#wouldn't be surprised if he was abusive towards her and that's why she's leaving

[hatake]

.

[bruhstories]

Bet VI

p.1 here & p2. here & p.3 here & p.4 here & p.5 here

mandatory mdni. you were not tagged in this because you are not over 18.

summary: you're slowly reaching your breaking point. pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, voyeurism, afab!reader, swearing, domestic violence (reader gets slapped), bullying, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, veeeery slow burn, reader’s dad is dead w/c: 2k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can’t find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

"When are you getting paid?"

For the third day in a row, you got asked the same question by your uncle. It was beginning to bother you, like a maggot eating away at your brain. Always talking about money, always wanting more, never satisfied with what he had. The greed was consuming him, and you didn't have the energy to argue.

"When Mr. Hwang comes back from his trip." You repeated, digging your fingernails into your palms to avoid raising your voice at him.

"Mr. Hwang, huh? Is he fucking you? Are you whoring yourself now?"

"What?"

That was a new low, even for your uncle. You took the beatings, you took the insults, took all of that abuse, but this? This was too much.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you followed in your mother's footsteps. She was a slut, after all."

"Don't talk about my mother like that." You barked back with newfound courage.

"Why wouldn't I? She killed my brother and dropped you at my door. If she was a decent woman you wouldn't be here." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it, forcing you to look at him.

"She didn't kill anyone!" You clawed at his arm, desperate for him to let go of you. "He died because of you!"

His palm met your face, stinging, burning. You held back the tears, you had to, but your uncle wasn't satisfied with just one slap. Still holding you by the hair, he pushed your head against the hot stovetop, but you resisted. For the first time, you refused to take the undeserved abuse and pushed yourself back with all the strength you could muster.

"You little bitch-"

"No!" You slipped from his grip in a moment of panic, adrenaline coursing through your body.

Running out of the kitchen, you shoved clothes, documents and photos of your father into your backpack, and if your uncle would hit you, you would hit back. There was nothing left for you to lose anymore. Not anymore.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"Anywhere but here."

"Fine. Go then. Just know that when you come back, I won't take you in." He stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

"I will never come back." You spat back, eyes full of hatred and grief.

"We'll see about that after you spend a few nights on the streets. You'll crawl back, you'll beg me to take you in, and when you do, I’ll slam that fucking door right in your face." Venom dripped down his tongue while you paced around your room, collecting anything you needed to survive.

You walked past him silently, and with the realisation that you were actually leaving, your uncle shoved you back into your room, the impact causing you to gasp for air and lose balance.

"You're not going anywhere. You'll stay and pay your debts."

"Your debts. I hope the loan sharks find you and gouge your fucking eyes out!" You yelled, and when he leaped towards you, you crouched and dashed past him, running until your legs gave in, until your knees hurt and your feet were sore.

You caught the bus to Gangnam-gu, and prayed Mr. Hwang wouldn't be too upset that you were late. It was almost 9 and Eunjoo hadn't had her breakfast yet. How ironic it was that you were thinking about a cat after almost getting beaten to a pulp.

Good morning. Is the offer to spend the night at your penthouse still available?

Yes. Is everything alright?

No.

You cried on the bus, hiding your face behind your hair in an attempt to not draw any attention. Nothing was alright anymore. You had no house, no hope, no friends, no family to ask for help. All you had were the clothes on you and a stranger with a cat.

Miss? Are you there?

Yes. I'm sorry, Mr. Hwang. I didn't walk into a lamppost the other day, and I haven't been completely honest with you. My uncle... he hits me and I ran away from home. I can't go back, but I promise I'll find somewhere to stay before you return. I'm sorry, I didn't know who to ask for help.

I will cancel my trip and come back today. Please stay at the penthouse.

No!

Don't cancel the trip. Besides, I still have to go to work, so I won't be at your place for too long. Just, please, don't pity me.

Walking into Mr. Hwang's house, you immediately fed Eunjoo, and she wasn't quick to forgive. The cat meowed at you with judgement in her eyes, and you apologised to her, promising to make up by playing with her later. You would be spending more time there, after all.

After completing all your tasks for the morning, you emptied your backpack on the sofa, then filled it with the food Mr. Hwang allowed you to take. You just knew Mrs. Abdul would be happy about the eggs and milk, and from what you've heard, eggs were good for pregnant women. But you were apprehensive about going back to Guryong Village with your uncle lurking there.

Your eyes were glued to the familiar streets as you practically snuck behind buildings like some sort of spy, careful not to be seen by neighbours, or worse, your uncle. But you had to leave — you've endured too much.

In your mind, you already came up with a plan. You would spend any free time looking for part-time jobs so that you could get hired after Mr. Hwang returned, and very kindly ask him to let you stay in his guest room until you found a cheap rent, preferably away from Guryong Village.

Just as you had hoped, Mrs. Abdul was grateful for the eggs and milk, and prepared a small box of sweet coconut samosas along with some nihari for you to take. If only she knew how much that meant to you. If only she knew the massive positive impact she made on your life. From the very little money they had, they fed you and even offered to let you stay at their place after the stunt your uncle pulled. You politely declined, opting to stay at Mr. Hwang's place because of the distance it provided from your old home. You had to stay as far away from your uncle as possible.

At Lotte World, you met with Donghyun, who seemed quite eager about going out with you after work. You were conflicted, your mind riddled with thoughts about In-ho, thoughts no girl should have about a man twice their age. And yet, you couldn't stop your mind from being flooded with images of Mr. Hwang, his sharp features lingering on your retina, his deep voice echoing in your mind.

No, you needed to go out with men your age, and Donghyun was the perfect specimen. You just couldn't bring yourself to like him, not romantically at least. Otherwise he seemed like a nice guy, like a brother. He was funny and clever, but there was something telling you not to trust him.

Donghyun asked you to wait in the parking lot for you after work, and as more and more cars left, you were left alone, shivering and slightly irked at the lack of punctuality. It was quarter past seven, you finished your shift fifteen minutes ago, and he was nowhere to be seen. When you called, he didn't pick up. When you texted, he didn't reply. When you saw his car and waved, he stopped in front of you, rolled down his window and dumped a bag of trash at your feet, on your shoes.

"There. Now you fit in."

You were speechless, completely dumbfounded, and the cold in your body was soon replaced by your blood boiling. He sped off while laughing, leaving you completely stunned by his actions. An object of mockery for Donghyun. A punching bag for your uncle. Neither of them treated you like a human, and slowly but surely, you weren't feeling human anymore. In fact, you didn't feel anything but pure, unfiltered hate.

Slamming the door to Mr. Hwang's penthouse, you turned the TV on and quickly found a playlist with the heaviest songs. Eunjoo stared at you from the top of the kitchen cabinet, head tilted to the side, curiously studying the sudden change in your mood. You took out two bottles of baekseju and opened one, gulping down as much as you could stomach before feeling the liquid come back to your esophagus. Drinking wasn’t a pastime for you, and you couldn’t handle it very well, but something had to numb down all that hatred before you did something stupid.

"I don't wanna feel a thing tonight, Eunjoo." You pointed at your chest. "See this? This is where my heart is. You've got a little heart, too. But no one's broken yours."

The cat jumped down from the cabinet onto the countertop, apprehensive about approaching you. Halfway through the first bottle of baekseju, you began to shift your weight from one leg to another, headbanging on the rhythm of Slipknot's People = Shit. Your father never liked them, but you accidentally discovered them shortly after moving in with your uncle, when you pathetically searched for angry songs to blow off steam. You screamed the lyrics, pacing through the kitchen, grateful that In-ho didn't have any neighbours around him.

"People equal shit, Eunjoo. People equal shit." You felt the alcohol take over your brain, like a fog settling in. "I hate my uncle. I hate him so fucking much. And I hate Donghyun and his stupid fucking face."

You took out an unopened pack of cigarettes from your bag and stared at it. Never in your life had you smoked, but you felt the need to do it at that moment. In a split second of lucidity, you shook your head and put the pack away. You couldn't smoke in Mr. Hwang's house, even if he didn't have to know about it. And you especially didn't want Eunjoo to inhale the smoke. You were angry but you weren't an idiot. The cat didn’t have to suffer like you.

Resuming the drinking, you struggled to take off your hoodie, suddenly feeling hot. Unbearably hot. The rage, the alcohol and the uncontrollable desire for revenge simmered within you, but all those feelings came crashing down when you heard a familiar ding.

How was your day? Are you at the penthouse?

Shit. You forgot to text Mr. Hwang. You forgot to feed Eunjoo. It wasn't too late, so you heated the nihari from Mrs. Abdul, and opened a can of cat food, drunkenly stumbling through the kitchen with Eunjoo’s plate in one hand and a teaspoon in the other. Since when did Mr. Hwang have two cats? You blinked once, twice, set the food down and picked up your phone.

Gre at fuckng day. Got stood u p in the wrst possibl e way.

Miss? Have you been drinking?

No.

Maybe

Does it bothe r you that i did

Why would he care anyway? Mr. Hwang probably thought you were trash. Your uncle did. Donghyun did. You were no better than them, no matter how hard you tried to do good. To be good. Were you asking for too much? All you wanted was a bit of acknowledgement and freedom.

Ding!

Not at all. I'm just glad you did it somewhere safe. I'm sorry you got stood up. Whoever did it doesn't deserve someone like you.

Why do y ou care? Didn't you hear? I'm tra sh :)

Eunjoo quietly ate while you scooped the nihari with a spoon, stirring the stew with no appetite. The cat occasionally glanced at you, and you slurped the nihari when she did, just to keep her eating. 

Ding!

Rolling your eyes at the new text, you read it, pupils blown at the words on the screen that made you sober up instantaneously.

I care because you matter to me, and not just because you take care of Eunjoo. You're different from most people.

Please don't do that, Mr. Hwang. Don't give me hope.

Believe me miss, I am not one to give false hope. I'm just stating what I think.

Well, you're either a horrible liar, or you're completely insane.

I promise you, I'm a great liar.

Tell me another pretty lie, then.

You're insufferably beautiful and remarkably oblivious to what you've done to me.

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[rosepetalsinwinter]

Five Years That Felt Like a Millenium — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 9,554

Summary: It’s been five years since Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years spent all alone. Now Sam is back and he has a new friend. Will Bucky be the one to uncover the secrets behind the bruises lining her body?

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating. Nothing explicit. Protective!bucky.

Note: It's been a while since I've posted. Here's a little slice to get you going before I continue with "Meant to Be." Hope you enjoy! 💜

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy reading!!

"Sammy!" A figure barrelled into Sam Wilson, almost making the five-foot-ten man topple over.

The girl's arms wrapped tightly around his bulky frame, hanging on for dear life. Her tears soaked his shirt, and her nails dug into his biceps almost painfully, but he said nothing. He only hugged her back with as much vigour and passion, letting his salty tears mix with hers.

Although no time had passed for Sam, years had passed for the girl—five to be exact—and he could feel all her emotions pouring out of her like a dam broken loose.

"Sammy!" she sobbed while her body shook violently. "You're back!"

"I've been back." Sam stroked a hand over the girl's hair, offering her comfort. "I've been here. Where were you?"

The first thing Sam did after he was blipped back to life was to call his sister, Sarah. Only to be told that five years had come and gone. His nephews, who were babies when he left, were now little men. The second thing Sam did was ask about Baby Girl.

He remembered when he first met her. Her family moved to the bayou when she was just five; Sam was fifteen. When her parents died, Sam's family took her in as their own, giving her the same amount of love they gave their other two kids.

So he was surprised, then, to find that Sarah hadn't heard from her in almost two years. Sam, himself, had no luck in locating her until recently. It took him eight months, but he finally found her. She had moved to New York and cut all ties with previous friends and family.

Sam wanted to ask why. Why leave Sarah and the boys? Why leave the only home she ever knew? His questions could wait, though. Now that she was here, he wouldn't ever let her go.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Sam shushed her when she sobbed louder, "I'm here. I'm not leaving again. Promise."

So fascinated by how she had aged from an awkward teen on the precipice of adulthood into a beautiful young woman, Sam did not notice the bruises lining her sides and underneath her clothes—or the circles under her eyes—from almost two years of interrupted sleep. Or the absence of light in her usually glowing irises.

When she let her entire weight fall on Sam and sobbed as she had when her parents died, he did not question it, only held on tighter and carried her towards the house.

"I've got you now, Baby Girl. Everything is gonna be just fine."

While he did not explicitly say anything, Bucky Barnes found the Wilson Family Residence quite endearing. His house in the thirties had been small, and even his current apartment in Brooklyn was compact—which he liked—but there was something so serene about the land surrounding the Wilson residence, so very peaceful.

After ninety years of constant fights, one after the other, all Bucky really wanted was some peace and quiet. And now, he could easily find it after absolving himself of most of the guilt he was carrying.

It wasn't easy, but Bucky told Yori the truth about his son's death and since then, had managed to cross a few more names off his list of amends. A weight lifted off Bucky's shoulders as everything began to make sense.

The Flag Smasher's fiasco was over with, and while the Powerbroker was still at large, there was no immediate threat. Bucky Barnes could rest for now before trouble found him again—as trouble often did. Sam had asked Bucky to stay over for the long weekend, and Bucky had happily obliged.

"It'll be good for you. Get away from that city life."

Bucky agreed. If all went well, he might end up buying his own house. He had a little... calm in Wakanda, and he missed the solidarity.

The axe was steadfast in his hands as he brought it down towards his target, and the sturdy stump was no match for the combined strength of both, the sharp tool, and Bucky's enhanced strength. In one meagre swing, half the stump broke off and landed on the ground with a muffled thump.

Bucky wiped the sweat off his brow with his right arm. It was the middle of June, and while the days were sweltering hot and sticky, the nights could get cold in comparison. Sam had tasked Bucky to get the logs for the fire, seeing as he was the most efficient.

Bucky continued with his work until he got a steady rhythm, stopping periodically to sip his still cold beer. It was then that his enhanced hearing picked up on the strangest sound. He perched the axe on his left shoulder and looked towards the house where Sam Wilson seemed to be consoling a crying girl.

"Huh." Bucky didn't find the exchange as odd as he should have. Everyone around the bayou was always coming to Sam for something. Whether it was a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. Bucky thought she must be someone special if he was hugging her like that.

When Sam took the girl into the house, Bucky shook his head and finished the last of his beer. He continued chopping more wood until the sun began to set, which is when he deposited the axe back into the shed and made his way inside to crash on the couch. Tomorrow would be a long day, what with the bonfire Sam was hosting, and all. Bucky fell to a dreamless sleep the second his head touched the pillow.

He was a light sleeper. So Bucky immediately woke up when he heard someone coming down the stairs. It took him a second to become aware of his surroundings, as it always did. He was in Louisiana, crashing on Sam's couch for the weekend.

Bucky turned his head to the left to see who it was. Probably the boys; they were early risers and loved pestering Bucky about his metal arm—not that he minded. He found their interest refreshing and loved putting a smile on their faces. He was surprised, then, to find a girl instead. The same one from yesterday.

Huh. The girl looked a mess, with only half her hair pulled back into a makeshift ponytail and black makeup smudged under her eyes. Her pants were unbuttoned, hanging precariously from her hips, and her jacket was falling off her shoulders, a few sizes too big. She was holding a pair of shoes in one hand, her phone and shirt in the other. She was also balancing a purse in the crook of her elbow.

It was the shirt that did it. Because, while the girl's own blouse was in her hands, she was wearing Sam's grey-green T-shirt. Bucky knew because that's what Sam was wearing yesterday. She was someone special then if she was wearing his clothes.

Bucky smirked. He was very aware of what the girl had been doing. He, himself, had been on both ends of the situation before. Though it was very long ago, he still remembered the embarrassment of being caught leaving a girl's room in the early hours of the morning.

The girl screamed when she saw Bucky, not expecting anyone to be up, much less lying on the couch and watching her horrible attempt at sneaking out. "Oh, God!" Her phone slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

There was a moment of silence where the two merely stared at each other. Bucky, with poorly concealed amusement, and the girl, with mild horror. She moved first, crouching down to pick up her cracked phone.

"Does it still work?" Bucky's voice was raspy from disuse. When tears gathered in the girl's eyes as a reply, Bucky immediately sat up, dropping his amusement in exchange for concern. He knew nothing about her, but it seemed like she cried a lot.

"No," she murmured, though Bucky heard her as if she were beside him. "Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no..."

"Hey, it's alright," Bucky told her as he crouched down to pick up the purse she had thrown in her haste. He hesitated when he saw a shiny ring peeking out from one of the compartments—too fancy and expensive-looking to be something ordinary. He quickly tucked the circle back and ignored it. Had Sam proposed to her? Bucky was offended he hadn't told him. Maybe it was recent. "Is it turning on?"

"Oh God! N-no," the girl stuttered through her tears.

Bucky was convinced that this girl—who cried a lot—only knew how to say "no" and "oh, God."

"I'm sure Sam can get you a new one, no big deal. What's your name?" Bucky offered the girl his right hand, which she promptly ignored.

She shot up on unsteady legs. "I have to go."

Bucky mimicked her. "Okay?" It was turning out to be a very unusual conversation.

"I have to go," she said again, more slowly this time, as if he were a little kid who couldn't understand a word of English.

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his legs before giving the girl her purse back. "Right."

The tally was now up to "no," "oh, God," and "I have to go." At least she wasn't crying anymore. Bucky hastily stepped out of the girl's way when he realized he was blocking the hall that led to the front door.

She moved as if someone lit a fire under her. One second, she was there, and the next, she was out the door with her pants still unbuttoned, her jacket still falling off her shoulder, and her shoes still in her hand.

"Nice to meet you..." Bucky dropped his hand and trailed off when he realized she couldn't hear him anymore.

Huh. Either Bucky still didn't know how to talk to people, or that girl was on something. A lot of youngsters nowadays did drugs for fun. Bucky didn't understand it, nor did he want to. He could just ask Sam about it later.

Bucky stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. A couch was considerably comfier than the floor but still gave him a stiff back. No matter, a quick run could swiftly solve that problem. Bucky turned on the coffee machine and was biting into an apple when a shirtless Sam came barreling down the stairs.

"You sleep good, man?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bucky shrugged, wiping some juice from his chin, "I slept good. Well, as good as I can, considering..."

Sam hummed before opening the fridge and taking a swig of the orange juice. "Nightmare?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember it—Listen, you didn't tell me you had a girl up there."

"A girl?"

"Messy hair, pretty face. Was crying yesterday?"

"Baby Girl? You saw that?" Sam stopped peeling the banana in his hand to look at Bucky.

Bucky merely shrugged and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

"Sorry I didn't tell you she was over," said Sam, taking a bite of his now-peeled banana. "We were up talking real late. I guess I forgot."

"Yup. Talking," Bucky muttered with a smirk as he poured his coffee. "I bet."

"What?" Sam implored.

"Uh, nothing. Just, the girl seemed nice."

"She is nice," Sam retorted. "You met her?"

Bucky nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Black, just as he preferred it.

"Didn't think she'd be awake," Sam said with a yawn. "She barely slept."

Bucky had to try really hard to keep himself from laughing. "Well, she was."

"She was?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What do you mean she was? Did she go back to bed?"

Bucky shook his head. "She left."

"She left?" Sam scoffed, propping a hand on his hip. He had never looked more like Steve.

"That's what I said," Bucky confirmed, taking another sip. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Sam grumbled. "Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's accusing behaviour was really starting to irk Bucky, making him think the girl's sneaking out was not mutual. Shit.

He laughed uncomfortably and put his mug down on the counter. "Your girl came running down the stairs, half-dressed. She dropped her phone, cracked it, didn't let me help. Then she said she 'had to go' and practically ran out of here, I dunno."

"When?" A vein popped in Sam's forehead as he grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry near the stairs.

Bucky hastily checked the watch on his right arm. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops."

That made Sam utter a series of colourful swears as he finished his breakfast and found his wallet.

"Wait, Sam, what's going on?"

Sam didn't answer Bucky, too busy looking for his keys in the wrong place.

"Sam!" Bucky asked louder.

"We talked about this!" Sam scoffed. "I told her to at least stay for the weekend. I can't believe this! We sat down like adults and came to an understanding." He finally found his keys on the key hook.

"Where are you going, Sam?" Bucky countered.

"I'm going to get her," Sam snapped before sighing dramatically and letting his shoulders droop. "Shit, I do not have time for this, Baby Girl."

Bucky moved over the kitchen counter and stood in front of Sam. "What about that meeting you've got?"

"What meeting?" Sam asked.

"That meeting about that thing," supplied Bucky.

"What thing?" Sam grumbled.

"You know what thing," Bucky countered.

"Oh. That. I'm gonna have to reschedule—Man! Where are my shoes?!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Sam echoed. "What's with all the questions, Buck? Because I have to get Baby Girl before she skips town and disappears on me again."

"Sam."

"I haven't seen her in eight months, man, and she hasn't seen me in five years. I'm not about to let her leave—"

"Sam!" Bucky shouted loud enough for his friend to hear. He grabbed his wallet and his keys and put on his jacket. "You're going to that meeting, Sam."

"Like hell I am," Sam retorted passionately.

"I'll go pick up your Baby Girl," Bucky said after downing the rest of his coffee. "You, go to your meeting."

Sam stopped for a moment and seriously considered Bucky's proposal. It was an important meeting. "She'll probably be at the taxi stand," he finally relented. "You know the one?"

Bucky nodded, tying up his shoelaces. "Yeah, I know the one."

"Buck?" Sam called when Bucky was stepping out the door. "You better bring her back, or else I'm gonna light a fire under your ass."

Bucky chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Understood, Sam."

The taxi stand was abandoned. Really, what did the girl expect so early in the morning? It was a long weekend, and the residents of Delacroix rarely needed a commute into the city on an ordinary Friday. She was arguing with the lone taxi driver, pleading with him, really, to take her to the nearest airport. But the man kept denying her. He had been up all night and insisted on napping, telling her to wait another twenty minutes.

She didn't have twenty minutes, damn it. If anything, she needed more time. Time she didn't have.

Her phone could be blowing up right now, and she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't know the consequences of her actions until she bought a new phone. But maybe—just maybe, a voice inside her reasoned—Quentin would be too busy with his work retreat to notice her absence.

The girl tried getting the driver's attention again, who shot her the most hateful look she had ever received before starting his cab and driving away. "Hey! Wait!" she called out, but he had already turned the corner.

A laugh made her spin around. It was the man from this morning, the one on Sam's couch. He stood before her with his arms crossed, a big smile overtaking his face.

"You must not be from the city," he mused, "if you're that bad at hailing a cab."

Bucky had no trouble locating the girl, what with her being the only person in a one-mile radius demanding to be taken to the nearest airport. Her feeble attempts amused him, and frankly, Bucky was having trouble believing she was Sam's girl. He didn't think Sam would've gone for someone as... difficult as her. But hey, it was Sam wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, not Bucky.

Bucky surveyed the girl from head to toe. Her hair was settled, her pants buttoned, and most of her composure seemed to have returned. However, she had gone pale once he revealed himself, her eyes wide with guilt. She was caught red-handed; now, he would be the one to deliver her to Sam.

Bucky pointed at her with his left arm. "Sam wants you home."

He was surprised to see that when she looked down at the shiny metal, recognition flared through her eyes rather than shock or disgust. Good, he thought. She knows who I am.

"No, thank you," she managed to squeak out, and Bucky was pleased to know that the girl's vocabulary extended past the three phrases he had come to know her for.

"You seem smart," he told her when he saw her looking behind him, "but not that smart."

"Yeah?" she challenged, gaining a rare bit of courage. "What makes you say that?"

"You know who I am and what I'm capable of. Smart. You think you can run from me. Not smart."

"Is that right?" she asked. Bucky nodded, and the girl took a deep breath. "I must not be too smart then."

He raised a brow in challenge, wondering where she would go from there.

Suddenly, the girl threw her arms above her head and waved them with abandon. "Mr. Thurow!" she shouted, running past Bucky. "Mr. Thurow!"

Bucky slowly walked towards the girl, unhurried in his steps. He wanted to know what she would do.

"Mr. Thurow!" the girl panted. "I need your help."

"Jesus Christ!" Mr. Thurow bellowed. "As I live and breathe! Is that you, Baby Girl?" He was a stocky man with a kind smile and welcoming eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Thurow," the girl began confidently, "it is. I need your help, please. This man," she pointed behind her at Bucky, "is—"

"Carlos!" Bucky interjected with a smile. "How are you?"

"Sergeant Barnes! Back again already?" Carlos turned his attention away from the girl.

Bucky watched with amusement as the girl's face scrunched with confusion. Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly. "What can I say, Carlos? I was missing your potato salad."

"Hell yeah, you were," Carlos guffawed.

The girl stood there dumbfounded as the two men embraced each other.

"You know, it was my great nan's recipe?" Carlos asked. "Been in the family for generations."

"I didn't know that. You bringing it tonight?"

"For the bonfire?" Carlos confirmed. "You bet I am."

"Well," Bucky gestured to the girl, "I was just taking Baby Girl here back home. She got a little lost, and Sam was starting to worry." Bucky made sure to make himself sound condescending on purpose.

He heard her scoff. "I was not lost."

"Well, you get her home safe, then. Understood, Barnes? I want to see both of you tonight." Carlos mockingly glared at the girl and winked at Bucky before departing.

"See you, Carlos!" Bucky called out to his retreating figure. "Well?" he questioned, turning his attention to the girl after a moment of silence. "Are you gonna run and embarrass yourself again, or are you gonna come with me?"

"I am not going anywhere with you!" the girl scoffed.

"I will take you kicking and screaming if I have to," Bucky warned.

The girl took a step back hastily, believing his threat. "You're a heathen."

Well, Bucky shrugged. He had been called worse. "Sam threatened me with fire, and that's not how I'd like to leave this world if it's all the same to you."

The girl seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Fire is a painful way to go," she finally mused.

"It is," Bucky agreed.

"I don't like you," she told him bluntly.

"Okay." A lot of people didn't like Bucky. One more wouldn't hurt.

"But no one deserves to die like that."

It seemed the spawn of Satan had a heart.

"Does seem excessive," said Bucky.

The girl paused again. "If I run, you'll catch me." It wasn't a question.

"Always," Bucky promised, and the girl must have believed him because her shoulders deflated, and she hung her head in submission.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice," she whispered, though Bucky heard her all the same.

"You don't."

"Okay," she relented.

"Okay. Let's go." Bucky led her toward where he parked, and the girl followed silently.

Good, she isn't being insufferable any longer, Bucky thought. Though, luck must not have been on his side that day because not a second later, once his bike came into view, the girl started complaining.

"No. I'm not sitting on that death trap."

Bucky turned to her with an annoyed groan. "Really?"

"I hate bikes!" she told him.

"What? You rather walk?" Bucky crossed his arms.

"Yes, please," the girl replied, mimicking his posture. "I walked all the way here, didn't I?"

"Well, too bad!" snapped Bucky. "We're taking the bike." He grabbed his helmet and handed it to her. He groaned again when she didn't take it and only looked at him like she'd never seen a helmet before. Maybe she hadn't. He wouldn't be surprised. Bucky rolled his eyes and placed the helmet on the girl's head, securing the straps and confirming it fit snugly.

"It's loose," she complained.

"Your head's a lot smaller than mine..." Bucky took his previous statement back. He could definitely see the girl and Sam together. Both of them were insufferable shitheads and obviously perfect for each other.

"Sit," he gestured to the bike. And when the girl turned to him with the same blank look in her eyes, Bucky merely huffed in annoyance. He picked her up and deposited her on the seat as if she weighed nothing. And she didn't. He ignored her shouts of protest and sat in front of her.

"Where's your helmet?" She sounded worried for him.

Bucky laughed. "I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," she chastised him. "You could die."

"I'm a super soldier," Bucky said as an answer.

"Even super soldiers die," the girl retorted.

"I won't die," Bucky responded blandly before revving the engine. "Hold on tight."

"I am not touching youuuu..." The girl ended her sentence with a sudden shriek when Bucky unexpectedly released the throttle and speedily drove away. Her arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip, and she hid her face in his jacket. "Oh, God!" she screamed. "Oh, my God!"

She took her flailing legs and tried wrapping them around Bucky's hips, which made him laugh in surprise. She was holding onto him like a koala bear, all while screaming bloody murder in his ears. Her nails dug sharply into his chest, but he ignored the sting. He couldn't wait to see her face once they stopped.

And eventually, they did. Bucky parked his bike in the back and told the girl to get off, which, of course, she didn't do. He got up anyway, taking her with him, though she didn't let him go once he was standing.

Bucky tapped on the hand around his shoulder. "You can let go now. It's safe."

The girl obediently unwrapped herself from his body, falling indiligently to the ground.

"See?" Bucky smirked. "We didn't die."

"Oh my God," she groaned, shaking on the ground. "I can't feel my legs."

Bucky laughed, extending his metal arm towards her, which she took without complaint. "Let's try again," he suggested once she was steady on her feet. "I'm Bucky."

The girl told him her name, and he repeated it with a smile. "I still don't like you," she said.

"The feeling's mutual, doll." And if she blushed at the pet name? Well, Bucky simply chose to ignore it.

He was on his third beer, a shame, really, since he couldn't feel it. But Bucky had developed a liking for the taste. It reminded him of better times. Before the war, and before his life completely changed.

Sam plopped down on the chair next to Bucky, a happy but tired smile on his face. Bucky turned to Sam and took a s'more from his outstretched hand, biting into the gooey center with a groan. "Man, this is good. I can't remember the last time I had one of these."

"Probably before Christopher Columbus discovered America."

"That's not funny, Sam," Bucky frowned. "Besides, everyone knows the Clovis people got here first, twenty thousand years ago."

"I didn't know that!"

"Because you're stupid," Bucky retorted.

"Whatever," scoffed Sam. He slid down in his chair and muttered "nerd" under his breath.

Bucky was preparing a retort when something caught his eye. The girl was playing with AJ and Cass, trying to catch them as they ran around the fire. Bucky cracked his knuckles and prepared to confront Sam. "You're really mean, you know that?

"Why? Because I called you a nerd?" Sam scoffed. "Well, it's true."

Bucky shook his head and levelled Sam with a glare. "Because you didn't tell me you're getting married."

A long silence followed. "Who's getting married?"

"You are!" Bucky exclaimed. "I didn't even know you had a girl."

"Because I don't!" Sam straightened. "And I'm not getting married."

"But—" Bucky was at a loss for words, then a thought struck him. "Holy shit, Sam! Don't tell me you—" Bucky leaned forward, lowering his voice considerably. "You slept with a married woman!"

Sam's face screwed up. "What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone!"

Bucky was stunned, realizing a moment too late that he had completely misread the situation.

"Start from the beginning," Sam urged. And so Bucky told him what happened that morning, how the girl came down half-dressed and wearing his shirt. Bucky thought she was a one-night stand until he saw the ring in her purse, and Sam brought her back to his house.

"So, she's not your fiancé?"

"No! She's like a sister."

"But you call her Baby Girl!"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Everyone calls her that. Listen," he sighed, "maybe I should've introduced the two of you before, but I was overwhelmed by seeing her after so long. Besides, I didn't think you would start jumping to conclusions!"

Bucky rubbed his neck in embarrassment. Perhaps he was too quick to assume the girl was Sam's significant other. But if she wasn't involved with Sam, then who exactly was she?

The girl was sitting across from Bucky and Sam on the other side of the fire pit, nibbling on a s'more. The two men watched her as they talked.

"Her family lived in the plot behind ours. They were good people."

"Were?" Bucky questioned, feeling like there was more to the story.

Sam seemed to dissociate for a moment as if he were somewhere else. "Eleven years ago, my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to run to town and wake as many folks as possible. There was a fire down the street, and the trucks had broken down on the highway."

Bucky tensed, hating the direction the story was taking.

"The smoke was so thick I was choking on it from a block away. Over half the house was up in flames by the time I got back. Three men went in and came right out not a second later. Folks were throwing bucketfuls of water to try and contain it, but I remember thinking that was useless. It's like the flames had a mind of their own."

It was then that Bucky accidentally made eye contact with the girl. She frowned at the intense look on his face, jerking her head as if to ask, "What?"

"What happened next?" Bucky asked without removing his gaze.

"I went towards the back, where the fire wasn't as strong. The upstairs window was wide open, and I found Baby Girl lying on the ground with twisted legs and blood oozing from her head." Sam scoffed a laugh, though there was no humour behind it.

Bucky's jaw dropped. "She jumped?"

Sam shook his head. "We found out later that her brother pushed her. My entire family was at the hospital when we broke the news that she was the only survivor."

"Shit." Baby Girl was glaring daggers at Bucky now, though he couldn't take her seriously. Melted chocolate dripped down her chin, and her hair was mussed from the wind. Bucky imagined her eleven years younger, wide-eyed and trembling as her life crumbled around her. He recalled her comment from that morning. "Fire is a painful way to go." "No one deserves to die like that." He looked away.

"She's acting like you're keeping her hostage," Bucky remarked.

"I might as well be," Sam grumbled. "She's dying to go back to New York, and she won't give me a proper reason why."

When Bucky looked back at the girl, she was chatting with Carlos Thurow, seemingly pleading with him. She waved her broken phone, and Bucky could see the cracks on the screen glinting from where he sat. Baby Girl slumped her shoulders in defeat when Carlos took his own phone out to show it had died.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest as he watched the girl run her hands through her hair in frustration. Something was wrong.

Sam whistled beside him, waving Baby Girl over. The effect was immediate. Baby girl plastered on a shoddy smile, exaggerating a laugh as she waved back and made her way to them.

"You seem happy," Sam observed as the girl took the empty chair beside Bucky.

Bucky looked at Sam to see if he was joking. Sam was no spy, but didn't one have to be blind to not see how miserable Baby Girl looked under her fake smile?

"The party's very fun," Baby Girl answered. "It's—" guilt flashed across her features. "It's nice to see everyone after so long."

"Could've been sooner," Sam muttered.

"I told you I was busy!" she exclaimed. "I didn't have time to leave the city."

"But you won't tell me why," Sam countered. The fight seemed to leave his body, and he sighed. "I didn't call you over to argue with you. I won't bring it up again."

Baby Girl turned her nose to the sky in a way that made Bucky laugh. "You better not." And the conversation flowed smoothly from there.

Bucky offered her a beer, which she accepted with a smile, and the three laughed and joked about until tears ran unbidden down their cheeks. However, despite the mirth dancing in the air, Bucky could not ignore the lingering sadness in her eyes.

"You won't believe what this man asked me before," Sam guffawed, pointing accusingly at Bucky. "He asked if we were engaged!"

Laughter burst forth from mirth-kissed lips. "That's disgusting!" she managed between giggles. "What made you think that?"

Bucky felt flushed under her attention. "You were wearing Sam's clothes that morning," he explained sheepishly. "And I saw a ring in your purse."

Her face made a radical transformation. One moment, she was smiling in a way that made Bucky's heart flutter—the next moment, all pleasure seemed to drain away from her body, leaving her looking gaunt and haggard. Sam was too busy laughing at his untied shoelaces to notice the change in atmosphere, but Bucky felt the full force of it slam against his chest.

"I don't have a ring."

"But I—"

"No!" Her words seemed laced with desperation. Her sober eyes flicked toward Sam. "There was no ring," she stressed.

Bucky could see the hopelessness in her eyes. "Right," he muttered. "I must have been mistaken."

Sam, who had overcome his slight scramble with his shoelaces, sat upright. Inebriation laced his every move. "Right. But that made me think."

"That's never a good thing," Bucky interjected, trying to ease the lingering tension.

"Are you dating anyone? Sarah said she didn't know, but you can always tell me. Huh?" Sam teased. "Tell me. Who's the unfortunate bastard?"

Baby Girl's lips were a thin line, and Bucky anticipated the lie before she could open her mouth. "It's nothing like that. I'm not dating anyone." She finished the rest of her drink and immediately grabbed another.

"You can't lie to me," Sam wiggled his finger. "Come on, fess up. Whoever he is, he can't be worse than Beck."

Baby Girl froze, and Bucky's curiosity was piqued too much to ignore. "Beck?"

"Quentin Beck. Biggest asshole on the planet," Sam explained. "Beck and Baby Girl dated on and off in college. I would catch the bastard every other week with a different woman."

Bucky scrutinized the girl for a reaction, but she seemed to be holding her breath.

Sam began to pout like a child. "He always managed to win her over. At least I can die easy knowing they broke up before half the world blipped."

"He's not like that anymore," Baby Girl whispered to herself. Sam was too far to hear her, but Bucky had no such problem. "He's changed." She wrapped her arms around her body. "He's not like that anymore."

Bucky took in her dark under-eyes and trembling frame, her body sickly from stress. He believed her. Beck wasn't like that anymore. Perhaps he had moved on from his days of serial cheating and picked up a different hobby. Beck probably wasn't like that anymore, but he wasn't any better either.

The former spy suspected that Baby Girl was still involved with Beck. He observed her closely. Her eyes swirled with guilt, and her shoulders drooped in alarm. There was more to the story, but before Bucky could voice a question, Baby Girl stumbled onto unsteady feet. She swayed back and forth, betraying her inebriation, and Bucky reached over to keep her from falling.

Baby Girl pushed his hands away. "I'm tired," she croaked. "I'm going to bed." And she staggered away, bumping into people as she disappeared into the house.

Bucky relaxed back in his seat with a tired sigh. On his left, Sam was passed out over the arm of his chair, mouth open in a loud snore. Bucky craned his neck back and stared openly at the night sky. Stars twinkled brighter here than they did in the city. Everything was more serene and calm. However, since Baby Girl arrived, Bucky couldn't help but sense a slight shift in the air, as if the wind knew her secrets and was trying to warn them. One thing was made clear. It wouldn't be pretty.

It felt oddly like déjà vu. A light clambering of feet roused Bucky from his half-sleep, and as always, it took a second for him to make sense of his surroundings. He was on Sam's couch.

The steps were hesitant and controlled—so not AJ and Cass. Excitement and a sugar overload had kept them up late, and they wouldn't wake until a few hours later. Bucky was proven right when a lone woman descended the steps instead of two boys.

She looked a lot better than the last time he had seen her. Freshly showered and reasonably presentable in her own clothes this time—not Sam's. She hadn't seen him yet, so Bucky took the opportunity to observe her a moment longer. Her under-eye area was still dark, though not as sunken as before, and she carried an air of determination around her.

"Good morning," Bucky broke the silence.

Baby Girl shrieked, seemingly slipping over nothing. She tumbled backward, falling in an indelicate heap onto an armchair. "God above!"

Her vocabulary was steadily expanding.

Bucky sat up, regarding her with a guilty expression. "Sorry."

"I forgot you were still here," she mumbled sheepishly, straightening herself into a more respectable position.

There was a moment of awkward silence where neither acknowledged the other.

"I was wondering..." the girl started.

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow some money? I didn't bring enough with me from New York."

"Uh, sure," Bucky replied, grabbing his wallet from between the couch cushions. "How much do you need?"

Baby Girl looked down at her hands, tracing lazy lines on her palm. "One grand?" she grimaced.

Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. "What do you need a thousand dollars for?"

"I can make do with less!" she rushed to explain. "I can try stretching an eight hundred," she murmured. "But a new phone would be too expensive, and I'm not sure I can find a cheap last-minute flight."

"Excuse me?" Bucky exclaimed. He was fully awake now, leaning forward to hear her better. "What was that about a phone and a flight?"

Her guilty eyes met his confused ones. "I broke my phone," she explained, "so I need a new one. I also need to get back home, so I need to buy a plane ticket."

Bucky eyed her skeptically. "I thought you were staying."

"I changed my mind," she dismissed with a shaky wave. "I already went over it with Sam."

Bucky knew for a fact she was lying. She wouldn't even meet her eyes. "Is that what he would say if I asked him?"

"Of course!" she proclaimed. But Bucky could hear the hesitance.

"Okay. I'll go ask Sam." Bucky made to get up, but as predicted, the girl stopped him.

"Wait! Don't!"

Bucky sat back down with a satisfied smirk. "You're a sneaky little thing."

"Don't tell Sam," Baby Girl pleaded. "I'm sorry I lied. I didn't have another choice. He locked my credit card. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you for this favour."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, crossing his arms and getting comfortable. "I'd be willing to help you—Only..." Bucky stressed when she tried to interrupt. "If you answer a few questions first."

Baby Girl mimicked Bucky's posture with a frown. "That hardly seems fair."

"I can always call Sam."

"Fucking fine," Baby Girl grumbled.

Satisfied by the flow of things, Bucky started his interrogation. "Why are you in such a rush to go back home?" Bucky asked, deciding to start small. He could tell Baby Girl was thinking hard about her answer, trying not to give too much away. She squinted her eyes as if it were putting strain on her. He decided she would make a horrible spy.

"I left in a hurry. I only planned a day trip. I don't have any clothes or money on me."

Bucky shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

Baby Girl glared at him. "I don't understand the question."

"What's waiting for you in New York? Do you have a job? A prior commitment? A boyfriend?" Bucky stretched that last word, giving the girl a smirk.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she frowned.

"Fiancé, then," Bucky concluded. "I saw that ring in your purse." He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Baby Girl's left hand and pulling it toward him to inspect.

She initially squeaked a protest but stayed still as he prodded her ring finger with his eyes. "Tan line," he observed, and she snatched her limb back, throwing the most menacing glare she could manage toward him.

"No fiancé," she hissed.

"I don't believe you," Bucky shrugged. "Job, then? What do you do?"

It took too long for her to answer, making it obvious she was concocting a lie in her head. "I work in the... customer field. Where I work with customers."

If Bucky wasn't on the verge of laughter, he might've cringed from the secondhand embarrassment.

"And... books." She was obviously lying. Even she didn't believe what was coming out of her mouth.

"I think my cat might be a better liar than you," He remarked drily.

The girl huffed but stayed silent.

Bucky decided to try a different tactic. "What year is it?"

The girl regarded him strangely. "2024."

"How many sides does an octagon have?"

"Eight."

"What's Sam's last name?"

"Wilson."

"Who was Iron Man?"

"Tony Stark."

"What colour is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Who locked your credit card?"

"Quentin Beck."

Bucky laughed. The girl stared at him, horrified. She gaped at him like a fish, only managing to make senseless sounds. "Y-you—w-what!"

Bucky laughed harder. "I told you that day. You seem smart, but not that smart."

"How dare you!"

"Last question. Does your boyfriend know you're here?" If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. He raised his arms in surrender. "I won't judge. And I won't tell Sam. I'm just trying to understand the situation so I can help."

Her glare slowly softened to fatigue. "No. He doesn't know."

Bucky bobbed his head. "I figured as much." He grabbed his unlocked phone and tossed it to her, assuming she would catch it. She didn't. The device smacked her in the chest before falling on her lap, which she stared at dumbly.

"Call him," said Bucky, standing up to stretch. "Let him know you're safe. Tell him no one kidnapped you, and he can unlock your card."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Bucky beat her to it. "I can't get you a plane ticket out of here, so this is the next best thing. You want to leave? Tell Sam about Quentin Beck, and he'll let you. He isn't that big of an asshole to keep you hostage here. There's hope for him yet." Bucky stepped out of the living room but turned around and stopped to add one more thing. "Sam's been different since you arrived. He's happier. You're all he talks about to anyone. Do him one last favour; stay the weekend, and don't choose that Quentin Beck guy over him." With that, Bucky strode to the bathroom to freshen up, missing the first teardrop.

His phone was returned to him an hour or so later, accompanied by an uncomfortable smile and words of gratitude. "I told him I'm safe, and no one kidnapped me."

"Is he mad?" Bucky asked.

"He's a little upset," she confessed. "Promise you won't tell Sam?"

"Only if you promise not to run away." They stared at each other for a long moment, daring the other to disagree.

"Fine," the girl finally conceded. Bucky gave her a stiff nod and turned to leave. "Wait!" she exclaimed urgently. "He's still upset. Just ignore any other messages from him, okay? He should cool down after a while."

Bucky looked into her eyes. She was beautiful and unsuspecting looking. Fiery and transparent. He scrutinized her for deceit and instead found veiled resignation. He agreed and went to the backyard, leaving her in the kitchen.

It was an especially hot day, and there was much to do. Sarah wanted to landscape the back garden, and Bucky had volunteered. He didn't know the first thing about construction, but the boys had recently introduced him to YouTube, a magical place with the answers to all his questions. Bucky began to work, moving piles of dirt, levelling the uneven ground, and placing heavy slabs of concrete to form a pathway from the back porch to the lake.

Hours later, Bucky finished with the last slab of concrete, moving further away to admire his work. There was more to finish, but Sarah would be happy with his progress. Bucky wiped his brow, groaning at the sticky feeling of sweat dripping down his neck.

He grabbed his phone from the table on the porch to check the time, surprised at the number of notifications waiting for him. Bucky was by no means popular. The only person who contacted him somewhat regularly was Sam, but these notifications were all from the same unknown number. Bucky realized with a start that the barrage of missed calls and messages he was being attacked with were probably all from Quentin Beck.

Curiosity grabbed hold of him. He did promise the girl he would ignore any messages from him, but really, this was excessive. What if something was wrong and Beck urgently needed to contact her? He tapped on the message icon without another thought.

Bucky froze when he read the latest message.

You're dead when I find you.

He immediately scrolled to the top, reading the conversation from the beginning to try and gain some context to the threat. The thread started with a long paragraph from the girl detailing her situation, followed immediately with an exhausted apology.

I'm so sorry, please don't be mad. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Where the HELL are you?

Sam was asking questions. I tried to leave, but he got suspicious. I'll be back in a couple of days. I'm sorry.

You shouldn't have fucking seen him in the first place. I warned you.

Sam's career is in my hands. It'll only take one call to ruin him. I fucking warned you to never go near him.

He's trouble. He doesn't care about you like I do. He doesn't love you like I do.

The messages got progressively worse, teetering on the edge of insanity. Promising pain and broken bones, blaming it all on her.

Why do you make me do this?

Typical narcissist behaviour.

You're dead when I find you.

Baby Girl hadn't seen any of the messages after her rushed apology, but Bucky had a feeling she wouldn't be surprised by them either way. He clutched his phone tight, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

What a bastard. What a self-entitled, psychotic prick. Everything came into clear focus, painting a detailed painting for Bucky to observe. Her behaviour started making sense. The bags under her eyes, the lack of light in her irises, the unworn ring... the secrets.

He decided then that he wouldn't tell her about the messages if she asked. Bucky would wait for the right time tonight to bring up the topic of Quentin Beck as innocently as he could, and offer her his help. She didn't need to know the extent of Beck's threats against her life.

Plan laid out, Bucky made his way inside for a well-deserved glass of cold water when the back door swung open. Baby Girl walked out with two lemonades and a plate of sandwiches balanced between the crook of her elbow. Some lemonade spilled over her hand when she abruptly stopped ahead of him. Bucky took the drinks from her and placed them on the small table.

Baby Girl put the plate of sandwiches next to the drinks and proceeded to lick the spilled lemonade from her hands. Bucky swallowed thickly, feeling flustered at such an innocent act. "You good?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I made us lunch and lemonade. Figured you could do with something cool."

"Yeah," Bucky was suddenly parched. "It's a hot day."

Baby Girl sat down at the table and took a large sip of her drink. "Sarah and Sam went to run some errands in the city. Said they'll be back late."

"What about the boys?" Bucky inquired, sitting down and taking a sip of his own. He groaned as the cool drink washed over him.

"They're having a sleepover at the neighbours." She handed him a sandwich, which he took with a smile.

"So it's just us today," he said, aware that the perfect opportunity for a less-than-pleasant conversation had just presented itself.

"Yup, just us."

An awkward silence fell over them, broken occasionally by the sound of chewing.

"The yard looks nice," Baby Girl blurted.

Bucky turned his neck to observe his handiwork. "Thanks. Still a lot to be done."

"You must be tired."

Bucky shrugged. "Not really. The heat is worse than anything else."

"Is that because of the serum?" she asked, immediately flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry! That's so insensitive of me. And it's none of my business."

"You're good," said Bucky. "I don't mind. Yeah, it's because of the serum. My stamina's through the roof."

"Wow," she admired.

"Could've been real handy with the ladies, back in the forties." Bucky flushed at the silence that followed. "During the war, I mean!" he corrected. "I could've used the stamina during the war."

The girl finished her lemonade in one long sip. "Right, of course."

"For battle. On the battlefield." Bucky finished his own drink, then stuffed another sandwich in his face to keep from further embarrassing himself.

Bucky's phone lit up with a notification, and the girl flicked her eyes toward the screen. "It's my neighbour," he told her. "He's looking after my cat."

Baby Girl visibly deflated. "That's nice," she smiled. "What's its name?"

"Alpine." Bucky decided this was as good a time as any to ask a few questions. "Listen, did you tell Quentin Beck where you are?" Bucky hated the scared look on her face.

"He knows I'm at Sam's," she started slowly.

Bucky took a deep breath and willed his expression to remain neutral. "Does he have an address?"

She shook her head in denial, and only then did Bucky find himself relaxing. He wouldn't need to worry about Beck showing up announced, which gave him more time to come up with a proper plan.

"I'm gonna take a dip," Bucky gestured to the lake. "Wanna join?"

"Maybe later."

Bucky stood up with a shrug. "Suit yourself." And he took his shirt off with one pull.

He felt Baby Girl's stare burning through his skin as he jogged toward the small lake, discarding his pants along the way. He entered the water in a running dive, letting gravity pull him to the bottom before kicking away and breaking the surface with a loud whoop. His body temperature slowly stabilized as he ran laps along the perimeter. He could still feel her stare as he stopped to tread.

"The water's amazing!" he yelled. "Join me!"

She threw her arms in the air. "I don't have a bathing suit."

Bucky floated on his back, arms crossed behind his head. "Who cares?"

After a moment's hesitation, Baby Girl laughed. "You're right. Who cares?" She grabbed the hem of her top and lifted it over her head, revealing a white camisole underneath. She stopped near the edge of the lake, fixing Bucky with a faux glare. "Well, turn around. You're crazy if you think I'm undressing in front of you."

Bucky smirked at her teasing nature and turned away, listening for a splash. After a moment, the water rippled, followed by a shrill scream. "Can I look?"

"Go ahead." Baby Girl laughed when Bucky whipped his head, sending a stream of water flying her way from his hair. "Damn, the water's cold."

"Feels good, though."

"Yeah."

They settled into a comfortable silence, floating on their backs and sneaking glances at each other. Her white camisole had turned see-through, giving Bucky a delicious glimpse of her skin and pale blue bra. He averted his gaze, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I'll miss this when I'm gone," said Baby Girl softly. "The peace and quiet."

"You don't have to leave," Bucky urged. "You could stay."

She turned to face him. "I can't," she replied sadly.

"You're scared for Sam," he observed, remembering the texts. "Why? He's the fucking Falcon. He helped defeat Thanos. Beck is nothing compared to that."

The girl's eyes widened in alarm. "How do you know that?"

Bucky didn't tell her he read the messages. He would've come to the same conclusion sooner or later. He ran his hand through his wet hair. "I used to be a spy." He fixed her with a pointed look. "And you're a horrible liar. Seriously, you are worse than my cat."

She huffed but didn't argue. After a moment of silent contemplation, she settled on her back and regarded him doubtfully. "Quentin has connections with the CIA, FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security. Any government official out there, he's probably on a first-name basis with them." Her face contorted in pain. "He could ruin Sam's life with a single phone call. I swore I would never give him a reason to."

Bucky's jaw clenched tightly. "What's the worst that bastard could do? Sam knows people too."

"Not enough. He could pin a drug charge. It wouldn't even have to stick. The bad press would be enough to ruin Sam's reputation."

"That's illegal," Bucky pointed out dangerously. Quentin Beck was turning out to be worse than Bucky imagined.

"He doesn't care about that when it comes to me," she dismissed. "Quentin can do no wrong when it comes to love."

"That's not love!" Bucky snapped, losing the last of his patience. They were floating dangerously close to one another, elbows brushing.

"Regardless. There's nothing to be done."

"You could stay," Bucky implored. "I'd keep you safe."

They were even closer now, both on their backs, faces turned toward the other, lips dangerously close. For a moment it looked like she might say yes. She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a car door slamming shut interrupted her.

"That must be Sam," she said, and the moment was broken.

Bucky moved first, swimming to the deck to grab his discarded pants. "I'll give you some privacy," he said, dragging the fabric up his legs. He left without another word.

Incessant knocking at the front door stopped Bucky in his tracks. Sam always carried a key. Bucky dropped his shirt and went around the house to the front. The car parked in the drive was unfamiliar and out of place. Sleek and shiny and black. Expensive. The man waiting impatiently at the door looked more out of place than the car. Dressed in a gray suit, brown loafers, and black shades, the man looked like he belonged on the cover of a real estate advertisement.

"Can I help you?" Bucky snapped, feeling on edge.

The man lifted his shades to regard Bucky with a look of contempt, eyeing his exposed chest and metal arm with barely concealed disgust. "Yeah, maybe you can. Is this the Wilson residence?"

"Depends on who's asking."

"A friend," the man replied.

"Funny. I didn't know Sam had any friends."

"That's because I'm not Sam's friend," he scorned. "I'm looking for a girl."

Bucky inched closer to him. "I know lots of girls," he quipped.

The man smiled dangerously. "I'm looking for a very specific one. Yay high, unchecked temper, tendency for trouble."

Bucky laughed without humour. "Doesn't narrow much down, buddy. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"You must be the Winter Soldier," the man mused.

"I go by James Barnes," Bucky snapped. "You must be Quentin Beck." Bucky had recognized him right away.

Quentin Beck spread his arms in a wide gesture. "The one and only. I suppose she told you about me."

"She didn't have to. I can smell a bastard from a mile away."

Beck clenched his fists, face contorting nastily, and stepped forward. "You little—"

Despite the sweltering heat, Bucky felt a coldness wash over him. His advanced senses picked up on footsteps coming from around the back. His head whipped to the side just as the girl rounded the corner. She wore jeans and nothing else, her white camisole still wet and slightly see-through. Bucky watched with dread as she took in the sight in front of her, blinking confusedly. The colour slowly drained from her flushed cheeks, and she froze as her brain caught up with her eyes.

"Sweetheart?" Beck's demeanour rapidly changed, and he stalked forward with his hands raised non-threateningly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Bucky blocked his path with a glare.

When Beck noticed her state of undress, he became angry, clenching his fists at his side. He noted Bucky's bare chest, his low-hanging jeans, and the girl's see-through top. "What the fuck is going on here?" Beck demanded.

When he fixed his icy glare on her, she reanimated, staggering back with a loud gasp, Baby Girl tripped over a rock but continued scooting backwards as she fell over. The raw fear emanating from her was enough to undo Bucky. Bucky shoved Beck as hard as he could—without using his super strength—and slammed him against his car.

"Motherfucker," Beck hissed, clutching his side.

"I suggest you leave before you really piss me off," Bucky threatened, stalking closer.

Beck staggered away, putting his car between them. "Not without my fiancé," he seethed.

"Fiancé, huh?" Bucky turned toward the girl. She was still on the ground, carefully watching the scene with wide eyes. He waited until she looked at him, then gave her a soft smile, silently urging her to trust him. "Are you his fiancé, Baby Girl?"

She jerked her head in denial. "No."

"There you have it. You heard the lady." Bucky's voice lowered dangerously. "Now leave. Before I make you leave."

"She's lying!" Beck screamed. And Bucky got the impression he was used to getting his way. "I gave her a ring."

Bucky had cornered Beck against the hood of his car and was looming dangerously over his crouched figure. "I don't see any ring. Now leave!"

Beck unlocked the car, jerking open the driver's side and inelegantly lumbering in. "This isn't over yet, Winter Soldier," he spat, and with one last seething glare toward the girl, he sped off.

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist│Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

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[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 6

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: mentions of physical abuse. probably cursing, but idk. insecurity and vulnerability. I'm sure there are typos.

Words: 2825

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake’s eyebrows pinch in confusion at the shifting expression on your face, then he follows your line of sight over his shoulder. Though he’s still yards away from you, you hear the soft ‘damn it’ that leaves his mouth. He’s out of his seat in the next half-second, Rooster quickly joining him. 

“How is she here?” Jake asks as you ease behind him. 

“I have no idea,” Bradley says.

Sifting his hand through his hair, Jake curses again as if the woman making her way toward the group is a ticking bomb they’re running out of time to dismantle. “Can you and Millie take her back to the apartment?”

“Your girl?”

“Yes. I don’t know what Brit will say, but I don’t want it directed at her. When Brit realizes she’s my roommate—”

Rooster nods. “Enough said.”

“Thank you.” Jake whips around and his head jerks back in surprise—his mouth parts. A new shade appears to travel up his neck to his cheeks, but the pinkish hue could easily be mistaken for the fiery glow of the bonfire reflecting off his skin. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Just a minute,” you say. “Who is she?”

Nat and Bob pull up on either side of you and you notice how all sets of eyes are glued to the woman who is still too far away to identify properly. Though, despite her distance and that you’d asked Jake for confirmation, she’s no mystery to you. She’s undoubtedly the woman from the gift shop. What you don’t understand is the intensity of everyone's reactions. 

Nat crosses her arms and with a frown, says, “Jake, how does she know you’re here?”

It’s a question that goes unanswered, but you suspect it’s not one that has an answer. They’re all shocked; no one pilot more or less confused than another. 

Ignoring both your question and Nat’s, Jake places his hands on your forearms to regain your attention. “Rooster and Millie are going to take you back to our place, alright?”

“Jake, why—”

“I just need to deal with this,” he interrupts, a barely detectable plea hidden within his tone. “I’ll get rid of her and then I’ll be home.”

Your breath catches at his wording. Get rid of her. You suddenly don’t care about the irritation swirling around the group or the stress on Jake’s face. Time slows. You’re shot back to a life you’ve been trying to forget. A life that had you so often discarded you'd learned to rid people of yourself before they could do it for you. 

“Does she deserve to be gotten rid of, Jake?” you ask, just above a whisper, for him and only him.

He flinches as if you slapped him, but he doesn't release you, and a bulge briefly forms in his throat before, bit by bit, the hurt infects the features of his face. He looks down to where his fingers are wrapped around your arms and squeezes, so light and gentle that were you not sensitive in the moment--hyperaware of every movement and sound--you wouldn't have felt it.

His hands slide down to your fingers, the pads of his fingertips resting under yours, his thumb grazing along the nail of your index finger. When his eyes flick up to yours, he says, “I’ll explain later."

The woman is close enough now that you can see the harsh scrutiny in her gaze as she looks you up and down. It morphs into a glare when she notices Jake’s hands on you, and she picks up in speed.

“If we’re going, it needs to be now,” Rooster says. “Baby,” he calls out for Millie, “We gotta go.”

She leaps up and rushes over to take his hand. The smile she directs at you is forced. “I was gettin’ tired anyway.”

—

Rooster and Millie drop you off with matching tense faces that look misplaced on both of them; appearing so odd you can’t help but stare hard at the crease in Rooster’s brow reflecting back at you in the rearview mirror. Despite only getting to know these people tonight, you suspect the mood filling this car is uncommon, especially when these two are within a foot and a half of one another while their hands are clasped and resting on the center armrest. 

“Jake will be back soon,” Rooster says as you exit the vehicle.

Then Millie adds a syrupy sweet, “I loved meetin’ you. If you ever wanna get together, let me know. I could use another friend in this town.”

Momentarily, you forget Jake in favor of the redhead smiling at you through the rolled-down passenger window. You could use another friend, too. Someone who isn’t so perfectly formed from the outside world's perspective. Someone who might be able to understand you. 

“I’d like that,” you reply. 

Rooster waits until you’re through the door of the building before peeling out of the lot and back down the street. 

When you make it into the apartment, you’re not entirely sure what to do. Everything you could do to distract yourself, whether it be cleaning or reading or watching TV, you won’t be able to put any heart into. They’d be useless distractions. You opt instead to take a seat on the couch and wait. But then the waiting grows boring, so you start to think. 

Get rid of her. Get rid of her. Get rid of her. 

There’s a layer of bitterness coating the roof of your mouth that you can’t swallow.

You just started settling into the idea that Jake could be different—good. His heart isn’t something he appeared to hide from you and the more time you spend around him, the more honest you’ve sensed him to be. Your resistance has yet to deter or turn him sour. Regardless of how you act, he still smiles at you every morning. He still makes you coffee and picks you up from work and wants you to spend time with his friends. He tries to integrate you into his life, but now you’re not sure for what purpose if this is how he views women. Disposable. 

You can feel it begin to crush you from all sides as you imagine the day Jake will look at you differently. The way he looked at her. 

Jake is worn down when he enters the apartment and finds you on the living room couch, your spine locked pin-straight. His eyes have lost their light, there is potentially a new fine wrinkle across his forehead, and his lips are pulled so tight they almost disappear. He’s so altered from the happy man of an hour ago. In fairness, you are as well. 

When he sees you, Jake smiles softly, weakly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You alright?” he asks.

You hadn’t considered a plan for addressing the event Jake didn’t allow you to witness, so it is your unprocessed emotions from the last hour that have you ignoring his question in favor of fueling what next comes out of your mouth. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

Jake’s brow pinches as he crosses his arms. There’s no anger behind it; almost disappointment that you’ve reached such a conclusion. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw the mug in the trash. She got it at the gift shop where I work. A shirt, too, that matches.” 

The strain of his shoulders releases and his head falls back a bit, like that knowledge was the very last thing he needed you to have. “Fuck,” he groans, straightening his neck. “Of all the goddamn shops in this town…” His head shakes, then his eyes lock onto yours. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Not that either. She’s just…She lived here. Before you.”

Your hands tighten into fists that lightly press into the couch cushions. “Did you kick her out?”

“Not exactly,” he says. “She was month-to-month, and the month was up.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, or the shirt.”    

Your words are spewing so fast, every held in question breaking out, and you don’t dare stop yourself. You need to know if you’re correct. You need the explanation he promised you to confirm your suspicions. You need it. 

“You were sleeping with her, right?” You ask, though you’re already positive that’s what birthed the issues between him and that woman. “You slept with her and now she has feelings for you so you won’t let her stay here anymore…Right?”

The hurtful look that you’d caused at the beach reforms on his face, and it’s a deep stab into your chest, a mix of frustration and regret. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Sounds simple to me,” you snap. “Is this what you do? You sleep with women until it’s no longer convenient for you?”

“No! God, no. It’s not like this is my thing. She lived here and we got involved for three months. That was it,” he explains in a rush. “It wasn’t ever going to be anything more than sex, not to me, and when she realized that, she lost her shit, Ok? Broke things. Threw things. Hit me. I couldn’t let her stay here forever. I’m not some heartless dick, it just got out of hand.”

When he’s done, his chest is rising and falling like a man just off a five-mile run. He swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face in the silence that follows. 

It’s not a silence you know how to break. It’s a silence that demands you feel the full force of that stab wound in your chest, now shoved deep enough into your body to slice you right down the middle. Frustration is gone, easily overpowered by regret.

In a matter of ten seconds, Jake flipped over everything you had prematurely decided about the story between him and the woman. When you saw how she looked at you tonight and heard what Jake said, you thought you identified with her, that you’ve felt what she feels, that only you could see a swirling well of pain under her layer of anger. But as Jake stands before you, exhausted and desperate for you to understand, you realize you never considered that it’s with him you identify. Maybe it’s why pushing him away is much harder than anyone from your past. Maybe it’s why you want to believe he is good and genuine and kind. And maybe it’s why you’re realizing with each passing day that if you leave this town, you might not get away without also leaving a bit of yourself behind. Over the past months, you have—by subconscious mind or soul—connected with Jake Seresin through the pain you didn’t even know he’d faced. 

Jake steps around one of the chairs opposite the couch and his body falls into it like a ragdoll. 

“Does–” you begin, testing your voice. It’s meeker than you would like. “Does your team know what she did? Is that why they were so bothered when she showed up tonight? Everyone went into hyper-defense mode.”

He sits up, more at ease now that you’ve let go of your accusations. “They know she gave me trouble. They don’t know she would smack me or break my shit whenever I refused to treat her like my girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“If I told them while it was going on, they would’ve been pissed that I was letting her stay for a couple more weeks. They would’ve shown up at my door with a net to toss over her and drag her out,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands clasp and one thumb runs back and forth over the other. “And I don’t tell them now because, even though it's over, the lecture would last days.”

“With everything she was doing, didn’t you want her out as soon as possible?”

“Of course I did, but she didn’t have anywhere to go yet,” he says. “Eventually, I found her a place and paid for six months in advance. She’s got about three more months before she has to take over the lease.”

As he speaks, a dash of hypocrisy weasels its way into your system. A defensiveness that you’ve never used to protect yourself instantly latches on to Jake. 

You want him to tell his friends about what he’s been through, though you refuse to toss him the measliest crumbs from your own story. You want to explain to him that he shouldn’t have sacrificed himself in his effort to remove that woman from his life, while also ignoring the fact that self-sacrifice is the only option you’ve ever chosen. You want him to tell you everything he’s ever felt so he can remove the boulder from his back, as long as he doesn’t request the same of you. But you know Jake doesn’t work that way. With a given inch, he goes for a mile, and you can’t risk that. 

“Does she bother you often?” you ask. 

“There are days when she shows up out of nowhere, not unlike tonight, either pissed off all over again about everything that went down,” he nudges his head in the direction of the trash can, “or sickeningly sweet and asking to come back with gifts in hand.”

From that alone, you know Jake Seresin is stronger than you. He stands firm in one place despite the chaos that sporadically comes and goes from his life. He stakes his claim, choosing to remove the problem rather than consider that he is the problem and must be the one removed. But you can see, no matter how strong, it takes its toll on him.  

What comes over you next, you’re not quick enough to stop. You stand and find a new seat on the glass coffee table across from him, not fighting the closeness that gives your knees no choice but to be tucked between his. When your touch lands atop his clasped hands, they immediately untangle and, much like your legs, your hand becomes encased. Were you with anyone else, you’d feel trapped, one step away from prisoner. But here, now, with Jake, your body isn’t pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Though his head is lowered, he nods and you catch a hint of his half-hearted smile. Then he flips his hand so your palm is face-down on his, and with his other hand traces the edges of your fingers, from thumb to pinky and back. You try to ignore the zips and tingles that shoot up your arm from his soft motions. You fail. 

“Jake, why do you even bother with a roommate? I know you can afford this place on your own.”

“I don’t like to be alone,” he says, still lazily running his touch up and down the curves of your fingers.

“How come?”

That finger ceases its gentle tracing and he looks up. He’s suddenly much closer. Less inches remain between your nose and his, your eyes and his, your lips and his. “How about this…” His breath holds a heat that brushes your cheeks. “I tell you something; you tell me something.”

When you instinctively lean back a few inches, you swear he moves forward, like a magnet chasing after its partner. Your hand starts to slip and his palm shifts so his fingers can curl up through the spaces between yours.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Something about you.”

His eyes hold yours, that increasingly intoxicating shade of mossy green unwavering. His touch seems to extend past the warmth of his grasp, now flowing through you from head to toe. 

“What do you want?” you let out an awkward chuckle to distract yourself, and hopefully Jake as well, from the heat flushing your cheeks. “My favorite color?”

“Your favorite color is green,” he says. “I want to know something more than that, if you’re willing to share it.”

You search for any meaning behind what he says other than the one you know he’s after. He doesn’t just want something more, he wants something that means more. Something deeper that will put a crack in your shell. Something that will bring you closer to him.

To your surprise, it’s not a thought you immediately banish. Giving him more would, in theory, aid the budding connection you're not sure you want to break. But what you have to give might very well break that connection anyway. It could bring him a clarity you’d rather he not have as to why you are the way you are. If your story is too much for him to accept without altering how he sees you, you will pack up and leave solely for the escape, to avoid witnessing the rapid change of his treatment of you. And whatever he has to share in exchange couldn’t possibly have you viewing him as negatively as he might view you. 

“It’s a fair trade, don’t you think?” he says, “So, what do you say?”

---

A/N: Sorry if your favorite color isn’t green. I just picked one.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @townmoondaltwistle

[jeankluv]

Birdie - Satoru Gojo | Chapter 16

words: 4k

summary: While everyone adored him, you stood apart in your feelings. It wouldn't be accurate to say you hated him, as " hate " was a strong word, rather, you harbored a profound dislike towards him. The problem was he knew that and his irritating presence seemed to persistently cling to you whenever he crossed your paths.

Now, you found yourself paired with him for your semester project, and the thought made you wish to hurl yourself out of the third-floor window. Three months of working alongside him loomed ahead. Adding to the discomfort, you were currently under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, each gaze feeling like a murder attempt. It seemed everyone coveted the opportunity to collaborate with Gojo Satoru, except for you.

ac: _a3aem

tags: modern au, college au, fem!reader, academic rivals, he fell first, fluff, old money Gojo Satoru, abusive parents, slight slow burn, Satoru is a softy, secondary couple (Geto Suguru x oc), a bit of angst, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, Gojo plays basketball, Gojo needs a hug

notes: this chapter will be focus on Birdie, there won’t be much Gojo & Birdie (sorry) I hope you enjoy it.

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist | ao3

materialist | previous chapter | next chapter

You looked in the mirror and bit your lip. That dress wasn't appropriate either, in fact none of the dresses she owned were appropriate for a charity gala full of rich people.

“Not this one either.” You sighed, taking off your suspenders.

“I think it’s good.” Kyoko said from your bed, as she took a sip of her coffee.

“Kyoko, I can't appear at a charity gala, full of rich people and knowing that Satoru's parents and grandparents are there with an openness that reaches me here.” You pointed to your hip.

“You would attract attention, that's for sure.” You rolled your eyes and took off your dress completely.

“Ugh, this is so stressful.” You threw yourself to the bed. “The gala is in two days, I don’t have anything.”

“Why did you accept?” You looked at Kyoko. “That sounded a bit rude, but what I meant was that, you always hated fancy places and I was surprised when you told me you were going.”

“I want to support Satoru.” You sat down and took the shirt that was on the floor. “This is important for him and… I want to be there for him.”

“Oh…” Kyoko smiled. “Aren’t you the cutest?” She pinched your cheeks. “But why don’t you talk with Sato…”

“No, I’m not asking him to buy something for the gala. I don’t want that.” You sighed.

“Okay, okay.” And she smiled. “Wait, I might know some who might be able to help you.”

“Who?” You looked at her.

“Shoko’s girlfriend.” She smiled and started texting on her phone.

“Shoko has a girlfriend?” You said surprised.

“Sometimes it surprises me how clueless you are, she told us, at the club, remember? We were in the couches with her and Yuki.” She said looking at you through her eyelashes and then a smile spread across her face.

You opened your mouth in a shaped O and remembered that moment. “Oh yeah I was probably elsewhere.”

You for sure where somewhere else, distracted watching Satoru as he talked with that girl, that later you found out her name was MeiMei.

“Shoko told me to go to her apartment after you finish your work, Utahime will help you.”

“Kyoko, I don't know if…”

“Let yourself be pampered and take care of yourself a little.” You looked down and sighed. “You're going to leave Satoru speechless at that gala.”

You hoped so, but you also hoped that eyes wouldn't land on you. You didn't want to have to endure an awkward question session all night. But you knew that if Satoru was with you that wouldn't happen.

You and Kyoko got ready to go to class, that day you only had one class and unfortunately for you, it wasn't with Satoru. It was hard to believe, before you avoided Satoru Gojo like the plague and now you longed to spend even a few minutes with him.

But that day was not going to be like that and you would have to limit yourself to calls and messages. Satoru was busy with his basketball practices and you were busy at work.

You and Kyoko got ready for class, gathered your materials and left together. You only had one class today and unfortunately for you, it wasn't with Satoru. It was hard to believe how much everything had changed in just a few months, before you avoided Satoru Gojo like the plague, but now you longed to spend even a few minutes with him. But that day was not going to be like that and you would have to limit yourself to calls and messages.

The walk to class felt longer than usual. Your thoughts drifted to Satoru, imagining his smile, his teasing words, and the warmth of his presence. The more you thought about him, the more you missed him, and it seemed like Kyoko noticed your distraction.

"It looks like you're going to be punished." Kyoko leaned towards you, a knowing smile on his lips.

You sighed, trying to push away the longing. "It's just that today Satoru and I won't see each other."

Kyoko laughed softly. "You sound like a puppy in love."

"Maybe I am." You admitted, laughing. “But I can’t help it.”

“Who would have thought I would see you so cloying and romantic.” Kyoko laughs leaving the subway.

You shrugged and didn't think much of it. Maybe if it was true that you were different from your usual way of being, it used to be difficult for you to show your feelings, but now with Satoru it was easy for you and it was something you wanted to do, you wanted to feel the serotonin in your body, the beating of your heart and the blood. of your body to rest on your cheeks.

Maybe you had changed or maybe that part of you had always been there and now your relationship with Satoru had brought it out. But one way or another, what mattered to you was that you liked that new version of yourself that was being drawn, and you wanted it to grow and open up more.

No matter how hard you tried all morning, your thoughts were not completely on the class and from time to time they wandered and you ended up thinking about Satoru. You wanted to ask Kyoko if she had felt that way when she started dating Suguru but it seemed like a silly question to you, so you kept it to yourself.

With the day's classes already finished you went with Kyoko to eat in the cafeteria, that day you would eat there instead of at work. Like most times, the cafeteria was packed, but luckily you managed to seat us at a table.

“Kyoko about the dress…”

“You need to relax.” She said. “Utahime is really nice and she is willing to help you. She is also excited to meet the girl that is willing to date Satoru.” You looked at her confused. “They have a friendly beef.” You nodded. “But don’t be jealous.”

You gasped offended. “I’m not that type!”

“Sure…” She smirked. “You want to remember that time when you saw a girl with Satoru and you came here all angry?”

“I… that’s not.”

It was then when Kyoko's smile became bigger and you look at her with a strange expression on your face. When you were about to ask her about that expression on her face, you felt a hand land under your chin and lift it, causing your head to look up. But that's when you met it, the one that turned into your favorite color. Those blue eyes smiled at you from above.

“Sato…” You were unable to finish the sentence, Satoru had brought your lips together in a kiss.

You enjoyed the kiss forgetting completely about the fact that you were in the cafeteria and that with that kiss everyone was finding out about the both of you. Satoru separated from you and through your eyelashes you saw the smile that appeared on his lips.

“I needed to see you…” He whispered against your lips. “Even if it was just for 5 minutes.”

You looked down, embarrassed by his words. “Satoru…”

“What?” He sat down next to you. “Can’t I say I missed my girlfriend and I needed to see her so badly?”

You bite your lip and shyly smiled. “Stop…”

“No way…” He whispered and kissed your cheek.

“Is it true you only have five minutes?” You looked at him.

He nodded. “As soon as Coach Yaga told us that training was over, I rushed out here.” You looked him up and down and knew he read your mind. “I took a shower.” Then he turned to look at Kyoko. “Hi Kyoko, Suguru will be here later.”

“Yeah I know, we are going out later.” She smiled.

“So you have to leave?” You tilted your head.

“Yeah I have a class now.” He pouted. “I will see you after work.”

“Sorry.” Kyoko spoke before you could say anything to Satoru. “But your girlfriend will have girls night today.”

“Oh.” He opened his mouth surprised.

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You told him.

Satoru shook his head, not giving a lot of importance to it. “Don’t worry.” He got closer to you. “This weekend and the next one will be full for just us.”

“I will talk to Haibara today, to change our shifts this Saturday.”

Satoru smiled. “Okay.” He kissed your lips and stood back up. “I have to leave.” He looked at you one more time. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” You smiled and waved goodbye at him.

You watched as Satoru walked between the tables of the cafeteria and how he said hello to people there. It was a remark of his popularity, after all he was the star of the basketball team and now your boyfriend. Which had caused the people around you to start gossiping.

You knew that moment would come sooner or later, after all people liked to talk and gossip, and it was a gossip about Satoru Gojo, obviously they were going to talk. You didn't care, you had never cared what they said about you. At least not until Satoru told you that you shouldn't take it so lightly when people who didn't know you spoke badly about you.

“Do you think she is with him because of his family money?” A person behind you spoke.

“No idea.” Another one spoke. “The Gojo clan is really powerful and has a lot of money.”

“Yeah… but I heard that Satoru Gojo is a bit of a player.” Another voice spoke and your blood started to run faster. “I heard he even hooked up with a teacher.”

You hit the table hard and turned to look at those people who had such long tongues. “Don't you think you are polluting this public space too much with all the dead cells that you are expelling through your mouth?” The three of them looked at you in surprise and you could hear Kyoko calling you. “If you don't know how to say anything but lies to satisfy your boredom, you'd better keep them damn closed.” You glared at them.

You felt eyes fall on you as you became the center of unwanted attention. Whispers of amusement and surprise ran through the cafeteria, but you didn't care. You were tired of the gossip and unfounded rumors, and it was about time someone reported them.

One of the three, a girl with a surprised expression, opened her mouth as if to retaliate, but no words came out. She exchanged a look with the other two and they all stood up, clearly nervous, before hastily leaving the table. You watched them leave, a feeling of satisfaction bubbling within you.

Kyoko, eyes wide with a mixture of admiration and disbelief expeto. "Wow, that was... something." She gasped.

You took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rush through your veins. “I didn't want to keep listening to them talk bad about Satoru.” You sentenced.

Kyoko smiled at you. “You care about him.”

You looked at her. “Of course I do, he is my boyfriend and I’m defending him.” You said. “The same way he did with me.”

Kyoko laughed. “You are both so cute. I could die.”

“Geez Kyoko stop!” You covered your face.

“Oh but you two are adorable.” She said. “But anyway, what I was telling you earlier, before your cute little boyfriend came, I will go for you after your shift and we will go together to Utahime’s apartment, Shoko will already be there.”

“Kyoko, I… I still don’t know.” You hesitated. “Isn’t this too much?”

She shook her head. “No.” She said firmly. “Please let us pamper you a little.”

“I think you do that more than enough.” You replied.

“Because we love you.” She said and you felt how the words sank on your chest.

You looked down. “Thank you.” Looking back at her, you smiled. “I need to leave.”

“Did you just get emotional?” She said in a silly tone.

“No I didn’t.” You obviously did. “Look, your boyfriend is coming.” You said pointing at Suguru who was coming your way.

“Oh.” She smiled warmly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He approached her and kissed her cheek.

“Well, now you two are together, I will leave for work.” You stood back up.

“I will be waiting for you to go to Utahime’s apartment.” Kyoko shouted from the table.

As you walked across campus, heading to the bus stop to go to work, you couldn't help but look at the windows of your faculty building. You were looking for white hair that would always stand out from the crowd. When you finally saw him, your heart skipped a beat and a smile spread across your face.

You took out your phone and this time you were the one who wrote a message to Satoru.

You to Satoru ✨

Hey, I see you

Guess who is watching you from the outside this time?

You pressed send and watched as he checked his phone. You saw the familiar smile appear on his face as he read your message. Within moments, his phone vibrated with his response.

Satoru ✨

Oh look who is the stalker now 😂

If I open the window, we could be like Romeo and Juliet.

You chuckled and typed quickly knowing that Satoru didn’t know what shame meant and he was probably able to do it.

You to Satoru ✨

Please don’t

I need to leave, I will see you 💋

You looked back up and saw how he turned his face from the phone and sent you a flying kiss. You looked in both directions, embarrassed. You really needed to get used to Satoru’s extrovert self.

With a blushing but happy smile, you waved your hand goodbye to him. You turned on your heel and walked towards the bus to go to work. The tour was once again the usual one, with the music from your playlist playing in your headphones and your mind wandering between the night that awaited you and the charity gala where you would accompany Satoru.

In what seemed like a sigh you arrived at your work, finding yourself surprised that Haibara was not there.

“Oh!” A younger girl greeted you by name and you looked at her strangely. “Sorry I didn't introduce myself, I'm Mina, Yu's little sister.”

You opened your eyes surprised. “Oh Haibara has told me a lot about you.”

She laughed softly. "Oh really? I hope for good things.”

You nodded. “And Haibara?”

“He is sick, last night he stayed up all night playing video games and today he had a headache.”

You nodded. “Have you been here all morning?”

“No, my grandmother was here and I'm came after class.” She smiled.

You bit your lip thoughtfully, you should talk to Haibara as soon as possible, to ask her for the schedule change for Saturday.

“Is there a problem?” She took you out of your thoughts.

“Oh… I just needed to talk to Haibara to change our shifts for this Saturday.”

“I will call him.” She took her phone out.

“No, don't worry.” She shook her head and called her brother.

“Yu!! Yeah I’m here with…” Mina started talking with his brother.

The scene reminded you of that time when Haibara also called her grandmother so you could go to the basketball game. In fact, the energy of Haibara and her sister were similar, both seemed to have explosive energy and an outgoing personality, capable of spreading it to those around them.

“Yu told me that there is no problem.” Mina granted you a warm smile.

“Thank you so much Mina.” You thanked her.

“Oh please don’t thank me.” She shook her head. “My family is really happy with how you work and how nice you are, so it’s the least we could do.” She turned to look at the clock on the wall and then back to you. “I have to leave. It was nice meeting you.”

You farewelled her and you started working as you normally did, clients came and went. And you put on your best smile and were as kind as possible with everyone. By the time you realized it, the sun had set on the horizon and the streets of that neighborhood were illuminated by bright streetlights.

Your face lit up when the store bell rang and Kyoko entered through the door with a smile. And came to the counter.

“Hello.” She wildly smiled.

“Hi.” You said back with a smile also drawn on your face. “I need to change and we can go.”

“Perfect!” She smiled. “By the way, next weekend you told me you are planning on taking Satoru to Kamakura, right?” Kyoko followed you to the changing room.

You didn’t mind her being there. “Yeah, I want him to know where I was raised and everything.” Kyoko nodded but you could tell something was bothering her mind. “Spilled out Kyoko.”

Kyoko sighed and finally spoke about what was going on in her mind. “It’s just that I’m worried about you.” You looked at her with a wondering look. “When we went there last year, remember who we met right?”

You bite your lip remembering last summer when you, as you wanted to do now, wanted to show Kyoko your hometown, the landscapes with the flowers blooming, the people there, the temples, the train that passes by the coast and allows you to see the sea. But in one snap got ruined.

“Nothing will happen.” You smiled at her. “Satoru will be with me, it’s okay.” Kyoko twisted her lips and nodded, not very sure of that smile you were giving her.

“Utahime apartment is a bit far.” Kyoko mentioned that you were putting your shoes on. “We could take a taxi.” She suggested.

“It’s fine by me.” You stood up.

Making sure that everything was neat, turned off and in order, you closed the store and together with Kyoko you walked to the main street to get a taxi. During the trip they both had a pleasant conversation from time to time, diverting to talk about their boyfriends. You couldn't help but laugh like schoolgirls when talking about them, you were really at a point where you both felt capable of anything, not only because you were in love but because you felt full and happy with yourself.

When the taxi stopped at your destination, you got out of the car and your body almost froze when you saw the residential neighborhood where you were. Utahime's family, like Satoru's, must have had money, but it was not surprising, Kyoko had mentioned to you that Utahime would also attend the charity gala, so you assumed that her family must have a high economic status.

The speed of the elevator as you went up to one of the elevated floors made your stomach turn slightly and you had to close your eyes to make it go away. Kyoko walked determinedly almost as if she knew where to walk, while she held your hand, giving you a security that you didn't know you needed.

She stood in front of one and rang the bell, a few seconds later the door opened, showing a beautiful girl with dark hair with bangs, big brown eyes and what looked like a scar on her face. She looked at you and a wide smile spread across her face.

“So you are the girl that had Satoru Gojo down on his knees?” A girl with black hair and a scar crossing her face, smiled at you. You guessed that it was Utahime, based on the description Kyoko gave you earlier.

“Yeah, that’s probably me but I think that’s a bit exaggerated.” You chuckled.

“Oh believe Uta, he is down on your knees for you.” Shoko appeared behind Utahime.

“It’s good to meet you Utahime and to see you again Shoko.” You greeted both of them.

Utahime smiled at you wildly and welcomed you to her apartment. “You are also going to that gala right?”

“Yeah.” You looked around the room and saw how her apartment was decorated elegantly, with a cozy style that welcomed you. “I'm going as Satoru's plus one.” You smiled, looking back at Utahime.

“That’s good. I will be there too.” She smiled. “So if you need a break from the Gojo clan or the old boring people, I will be there.” She winked.

Those words gave you a comforting relief that you had been trying to ignore since you had accepted or rather told Satoru that you would go with him to the gala. The idea of ​​meeting the Gojo clan overwhelmed you, you knew the clan, who in Japan did not know? And introducing yourself to them made your legs tremble as if they were jelly. But you didn't want to cower, you wanted to present yourself in that place as the confident person you were and you weren't going to lower your gaze.

“That makes me feel more relax.”

“Now.” She clapped her hands with a smile. “Take a seat.” She told Kyoko and Shoko, for them to look at you. “And you.” She pointed at you. “Come with me.” She grabbed your hand and guided you to what you guessed was her bedroom.

It was big, bigger than your whole living room and kitchen combined. It wasn’t surprising, she was going to the same gala as the Gojo clan, so probably her family had the money.

“So…” Utahime turned to look at you. “I have some ideas in mind, I think there are a couple of dresses that could make you look spectacular. But is there something you want?”

“I just don’t want to stand out too much.” You mentioned.

Utahime shook her head and smirked. “Unfortunately that will be impossible.” You looked at her. “First of all, you are stunningly beautiful, everyone would be looking at you and secondly, you are going as Satoru Gojo’s plus one, everyone will be laying their eyes on you.”

You swallowed and took a deep breath, Utahime noticing your distress sat down next to you and held your hand searching to calm down.

“It’s okay.” She smiled. “I know it will be a lot for you but…” She sighed. “I know how he is and I’m sure, like 200% sure he will make sure you are completely comfortable.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more relaxed after hearing her comforting words. “Thank you Utahime.” She shook her head, resting importance to the matter. “And yeah… I have an idea of what I would like to wear.” You slightly smiled.

“Tell me.” She said with her eyes shining with excitement.

“I would like to wear blue.”

“Blue?” She thought. “Okay, but why that colour?”

With a shy smile you said. “I want it to match Satoru’s eyes.”

Utahime smiled widely. “God, not only is Satoru at your feet, you're also fucked by him.”

You shrugged your shoulders. "I guess so."

She stood up and smiled at you. “I think…” She walked to her wardrobe. “I have the perfect dress for you.”

Utahime disappeared from your sight and you let out the air accumulated in your chest. Even though Utahime's words had been comforting and relieving, the knot that was forming in your stomach was there. You told yourself that you were doing it for Satoru, that as his partner and knowing his situation with his parents, you wanted to support him, like he did.

But you also wanted to prove to everyone present that even if you didn't come from one of those gold-plated families, you were worthy of them there, to hold your head high and walk at the same pace as Satoru Gojo.

“Here.” You heard Utahime’s voice and turned to look at her.

Your eyes and mouth opened slightly and you felt your heart stop beating momentarily. Utahime was holding a beautiful dress that was capable of taking your breath away just by looking at it.

“Utahime.” You swallowed, trying to find the words. “I don’t think I can wear that dress.”

“Yes you can.” She approached you. “I designed this dress and made it but never found anyone that could give it justice, but now, I know you can.” She looked at you with shiny eyes. “I know you will look absolutely beautiful in it.”

Your heart raced, imagining yourself in that dress that looked so delicate and beautiful before your eyes.

final note: finally I made Utahime and Birdie meet, I really wanted them to meet 🤗

— comment if you want to be tagged

🏷️:@lavender-hvze , @crybabytoru , @sanriosatoru , @norvacaine , @sadmonke , @faetoraa , @hexipessimistic , @gojoful , @kitzusune , @sh0jun , @manyno , @ropickle , @anniegojo , @milk3evee , @crunchypotatoooooooooo , @catobsessedlady , @zoeyflower , @starlostwish , @tinydonkeysforlife , @mimisq11341 , @n1vi , @olanii1019 , @vtrulvamp

[lousypotatoes]

Tumbling Dice - Husker

"Baby I can't stay, you got to roll me

And call me that tumbling dice~"

Pt.1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

Song Recommendation:

Tumbling Dice - The Rolling Stones

Playlist

Warning! This contains rape and physical abuse. If any of those topics trigger you or make you uncomfortable, please with caution!

Prologue

70 years ago...

"Come on sweetheart, pretty please?" Roy slurred. Y/N could smell the booze coming of his breath. She was disgusted.

"If you straighten up and stop drinking, maybe," she angrily said, stomping off. 

"Why not?" he whined. She heard stumble into cabinet. 

"For the last time, Roy, I'm not having sex with you while you're drunk off your ass!" she spat, walking into her and her husband's shared bedroom. 

Suddenly, Roy grabbed her and threw her into the wall. 

"Don't you ever talk to me like that bitch!" he snarled, holding Y/N up by the collar of her dress. "You talk to me like that again, I'll fucking smash your head against the bedpost!"

"R-Roy!" she sniffled, blood dripping down her forehead. "I-I'm sorry just put me down! Please!" It was the first time Roy had ever been this violent. 

Instead of putting her down, Roy threw Y/N down on the bed. 

"What are you doing Roy?" she said, as he unbuckled his belt. She backed up the headboard. 

"I don't give a damn, if you wanna have sex with me or not, you're fucking doing it!" he said, grabbing Y/N and pulling off her dress. 

"Roy, stop!" she cried out, attempting to get out of his grasp. 

"Stay still," he growled, biting harshly on her neck. 

"Roy-"

"You say one more fucking word, and I'll gut you like a fucking pig,"

After months of this Y/N finally had enough. 

Being careful not to wake her husband, she slipped out of bed as quietly as she could. 

Tip toeing over to the closet, she grabbed the overnight bag that she had packed the previous night. She was going to stay at her mothers and deal filing the divorce in the morning. 

"Where do you think you're doing?" said a voice out of the blue. 

Y/N whipped her head around and saw Roy standing in the closet doorway in nothing but his boxers. 

"Roy!" she said, pushing away the overnight bag with her feet. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart," he said menacingly, walking towards her "You're not trying to leave, are you?" 

"No of course not I-" Roy seized her wrist. 

"I know when you're lying to me, Y/N," he growled. "Now tell me the truth, were you trying to leave?"

"No, no! I was just-"

Roy grabbed onto her throat, and squeezed as hard as he could. 

"I told you what was going to happen if you ever tried to leave!" he snarled, spitting in her face. 

"R-" she choked out. "R-R-Roy-"

"Save it, slut," he said calmly, bringing his other hand up to her throat. "You're going to die and it's all your fault." 

Y/N's vision was starting to get blurry, black dots were clouding her vision. Desperate to live, she started to feel around the shelves of the closet for anything she could use to defend herself. She finally found a hammer. She didn't know why Roy kept his tools in their closet, but she was grateful that hhe did in this moment. 

As hard as she could, she swung and hit Roy's head with the hammer. 

CRUNCH!

With a bloodcurdling scream, Roy let go of Y/N, falling to the floor. 

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!" he screamed, blood pouring out of head wound. Roy tried to stand up but he fell down. "I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I DID TO YOU Y/N!" he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. 

"Don't give me that crap, Roy," Y/N said coldly, brandishing the bloody hammer. "If you were really sorry, you wouldn't have done it at all." 

"Y/N please just for-"

His sentence was replaced with another scream. 

"DO. NOT. SAY. YOU. ARE. FUCKING. SORRY. YOU. ASS. HOLE." she screamed. After ever word she said, Y/N hit him with the hammer, until he wasn't recognizable. 

She dropped the hammer, satisfied that he was finally dead. Y/N was surprised at the fact that she was so calm, despite just killing her husband. 

Grabbing some clean clothes from the hangers, she quickly changed into a new set of pajamas. No longer needing, to stay at her mothers, she unpacked the overnight bag and put the clothes away. 

Before she walked out of the closet, she looked back at Roy's dead body. 

"I wish I did this sooner," Y/N muttered, closing the closet door and settling back into bed. 

yes, i know i've already posted this part but this is the official chapter

the previous one was just a preview

this very very beautiful banner was made by the very wonderful @al-of-the-stars

i suggest u go check out their blog. there's some pretty good stuff on there

in the heights is such an underrated musical

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

Taglist 💃

@mysticwitchcraftco

[charlottecutepie]

☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton)

Summary: He was a likeable middle-aged man who had wonderful children, his dream job and a beautiful wife. He never blamed himself for his own actions, or to be more exact, he never thought about their consequences.

author notes: thank u so much guys for supporting my story, means a lot to me! <3 have some Michael in this chap, we get closer to some spicy things :)

tags: darkfic, unhealthy relationship, angst, smut with plot, p in v, dubcon, oral sex, rough and gentle sex, daddy kink, blood play, knife play, fear play, hurt/comfort, violence, gore/murders, child abuse, follows fnaf lore, moral and physical abuse, virginity kink, anxiety disorder, age gap, daddy issues, unreliable narrator, hallucinations, hidden pairing, William is sick, psychopathy, unhealthy narcissism

Chapter 4

Chapter 3. Carelessness

“But isn't Mrs. Afton waiting for you at home?” you asked awkwardly, swaying from one foot to the other.

“I warned her that I would be late,” he went into the kitchen of the house, looking around. “she's used to it.”

What's wrong with him? Why is he so cold towards his own wife?

“As i understand, after the death of your father, your mother still found a job?” he asked, brazenly sitting down at the table, as if it was his house. “I always knew she was a strong woman.”

You nodded nervously and smiled, still standing in the hallway. You wanted to show your hospitality, as your mother raised you, but for some reason you movements were hampered by annoying anxiety. In fact, you were also terribly tired after a such evening, but somehow you didn't want to leave Afton alone, and besides, that's not how your mother taught you, you need to show politeness.

“Maybe tea?” you blurted out.

William immediately turned his head at you, surprised at such cute initiative.

“I wouldn't mind.” overcoming fear, you went into the kitchen, pouring water into the kettle. You put it on the stove. Time passed agonizingly long, the silence between the two of you was horrible. “How are you doing with school? How are the exams?”

“Everything's fine, I passed the exams perfectly.” finally the kettle boiled. “What kind of tea will you have?”

“Green, please.” you nodded and put the tea to brew. When everything was ready, you served a hot drink on the table, sitting down opposite Afton. He continued to ask questions related to your studies and further plans for the future. To some extent, you were grateful to him, his voice, questions, moralizing about the future, all this helped to distract from unnecessary thoughts. “You know, Y/n… you are a very beautiful girl.”

“Thank you, Mr. Afton.” hot tea scalded your throat, just like his words.

“No need for such formalities. Just call me William.” Afton smiled slightly, getting up from the table, heading in your direction. You don't know what drove you, but all the fear and anxiety were replaced by curiosity about his next actions, maybe it was alcohol you drank at your bday? “It's so nice to see how you turned from a cute little girl into a beautiful young lady.” the kitchen became stuffy, unbearably hot. You felt dizzy, but not because of the high temperature of the air, no. Because of his compliments. “Such… Silky hair, delicate features…”

His words don't cause disgust or antipathy, on the contrary — you want him to continue praising you. You want to lose myself in this gentle flattery.

“I appreciate your words.” you answered timidly, getting up from the table and going to the sink. William was standing next to you all this time, leaning on the kitchen counter, watching you wash the mugs.

“Surprises don't end there.” he purred, already behind your back. His voice sent goosebumps all over your body. “I wanted to give you this one personally.” with these words, he put a cute necklace on your neck.

…

Around five in the morning, Mr. Afton returned to his house. Getting out of the car, he looked at the seat where you was sitting and smiled.

Mrs. Afton was in the living room, she was sitting on the couch watching TV, the woman's eyes were sleepy, and she herself was falling into a doze. From the sound of the open front door, she instantly cheered up and went out into the hallway to her husband.

“Hi, you're a little late this time.” Clara spoke.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not even looking at her. He walked into the living room, falling wearily onto the sofa. “just some problems with animatronics.”

The blonde woman sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Michael and Elizabeth are sleeping…” she whispered softly, looking up at her husband. William put his arm around her, his gaze going somewhere past the TV. The woman's arms wrapped around his neck and she reached out for a kiss. Afton behaved insensitively, doing almost nothing in response and showing no initiative. Clara pulled away, her lips going down to the man's chin and neck.

“Clara, not now.” he was off and rude, Afton removed his wife's hands from his neck and got up from the sofa. “I'm going to rest, I'm pretty exhausted, it's been a long day.” he said dryly and disappeared from her field of vision.

…

July 16.

Finally, you and Michael got to hang out. However, Elizabeth wanted to go with you too, she tearfully asked her brother to take her with him. Gritting his teeth, he did it, otherwise he would have received a scolding from his mother.

“Y/n, did you bring a swimsuit?” Michael asked, spreading a blanket on the bank of the river.

“Mmm… no, you didn't say we were going to swim.” you answered, taking out some fruits and a bottle of orange juice from your backpack.

“Well, that's even better.” Michael grinned, you only rolled your eyes at him. Yeah, now it's clear why they say that girls are smarter than boys.

You sat down next to the river, enjoying the beauty around. The singing of birds and buzzing of bees, boundless blue sky, bright sun and green forest nearby created an incredibly cozy atmosphere. You lay on your stomach, trying to finish reading your favorite book, while Michael was telling you about his adventures again. You and him are absolute opposites. He is a sunny, active, curious guy, who loves to skip school and cheat on school tests. And you're a quiet, shadow girl who always gets A's. But something about this guy interested you, no, it wasn't a crush, but he was always so lively, so positive that it couldn't help but cause a smile.

Elizabeth was somewhere nearby, playing in the water.

Michael called your name, but it looks like you were too immersed in the plot of the story.

“Hey!” he playfully took the book away from you, showing you his tongue in a teasing manner. “Give it back!”

“Catch me!” with a laugh, he rushed away to the river.

Michael had nothing to lose, because he wasn't interested in such a hobby as reading, and he was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, and it was so hot outside that his clothes would have dried in literally an hour.

“Michael, give me the book!”

“And where is the magic word?” he kept teasing you.

You got angry when you realized that you could play with him like that for an eternity, and it wouldn't do any good. Michael was already knee-deep in water, you took off your sneakers, throwing them and socks somewhere to the side. A little more, and you will take away your book, but at some point everything went wrong, the bottom of the river was slippery because of the clay, you couldn't stand on your feet as you fell into the water. The whole situation was so absurd that it didn't cause anger, but on the contrary — laughter and fun. You pulled Michael's leg, and he fell into the water after you. Elizabeth laughed watching you.

Teenage foolishness knows no bounds, you and Michael were carelessly splashing in warm water. You completely forgot about the raw book that was floating somewhere on the surface next to you.

“Mikey, it's getting dark, I'm cold.”

All wet, cold, but happy, you were sitting on a blanket, enjoying a bright summer sunset. The sun was sinking smoothly below the horizon, dusk was approaching.

“Take my hoodie,” Michael took clothes out of his backpack, handing them to Elizabeth. “Y/n, and what time do you need to be home?”

“I don't know, but definitely not by one o'clock in the morning.” you laughed, Michael jokingly pushed you in the shoulder. “What are your plans for the rest of the summer?”

“Spend it with you, of course.” he giggled, but when he saw your serious look, he froze. “Oh, well, actually none. Only to help father in the pizzeria…”

You sighed, watching the last warm rays of the sun. With the onset of darkness, the wind and cold came. You hugged your shoulders to keep warm.

Michael's gaze by accident fell on the halo of your nipples, which hardened from the cold air. He blushed, scolding himself for his own stupid thoughts, but his hormones are boiling like mad.

“Y/n, I …” Michael began, but immediately regretted, because of the embarrassment his voice sounded so ridiculous. He moved closer to you. Elizabeth was snoring sweetly, wrapped up in his hoodie. “I wanted to say that…”

“Michael? Henry told me you were at the pizzeria with him.”

Michael's eyes widened with fear, Elizabeth instantly woke up, turning her head to her father. Afton was standing right behind you with his hands on his hips. How could you not hear the sounds of his footsteps and car?

[yuxuans-stuff]

Giving Love A Chance

Pairings: Joseph Desaulnier x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, light angst.

Warnings: None.

Chapters — Discontinued!

— ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ —

Prologue —

Being a young woman in a rising in the world of men, where women are only seen as housewives, and a property of their fathers and husbands. Not only were some of the men are sexist, but also abusive towards the women.

So you often get why people often whispers about how you are raised very differently, growing up with intelligence about medicine and political views. Men especially, while studying in abroad, men had criticized you for your choice of work, as offending as it was, those men never really got the chance to graduate on the university and instead just got stuck in a loveless marriage from what you've heard.

While it wasn't surprising, you have expected some of those to happen, their attitude will get them no where, and might even be an idiot and tarnish their own family name.

Although you were successful woman who graduated in a high end university, where most normal people cannot even attend to, your father had forced you to stay at home and be the lady of the house, which means signing papers and responding to letters and such, not that you were complaining, most women wouldn't be able to do some of these so you're extremely grateful.

But that all changed when your father introduced you to a man from a foreign country and said that he arranged both of you in a marriage.

Chapter 1 —

The meeting.

Joseph Desaulniers, a man born in an aristocrat family. He was distant, elegant and enigmatic man, often attached to his camera snapping pictures of what he deemed beautiful. He was an unpredictable to decipher, like a puzzle that you have to connect to get the answer, and maybe that's why you grew interested, too interested if I say so myself.

You and him met when your parents had called you to the living room, telling a maid to fetch you out of the study room, and of course you complied, fixing your attire and appearance first to look absolutely presentable to face your parents.

You entered the room, undeniably tired, but still masked it with nonchalance in case your mother suddenly berates you for it. Your eyes immediately landed on a man with light hair tied in a low ponytail accompanied with a yellow bow and beautiful blue eyes that you could compare to the blue sky, it was simply so beautiful, eye catching even.

"Ah, come, have a seat." Your father finally spoke up with the clear of his throat, gesturing for you to sit down on the empty chair beside the couch, in which you did.

"You might be confused on why we called you here, yes?" Your father inquired again, looking at you with a stone face, not even releasing a single emotion.

You nodded, absolutely confused on why you were even here to begin with, you would rather drown in papers and signing letters than be here and be bored.

"very well, this is Joseph Desaulniers, a man who came from France," he gestured to the man you set eyes on earlier, you bowed you head to him as a sign of respect and mannerism, in which he just nodded at.

"I've decided to make an arrangement between the two of you," your father continued looking at you specifically. Your eyes snapped wide, looking at your own father who told you that you were never getting arranged to someone when you were young.

"and you did not ask if I'm comfortable enough to agree?" You questioned, a frown playing on your face while you looked at your father, hurt, and betrayed.

You mother only shook her head, as always, she was a woman of views, always so composed, not once minding any gossips about her, finally spoke up.

"Dear, you must understand that this arrangement are for the better on our business, we could now ship our items overseas." She reasoned, but you were having none of it. You shook your head with a frown still playing on your face, clearly upset.

"so I'm just a pawn in this? This is unacceptable, mother." You said before standing up and leaving the room with the door closing behind you with a loud thud.

Your mother stood up and excused herself, claiming that she'll talk to you and they should continue their conversation about the matter.

"apologies for our daughter, she is just used with having freedom of things she do." Your father apologized on your behalf, nodding at Joseph, who only nodded, taking no interest in his apology, although his attention was slightly peaked with your personality, he had never seen a woman have so many freedom about her choice in a world of men, he just wants to, capture it and make it his.

➣

Second time writing like this, I don't know if I did great, and I still don't know how to capture Joseph's personality properly😭😭

[mexxs-blog]

Fool me twice.

part two to the rebuilt series; part 1 here

a liv morgan / dominik mysterio / rhea ripley fanfiction series.

trigger warnings: manipulation, forced (?) subspace, bad bdsm etiquette, triggering subjects, choking, physical abuse, verbal abuse.

Why was this happening again?

Rheas mind swirled, any thought she managed to form becoming incoherent before she managed to dwell on it for too long. So many emotions had swelled in her chest, overwhelming her senses, and merging into a gaping hole until it was impossible to act on any of them. She could only stumble and let herself be dragged on by Dominik and Liv.

Think. She had to think. What had happened? She had a match against Liv, with Dominik at ringside. He had obviously interfered multiple times, and she had almost lost. But with her title clutched weakly in her fist, that wasn't her main concern. She had won.

Had she?

She hadn't won, really. If she had, would have won her title and been left alone, instead she's being pulled away by Dominik and Liv. Her old dommes. They shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be letting them near her.

Why was she allowing the two people that had hurt her so badly to be around her again?

It was her instincts. They had both previously been her dominants for so long, her submission to them was instant, uncontrollable, and very much unwanted.

A sharp shove to her back broke her out of her scattered thoughts, and she stumbled forwards into a darkened, spare room. She spun on her heels, facing Liv and Dominik, forcing her lips into a sneer.

"You're both fuckin' insane. I don't care what I had with either of you, we'll never have it again," She snapped, her voice shaky and her body stiff.

Liv exchanged a fleeting glace with Dominik, the hint of a dangerous smirk flitting across both of their faces. They turned back to Rhea.

Rhea knew the warning signs. She knew how pitiless the pair could be by themselves, let alone together. But she had to hold her ground.

"Now move,"

Rhea spat venomously, taking a bold step forward towards the door the pair were standing in front of. Neither flinched.

"Move! Before I beat the fuck out of both of you-"

Rhea's threat was cut off when a fist collided with her jaw, her head snapping to the side and her title falling from her hands. With a blur of movement, she found herself pressed against a wall, a hand pressed against her throat and a larger body pressed to her front.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, her jaw aching from Dominiks wicked right hook. Surprise coloured her features as she froze up under Dominiks hand. He had always been such a... kind, gentle dominant when they were together, but now? Rhea could feel his rage, it had seeped through his pores and breached every of inch her skin, leaving her cold, heavy, and hopeless. People really do change.

"Rhea, my sweet girl..." Livs voice rang out from behind Dominik condescending and cold. Goosebumps rose on Rheas arms, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

"So bold, so brazen... Yet so wrong," Liv muttered, appearing at Dominiks side. Her hands snaked around his chest, clasping at the front, over his heart. She continued.

"If you don't feel for us the way you used to... then your body wouldn't still react the way it did three years ago for me, and a year ago for Dominik..." Liv drawled, unclasping a hand to reach over for rhea, trailing a hand up her exposed side. A choked gasp escaped Rheas lips as a jolt of unwanted, burning desire made her stomach drop.

"No..." Rhea choked out, her neck flexing under Dominiks hand as she strained, having nowhere to go but desperate to move.

Both Dominik and Liv exchanged hungry, smug looks, both chuckling.

"Yes... Give into it, Rhea. Give into us. We'll give you exactly what you want. What you need. We'll help you realise that this is what you crave." Liv hissed, her voice sultry and sinful as she peered at Rhea over Dominiks shoulder, still dragging her nail down her side.

Rhea could do nothing but gasp, shivers of pleasure licking up her spine, her body scorching hot under their intoxicating touches. She didn't want this. She didn't want them, but it felt so, so good, in the most intoxicating, disgusting way possible.

She nodded jerkily, the pressure finally making her crack, her will dissolving.

"Okay..." she whispered through dry lips.

This wouldn't be like the prior years. This was a fresh start for her relationships with Dominik and Liv, right? Yes, this was them, rebuilt.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Day 22: Whipping / Punishment / Stress position Characters: young!Caligosto Loboto, Loboto's mom Warnings: References to period-typical physical child abuse, and portrayals of psychological child abuse. Summary: Cali knows he's in trouble. The worst part is, he doesn't know what kind of trouble he's in for.

Cali sat anxiously on the bus seat, his hands white-knuckled as he gripped the edges.

This is the second time, Caligosto.

I didn't mean it!

Then why did you bring matches again?!

He hadn't, but he didn't know how to explain that the bag of one of the kids who had been bullying him had spontaneously caught fire.

He didn't get hurt! he'd argued instead, and it was true. The student had thrown the bag to the floor, and a teacher had grabbed a fire extinguisher before anyone was hurt. Though the fire alarm had still gone off, and...

How is that an excuse?! This could have ended so much worse!

The principal had stared at him silently while he waited for his punishment, unsure what it would be and too scared to ask.

This is too much for me. Get back to class.

And for a fleeting moment, he felt his heart lift—

I'm going to call your parents.

—only for it to crash through the bottom of his chest and hit the floor.

Why couldn't it have been anything else? As awful as they could be, he could take the beatings if he had to. They would leave him bruised and sore and they never felt particularly fair, but he would go home, and his parents would notice how sore he was, and nothing more would be said, aside from a comment of "That's what happens" or "You got what you deserved."

But a phonecall? Leaving it up to his parents?

They never laid hands on him, except to drag him someplace or other, but never to physically hurt him. But they had other ways, and it was always a terrible, terrible surprise.

So he sat on the bus, watching the window anxiously, dreading the moment the vehicle would stop before his house, praying that maybe there would be a traffic jam, or a flat tire, or anything to delay the inevitable. At the same time, he willed the bus to go faster, needing to know what was going to be done and wanting to get it over with.

Finally the bus rolled in front of his house, and Caligosto's stomach turned when he saw his mother standing on the porch, watching him. For the briefest of moments he almost considered staying on the bus, but it hadn't gone well the last time he'd tried that. So, feet thudding against the floor like lead, he trudged out of the bus and stumbled out onto the sidewalk.

"Caligosto," came his mother's sharp voice, and he flinched, shoulders hunched, head hanging. "Take the garbage can in."

"Huh?" Looking up, he spotted the can at the side of the road. His mom had already turned to head back into the house. "O-okay..."

He hefted up the empty can and hauled it over to the garage. The fact that his mother hadn't said anything yet almost made him wonder if she'd missed the call. But then it would've gone to the answering machine...

Sighing in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves, he entered his house, shutting the door behind himself as quietly as possible.

His mom sat on the couch, reading a magazine. She did not look up.

Caligosto shifted his feet, waiting a few moments longer before creeping toward the stairs. Maybe he looked like he'd already been punished, so she wasn't going to do anything?

As he crept up the stairs, he kept an eye on her, and his heart leaped into his chest when she glanced up at him. After a second that felt like sixty, she turned back to her magazine, and he scrambled up the rest of the stairs.

Finally he reached the relative safety of his room, and gently shut the door behind him. He dropped his bag next to his bed, and hopped onto the mattress, huddling up with his pillows and stuffed animals. It wouldn't prevent whatever punishment was coming, but at least he could have the solace of his toys' company for a little while.

"Had a bad day," he mumbled, pulling Bicuspid close and staring down at the manatee's mismatched eyes. "There... was a fire again. I dunno how it happened."

He pulled Molar close with his other arm, running his hand over the bear's worn fabric. "What do you think?"

Molar stared back silently as usual, but his perked ears and button eyes always felt like they were listening to him, almost as though to say, I don't know, but I'm here.

"Yeah... I wish I knew how to stop it." Sighing, he settled deeper against the pillows. "The principal called Mom about it, but I dunno what she's gonna do. She's been acting... weird." He sat up, frowning. "Did you guys see anything?"

Molar and Bicuspid continued to stare at him, and he looked around for Pad, hoping for the giraffe's input. When he didn't immediately see her, he scooted away from the pillows and turned around, wondering if he'd accidentally laid on top of her. When he still didn't see her, his brow furrowed, and he looked to the floor on one side of the bed, then the other, and then beneath his pillows. "Pad?"

Caligosto hopped down and got on his hands and knees, looking under the bed, but only saw his box of teeth and his piggy bank. Strange, he was sure he'd put Pad with the others when he'd made his bed this morning.

He looked on and under his dresser and checked his shelves and closet, but still found no sign of the stuffed giraffe. He couldn't imagine he'd taken her out of his room and left her, though, especially since his parents didn't like seeing his toys... sitting...

His blood ran cold, and he opened his door and charged over to the stairs. "M-mom—?!"

At the bottom of the stairs stood his mother, arms crossed as she looked up at him. "Missing something?"

Caligosto froze in his tracks. His hands were shaking, and his mouth went dry.

"I threw it out."

"No—!" he choked, stumbling down the stairs. His mother stepped aside.

Turning a corner, he made for the kitchen wastebasket. She might be a bit dirty, but he could clean her, it would be fine. He pressed his foot to the pedal to open the trash can, only to blink at the empty bag within. For the briefest of moments he wondered why, only for realization to hit him like a truck. When he'd come home, the garbage can...

His mother's voice coming from directly behind him would've startled him at any other time, but all he could do was stand stock still as tears welled up in his eyes.

"Maybe now you'll learn to respect other people's property, like a normal person."

[hanayori89]

🌻 Hello all- I just wrote this little one (two it’s a two) shot. My mother recently passed away on 1/24. My existence feels hollow. Writing is the only thing keeping me grounded, the only thing that makes me feel like myself when I feel I don’t know who I am. When you read this little works you’re supporting not just a writer- but a grieving human. Thank you 🌻❤️

A Little Too Not Over You

“Hey, watch it!”

A rotund woman ran into you, causing you to ricochet backward and stumble off the curb. You watched as she stopped, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet. The sheer trace of her underwear beneath her shoddy dress told you she wasn't wearing much else beneath it. She continued forward, hurriedly crab-walking as she winced from her seismic thighs slapping together.

You grimaced, feeling the phantom sting of chafing between your own thighs.

"Hurry! Someone said he was down here!"

The racket of charging feet stomping against the pavement made you duck for cover.

"SQUEE!!!!"

You watched from behind an empty stall as a throng of rowdy, jubilant women of all ages, shapes, and colors came stampeding down the street.

"For Din's sake..." You muttered in disbelief.

Today was the biggest delivery day of the month, and your cargo now sat, ripped and dented from the abuse of hordes of running feet. After you discerned the coast was clear of all signs of estrogen besides your own, you ran toward your box and retrieved it. You squinted as you read the delivery address on the mottled label.

Bombchu Bowling Alley.

You hoisted the precious cargo on your shoulder, relieved that it would be your last delivery of the day. On an average workday, Castle Town never took you nearly as long as it did today. But whatever had the citizens in a tizzy also threw your schedule into the same energy of disarray.

You glanced upward, admiring the way the dark dusk clouds patted down what little light of the sun remained. The drawbridge that connected Castle Town to Hyrule Field would soon close, blocking any visitors from leaving or entering.

With that thought in mind, you scurried down to the Bombchu Bowling Alley, relieved that with the promise of night came the promise of the end of your shift.

🧚

"Well, I'll be. Are you actually awake during your shift?" You greeted your friend, Ally, the clerk who ran Bombchu Bowling.

She gave you a wistful sigh. "If I actually had customers, I wouldn't be over here falling asleep." She jumped over the counter; her magenta pinstriped crop top revealed her chiseled abs, which came as a surprise considering she seemed to sleep for a living.

"Got my goods?"

"Got my money?"

Ally fluttered her caked lashes at you in amusement. "Always right to the point." She reached into her pocket, fishing out the rupees she owed you. "You really saved my hide doing this freight business; your costs are much cheaper than those of Lon Lon."

"Well, I won't talk ill of Malon; we are friends after all. But she has her hands full these days and running a farm ain't cheap. Besides, I love to explore Hyrule. Especially since-" You stopped yourself from saying it.

The words seemed to be obnoxious and loud, despite not leaving your mouth. "He's never once come back to see you?"

"He's a hero now. Why would he?" Your voice rose as your wounded ego flared. "Besides, I have my business and my life now. I appreciate the time we spent as kids and what he's done for Hyrule, but I've moved on, and I'm sure he has too."

"Have you, though?"

Your mouth shot open in protest. "What's that supposed to mean?" You didn't need to prove to Ally or anyone that you were over Link.

So, what if you saw his stupid face every night for seven years since he left?

Or that you sometimes sat outside of the Kokiri woods by the tree you both met.

Or the fact that every date you've ever been on always left you empty because no one seemed to compare.

So, what?

"Y/N," Ally said your name as if she were a medic about to tell you that you had a terminal illness. The empathy in her voice was present, albeit earnest. "Did you see the crowds gathering today?"

You nodded. "How in Hylia could I not see them? It would be like not seeing King Jabu Jabu in Zora's Domain. I almost got run over! This one woman-"

"He's come home."

"He?"

"The Hero...er- Link, he's returned. He's here, in Castletown."

"Link? Link has come back?"

Her eyebrows rose in concern as you let out a bitter laugh.

"Y/N-"

"So, Link has come home? That's what those females were fussing over? How pathetic." The venom that coursed through your veins over Link's abandonment somehow didn't manage to overshadow your curiosity as to what he looked like after all this time. You stopped entertaining the thought. "They can have him and all the tears they'll cry when he leaves them too."

You left Ally standing there with her unopened order. You walked towards the door, your throat raw with the taste of acid. "Let me know if there's any issue with your order. Have a good night."

You didn't bother to look her way as you slammed the door shut behind you.

Link had returned.

So, what?

🧚🏿

"Why are you crying?"

A boy with eyes haunted by unwelcome duty ran past you. He turned toward you, surprised, as you revealed yourself from behind a tree.

"Why are you sad? Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

“I'm supposed to go meet Princess Zelda. But I won't make it. I'm going to die."

You tilted your head at the boy's assured declaration. "How are you so sure you're going to die?"

"Look at me! I am a Kokiri! If we leave the forest, I'll die! That's why Saria looked so sad. She must have known she'd never see me again. She must have known..."

You walked up to the sullen boy swathed in green. Drawing your arm back, you walloped him in the shoulder.

"HEY!" He growled.

You began to laugh hysterically. "Silly forest boy, if you were dead, that wouldn't have hurt. There is no pain after death."

He began to begrudgingly blink with recognition. "So then, it's true. I am not one of them after all. I am not a Kokiri." His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Apparently not because you're very much alive."

He looked at you. "I must go to the princess." He didn't ask you to escort him, but something in the way he spoke made you silently understand that you were to accompany him.

"Come on, I'll take you as far as I can."

"Thank you."

You both traversed Hyrule Field together with chatter that had such ease it caused time to pass with lamentable haste. As you approached the drawbridge that led to Castle Town, you could feel the boy's aquamarine eyes overtly examining you.

You gave him a playful side-eye. "Don't go falling in love over there."

Little did you know, you would eat those words for seven years straight.

🧚🏽

"Wait! Hey, Wait!"

Two guards stood; their gargantuan helmets eclipsed their vision but left their prickly and soured lips on display. They ignored your begging and continued to crank the bridge upward; the hinges were in desperate need of lube to ease the egregious grinding sound that filled the air.

"Wait! I need to leave! My cargo wagon is outside!"

One of the guards looked at you and scoffed. "Rules are rules, little miss. This bridge closes at 7 p.m., as it always has for years. You know better."

You stomped your foot. "It's 6:58! If you're not going to let me leave, then I fully expect to be compensated with a room at an inn since you cannot be so kind as to let me pass."

Both of the guards exchanged glances and began to laugh.

The guard that had ridiculed you earlier now walked up to you, dipping his head close to your ear. "I can make an exception if you do something for me." His gruff, come-hither voice made your ovaries revolt in disgust.

He crept his fingers along your shoulder, resting them on the thin cotton of your sleeve and slowly pulling it down.

"I would rather mate with a goron." You felt a collection of foamy saliva sit at the base of your throat. With an uncouth gurgle, you spat in the guard's face as a Deku shrub would shoot a nut.

"You little-"

An arm dressed in a gilded gauntlet slithered around the guard's neck, wrapping him in a chokehold. You couldn't see the face of the man who intervened, but you caught glimpses of green fabric behind the guard's body. The color reminiscent of a vast forest and the special boy who hails from its verdant haven.

"What's your ID number?" The voice's curt command wasn't enough to hide its feathery resonance or the way it made your core pool with warmth.

The guard fumbled beneath the unforgiving grasp of his captor, his voice escaping in hoarse spurts. "7..."

"7 what?" The man's muscles swelled as he wrapped his arm around the guard's neck tighter.

"7...5...2...7." Satisfied by this response, you watched as the guard was disregarded and thrown to the ground.

"I'll be sure to speak with the princess in the morning, 7527. It would behoove you to leave the premises at once. Now get out of my sight."

The other guard squealed from behind. "Ach! "It's him! Let's get out of here."

Your eyes slowly wandered to the man before you.

'Him.'

The shadows that hung beneath his eyes were the perfect accessory to the familiar glint of unwelcome responsibility that had remained in his eyes all these years. His lips tugged upward, and an insecure smile seeped cheek to cheek, transforming his aged face into that of the youth you had fallen in love with years ago.

"Hello, Y/N."

You stood there, as if you were staring at Dampe's ghost, which would be a lot more palatable than Link standing before you as a grown man.

A grown man.

You felt your flesh incinerate as you observed the chapped and gargantuan hands beneath the gauntlets. Your eyes stalled on the flashes of muscle that couldn't be hidden beneath his padded gambeson or his tunic.

You could hear a soft chuckle as he realized he had rendered you speechless. He reached upward, pulling off his signature green hat and setting free a wave of long, silky blond tresses. "Have I aged so terribly that you cannot possibly find the words?" For as much as your gaze seemed to procrastinate on certain areas of his body, it was incomparable to the way Link's eyes refused to move away from your own. His Adam's apple bulged, shimmying down his throat as he took a deep breath. "The passage of time is usually cruel, but it relieves me to see how incredibly kind it has been to you."

He took a few steps toward you, desperate for your acknowledgement. After another minute of silence, you reached your hand forward. Link mirrored you, lifting his hand upward in an attempt to gently place his fingertips against your own, as if you were his reflection. The romantic gesture was severed thanks to your hand plunging forth and latching onto one of the shiny gray hoops that swung from his ears.

"Farore! You pierced your ears?"

You could make out a little droplet of sweat trailing down his jaw as he released a nervous laugh. "That's it? It's been seven years, and that's what you noticed about me?"

You folded your arms. " It's not my fault; it's been seven years, Link. Oh, forgive me, do you still go by 'Link?"

He frowned. "You're right, Y/N. You're absolutely right. I cannot say anything that will mend the rift of time between us. But" He got down on his knee and held your hand, your delicate fingers resting in between his firm grasp, weakening your resolve.

"The bridge is closed for the night. Give me just tonight to try. Please."

"Fine." You surrendered. You were going to humor Link. But it was not to appease his own guilt over his absence.

No, it was to prove to yourself that you were over him.

But if you truly were, then why did you need to prove it?

🧚🏾

                                             

Edited: 2/1/24

[k-martins]

Words: + 2K Prompt: Cooking together and healing wounds Warning: Slight season one spoilers; hurt/comfort; slight descriptions of blood and negative thoughts; sad ending. N/A: I had this idea a while ago while looking at the first season, but I just got up the courage to finish writing and editing it now. It's a bit ironic that I write tentative comedy with Megumi while leaving the angst to Yuji. The title is from the song Happier by Marshmellow.

“Please, Fushiguro” Itadori begged, hands clasped in prayer and a prominent pout on his face.

“I won't do that, Itadori. Do not insist." Megumi took a sip of his coffee, watching the pink haired boy offer the biggest version of kicked puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. Before Itadori opened his mouth to argue, Megumi added, "Besides, it's late to be playing cook with you."

From the couch in the common room, eyes still down on his cell phone, Kugisaki groaned in impatience.

“Just say yes so this idiot will shut up.” She points a blue-painted fingernail at him. “Not a piece of that emo ass of yours is going to fall off anyway.”

Megumi muttered an expletive.

Kugisaki was proving to be much more frustrating than Itadori.

Well, actually she wasn't wrong, but the very idea of cooking after a training day when everyone could very well order takeout was silly to say the least. What's the point of having Gojo's credit card if they can't use and abuse it?

“Okay, fine.”

"Yes! Good one, Kugi!” Itarori exclaimed at the same time that Kugisaki, with the same petulant expression as always, retorted: “See? Not a single strand of that sea urchin hair of yours has fallen out.”

Megumi wasn't really sure about that, but he was too grumpy to care about Kugisaki's nasty nickname. Instead, he got up and took the mug of coffee grounds to the sink.

He sometimes hated his outgoing classmates.

Even with his back turned and clearly pretending to be ignoring them, Kugisaki added:

“And make sure those meatballs are excellent! I'm a very demanding girl.”

Itadori suddenly appeared at Megumi's side, slipping an arm around his shoulders casually and intimately. The sponge slipped from his hand. Megumi knew that the pink-haired boy was an enemy of personal space, just like Gojo, but even so, the one-armed hug took him by surprise.

The room was hot.

"They'll be the best you've ever had." Itadori hummed. “Family recipe!”

“I think it's really good. I'm giving up one of the food at a nice restaurant because of you, you hear?"

When Kugisaki left, presumably heading towards Maki's dorm, Megumi pushed Itadori's arm away from his space. The pink haired boy just laughed out loud, apologizing before heading to the fridge.

Megumi snorted, white foam on his hands.

“I don't know why you would need my help. After all, this is your family recipe.”

The accusing tone didn't seem to faze Itadori, who spoke without looking at him:

“Well, I thought it would be nice for you, you know. Eating only instant ramen and drinking black coffee is not healthy.” The boy cocked his head as he looked him up and down. Megumi forced herself not to shy away from his scrutiny, but heat still licked his cheeks. “And what do you weigh? 60 kilos? You need to eat better.”

“There is nothing wrong with my weight.” Megumi retorted, feeling torn between offended and intrigued that Itadori knew his weight. He studied the ingredients placed on the counter by the other boy, testing the weight of the chicken packet, before adding, “And I don't just eat that. Shoko wouldn't let it. She is very strict about food.”

Itadori stopped whistling an irritating pop tune upon hearing this.

“She's the doctor here, isn't she? Wow. I didn't know you'd known her for quite some time.”

“What are we doing anyway?”

If the change of subject surprised Itadori, he didn't show it.

Megumi didn't feel like telling Itadori that he had known Ieiri Shoko since he was six, when Gojo had taken him to her to find out what his red face, fever and vomiting could mean. Intestinal problem, of course. Anyone would have these problems being put on the candy-based diet that Gojo kept. At least, that's what Shoko said while ruffling Megumi's hair.

Itadori held out a knife to Megumi and a cutting board with a large ginger on it.

“Chicken meatballs with ginger sauce.” Itadori answered, as if it were obvious, which it wasn't. “Can you cut the ginger for me while I grind the chicken?”

Megumi shrugged.

"Clear."

“It needs to be really thin.”

"Okay."

“And watch out for...”

“Itadori, I am perfectly capable of cutting a ginger”

"Right. Just making sure. But if you have any doubts...”

"One more word and I'm leaving." Megumi threatened, pointing the tip of the knife at the boy. "Stay quiet."

Itadori raised his hands, as if defending himself against a wild cat. The smile on his face was so big it pushed his eyes and the scars beneath them up, almost as if they were closing. Megumi wondered if he didn't feel pain from smiling so much.

“Sure, sure. Pardon me. I will not talk anymore.

“You are still talking.”

This only made Itadori laugh harder.

"Now. Now I won't talk anymore. Interest. Pinky promise."

“Itadori...”

The pink boy pursed his lips now, sliding his index finger over his thumb as if zipping it up.

He turned his back on Megumi, working on what should be the chicken, leaving the sorcerer the simple task of chopping – in thin slices, as “ Chef Itadori” said – the ginger. The penetrating and spicy aroma was not unfamiliar to Megumi. It reminded him of when he cooked with Tsumiki, adding more seasoning than necessary since neither of them had a recipe book, which resulted in spicy, strong food. His sister just stuck out her tongue and moaned in disgust, but Megumi always liked the sting of his tongue.

It was good. A good memory despite all the poverty they lived in.

Of course, that all came to an end when Gojo came along and included sweets in his routine. Tsumiki loved it and Megumi liked that she was happy. She deserved it after all.

Megumi felt that familiar feeling of anguish in his chest, the same as when he remembered his sister.

Tsumiki was good, kind and understanding. She deserved all the happiness a human could deserve.

But the world is uneven, isn't it?

And people like Megumi end up getting what they don't deserve while people like Tsumiki, truly good and without a hint of selfishness, are affected by curses and thrown into a hospital bed with no prediction of waking up...

The spiral of thoughts is cut by a wave of pain.

Red drips onto the cutting board.

“Fushiguro!” Itadori exclaims, appearing at his side quickly. "Are you well?"

“Oh, sure.” He replies, still staring at the small cut on his index finger. A red line runs down the milky skin. “It was a small cut.”

"He is sure? I'll get the first aid kit.”

“Itadori, this is an exaggeration...”

His comment was of no avail, as Itadori already had an arsenal of bandages and antibiotics. It would be ridiculous if the selfless gesture didn't take Megumi by surprise. It wasn't a deep cut and it would probably stop bleeding if he just pressed on it, but Itadori didn't seem to think that way if the way he carefully held Megumi's hand to clean the cut, much larger and warm fingers gently wrapping around his fingers – and perhaps reverence? – it meant something.

Megumi swallowed hard, not knowing how to deal with it – or with the way his heart missed a beat when Itadori gently blew on the wet wound.

He had a notion that Itadori probably wasn't used to seeing open wounds as often as Megumi himself had. No, the pink-haired boy had a nice life with his now-deceased grandfather, with friends and probably middle-school sweethearts all around him. Before meeting Megumi, he had never seen a curse rend the fragile flesh of heedless sorcerers with just one movement, never had to tend to their wounds after intense training and without pause because – according to Maki-san – 'curses won't care if it's sold out'. Yuji Itadori never saw what Megumi saw.

That thought makes his mood sour, any enchantment that Itadori is nursing his wounds dimming.

“Let go of my hand, Itadori.” Megumi ordered, pulling his hand away from Itadori's softness, caress and seal. He can't handle this anymore. "I already told you it's an exaggeration."

"But I'm not done yet." The pink boy whimpers, holding tighter, careful not to touch the cut skin. When Megumi tugged again, now feeling as if the tips of his ears had been dipped in embers, Itadori had the gall to laugh. “You look like a skittish cat. Let me take care of you.”

The words come out before Megumi can reflect.

"Why? Why would you do that?"

Why do you care about me when I threw you into this shitty life?

Megumi wanted to kick herself for having those thoughts.

He doesn't need help, Itadori's kindness, much less someone to care for him. Everyone knows that being a jujutsu sorcerer was a sentence, a race whose end was just a pile of corpses and dried blood. There was no gratification, there was no glory, there was no happy ending for anyone who entered this life. All that existed was a sense of purpose that each of the sorcerers clung to. Allowing people to come together, cross lines and bond was just a more painful way to end this marathon. Even the great Satoru Gojo knows this. Megumi doesn't want someone tending to his injuries, sharing fleeting moments like cooking together and caring. Because in the end, when all this shit with Sukuna is over, all he'll have left are sour memories.

He won't let Itadori do this to him, not when Megumi was the one who put him through this.

So why, even when he was hostile and visibly defensive, did Itadori still hold his hand and smile as if that was a silly question asked by a small child?

“Because I always take care of my friends, Fushiguro.” Itadori's eyes widened comically and his mouth dropped. “Is that a problem for you?”

Friends?

Megumi blinked, confused and a little incredulous. What was the damn logic behind Itadori's thoughts?

"What?"

“I know we don't know each other well, but I consider you one. I think near-death experiences do that.” Itadori responds genuinely. There's a crease in his forehead as he furrows his brows, seeming to contemplate that thought. His hand retreats after finishing the band-aid and Megumi tries not to miss the warmth of his fingers on his normally cold skin. "But if you're not on the same page, I understand."

"It's not that." Again the words leap out of him. "It's just... I never..."

I had someone to cook and heal wounds.

I had someone who cared besides Tsumiki.

I had a friend.

Even though Megumi knows he didn't say any of those things out loud, the soft look Itadori gives him shows that it wasn't accurate. He understands.

“Good, then I guess I can be first.” There's no pity, shame, or compassion when Itadori says this to him, just a softness and appreciative contemplation, as if knowing something new is a personal gain. “How about it, Fushiguro? Are we going to be roommates and friends?”

Megumi doesn't understand what's going on.

He doesn't understand Itadori.

It's frustrating.

Before he can offer a response, said boy backs away with wide eyes and a new urgency on his face.

"Oh no! I forgot the meatballs!” Itadori exclaims loudly, turning his back on Megumi. There's comic desperation as he adds, "Kugisaki will kill and use his nails to nail my coffin if I burn this!"

And, while Itadori fiddles with the pots and comments trivial things about the importance of being always careful with food, Megumi looks at the bandage on his fingers, memorizing the simple and tiny drawings of tigers under a blue background – it was probably bought by Gojo as a kind of a silly joke – and thinks maybe it's not so bad to have that kind of bandage under that kind of wound.

He'll think about what that means later.

_

There's no later when Sukuna rips Itadori's heart out and throws it away, a red smile coloring his teeth, as Megumi stares at the scene with cold horror coursing through his insides.

[elisysd]

Yours- Conan Gray

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

tw: slut shaming, mention of abuse, panic attack

I'm somebody you touch, but never hold And you're somebody I'll never really know

Charles felt Lyanna tense up beside him. He didn't need to ask her why, the name James being all too familiar to his ears. Subtly, he moved closer to the young woman and placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back. 

Lyanna, for her part, felt like she was living her worst nightmare. It was as if all the memories she'd tried to repress and forget were rising to the surface like a huge tidal wave. If James looked like an angel, she knew what a scumbag he really was.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve been invited. I know very well one of the representatives, so I came to support.”

“I’m surprised to see that some people still tolerate you.”

The blonde's attitude changed drastically. From an air of nonchalance, almost boredom, he suddenly tensed up and his gaze hardened to stare at Lyanna straight in the eyes.

“Don’t think I forgot that you’re the one who got me blacklisted from Hollywood, Lyanna. You made my life like hell. I only started to put it back together recently.”

“I made your life like hell? Me? You leaked intimate pictures and videos of us. You only got what was coming for you. It’s not you who has been publicly slut shamed for years, who has been forced in hiding, who has been diagnosed with depression and PTSD. And I’m not talking about the contracts I lost because it’s very little contrary to the pain you caused me.”

“And yet, you are still at the top of your career. Stop victimized yourself.”

“It took me years to get back there and I’m still questioning everything, if I deserve to be here or if I’m talented enough because you always belittled me. You’re an abuser, you have always been. But you know what, I feel so sorry for you. Because you will never know what it is to have a strong support system. Friends and family who believe in you.”

She looked at Charles. He hadn't intervened, sensing that Lyanna needed to face the situation alone. But at the slightest sign from her, he wouldn't hesitate to come between her and James. Seeing the young woman's gaze drift towards Charles, James began to glare at him.

“So, I see that the rumours are not really rumours. You found me a replacement. Not the best if I may say so. Correct me if I’m wrong but, Ferrari is not what it used to be. But I guess what belongs together comes together. An unsuccessful driver and an unsuccessful actress who couldn't even win an Oscar when everyone thought she was the favourite for the night.”

“Leave Charles out if this, it’s between you and me.”

“Don’t worry Lyanna, at some point he’ll realise what a fraud you are and will be bored of you. Just like me. You are not that interesting.” Added James with a snarky smile.

He could tolerate a lot, he was patient. But he couldn't stand by and watch someone he cared about being insulted. With a protective gesture, he positioned himself in front of Lyanna, hiding her from James' cold gaze.

“That’s where you are wrong buddy. Lyanna is one of the most amazing person I’ve met. She’s strong, she’s caring, she’s brave, she’s bright. Everything that you are not. I will always be by her side, no matter what.”

“Good for you if you can settle with a dirty little bitch like her. How does it feel to know that there are videos of her and I having sex on the internet? I would find it disgusting if I were you.”

That's all it took for Charles to punch him in the face. The punch went so fast that neither Lyanna nor the audience had time to react. The force and violence of the blow sent James’s reeling and he tumbled backwards onto the drinks table.

“Fuck, my nose. You broke it, fucking bastard!” whined the blonde.

“As Lya said, you got what was coming for you. And if I hear you say another word to her, if I just hear you breathe in her direction, rest assured that your nose won’t be the next thing that I’ll broke.”

“I’m going to sue you, asshole.”

“Go ahead. I don’t really care.”

He turned back to Lyanna, who was watching the scene with wide, shocked eyes. Gently, he took her by the shoulder and they both headed for the exit, before the stunned gaze of the assembly.

The ride back was silent. Lyanna looked around the city pensively. The evening had turned into a nightmare and she didn't know exactly when it had gone wrong. When she reached her flat, she took off her shoes and locked herself in the bathroom. She didn't feel like talking. She needed to be alone to put her thoughts in order. She turned on the shower to make Charles think she was busy and sat down on the floor. And she let the events of the evening sink in.

A tear rolled down her cheek, then two, then three, and soon she was shaking with sobs and convulsions. She drew her legs up against her chest, trying to anchor herself to the ground. Her breathing became more difficult and jerkier and she felt like she was drowning. She tried as hard as she could to regain control but the more stubborn, she became, the more she felt she was making the situation worse. Her arms and legs felt unusually heavy. She didn't know how long she'd been there, but soon she felt a presence beside her and two warm hands grasping hers.

Charles forced her to look at him. He had already been worried when Lyanna hadn't spoken to him on the way here, but seeing her lock herself in the bathroom for almost an hour had made him realise that something was wrong. And his instincts were right. When he broke down the door, he found her on the cold bathroom floor, on the verge of fainting.

“Lya, baby. Look at me. You’re having a panic attack, love. Focus on me, okay? Can you do that for me.”

With a shaky breath, Lyanna nodded.

“Perfect. We are going to breathe together, alright? Follow my lead. Inhale… exhale. Perfect. Again. Inhale…Exhale. You’re doing great, love.”

They kept going for a few minutes until Lyanna could breathe more or less properly again. She was still tense and she was still shaking but at least she had some colours back on her face. She was still unable to stand on her own so Charles decided to carry her to the bed. He set her down slowly and gently and went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. When he handed it to her, the young woman swallowed it in one gulp.

“Slow down.” He warned her taking the glass from her hand and placing it on the bedside table.

He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders to draw her to him. She still wasn't talking and that worried him.

“Lyanna, please talk to me.”

“What’s wrong with me Charles? Why am I like this? It’s been years, he shouldn’t still have this effect on me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Lya. Absolutely nothing. He traumatized you, okay? It’s normal to have this kind of reactions. You were not expecting to see him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Never. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m such a mess right now. It was supposed to be a nice night, without any drama. God, the medias are going to have a field day with this… And why did you have to punch him? I appreciate you defending me but you shouldn’t have punched him. It’s going to backfired to you.”

“Maybe but I couldn’t stand by and see you being insulted like that, Lya. That is too much to ask.”

“I’ve never asked you to fight my battles for me, Charles. I think I was doing a good job confronting him. You made everything worse by punching him. He is vicious, I don’t want anything happening to you because of me.”

“I’m not scared of him. I’m scared for you.”

“I don’t want to fight, Charles.”

“I don’t want to, either.”

She pulled herself away from Charles and, with a clumsy step, went to her dressing room to put on a pair of pyjamas. Every step seemed to be painful and Charles rushed over to help her.

“I’m fine.” She tried to argue when Charles carefully unzipped her jumpsuit.

As he undid the zip, he took the opportunity to place butterfly kisses along her neck and spine, making her shiver. She was in so much pain that all Charles wanted to do was make her feel important. He carefully removed her bra before slipping on a T-shirt. He then turned her towards him before grabbing a pair of shorts and kneeling in front of her. She placed a trembling hand on his shoulder before lifting her leg, allowing Charles to slip the fabric on. He placed a soft kiss on her knee, then the inside of her thigh before leaving a slight kiss on her hip. He repeated the same operation with her other leg before straightening up and holding her close.

“Thank you.” She said.

He cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were glossy and her voice hoarse. It broke his heart and at the same time filled him with anger. How could someone hurt her? It was an unfathomable thought for him.

“I’m sorry he ruined your night. I’m not sorry to have defended you. I would do it again if I had to.”

“I’m sorry I overreacted. I’m not mad because you interfere. I’m more mad at myself for allowing him to still have power over me.”

“Lyanna, you’ll get there okay. There will be a time where you’ll be completely free of him. I’ll help you. We are going to do that together. You are not alone. I’m here for as long as you let me.”

“I’m scared he’s right. I’m scared that at some point you’ll be bored of me.”

“And I’m scared to lose you because you’ll realise that you are wasting your time with someone who can’t always be with you, who has a job that will always have the priority on the rest.”

“Good thing that I’m pretty independent, then.” She whispered.

“And good thing that I find everyday new quirks with you that are endearing and fun. You are far from boring and if I have to prove that to you everyday for the rest of our lives, believe me I will.”

“For the rest of our lives, hum?”

“I’m deadly serious. You have me on my knees for you. And I’m not even ashamed to admit it.”

There was an overflow of emotion in Lyanna that threatened to explode at any moment. And Charles wasn't helping. He always seemed to know what to say to make her feel good, beautiful, and seen. He was good with words, but she was not. She was so afraid to tell him how she felt. Confessing to him was like exposing herself, and giving him the power to break her heart. And she didn't know if she could recover if that happened. So, in order to convey to him what she was feeling without using words, she stood up on her toes and kissed him. Their tongues intertwined feverishly and Lyanna took the opportunity to run her cold hands under Charles's shirt. She placed them on his stomach before moving slowly up to his chest. Understanding where the young woman was going, but knowing the emotional instability she was in, Charles preferred to stay away from her. It cost him, but he was proud of his ability to resist. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She sighed but deep down knew he was right. Still she took his hands and led him to the bed. She noticed him wincing slightly. Carefully she took the hand he used to punch James and noticed a bruise forming. Seeing her worried expression, Charles hastened to reassure her.

“It’s less painful than what it looks like, I promise.”

“Still, I’m going to get some ice.”

As she was standing, Charles was quick to rise and prevent her to move.

“I’ll do that. You, you stay here.”

He was only gone for a few minutes, but when he returned Lyanna was lying on his pillow, asleep. He smiled and lay down beside her, wrapping his arms around her. Before falling asleep, he whispered against her head a few words.

“You are not ready to hear it and I’m not ready to tell you but I think I’m falling in love with you.”

====

author's note: After the mess that was the quali - ferrari ferrariying again - here's a new chapter. It was not supposed to come ou today and it was not supposed to take the direction it took. Meaning that it was not supposed to be this sad. A little bit, but not that much, but here we are. There are so many things that was not supposed to happen the way it happened in this story. Just like there were things that were supposed to happen but never did but I guess it's the joy of writing! I think that one day I'll make a long post of all the events that were supposed to take place but never did. There is a whole alternative version of Cruel Summer that lives rent free in my head haha. But anyway! As usual, let me know your thoughts, I'm very curious about what you all think of James for example 👀 what you think of Lyanna and Charles relationship. What you think is going to happen in next chapter... all that jazz! See you soon and happy race day! 💛🌸

taglist: @zendayabelova @purplephantomwolf @ru-kru @dakotali @blueflorals @aundercover @ruleroftheuniverse @fangirlika @writerscurse @elijahmikaelsonbitch @leclerc13

[flickynightdarkness]

(Cooked up a few stories)

"Echo my dear... Does your hand hurt?'

Echo looks at her to his question, she tilts her head, confused "Doesn't seem like it, why's that?"

"Allow me." The ghost takes her hand into his which he plants a kiss by the back of her knuckles. Echo smiles by his gentlemanly demeanour. While Hallow and Hitch watch the two interact.

Hallow on the other hand looks at Ash in envy, glaring at him with his red glowing dots "I am seriously gonna end this ghost...!" But Hitch stops him back "Hallow. Ash is just a friend me and Echo met. He's only having a short conversation with her."

(Contains cursing)

Abel is with his dear friend Barry, right now feeling very sad, while he talked about that he was abused by Ma Bagge during his visit with her. "Old twit she is. She's like that old man except she looks much uglier wouldn't you say."

"It's that she doesn't like cats and she called me a stupid cat like how Mr Bagge calls me that." Barry said to the television being, while feeling upset from that awful woman. "You mean she hates cats, you moron." Abel had a thought to that. Ma has a massive hatred towards cats like Barry, just as Barry told him "She called me a moron!"

This made Abel went silent in shock. Causing his human body to come and rise from the TV, his television head screen(or his face) shows multiple eyes staring at Barry, although this makes him tremble a bit in fear. Abel was angered at this moment "Where is that old b#tch now?" He then loads out a shotgun, Barry was confused of that shotgun Abel had in his two hands "A-Abel? Why do you have a gun—" "I want answers Barry! Where is that old b#tch now!" Barry gives out his answer "Okay, okay! She's at her trailer! I've seen her last in her trailer!"

Then the angered Abel was in Ma Bagge's trailer for his confrontation, he still has his shotgun pointed at her head she tried something stupid. Abel was currently angered with her attitude at Barry. "Listen you old hag! Nobody and I mean NOBODY! Calls him a moron but me." "It is true you stupid tv! He is a moron." Ma talked back right at him. But also til Abel lost his whole point... he shot at straight her hair, but it fell off revealing that it's a wig.

"My hair? My hair...! AW, WITHOUT IT I'M HIDEOUS!" The old woman sobs in shame at her fallen wig. Abel leaves her weeping alone, still angered at the moment.

After he got back, the TV headed being is now calmed down. "Oh, and I caught this here." Abel then shows Barry a picture of her baldness. Barry replied on the picture "Huh, maybe she is like Mr Bagge."

"Indeed and I made sure NOBODY else say your a moron... Except for me" Barry nudged his lower shoulder in annoyance "Hey!?" "...Though you treat me like i'm your... friend." Abel pats his head and ruffles it

Kameron woke up in the middle of midnight. He didn't realise that three of his friends aren't in bed with him back at their factory. "Francine! Francine...!" He calls over his French owl friend, then suddenly he sees Francine standing on a tree branch.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est Kameron?" Francine spoke out to him

"It's 2AM and why are you not asleep?" Kameron shouted. "Kameron my friend. I am an owl. Owls are nocturnal which they stay up at night and sometimes they sleep through the daytime." As that of why Francine is able to be awake for so long.

"Yes I get that but you still need sleep Francine–" The red feline gets interrupted by sounds of bubbles coming from the kitchen, making him growl in annoyance. He goes to the kitchen and by surprise it is the twins; Olly and Trixie boiling water in two saucepans. "Wh—YOU GUYS TOO!?"

"Foxes are nocturnal too Kam!" One twin Olly pops his head then his twin sister Trixie too "Yeah, we are crepuscular." Even the fox twins can also stay awake for long.

Kameron facepalmed himself, growling in annoyance "I now have friends who are nocturnal and that makes them not go the hell to sleep..."

(dividers owned by @estrelinha-s, @kgymz and @thecutestgrotto)

[nutzgunray-lvt]

The Eri Problem

I'm going to get some flack for this, but I've never been a fan of Eri. Yeah, she's a cute kid who was dealt an awful hand in life, but I hate the way she's written/placed in the story. I think she could have been so much more if different things were done with her character, but as things stand right now, she's just a walking-talking plot device. I'll try and break down why I'm not a fan of how she's been written thus far and what it means for the story thus far:

(sidenote: this has some anti Bakugou and anti Aizawa elements, as well as some UA critical ranting, so it's also been tagged as such)

1. Her backstory

Her backstory sounds like something straight out of fanfiction, and while other people may like that (I'm not judging if you do), I'm just not a fan of it. You have characters with much more realistic backstories such as Izuku (absent father, mercilessly bullied due to being Quirkless), Shoto (hospitalized mother, has an extremely famous public figure for a father that happens to be abusive), and Kota (hero parents were killed in the line of duty when he was a toddler, raised by his aunt as a result of that).

Then you have Eri: she erased her father from existence on accident (she also has no birth certificate for whatever reason), causing her mother to hate/fear her to the point where she's put in the care of the Yakuza. The head of the Yakuza - who happens to be her maternal grandfather - becomes unable to care for her, leading Overhaul to experiment on her for his Quirk erasing bullets. She then gets taken in by Eraserhead and the staff of UA. In fanfiction (depending on how it's done), I wouldn't mind seeing this, but seeing this done in canon just doesn't sit with me.

2. Her Quirk

I'm not saying anything new here, given that this is by far the most debated thing about her, but her Quirk just lowers the stakes of the story to me. Why should I worry about Mirio being Quirkless when we all know that Eri's going to restore his Quirk? For that matter, why don't they have her restore Aizawa's leg and eye? Why don't they have her restore All Might back to his prime? If they have her do one of these things, why not have her do the other two?

3. Her Role

The above two points kind of converge into this one, and I think it's one of the biggest reasons why I have such a problem with her character: she HATES her Quirk (for totally valid reasons, I'd hate Rewind if I had it), yet is used by UA to restore Mirio's Quirk with no consideration for her own feelings on the matter. That doesn't sit right with me, and I've seen a few other people agree.

She's also used to rehabilitate Aizawa and Bakugou's images without giving them proper character development.

Aizawa is a mess of a man who has no business taking care of any child, regardless of their age. I understand that pragmatically, he's the best option until she gains control of her Quirk, but we don't even see him take care of her! Whenever she's trotted out in the story for her designated cute moments, he more often than not just leaves her in the care of his class. I will give him props for sacrificing his leg for her sake, but that's just about the only big "bonding" moment that they have. People often point to Aizawa's relationship with Eri as evidence that he's not just some asshole teacher, but that just raises a question for me: if he supposedly cares for his students as much as he does for Eri, why don't we see him loosening up on his assholery towards them? Why don't we see him reflecting on his frankly horrible treatment of them (Izuku in particular) and resolving to try and do better? In the light novels, we see how much Eri adores Izuku (wanting Santa to visit him as well, asking if Izuku was okay when he ran off to get the candy apples to surprise her with), which would have been a perfect set up for this.

*bonus complaint, but how can these teachers take such good care of Eri and then turn around and pretend to kidnap the parents of Class 1A for Parents Day? How can they just sit by and let Bakugou treat everyone around him the way he does? How can they say that they see these kids as their own children if they not only do nothing to help Izuku, Aoyama, and Kaminari control their Quirks, but they let Izuku drop out of UA to go fight All For One and Shigaraki? How can they ignore all of the child abuse red flags Todoroki throws up? How can Midnight make outright sexual comments that canonically make the students uncomfortable?

In the 6th light novel, she's also used to teach Bakugou to not be such an asshole 24/7. I don't even need to get into why leaving a traumatized 6 year with such a mean-spirited bully is a horrible idea... then again, Aizawa thought he could resolve the bad blood between Izuku and Bakugou by forcing them to work together, and we all know how well that turned out (Bakugou backhanding Izuku and outright stating he'd rather fail than work with Izuku), so what the hell do I know?

In my honest opinion, Eri would have been much happier if she had somehow gotten her Quirk erased and was taken in by Mirio and his family. She could still be in the story, but more along the lines of how Kota is in the story: very occasionally popping up to show their recovery and their love for Izuku.

Maybe they could even start an Izuku fanclub together.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Eighteen - The Friendzone

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad's boss's son. He was the creep that stole girls' underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it's not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn't sleep with him, right? ...right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Slow Burn, Misogyny

Read Full Chapter on Ao3

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[excerpt]

She really didn’t know what to expect the first time she went back to Shigaraki’s place for a study session after their… discussion . They were trying to find a new normal — one that didn’t involve yelling and backsliding and sex, and two out of the two previous attempts at this had been completely unsuccessful. 

Needless to say she had some serious doubts that any of this was going to work. She wasn’t sure that it was possible to ever just be friends with Tomura Shigaraki. And she was really scared of what that meant. Best case scenario, it meant that they probably would never see each other again.

And that thought pained her way more than she’d ever admit.

So she was pretty surprised when she entered his apartment that day and found not the usual empty living room, but Shigaraki himself, spreading out his textbooks on the dining table. And Kurogiri too, assembling a delightful little tray of snacks and braising a rack of lamb in the attached, open-concept kitchen with no signs of leaving the room. 

“What’s going on here?”

Shigaraki answered simply, “Tutoring.”

“Down here?”

“I’ve got my own work to do today, so I thought a set-up like this made more sense,” he answered.

Wait… had Shigaraki actually set up their session in the living room, a public place, where they couldn’t get out of control?

“Did you have somewhere else in mind?” he asked.

Without even thinking, she answered, “I, uh, I guess I’m just surprised that you don’t want to do it in your room.”

Shigaraki smirked, “Do you want to go to my room?”

“N-No, this is fine!” she squeaked, eagerly taking her seat, “This is great, actually.”

He chuckled and tossed a stack of practice tests to her side of the table.

“Here are the study guides you missed. Review ‘em and then you should do a couple practice tests since you’re behind.”

She looked up at him with a scowl, fully ready to rebuke and rebuttal whatever snarky comment or patronizing smirk he’d throw her way for why she was behind. But there was no judgment or passive aggression waiting for her. He’d just stated it simply and opened his own laptop to work. It didn’t matter how long she waited either, no dig came. If he was holding onto any bitterness right now, it didn’t show.

Feeling her stare, Shigaraki glanced up, “What?”

“N-Nothing!” she dropped her head to dive into her work, praying to God that he didn’t see the red dusting her cheeks, “Just zoned out so… Yeah, nothing.”

His mouth twitched up. He absolutely did notice. But he chose not to say anything about it, instead pushing his laptop across the table towards her.

“Hey, what do you think of this paragraph?”

She looked back up at him, beyond surprised, “You want my help?”

“I want your opinion ,” he corrected pointedly.

She turned the laptop towards her, still a bit baffled, but looking over the document on screen regardless.

“I had the first two sentences switched originally,” he explained, “But I’m wondering if it actually makes a difference.”

She read through the section a few times before scrolling back to the intro paragraph.

“It’s for a history class?” she asked as she read over his thesis, “Not creative writing or anything?”

“Right.”

“I’d go with the way you had it,” she answered, turning the laptop back to him, “It connects more directly to your thesis statement.”

“Hm,” he made the switch and then reread his work, wondering aloud, “Do you think I should just cut the second sentence entirely?”

“No, no, it’s not fluff or anything. But when you open with that sentence, it definitely reads as more of a decorative lead-in rather than supportive evidence.”

Shigaraki nodded thoughtfully as Kurogiri approached with their snack tray.

“Can I get you any coffee or tea?” he asked her as he set it down on the table in front of her.

“Coffee sounds great. Thanks!” she said, her mouth watering at the assortment of stupidly expensive-looking snacks on display.

Kurogiri nodded politely and turned to his ward, “Tomura Shigaraki?”

He didn’t look up from his screen when he answered, “We got any barley tea?”

She paused, the leaning charcuterie tower of baked brie, duck salami, roasted fig, and truffle crackers she’d assembled stopping just short of her lips.

“Yes, I just picked some up yesterday,” Kurogiri answered, pointedly holding back the “by your request” that sat on the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll take that hot.”

“Right away.”

She couldn’t fight the smile that it all brought to her face. It made her charcuterie masterpiece taste all the better.

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