 

“Please explain to me why there are two new people on this island.”

You began walking back towards the castle. “I believe Roronoa is right. Kuma sent them here, separately. There was a pawprint impact zone around Perona when she arrived on the grounds. I did not leave to inspect Roronoa’s site when he arrived a few days later because it was outside of the castle grounds.” You paused for a moment, letting him absorb all of the information. “I didn’t leave the grounds, father.”

“And yet you are off them now,” he shot back. 

“They were in danger! I couldn’t-”

“I do not care about the lives of those two. And I do not appreciate you risking your own life to save them.” You heard it as he paused to keep his voice from rising any further. The worry laced in his voice that was initially masked as anger. He took a breath, and his voice returned to his normal cadence when he speaks again. 

“Do not do it again.”

You grinned at him, deciding to press your luck. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“You can handle yourself. I am aware of that.”

You laughed lightly, and decide to abandon the topic. You had missed your father desperately while he was gone. 

“How was Marineford?” you asked. 

“Like I said, the execution was successful.”

“But how was it?” you pressed. Sometimes your father forgot to turn off the whole mystery persona with you. 

He hummed, thinking how to describe it. “There were some complications. Mainly Roronoa’s captain. He’s quite a problem for the Navy.”

You chuckled at that. “Runs in the crew, I guess.”

“What do you mean? Has he been a problem?”

You looked at him, irritation on your face. “There's a hole in one of the second story guest bedrooms now. He got irritated with how complicated it was to navigate the castle and just cut his way out.”

Your father frowned. “I see. They’ll be quite troublesome houseguests, won’t they?”

You were so shocked by his response that you stopped in your tracks. “They’re staying?”

“Do you think they’re going to get off this island in their current state?”

You laughed at that question. You had been thinking the same thing. At least someone was of the same mindset as you. 

----

Later that night, you heard Perona enter the castle. Based on her grunts of frustration, she was carrying the swordsman. He lasted longer than you thought he would. You chose to lock your bedroom door that night. The last thing you needed was to wake up to a lost, poorly bandaged swordsman barging into your room. 

Every morning, you would hear Roronoa scream as he woke up, which prompted Perona to scream in return. The two of them would hobble out of the castle, trying to fight their way to the coast. And every night, long after sunset, Perona would drag the swordsman back into the castle and rebandage his wounds. Just for the cycle to repeat the next day.

You wanted to scream at the mossy-haired man. He would never get anywhere if he didn’t let his injuries heal. If he just rested for one or two days, he might have enough energy to make it. But he refused to rest. The only thing he could think of was his captain. 

“How long do you think he’ll keep doing this?” You asked your father, spreading some butter on your toast. You had fallen into a strange pattern over the past two weeks with your houseguests, but you were getting tired of it.

“It is…unclear.” You could hear the disapproval in his voice, and you laughed at it. 

“You told the baboons not to kill him, didn’t you?” 

You looked over at him inquisitively, but he didn't respond. 

“He’s such an arrogant swordsman. Why are you sparing him?” 

You were met with silence again, causing you to huff in frustration and pick up the News Coo. 

“Oh, you were correct,” you said, looking at the front page. “There’s news of Roronoa’s Captain today on the front page. He’s alive.”

“Let me see!” A girlish squeal came from behind you, startling you. She grabbed the paper out of your hands, staring at it. “I’ll need to show Zoro!”

“Hey! I was reading that!” You screamed after her, but she whisked away without looking back at you. 

“There’s still time to go talk to the baboons,” you grumbled as you stood from the table and began to retreat to your room. You could hear your father chuckle behind you, but you didn’t bother looking back. 

You spent the day in your room, and were surprised to hear the pink and green-haired combo come back earlier than usual. The sun was still up, and based off of the sounds they were making, the swordsman was still conscious. 

You tiptoed down the hall and stood near the base of the stairs, hidden from sight. 

“I want to beat you!” You heard Roronoa scream. You decided to peek around the corner to get a better view of what was occurring, and you could see that the swordsman was bowing before your father. It was not a sight you expected to see, especially in conjunction with the words he had just spoken. 

Your father laughed at his words. A full, hearty laugh. “You’re asking me to train a swordsman who wants to kill me? You’re insane. And what you’re asking is nonsense. Even so, what you’re doing is still embarrassing.” But the swordsman stays kneeling, waiting for an answer, and your father watches him with interest. “Seems like you found something more important than your ambition. Hey, ghost girl. Treat him.”

Perona pouted from her place near your father. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

You took the opportunity to step out into view of the room. “I’ll do it,” you offer. “I’ll treat him.”

Your father watched you with his sharp gold eyes, hesitating for a moment. But he nodded in agreement after a brief pause, coming to a decision. 

“Very well. The training will begin when you’re recovered.”

“Thank you,” Roronoa said, struggling to stand on his feet. You offered no assistance. If he could not walk to the medical bay on his own, then he did that to himself. 

You walked alongside him in silence. He didn't ask for help, and you didn’t offer it. It was a slow and painful walk to the medical room, but the swordsman completed it on his own. 

You pulled his bandages off gently, unraveling the long mess of Perona’s handiwork up his arms and down his torso. He had plenty of fresh wounds both internally and externally, but the wound that caught your eye was an old one that ran diagonally across his chest. You were certain the cut was made by Yoru, and your fingers began to run across it to examine it further, but Roronoa smacked your hand away. 

“Do you mind?” He hissed, pulling away from you. 

You rolled your eyes, but abandon the inspection and walk to the back of the room. As he limped over to the bed, you grab a new roll of bandages and gauze. 

“You should shower before we rebandage everything to give it a chance to breathe,” you said, looking through the cabinets. “There’s a bathroom through the second door you can shower in.”

“I showered two days ago,” he said simply, sitting on the bed unmoving. 

You paused what you were doing and turned to look at him. “Exactly. Go shower.”

“I don’t need to.”

You frowned. “Yes, you do.”

You heard him suck in a breath of air. “I’m not showering, woman. Rebandage my wounds or leave me alone.”

It was his tone that really irritated you, and Nikko was in your hand before you knew it. You slashed the air, sending a blunt force air cannon to smack him in the back of the head. 

“Go shower!” You screamed at him, just as the strike made contact with his head. 

You heard him grunt in pain, and quickly resheathe your blade and continue to search for more bandages.

“What the hell?!” he said, looking back at you. But you acted like nothing happened, and you heard him get off the bed and shuffle towards the bathroom to fulfill your request. He was mumbling curses under his breath, but you’d take the win. 

It takes him a long time to reemerge from the bathroom, and you picked up the News Coo from this morning to finish reading. You read about Monkey D. Luffy’s 16-bell toll at Marineford, and his honoring the fallen in the battle. There’s a full analysis of whether the pirate was marking the dawn of a new era or if he was declaring war, which you found particularly boring. 

You finally heard the click of the door, and the swordsman reappeared from a steam-filled bathroom. You smiled proudly at your small accomplishment, seeing his freshly washed hair fall over his face like strands of algae. He hobbled over to the bed and gently sat down on it. You were still reading the article about his captain and decided to ask him something that had been weighing on your mind. 

“What’s with his tattoo?” You asked, looking back to the picture. “3D is crossed out, and 2Y is written.”

“It’s not a tattoo.” He winced slightly as he adjusts himself on the mattress. “It’s a message. We made a promise to meet at a certain place three days later.”

“And that meeting time was moved to two years from now?”

He nodded. “Exactly. Everything else was for publicity. This is a message exclusively for us. Luffy made a decision. Meet at Sabaody in two years.”

“It sounds like your captain is quite smart.”

He snorted at that remark. “He’s not.”

You laughed at his bluntness and put the paper down. At least the swordsman was honest. 

You picked up his arm with your hands, and you can feel his strong muscles tense in your grip. “Relax,” you demand. He was always so damn rigid. 

You rubbed his forearm, lightly massaging it along upwards to his biceps, and then his shoulder. You worked in silence, besides Roronoa’s occasional groan or your scolding hiss to get him to stop tensing. 

By the time you got to his mid-back, he had finally started to loosen up, and you could feel his muscles responding to your touch. You went down to his lower back before curving across and starting on his opposing shoulder to work your way down his other arm. 

You could feel his eyes on you, watching you silently as you stayed absorbed in your work. Your father had done this to you hundreds of times over your life. You could only hope it felt as relieving for Roronoa as it did all of the times your father had done it for you. 

You stopped when you got to his fingers, and looked up at him. “Do you mind if I bandage your wounds now, Roronoa?”

He stared at you for a moment with a bewildered look in his eyes. You stare back, refusing to look away. Your father always taught you that it showed weakness to look away first. It was better to start out intimidating and then loosen up around others once you knew they were trustworthy. But pirates were rarely trustworthy. 

“Zoro,” he choked out, his eyes finally skirting away from yours. “You can call me Zoro. And yes, uh, you can. Do the bandage thing, I mean.”

You nodded and picked up the bandages to begin wrapping his arm. You could hear him huff a frustrated sigh, and you curiously looked over at him. 

“Well?” he said, looking at you expectantly. 

You felt your eye twitch at his sudden moodiness. “What?” you shot back, matching his energy. 

“Are you going to introduce yourself?”

Right. You knew a lot about Roronoa Zoro, but he didn’t know anything about you. You introduced yourself with your name, but didn’t offer any other information. 

He accepted that introduction, at least for the moment, and you finish wrapping both of his arms in silence. When you were finished, he flexed under his bandages, and he smiled a bit. 

“You’re better at this than that other girl.”

You laughed at that, starting on his torso area. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“What did you do before you got here?”

You paused, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, messing up a piece of your wrap and forcing you to start over. “Didn’t Kuma send you here too? Like me and Perona?”

“Oh. No,” you clarified. “I’ve been living on Gloom Island for about seven years now.”

“Seven years?”

You nodded and kept wrapping, but Roronoa didn’t let the conversation go. “What have you been doing for seven years?”

“Training, I guess. Reading. Exploring the island.”

He tensed. “But the baboons…”

You shot him a look. “Stop tensing or it’ll be too tight on you. The baboons aren’t anything to worry about. There’s only one or two on the island I have some trouble with.”

“Tch. Whatever you say.” You could tell he thinks you’re lying, but you don’t care. You finished wrapping his torso and gave him one last check-over to make sure the bandages all held. 

“Why Dracule Mihawk?” you finally ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. “What do you mean?”

“Why train under him? Why work to defeat him?”

His eyes narrowed at you, as if he was trying to comprehend what you were asking. “He’s the best, isn’t he?”

You nod, and the swordsman gets a wicked grin across his face. 

“I’m going to beat him and the best. My name is going to be so famous, it’ll reach the heavens.”

“I see,” you said slowly, watching him. You could see in his expression that he means it, and he’ll stop at nothing to reach his goal. You went to take your leave, stopping at the door and turning to look at him one last time. 

“Then I wish you luck in that journey, Zoro.”

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Stalking Me, Stalking You (CSI Nick Stokes) Part two

Imagine: You never saw it coming, you never knew he was there until the moment he struck. For months, this individual had stalking you from the shadows, trying to find a way into your life. Never quite able to but in his mind, time was running out and soon enough you would be completely out of reach. This was the moment to act, to ‘rescue’ you and steal you away.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, hurt but eventual comfort. Suffering, lots of suffering, slow-moving plot, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Pairings: Nick Stokes x Reader and Reader x OC (one-sided)

Word count: 3,338 words

Universe: CSI

Reader gender: Female

Part two of ten

Tagged: @just-call-me-the-old-hag @horsedragonllama @space-helen @kneelforloki

Previous / Next

Tuesday, 8 AM

It was hard to even comprehend what, the how but most importantly the why as you lay upon the lumpy, uncomfortably firm bare mattress. There was not much within the room that could easily make out through the darkness covering every inch from wall to wall. A small window was your light source, far too high up and tiny to even be considered a viable escape route. 

A bare-bones cell, where you were completely dependent upon your captor for all your necessary needs except one. How long had it been since you had been placed within these four walls? It was hard to say with any degree of accuracy but you could hazard a guess after watching the sliver of light move across the room. At least twenty-four had come and gone which gave you ever a little hope.

As you thought over the few details you remember when he had last opened the only possible exit, an empty pendant that hung in the middle of the ceiling and one single chair and table on the other side of the room and that blinking red light staring down, watching. A camera poised just out of reach, following your every motion from within the safety of a room far beyond that locked door.

You could only focus on what was important, surviving through until an opportunity presented itself. One, where you'd find a way out and into the welcoming embrace of freedom. Until such a time arose, you would bide your time knowing that your mother’s arrival would herald the alarm being raised, you had not known a moment in time when she hadn’t been resourceful when left to her own devices. 

She wouldn’t have remained at the airport for longer than what she deemed a necessary length of time to wait before flagging down a taxi. You hated to envision the sight of her arriving at the house, only to discover that you were not there. Only to try and reach out again, nervously calling again and again but never able to reach you and elevate that rapidly growing concern. 

Fear was your constant companion, never knowing what was going to happen the next time that the door opened. With one hand, you pushed yourself up until you were sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed. As soon as you sat up, the waves of nausea returned but you could ignore it for now.

Your eyes turn upwards, staring straight at the camera. As your analytic mind ran through possible scenarios but for now, it was best to comply with your kidnapper. Play along, act like the part that he wanted you to play as you observe every word spoken, the slightest action and reaction to find that gold window to escape.

It would take time but then again, right now that was all you had. It had taken more than a moment, to mull over where you had seen him before, trying to place the man who had imprisoned you against your will. Then it hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes widened, in suspense at the realisation of who he was and the extent of the resources he had available to play with.

Money to make his problems vanish at the drop of a hat, with one well-placed phone call to the right person. You would have to play your cards carefully and hold them close to your chest as one wrong move could send you spiralling down a path that might not come back from.

Taking baby steps as you blindly walked over broken eggshells. The click of the lock turning alerted you to the fact that you were no longer alone. He was coming through. 

“Darling, did you sleep well? “He affectionately crooned, pushing the heavy door inward, and entering the box-sized room. There was a sense of anticipation for you to reply in his tone as he stiffly stood mere feet away, with a food-laden tray in one hand, carefully balanced but his eyes were glued to your frame. Lingering a fracture of a second longer upon your abdomen before darting away.

You could have screamed at the top of your lungs, demanding pointless answers to the mountain of questions you plucked of out the air, as to what had led him down this dark path, but what good would that do? You had seen the various outcomes, seen bodies dumped and victims torn asunder for questioning their killer’s motivations.

“My back aches but I did get a little sleep” You forced the words out, much like you would dry swallow tablets if you had no water. Your answer seemed to be good enough, as he quickly turned on his heel to place the tray down on the table.

You followed his few short steps, hesitating to move from your seated position. The table itself was bolted down to the floor, as was the chair. To keep you from wielding either as a weapon against him. He had thought through each likely eventuality, combing out stray paths that could allow you to find your way out.

This was going to be harder than you had initially considered but the security camera should have the first indication that he was smarter than most of the criminals you tangoed with daily.

“Your breakfast will get cold, come eat” There was underlying sharpness to his words as he spoke still in that disturbingly affectionate tone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------Monday, 9:15 AM

As Officers Jack Rodriguez and Francis Sawyer rolled up to the scene, their eyes glanced from left to right taking in all the necessary details that would need to be relayed to dispatch first and then to whichever CSI would be assigned to gather evidence. 

It was a standard one-up, one-down house that looked much like the ones on either side. Nothing special from the outside. The perfect starter family home for any citizen who looking to live in this part of town.

Rodriguez pushed open the driver’s side door on the cruiser, as Sawyer silenced the siren that had flashing the blues as they raced across town straight from the police station. It was their first call of the day and they both wanted to get the ball rolling. His eyes then searched for the woman who had placed the call in the first place, one Mrs Evelyn…. 

Her surname had been a familiar one but then again, there were likely to be countless individuals with that particular surname. He pushed against the notion as his eyes landed upon an older lady frantically pacing in front of the homestead with Its front door wide out to the elements.

His keenly trained eyes noted the suitcase lying on the grass verge, remembering that the dispatcher had mentioned that this lady was the mother of the property’s inhabitant and was visiting from out of town.

“Sawyer, I’ll speak to the lady who phoned this in, whilst you secured the scene” Rodriguez stated to his partner who nodded and moved in the direction of the front door. They had always worked well together, becoming in sync over the last decade of their partnership. 

Jack with a gentle smile approached Evelyn carefully, trying his best not to startle her already frayed nerves. “Morning Ma’am, I’m Officer Rodriguez” He quickly introduced himself to try and begin an open line of communication between the two of them.

With his gun in one hand, poised in front of him Officer Francis Sawyer slowly approached the property. His eyes swept from left to right, to make sure that nothing would catch him off-guard as he moved through the threshold and into the entrance hall.

“Las Vegas Police Department” He loudly announced as he took the first step past the doorway. There was nothing but silence as he continued onwards, taking in every little detail from the empty coat hooks on the left side to the different pairs of shoes lined up on the right.

Nothing out of the ordinary thus far as he ventured further into the domain until he stopped at the threshold of the living room. This room told a completely different story. The sofa and chairs were knifed and torn into tatters, the coffee table shattered into a thousand different pieces and every drawer and cupboard gone through. 

Papers and possessions were thrown about the place, littering every inch of the floor. It was a complete and utter disaster as if a mini hurricane had come through here. As he inched deeper into the room, the crack of photo frames underfoot drew his gaze downwards. Seeing the image of one that he had crossed paths with in the past, at the shift change when she was on her way out. He blanched, as a sudden realisation hit him hard like a ton of bricks.

This was the home of one of their own. The name rang around his head once more, embedding the notion of this violation of privacy as if it was his own home that this stranger had entered and recklessly destroyed.

“LVPD, if anyone is there come out now” He tried once more but still was met with a wall of silence. He carefully wandered through the remainder of the rooms, sticking to the walls as he cleared each one. Francis went from one end of the house to the other until he stood in the kitchen at the back of the residence. Taking note of the broken glass that covered the ground underneath one of the windows. Once he finished his walk-through, he exited back out the front door to rejoin his partner to stand guard until the forensic unit took control of the scene.

Evelyn continued to listen and answer to the best of her ability the Officer’s endless barrage of questions. “Once I saw the state of the living room, I left the way I entered as I didn’t want to find myself face-to-face with the intruder” She had recalled the advice that her daughter had given her on one of their weekly catchups when she had told her about their cousin’s plight when she found her home broken into.

“I have been trying to reach my daughter since I landed, but my calls remain unanswered and this makes me think something has happened to her” Evelyn said, words drenched in heavy layers of fear and worry for her child. “How did you get in Ma’am?” Jack questioned, as he continued down this path as the picture of what had led to the phone was coming together. 

“My daughter came me a key the last night I was here, last October but the door had been left ajar which is not like my daughter at all. She would always check and make sure the door was locked before leaving” Evelyn answered honestly as this had been her child’s way even before moving to Vegas. Forever worried about her safety within and outside her residence.

As Sawyer returned, Jack could not ignore the troubled look on his partner’s face.  He had found something within those four walls as he watched him relay to dispatch an update. The familiar radio codes alerted him that there was more to this scene than what they had been informed en route. “Ma’am, is there any reason that your daughter would deliberately go missing” It was a question that needed asking, even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth as the words passed through his lips. 

“No, she was looking forward to this visit.  We had plans, including dinner reservations with her partner” Evelyn blurted out, annoyed at the notion that her daughter would just up and disappear like this. 

“Do you happen to know the name of her partner? Had your daughter mentioned any concerns about them?” He pressed, knowing that any romantic entanglements would always be the first point of call in any investigation.

“His name is Nick but I don’t know his last name. They meet through work but she has never expressed any concerns. She always seemed happy when talking about him” Evelyn replied as she failed to recall any conversation where her daughter had spoken negatively about Nick. Jack nodded, noting down this in his notepad as the CSI’s rolled up.

“Thank you, Ma’am, I have your contact details and my partner will drop you off at one of the hotels as this is now an active crime scene” Jack started to explain before adding “I will let my superiors know to update you when we have more information” He tried his best to calm her but knew that she would likely be beside herself until that phone call came through.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------Monday, 11:30 PM

Captain Jim Brass entered the room without meeting the gaze of any of his colleagues. Conrad Ecklie followed close behind, much like a shadow would.

“Thank you all for waiting, at 8:45 this morning, officers were alerted to a burglary at the home of one of our own. From the testimony of the detective next of kin who had discovered the scene, dayshift CSIs have gone over the home with a fine tooth comb but it seems that this was just a distraction” Jim stated, taking a breath before continuing.

“The detective has not been sighted since 10:45 am yesterday, the availability of evidence has led u to believe that this is now a 427, that she has been kidnapped” As Jim spoke her name, he watched the expression on each of the faces change.

“We are pooling all resources together but as there will be a conflict of interest. The graveyard shift will be hands-off, using eyes only when reviewing the evidence. As Dayshift will be taking the lead. This time, Conrad spoke with authority that went above and beyond the department as Undersheriff of the entire LVPD.

Nick was beyond speechless, his face pale as the shock continued to rush through him. He could not find the words to express the true extent of his abject horror. His partner was missing and the order from up on high had all but reduced his capacity to assist in bringing her home, back to him. 

In a sense, he was an observer looking through a pane of glass, whilst others had the control and power behind his rescue. It was maddening, his blood boiled at the frustration and anger rising within. With his fist clenched, hanging by his side, to stood and listened knowing that verbally lashing out would get him nowhere fast.

Nick knew that he would need to come clean to Russell and Catherine to the extent of his relationship with the now-victimized detective. However, that meeting would come sooner rather than later, as Nick’s body language had not escaped DB Russell’s observant gaze. It was dissimilar to how the other had responded. The quiet fury reminded the older man not of a colleague or friend but of a deeper, more passionate connection.

His keen and well-trained eyes had moved through the room, watching how each of them had reacted. Frustration and annoyance hung in the air, they all wished to help to get to the bottom of this. They had worked alongside the Detective in question, some for many years, others not quite as long. He had only worked with the Dectivictive on a handful of cases but still, she was an easy-going well trained and personable individual.

Nick was a man bounded by limitations but ready to fight back when the opportunity arose, to go to the end of the earth, searching under every rock along the way. His eyes told a story, one that would be similarly reflected in his own if his family had been the ones to be taken.

He needed to speak to Nick Stokes the seasoned Criminalist before Nick Stokes the man and loving partner took hold and crossed a line that he could not come easily back from.

There was no personal connection for him, Russell would view the evidence objectively without bias but his colleagues would likely struggle. They would most definitely try but Stokes was an unknown element. A match that could easily spark into a blaze, he would need assistance in quelling this fire before it started. Catherine Willows would be an ideal second, to tag along into this meeting. 

With this knowledge, the cogs in his mind begin to turn. “Catherine, A word if you wouldn’t mind” Russell’s focus shifted back to the blonde woman standing across from him. He gestured with his left for her to follow him. She quickly nodded, before the pair of them exited the room,

His eyes flicked back to the layout as the two of them entered his office, walking as the lone Texan stepped into the hallway. His entire posture was tense, driven by powerful emotions that could send him spiralling down a dangerous road.

“What do you want to talk about DB?” Catherine enquired, from the other side of his desk, patiently waiting for him to answer. “Close the door please, As this pertains to Nick Stokes,” He said calmly, taking a seat behind the desk in his recently acquired office, decorated with his little personal touches. 

Catherine quickly closed the door but turned sharply back when Nick’s name was raised. “Nick? Relating to what exactly?” She questioned, taking a step closer to the man who was effectively her boss and superior.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------Sunday, 7:30 PM

His eyes remained fixed upon the long strait of the road ahead as he passed a sign on the side of the road. The twenty-five foot high tall incandescently lit up sign that marked the Vegas limits as his eyes briefly lifted to take in the words upon the back of it.

DRIVE CAREFULLY, COME BACK SOON

A smirk spread across his lips, as he turned his attention back to the road. A thought crossed his mind. He had no intention of ever returning to this city again, especially now that he had what he craved the most. All tucked away in the trunk of the car, she would still be knocked, thanks to the cocktail of drugs that he had administered not long before leaving the shack where his prize had been concealed. 

This was just the beginning of their life together, as long as she played her role to perfection like he knew she would. The winding road would indeed be arduous, for it would be a long while before they reached home. Yes, it would be their home to spend the rest of their days together.

She was different, unlike the others who tried and failed to live up to his high standards. She was the ideal candidate. She would succeed, where the others had been dismally disappointing. Those who let him down did not deserve to breathe the very same air as he did but they were not worth another wasted moment of his time, even to reflect upon.

“Here’s to the next chapter of our lives Darling” He smugly announced confidently, knowing that there was no one else around to hear his words. Not even his darling, who was lost to the drug-induced slumber. For there were no loose ends to tie up, they had all be swiftly taken care of, one way or another.

No direct evidence linking back to him, all the angles had been carefully considered before taking action. Oh, how wished that he could watch them scramble around like lost little lambs trying to find their way in the dark. Alas, that could not be, it was the risk that was too high for him to take without compromising his escape. It had needed to be a clean getaway, without that the probability of discovery rose to a level that could lead the cops right to his door.

He would not lose her, not after all the time that he had invested in his venture to simply obtain her, to rescue her and make her his.

[lookingfts]

Friday Fic Rec 10/25

Thanks as always for your submissions! Titles are links to each fic.

operation: barista (snitches get stitches) by starkswinterfelling

“It’s a dynamite text fic series, truly the OG text fic, and it honestly is the characterization and personalities I see in a lot of modern day AUs. It’s so funny!”

Description: All of the many combinations of the Bridgerton group chats, as they're all back together in their home town for a week and (attempt to) stir up a plot to get Anthony and the barista together.

Complete - T - 14k words

I Wouldn't Know What to Do by trash4ficsaboutlurv

“This author has only written two Bridgerton fics (both Kanthony) and while the other one is great too, 'I wouldn't know what to do' is a true killer. And it's one of those rare stories where Kate is the much bigger clown, which is always refreshing.”

Description: Kate and Anthony have known each other for more than a decade. Anthony dated Kate's best friend Siena in college and even though that relationship ended a long time ago, it means he's 100% off-limits. Kate has a code. Anthony just thinks she's the most confusing person he's ever met. And also, though he shouldn't say, the prettiest.

Complete - M - 81k words

there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love by folklauerate

“Kate cheats on Tom (her absent fiance and eventual husband) with Anthony. It's passionate and messy and I reread it all the time.”

Description: The Kate POV to "the other man"/Tom and Kate and Anthony cheating oneshot.

Complete - E - 18k words

The Anticipation Of Relief + A Pocketful Of Secrets by PenguinofProse 

“I think this author has such a clear understanding of both Kate and Anthony to their bones and does an amazing job representing how they would navigate their lives in an arranged marriage if Violet died right after Edmund.”

Description: In which Anthony loses both his parents young and seeks a marriage of convenience. 155K words of Anthony Bridgerton slowly learning how to love again.

Complete - E - 156k words

i don’t like a gold rush by alljustrunaways

Description: Kate Sharma expected certain challenges when she accepted her offer at Oxford University with a tennis scholarship. She did not expect Anthony Bridgerton.

Complete - E - 30k words

Summer’s a Knife by @deadmunds-ghostbee 

Description: Kate is thrilled to visit Edwina for the summer as she begins her new job as a local politician. Anthony has only two weeks of vacation and a hasty plan involving a certain city councilwoman. Insults and maybe sparks fly when they cross paths along the way—that is, until they get far too close for comfort.

Complete - M - 106k words

Simmering by @newtonsheffield

Description: Anthony knew this restaurant was his father's dream, and he was watching it slip through his fingers more and more every day. And whatever she's doing, Kate Sharma is not helping with that.

Complete - M - 36k words

i can’t find the words, so i guess it’s time by pentaghastly

Description: They make it to the wine cellar. It’s a long, long while before they make it out.

Complete - T - 7k words

Thanks to those who submitted! This is a (mostly) weekly thing, so keep your recs coming! You can find previous weeks under the "lfts fic recs" tag.

[megs-98]

An Understanding

"You have a good heart, little one. One that I admire very much. It takes a special person to do everything that you have done, please don’t forget that.”

A/N: LOL i was big in my emotions the other day and i guess i just needed to hear a pep talk from halsin so i wrote a drabble. i think i'm gonna keep doing one shots of halsin and my tav mara and seeing how their relationship evolves

Characters: Halsin, f!named Tav (Mara)

Tags: Thoughts and talk of low self confidence, depiction of smoking, the slightest mention of death, halsin being a reassuring sweetheart

Word count: 1.6k

Mara sat with her back on a rock along the riverbank; her wet hair hung in her face as she brought her knees to her chest. An attempt to shrink into herself. Her mind replayed the last weeks over and over. The nautiloid, meeting all of her new friends, the battles they endured both physically and mentally. Mara hadn’t known her companions very long but she felt an obligation to help them through their personal journeys as they were more than ready to help her with finding a solution to the illithid tadpoles. 

She felt as her eyes started to burn, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes as she learned her head back and took a deep breath. Mara was no stranger to difficult situations; being a former paladin of Ilmater that wandered Baldur’s Gate and the surrounding areas, she had seen, and helped with, various conflicts. The situation she found herself in now, though, was not something she ever thought would happen. The little that she had learned about each of her companions, Mara knew that they were all plagued by unfair and unjust circumstances for far too long and she devoted herself to helping them as they found their way back to Baldur’s Gate. Her chest felt heavier and heavier with every thought; how was she supposed to lead a ragtag team to save themselves with no real answers or guidance. She felt less confident with herself as she truly thought about the situation at hand. 

Mara felt a hot tear descend down her nose and past her lips as it trailed her cheek, another one followed the same path soon after; then one after another. She put a hand on her forehead as she stared into her lap and watched the tears fall off her face, an occasional sniffle breaking the silence that surrounded her.

“Unbelievable.” She said to herself with a laugh as she combed her fingers through her hair, “I’ve helped children in poverty, fought people after they tried to discriminate against other drow and tieflings and orcs. I’ve devoted myself to helping those who are oppressed and suffering. I have had divine intervention guide me to what is right and wrong. I can do this…” The last sentence sounded like a question even to Mara. 

“Those are all quite impressive feats, little one.” Mara quickly turned around, sat on her knees, to see who was talking to her. To her relief it was Halsin, the archdruid who asked to accompany her and the others to the Shadow Cursed lands. “I do apologize if I disturbed you, that was not my intention, nor was eavesdropping.” He gave her a small smile as he swung a leg over a felled tree that laid close to Mara.

Mara rose to her feet and quickly wiped her face dry as she shook her head. “No! No, you’re fine, Halsin. I was just thinking out loud, I guess.” She said as she gathered her items. Halsin gave her a hum of acknowledgement as she straightened herself out and walked close to him. 

“I should probably head back to camp anyways. I’m sure you would appreciate some privacy for whatever you need to do.” Mara gave him a weary smile as she took a few steps to leave. 

“Why don’t you join me? For just a moment, I won’t keep you long.” Halsin said from behind her, more assertive than she had heard him before. 

Mara stilled herself as she took a deep breath. She knew Halsin was wiser than her, perhaps he could offer advice. With a turn on her heel, Mara walked back to the tree Halsin was perched on and took a seat next to him. They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit, Mara unsure of what to say while Halsin admired the moonlight that reflected in the soft waves of the water. 

The wood elf moved first as he retrieved his pipe out of a satchel along with a small bag of crushed herbs. He held the pipe out to Mara for her to hold. Once she had it in her hands, she inspected the delicate instrument; it was handmade of oak with an earthy oil used as the varnish. She could see every line in the wood as she held it against the moonlight. The lightsource was soon interrupted as Halsin maneuvered her hands so the bowl of the pipe was closer to him. She watched as his calloused, but dexterous hands gently grabbed pinch after pinch of herbs from the small pouch and packed the bowl tight. 

He grabbed a match and gestured for Mara to place the pipe in her mouth, “It would be terribly rude of me if I didn’t offer you the first toke. And do not fret, it’s just herbs to help calm the mind and body, it helps with sleep as well.” He said with a warm smile. “Oh, uh, thank you, Halsin. But I don’t really smo-” Mara’s sentence was cut off as Halsin lit the match and held it close to the bowl. Mara thought of Halsin’s words for a moment, a calming agent would be useful for her. She placed her lips around the stem of the pipe and inhaled a few seconds too long. Her arm shot out as she shoved the pipe back into Halsin’s hands while a fierce cough took over her body. A rumble of laughter erupted from Halsin as he gave Mara his waterskin and rubbed her back trying to help her regain her breath. 

 “Well I do hope you’re able to sleep well tonight. I suppose I should have warned you to take a small inhale if you are not accustomed to smoking.” Halsin said as he calmed his laughter and watched as Mara wiped the tears from her face and caught a glimpse of her eye roll as she drank from his water. “I did want to speak to you though, little one. What has you alone and upset on this particular night?” He asked as his gaze softened when he met Mara’s eyes.   

Mara quickly dropped her eyes to her hands and kept her eyes trained on her fingers that picked at her cuticles. “It’s nothing, really. I think I’m just tired.” She said with a sigh. She could feel Halsin’s eyes on her as he looked at her, hoping for more of an answer. As much as she disliked it, Mara knew she needed to speak her feelings or else they would continue to worsen, jeopardizing herself and the others. “I think,” she paused as her voice wavered, “that I’ve been tired for a while. Everything I do, everything that I have almost always done, is to make others happy. If I think I’m doing the right thing, someone is upset. If I try to make that person happy, someone else is upset. I did what I thought was going to protect myself and the others and I broke my oath to Ilmater; thus becoming an oathbreaker paladin.” Halsin placed a hand over one of hers as she took a shaky breath, her lip quivered as she tried to calm her emotions. “I don’t know how, or why, I became the leader of our group, but I’m losing more and more faith in myself as the days go by. I don't think that I can keep everyone safe. I just… I just don’t know what to do, Halsin.” She felt the tears again as they flowed from her eyes. 

Halsin moved closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze before he grabbed her hands in his. “Thank you, Mara. Truly. It is hard to discuss one’s feelings and I’m honored you trust me enough to do so.” He kept his eyes trained on her and gently brought his hand to her cheek, guiding her face to look at him and tucked a loose strand behind her ear as she finally looked at him. “I do have an understanding of what you say. After losing many druids to the fight of the Shadow Cursed lands 100 years ago and then becoming the archdruid at the Emerald Grove, I did not think I had any right to be a leader again.” Mara noticed as his shoulders slumped forward slightly and solemn light found its way to his eyes. 

“I was worried that I would let everyone down again, or worse yet, do something that caused them injury or death. I was worried that my past mistakes would cause others to distrust me and cast me out.” He paused as he looked out at the river, “The exact opposite happened, actually.” Halsin said with a small smile. “They trusted my judgment and offered guidance when I asked for it. Not everyone always agreed with my actions, but they trusted that I had the grove’s best interest at heart.” Mara looked at Halsin as he spoke, her eyes a bit wide at the vulnerability on display in front of her. He turned his body so he was facing her again. 

“All of that to say… you’re doing a good job, Mara. You cannot possibly please every person you are around, but it is evident that you are careful with your choices, keeping everyone’s safety and wellbeing at the forefront of your mind. All while also helping most everyone you come across as well. You have a good heart, little one. One that I admire very much. It takes a special person to do everything that you have done, please don’t forget that.” 

Mara felt as her eyes got hot again, another lump forming in her throat. Before she could start crying again she pulled the druid in for a hug. 

“Thank you, Halsin. I will do my best to remember your kind words.” She said before they sat close together in silence again and watched as the fireflies danced through the grass and into the night sky.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Something that I think is underrated in the fandom is the concept of the cattle children making friends their age in the human world post-canon. I like to think that the younger kids would have an easier time socializing while the older kids may be more withdrawn (especially with the adults), but get better with time.

Do you have any headcanons about their interactions with the human world? And where in the world do you think they settled down at? I’m guessing that snowy area Alex lived at may be what was formerly Russia/East Europe because of his last name, but idk.

I also find it odd that Shirai never told us what Emma’s ‘new’ name was (that becomes her middle name). Have any in mind?

I don't know if I'd say underrated? If asked I think a lot of fans are open to it/enjoy it, myself included.

Underexplored though, definitely, but I think this stems from how hard it can be to sell original characters in fanfiction the closer in proximity and importance they are to the main characters. This is also part of the reason I believe Matilda is Norman's biological mother and Sienna is Emma's biological mother are decently popular theories: it offers people the convenience of already having a minor canon character with a design and foundations of personality and history that can be referenced with greater recognition among other fans to project headcanons onto.

But if we're just talking about alluding to it happening in the background, one of my favorite Rayemma fanfics, She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not by groundedreamer, touches upon it in almost the exact way you describe:

I didn't even realize it was a Rayemma fic at first (or a Hanahaki AU; I usually don't read those) because I zeroed in on it being in the Jemima tag with the entire first chapter being dedicated to Ray & Jemima bonding.

Highly recommend if one's open to RE.

Do you have any headcanons about their interactions with the human world?

This is very broad and we could be here for a while, but all the cattle children aware of the truth before crossing over to the human world, including the Grace Field children who didn't escape but saw Isabella being murdered, have PTSD. This initially makes it rough for the older children to accept help from healthcare professionals and to navigate the best way to handle things for the younger children.

I'm always going to advocate for Norman and Ray going antiquing or to junk shops for items they can fix up and potentially gift to people, especially if they end up finding a duplicate of the music box Isabella gave Emma on her sixth birthday.

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 1 Q&A | Questionnaire Translation Source)

I also talk about my preferred career paths for the trio here since I'm not fond of the path Shirai took with Norman and Ray, even if I understand why he did it. (I am 100% behind Nat becoming a famous pianist though.)

And where in the world do you think they settled down at? I’m guessing that snowy area Alex lived at may be what was formerly Russia/East Europe because of his last name, but idk.

I agree given that they start out in former New York City that the demon god would send her to the opposite side of the globe. And while Alex is fluent in English, I think it's sweet if the kids learn Russian to speak with him as he becomes integrated into the family as a father/grandfather figure.

I also find it odd that Shirai never told us what Emma’s ‘new’ name was (that becomes her middle name). Have any in mind?

With how cagey he was about confirming what a number of people had already suspected about Ray's bait note because he wanted to leave the door open for multiple possibilities prior to his health deteriorating, this doesn't really surprise me kfjdgvkj

I default to Wendy because of the Peter Pan connection, but I also gravitate a bit to Alice, Charlotte, or Jane.

[cecilysass]

Shine On (4/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 4: The Art of Profiling

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 20, 2015

The pizza that Fox Mulder ordered isn’t from a pizza place Jackson has ever heard of, like Domino’s or Pizza Hut, but it’s really good anyway. Or at least it tastes good to someone who hasn’t eaten all day. Jackson eats the first piece really quickly, then he grabs for a second without thinking, forgetting his manners. When he realizes what he’s done, he hesitates.

“Go for it,” the older man says, his eyes darting sharply back and forth between the pizza and Jackson’s face. “Eat as much as you want.”

Fox Mulder has been acting much more intense ever since Jackson told him about the red-headed lady.

Jackson’s tired, and he has only barely skimmed the surface of the man’s difficult mind, but he can tell that the guy’s stunned by the news. Fox Mulder’s mind is channeling down a dozen different paths right now: fast, mazelike thoughts, like bobsleds going down tracks. A current of sharp worry running through like a winter chill.

It’s honestly exhausting to try to figure out. Jackson closes off the shine for now, takes another big bite of pizza. This sausage is a little spicy, which is exactly how he likes it.

“I have a lot of questions for you,” Fox Mulder says, his voice low. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. But I … gotta ask some of them.”

Jackson nods reluctantly, his mouth full. He doesn’t feel like answering questions at all. Still, he supposes the more he gets out of the way, the better.

“You said you have visions,” the man says, setting his own piece of pizza down. “Do you have other … abilities?”

Jackson studies him cautiously as he finishes chewing his bite of pizza. He’s not in the habit of discussing what he can do. It’s only really ever been trouble when he has, so he’s almost instinctively secretive about it. But things are different now. And Fox Mulder, well, he seems to know all about this kind of thing.

“Yeah,” Jackson says carefully. “I do.”

The man runs his hand over his mouth. Jackson notices he’s only eaten half of his slice of pizza. Either he’s not hungry, or he’s too distracted.

“You can read thoughts,” Fox Mulder guesses, leaning back, speaking with certainty. He folds his hands in front of him. “You can focus on other people’s thoughts. Not just one person, but several at once.”

Jackson sets his slice of pizza down in shock. “How did you know that?”

“You can move objects, too.”

Jackson blinks at him. “I have been able to do that. Some. I could do it easier when I was little.”

“What else?”

“I can, like, change people’s perceptions. What they see. Not for forever, just for a little while. So, if I, like, need a distraction in class or something, I can make the teacher think someone opened the door and mooned us. Stupid stuff like that.”

Fox Mulder looks undeniably fascinated. “Wow,” he says. “Interesting.” He taps his fingers on the table. Jackson doesn’t have to use his shine to see that the man is thinking this over. “So does that mean you could effectively shapeshift? If you wanted to?”

“Yeah,” admits Jackson. “At least I can make other people think I look like someone else.”

“Huh,” the man says, squinting thoughtfully. He tilts his head, looking at Jackson again. “Are you reading my mind right now?”

“No,” Jackson says honestly.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired,” Jackson says. “It’s work, sometimes. And no offense, but you’re kind of complicated and hard.”

Fox Mulder chuckles. “I don’t know if I should take offense at that or not.”

“I did read your mind earlier,” Jackson confesses. “And the red-haired lady …. she was really easy. I hardly had to try with her at all. It was like her thoughts just flew at me. I was wondering if that was because she was my birth mom. Do you think that could be right?”

The man stares at him blankly, not directly answering. “Her name is Dana Scully.”

“Dana Scully,” repeats Jackson.

“Have you ever heard that name before?”

“No,” Jackson says. “I don’t think so.”

“Did your parents tell you anything about your birth parents? Who they were, where you were from?”

“I don’t think they knew anything about them,” Jackson says. “It was a closed adoption.”

Fox Mulder nods, scratching his chin. “Yeah,” he says. It’s like a cloud of sadness has fallen over him. “Yeah, it would have been.” He fixes Jackson with a curious look. “Do you … have any questions for me? About any of this?”

“Uh. Sure.” Jackson looks around the room, slowly, as if the best question to ask might be scrawled on the walls. The faces peering out of the framed photos draw his attention again, but it’s all so much. He looks away, back at the box of pizza in front of them instead. “Is it… okay if I have another slice, Mr. Mulder?”

The man laughs a little, crossing his arms. “You can just call me Mulder.”

“I think I’m eating more than you, Mulder,” Jackson points out seriously. “It doesn’t seem fair. It’s your pizza.”

“I told you, eat as much as you want.”

Jackson feels like he has been polite enough. He shrugs. “Thanks,” Jackson says, taking another slice.

“Jackson,” Mulder says, watching him eat, his voice suddenly too casual. “Do you have any idea who your birth father is?”

Jackson picks up his piece of pizza and studies it, pulling off a particularly delicious-looking piece of sausage and sampling it. “Well,” he says, through a mouthful, “I’ve got a guess. Based on certain clues. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Clues you’ve read in people’s minds? Or clues you’ve noticed?”

Jackson shrugs again. “Both, I guess.” He gives Mulder a look, raising his eyebrows.

There’s a pause.

“What clues?”

“Well, I’m not stupid,” Jackson says matter-of-factly. “That woman, Dana Scully, was here, fighting with you. Lots of big feelings. Then, the way you’re acting now. Like you think I’m a brand new iPhone and you can’t stop looking at me. And how you seem to know things about me. That’s a bunch of clues.”

Mulder has been sitting with his arms crossed, and he hasn’t moved the entire time Jackson’s been talking. But now Jackson can see a tear sprouting in his eye. It surprises him. Wayne Van De Kamp, his father, would never have cried in front of him. Mulder blots it with his sleeve, and Jackson sees his hands are shaking, too.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that so carelessly, kind of flippantly. It’s obviously a big deal to Mulder. Really, truthfully, it’s a big deal to Jackson, too—something he’s wondered about his whole life. But right now he just can’t have everything feel like a big deal all at once. Or he’ll explode or something.

He meets the man’s damp eyes.

“Yeah,” Mulder says roughly, trying to smile. “Okay. A lot of clues.” He pauses, uncrosses his arms, places his hands on the table. “I get the sense you can’t handle a lot more emotional drama right now, Jackson, and I get that, I really do. Believe it or not, I’ve been in that place myself.”

Jackson’s speechless. It’s like the man read his mind, but that’s not possible.

“I just want to say, we can talk about it whenever you want to,” Mulder adds. “No pressure.”

Jackson nods his head up and down, licking his lips nervously.

***

After dinner, they go back into the part of the room with the couch, which is surrounded by all the messy piles of books. Jackson sits on the floor and starts picking up volumes curiously. “The Art of Profiling?” he says. “Is that an art book?”

“No,” Mulder says with a smile, trying to kick piles out of the way. “It’s psychological profiling. Like for criminals.”

“Oh,” Jackson says, making a connection. “Like on Criminal Minds.”

“What’s that? A TV show?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “My parents love it. It’s about a team of FBI agents who profile dangerous criminals.” An exciting thought occurs to him. “Wait, is that what you did?”

“Yes,” Mulder says. “No. Kind of. I was a profiler, years and years ago. But then I was put on the X-files, where I investigated cases that had unexplainable, supernatural associations.”

“That’s why you have books like this,” Jackson says. He lifts the book Sasquatch: Diverse Perspectives. “Or this?” Extraterrestrial Abductions Beyond the Media.

“Yeah,” Mulder says, a self-deprecating shrug. “That’s right.”

“That’s badass,” Jackson says, a root of an idea occurring to him. He belatedly realizes his mistake. “I mean, that’s cool. Very cool,” he corrects himself.

“It was badass,” Mulder agrees, seemingly unaffected by Jackson’s profanity. “Although… it could be difficult. We went through a lot, working on the X-files. Scully and me.”

Jackson absorbs this information. “So you and Dana Scully worked together on the X-files. In the F.B.I.. That’s how you knew one another?”

“We were partners,” Mulder says with quiet precision, like this sentence is very important.

They’re just three words—we were partners—but Jackson can tell they tell an entire complicated story the length of a book or more. His shine cries out to be used, but Jackson pushes it aside.

“Mulder,” Jackson says slowly. “Is it a coincidence that you and my birth mom worked on these X-files … and that I have these abilities?”

“No, Jackson,” Mulder says, sighing heavily. “It’s probably not a coincidence.” He sits on the couch, looking down at Jackson still sitting on the floor. “There are things that both of us were exposed to that could have … caused the abilities.”

“But you guys don’t have them yourselves, right?”

“No. Not like you.”

It’s a frustrating answer. “Not like me? Or not at all?”

“Some things I want to wait to talk to you about,” Mulder replies. “Until we’ve had a chance to talk to your mother, too.”

Your mother.

Jackson inhales sharply, the words sending an unexpected shock through him.

“I meant Scully, of course,” Mulder says quickly, noticing his reaction. “I’m sorry.”

“Dana Scully isn’t my mother,” Jackson says with emphasis. “I have a mother.”

“I know.” Mulder’s eyes look impossibly sad. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I know.”

“I’m not looking to replace my parents,” Jackson says tightly. “That’s not why I’m here or what this is about. They’ll always be my parents. I love them.”

Mulder appears to sink further into the couch. “Yeah,” he says. “I can tell you do.”

Jackson looks down quickly at the stack of books again, playing silently with the cover of Criminology Through The Ages. He knows he shouldn’t have gotten angry. He knows Mulder didn’t mean anything by it, and he’s having to struggle with his shine now to keep from sensing any bad feelings or thoughts coming off of Mulder.

It’s just Jackson feels almost disloyal, sitting here talking to this man, learning this information about his birth parents’ lives, when his parents just died. When they probably died because of him.

“Jackson.” Mulder’s voice is kind. “What were they like? Your parents. Do you want to … tell me about them? I don’t know anything about them.”

Jackson pauses, still staring at the book in his hand. “Yeah,” he says. He tries to find the right words. He has to be the person who remembers them, who speaks for them to the world now. “They were … they weren’t anything like me. But they were great.”

Mulder waits patiently, his soft eyes on Jackson. Jackson puts the book back carefully on top of a pile.

“My dad was the shop teacher at Rawlins High School. He was good at woodworking, cabinetry. He was always trying to teach me.”

“Were you good at it, too?”

“No,” Jackson says with a tiny smile. “I was really, really bad at it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mulder echoes the tiny smile.

“I couldn’t cut straight. I forgot to measure,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “I was always disappointing him.”

“Not really,” Mulder guesses softly.

“No,” Jackson agrees, just as softly. “Not really.” He’s quiet, thinking more about his goofy, sweater-vested dad. “He was always cheerful. He thought you should look on the positive side of things, you know? Really into baseball. He coached my Little League team for a while.”

“That’s good,” Mulder says encouragingly. “It’s good to play sports.” He’s quiet, too. “And your mom?”

“Her job was running the church preschool,” Jackson says. “She was always singing. She loved holiday decorations, and to cook and bake.” He feels tears threatening. “She is just … she was a really good mom to me. Like, she hugged me all the time. I acted like I didn’t like it, but I did.”

“I’m glad she did that,” Mulder whispers. “I’m so glad.”

“She was really Christian. Really into church. They both were.”

“You were raised religious?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Lutheran.” He glances at Mulder wryly. “But I was really bad at that, too.”

Mulder returns the look. “I’m not very good at that myself,” he says. “Scully’s religious, in her own way. But I’ve never been … that kind of believer. It’s just never made sense to me”

Something warm blooms in Jackson at being understood in this way. It’s never made sense to him, either.

“What are you good at?” Mulder asks. His tone is gentle, but Jackson’s shine is suddenly alert, suddenly aware of what’s underneath the man’s exterior. Mulder is hungry to know more about him, desperate for any detail. His need is so overwhelming, Jackson closes the door on it quickly.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says casually. “I’m good at math, I guess. Math comes easy to me.”

Mulder’s face lights up. “Scully’s amazing at math.” Looking over at Jackson, he seems to regret his words. His scolding to himself shines through. —stop making everything he says about me and Scully. “Sorry. You’re telling me about yourself.”

“I like to run,” Jackson continues. “I’m pretty fast, and I think I’m a good distance runner. I was thinking maybe I’d try out for the track team in high school.” He pauses. “But I guess I’m not going to high school now.”

“Come on,” Mulder says. “Of course you’re going to high school. Your life isn’t over.”

“I’m most likely going to prison,” Jackson mumbles darkly.

“Nah. Not going to happen.”

“I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” Jackson adds. “Where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“You’re obviously going to stay here tonight,” Mulder insists. “After that, we’ll figure it out.”

The lightning-fast image of a school building with a sign— Farrs Corner High School—and then another fast image, the two of them, Mulder and Jackson, running side by side on a country road, a road that looks a lot like the road right outside the farmhouse. Then almost instantly, more scolding in Mulder’s mind: Way ahead of yourself. Stop it. Haven’t even told Scully. Need to confirm.

“How will we confirm?” Jackson asks quickly. “What does that mean?”

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Sorry,” Jackson says. “That was kind of rude of me, probably.”

“I have to remind myself you’re listening,” Mulder says with a small smile.

“I normally try to hide it more,” Jackson says. He stands up, stepping around the books to sit next to Mulder on the couch. “But I mean … what’s the point if you already know, right?”

“I was just thinking that before we introduce you to Scully, we should run DNA,” Mulder says. “Yours against mine. To confirm it.”

“Why?” Jackson says, frowning. “You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t you tell that I believe you?”

Jackson sighs. “Yeah, I think you do.” He kicks out his long legs and leans his head back against the back of the couch. “But like I said, you’re not the easiest.”

“The people that Scully and I used to be involved with,” Mulder says, “were the kind of people who would go to extremes. Even extremes like convincing a kid his birth mother was someone she wasn’t. Like planting ideas into people’s heads. I don’t think you’re lying, but I think it would be smart to know for sure.”

Jackson swings his head to look at Mulder. “Who were these people?”

Mulder regards him with a troubled expression. “I’ll answer that, Jackson. But I think you need to answer this, too: who drove you here? To Virginia?”

“I told you,” Jackson says, folding his arms defensively, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?” Mulder’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “It worries me a little. Did the person who drove you ask you not to tell me?”

“Yeah, they did,” Jackson admits. “But I don’t think they’re one of these bad people you’re talking about. They were just trying to help me.”

“But Jackson,” Mulder says urgently, “you need to understand that—”

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Jackson insists, and his voice sounds younger than he intends. “Please. Just trust me.”

Mulder rubs his temple with one finger. “Okay,” he says simply. “I can do trust.” He leans forward on his forearms. “But still, Jackson, I think we gotta do the DNA test. If you’re not … the person we think you are—and who Scully thinks you are, it would be too hard for her.”

“She’s been wanting to see me that bad?”

Mulder is surprised. “Of course she has. Of course.”

“But it was a closed adoption. Her choice.”

Mulder opens and closes his mouth, again seeming not to know what to say. “Since the second she let you go,” he says, his voice strained, “she’s been wanting to see you again.”

Jackson’s shine pulls in an image then of a baby in a crib, crying, and then the woman Mulder calls Scully, younger, crying and crying, inconsolable.

It’s all too sad, and Jackson is sad already.

“Okay. DNA test tomorrow then,” Jackson says, shrugging. “No big deal.”

“Great,” Mulder says, standing up. “Now I thought I’d show you where you’ll be sleeping if you want. I’ll have to put sheets on the guest bed first. Maybe you can help me. This place used to be a little more organized when Scully lived here.”

“You have a guest room, huh?” Jackson says. “Fancy.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says in a strange voice. “It’s just an extra bedroom. Small. Not too fancy.”

It was supposed to be your room. In case we got you back somehow. Mulder’s thoughts are suddenly and unexpectedly clear.

“Then I guess I better sleep in it,” Jackson responds flatly, following along behind him.

***