#memory could serve wrong though
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iwasonceabookworm · 6 months ago
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can we all take a moment to acknowledge what a good mom theodosia alistair is
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suppuration · 2 years ago
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i didn't start using an ad blocker until a deviantart ad banner injected a virus that destroyed my computer to the point there wasn't even data *to* recover
now i don't even give ad revenue companies the benefit of doubt. they're currently on an honor system where they promise they're diligent about the companies and files they rent ad spaces to. honor my fist, you fools
web 2.0 companies that try to frame people using adblockers as greedy freedloaders always conveniently turn their heads when those same “greedy freeloaders” tell them that advertisers are paying to put malicious and predatory ads on their playforms and adblock users are, by in large, using adblockers to protect themselves
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retiredteabag · 9 months ago
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Wishful Thinking - chapter one
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
arranged marriage with Nanami with a people-pleasing reader
next part - series masterlist
〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰
Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.
"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.
When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.
You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.
And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.
Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.
All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.
But, oh, how wrong you had been.
--
You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.
Offers for your hand.
Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.
You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.
Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.
Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.
You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.
By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.
Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.
You knew little of the man you were to marry.
Here was what you had:
He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.
He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)
And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.
You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.
And that was all you had.
"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.
You huff out a breath, "Thank you."
That's what they all say.
You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.
Afraid you would turn out like her.
You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.
"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.
She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.
Great.
What were you to say to that?
"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.
"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.
"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.
The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.
"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.
You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,
"Well, are you coming?"
You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.
"Stand up straight. Serve us well."
You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.
Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.
You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.
You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.
Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.
That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?
The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.
Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.
You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.
Fear shot through you.
An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.
Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.
Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.
You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.
In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.
You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.
The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.
You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.
The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."
You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.
There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.
Oh, right. "I do." You say.
You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.
The officiant hands something to the man before you.
He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.
His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.
He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.
A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.
He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.
Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-
You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.
This was it, right?
There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.
The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.
Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.
So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.
You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.
But that was too wishful, was it not?
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alchemistc · 2 months ago
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favors
Tommy's the kind of asshole who checks his phone at the table in the middle of a first date, now.
In his defence, it hasn't been a great first date. And not in any sort of charming way, either.
In his defence, he's been waiting on this text for what feels like longer than it actually has been (four weeks, three days - he feels stupid admitting he's got a rough estimate of the hours too, but the point is he's been waiting. Hoping. Took this invitation to dinner as an attempt to remind himself he was the one who walked out.)
Tommy is absolutely the kind of asshole who glances up from his lap to find his date staring at him with his jaw clenched and doesn't bother to make more of an excuse than "Sorry, family thing, I gotta go."
Tommy's the kind of asshole who drops three twenties on the table and doesn't bother to say goodbye as he winds his way through tables - this place was pretentious as fuck, anyway - and pushes through the rotating door.
He's not even halfway to his truck when his phone displays an incoming call.
The last time he'd seen that name flash across his screen he'd been - well, he'd been a ball of nerves for all of five seconds before a winded voice had asked him to commit some light treason and Tommy had hopped to.
"Evan. Hey."
He remembers Evan had always thought he was so cool, and he sort of wishes Evan could see him now, with sweaty palms and a nervous hitch to his step as he twists around the wire fencing that will lead him to the truck he'd dropped thirty-five bucks to park, in this stupid downtown lot for this stupid date that hadn't distracted him for a minute at the stupid restaurant that only served tapas and hipster whiskey.
His voice is a little tremulous, a little off. "Hi Tommy."
Tommy doesn't waste time. He's done enough of that, and Evan sounds - Jesus he sounds awful. Sad, deep in his bones. Tired. A little out of it. "Everything okay?"
"I did have feelings for you. When I said that. I - It was such a shitty thing to say and I realized I never apologized for it even though I meant to and...and I did. I do, still, really."
It's the kind of opening Tommy couldn't have dreamt up in a million years. It's solid proof that Evan has worked it over in his mind at least half as many times as Tommy, trying to figure out where it all went wrong, how he'd ruined it so quickly when everything he'd been a sad sack about pretending he didn't want had been right there, ready for the taking. When he'd done that devastating bambi-eyed, through the lashes glance up, even though they were the same fucking height, and Tommy had stuck his foot in his mouth so badly he'd knocked out a couple teeth.
"Okay. I -."
Whatever he'd have come up with in that moment escapes his brain a second later when Evan continues.
"Which is why what I wanted to ask you may be, like, super awkward."
Tommy's a little grateful to find his truck is only two spaces from where he is at the moment. Has to bite back the sharp deprecating laugh when he realizes this is another fucking favor, not a goddamn reconciliation. He left a date for this.
A bad one.
But still.
"Okay." Clipped is a good term for the way the word comes out of his mouth. He's already wincing before he's even finished saying it, because if he can tell Evan's hurting from his voice alone, surely Evan can tell from his own tone that he's...annoyed. In pain. Wishing he could rip the memory of Evan Buckley from the spot it's nestled beneath his ribcage, where he can't shake it loose.
Evan's quiet for a long, long moment. They'd been great at getting immediately horny any time there was even a hint of strife. Not so easy to do when they haven't been together now for longer than they ever were. "I was wondering if I could borrow your truck on Tuesday."
And that's - that's a fairly reasonable request, as far as the 118 standard goes. Still makes him want to cry, a little.
"Can I ask why?"
"It's... Uh...?" The pause lasts long enough that Tommy has to check and make sure Evan's still on the line. His next words are quieter, but he can hear the tremble in them. Has to bite down the urge to make himself a shield against whatever it is that has him so emotional. Not his job, anymore. If it ever even had been.
The farther removed he is from all of this, the more he wonders if he really had imagined the connection between them. How the intimate moments felt charged with more than a desire to rip each other's clothes off, how the silly moments had felt like the prologue of a long and happy story.
"It's fine, Evan. I'll, uh - have to check my schedule but I think I can make it work."
He's free Tuesday. He and his truck both are. But maybe... Maybe this has run its course. Maybe Tommy will have to make more of an effort, his next bad first date.
"Eddie's moving back," Evan says, and there's a weird twist to his voice, a quirk around the name Tommy doesn't recognize. He'd always said "Eddie" with the kind of reverence Tommy couldn't fully grasp, a superhero and a confidante all rolled up in the lazy smirk and cow-brown eyes of a man Tommy had no hope of beating out on the Important To Evan Buckley scale. But if Tommy had to put a description to it, Evan kind of spits the name, now. "And until I can figure out a place to stay I need to get a few things in storage quickly. I just thought - it was stupid. Obviously it's short notice, and you shouldn't feel obligated to -."
"My spare room is empty," Tommy says. Tommy lies, more accurately. It's currently storing all the renovation shit he's been accumulating since the breakup turned him into an insane person pretending he knows a damn thing about fixing up a house.
This pause seems to hold a little more weight to it.
"...okay?" And there's - there's something there, in his voice, sun warm and yellow, bacon cooling on a paper towel and eggs still not plated while Evan swallowed and asked the one question Tommy had been hoping he wouldn't ask.
"I just meant - why spend the money on a storage unit, right?"
"Tommy."
"Let me check my schedule. I can get back to you. If Tuesday works, we can just - we can figure it out from there."
"Tommy."
And that's his "you're spiralling" voice. Tommy hadn't heard it often. Too busy trying to be as cool as his shiny new boyfriend thought he was. Too busy choking down the urge to sink a knife into his ribcage and carve out his heart to hand it over.
"I'll let you know by tomorrow morning," Tommy promises, and before he lets his words get away from him he ends the call.
Jesus fuck.
Hell.
What the fuck?
---
Tommy's so frayed with nerves he spends the entire drive slowly wearing a groove into the side of his cheek. By the time he makes it to the quiet street and sees Evan's Jeep parked on the curb, gate open and already stuffed full of boxes Tetris-style, he feels like he might just fucking explode.
It makes the terse, perfunctory head nod from Eddie on his way up the paved path just that much more confusing. That much more frustrating. He's got a set of keys swinging from his fingers, and doesn't even glance behind him as Evan pops the door open with a hip and stacks a box on top of two others already sitting in the porch.
There's clearly more going on here than Tommy is privy to.
"You aren't helping?" It's an innocent question. He doesn't even mean anything by it. Across the yard, Evan goes tense. Halfway down the drive, Eddie goes still, and swivels his gaze to Tommy.
"No one asked me to." By the stoop, Evan tips his gaze down, suddenly incredibly interested in whatever the label on the box he just set down says. He seems small. Not the man who'd guided him backwards up the lawn with so much tongue Tommy hadn't realized where he was until they were already inside. Not the man who'd confidently held a funeral for a long dead cowboy and roped Tommy into it without a care in the world that Tommy didn't believe in ghosts.
"Well, if anyone else was subletting you'd probably have had to give them more than a weeks notice to pack up their shit and leave, so I figured you'd be helping," Tommy says, because whatever the hell is going on with Eddie's face right now has him ready to raise locked wrists to chin height.
Eddie's tongue rolls along the inside of his cheek. "Buck says he's got it."
Knife, meet tension.
Tommy's always been more of a blunt instrument.
"Right."
"Didn't realize 'got it' meant calling in a favor with his ex, but hey, I haven't been around, in a while."
"Do we have a problem, Diaz?"
Eddie levers himself into the driver's seat of a vehicle that very distinctly isn't his truck. "Lot of that going around, at the moment."
That stone-faced look from the funeral is back on Evan's face.
Tommy's fist are clenched. He doesn't have a clue when that happened, or why it takes quite so much effort to shake his fingers loose.
Eddie clocks it. Stares for a long, long moment. Slams the door closed and backs out of the drive a little quicker than advisable, if the glare from the neighbor watering her hydrangeas is anything to go by.
He doesn't quite peel off down the street, but it seems like it takes him some effort to drive like a responsible adult.
Evan doesn't meet his gaze when he lopes across the lawn to meet him at the door.
He's gotta break the silence somehow. "So. Diaz seems pissed at me."
"It's not you."
"Uhuh."
"It's - I said something he -." Evan frowns. Twists a finger up into the slack of the tape along the top of one box. "Same old story. Buck makes it all about himself."
Tommy's missing something.
Tommy absolutely doesn't have the right to pry.
"What the hell does that mean?" Tommy asks, and watches the marble crumble.
---
It takes a day and a half to get everything out of Eddie's. Another half a day to stuff whatever they can into Tommy's bare spare room.
He'd bought a shed and stuffed the contents of his reno-supplies into it indiscriminately two nights earlier, at the ass end of three 24's from hell, and throws up an ironic thanks that Evan hadn't come by nearly often enough to be surprised by the new shed, or the dozen half-finished projects littering the house.
Tommy learns a lot of things that make him want to scream, over the course of the four-day span they squeeze that moving timeframe into.
It takes everything in him not to shoulder-check Eddie on the way out, once the final box is loaded into the bed of Tommy's truck.
He'd given them some privacy, before they left. Hopeful that Eddie would back down from this escalating argument of theirs, hopeful that he'd remember that his best fucking friend had sacrificed a hell of a lot, to allow him to move to El Paso. That he'd lost more since.
Evan hadn't spoken, the entire drive back to Tommy's.
He asks Evan out to coffee a moment before he offers to let him sleep on the couch until he finds something more permanent.
He should be less surprised than he is when they end up naked and sweaty and panting in his bed an hour later.
"We have to stop doing this."
Evan bites a nipple, and Tommy hisses.
"I'm serious, Evan. I can't do casual with you."
That gives him Evan's full attention. "What does that mean?"
"It means when I sleep with you I'm definitely having feelings for you."
He regrets the comment. Evan blows a raspberry into his sternum, and rolls onto his side to take in Tommy's expression. It's gotta be - well, it's gotta be a fucking mess. Just an absolute shit show of terror at having revealed too much. "I deserved that one."
Tommy smooths a hand over his shoulder. "You didn't, actually." After what he's been hearing about his friends and family, lately, Tommy's suddenly very aware of the words coming out of his mouth. "What I was trying to dance around is telling you I want to try again, and I don't want to fuck it up by falling into bed without actually...talking about it."
Evan snorts. Hitches his leg a little higher across Tommy's thigh. Yeah. Too late for that.
"I baked, to stop thinking about you. I baked cookies, and brownies, and three kinds of bread, and a Baked Alaska, and twelve different banana bread recipes, and - and it didn't change the fact that all I wanted to do was talk to you. See your face when you pull that stupidly bitchy look every time I don't know one of your references. Hold your hand and - and just be somewhere with you. Didn't matter where, I just...wanted. And I couldn't have it. So I baked."
"You made a Baked Alaska?"
"Tommy," Evan chides, but there are tears springing to the corner of Tommy's eyes and -
God he'd fucked this up so royally.
"Move in with me," Tommy says, the hysteria bubbling up in his throat, and he swallows it down, and down, and down again, because as the words settle under his skin, he realizes they feel right. What Evan had wanted, all those months ago, he'd wanted it too. He'd just been so fucking sure it would destroy him, in the end.
He's so goddamn tired of denying that what he really wants is for the rest of his life to be storied by memories of the man at his side, right here in this moment.
It's terrible timing. The worst idea. They're both rung out emotionally, grief and anger and insecurities bubbling just under the surface, ready to rise and make their lives miserable the moment they leave this bubble.
They haven't talked about any of it, not really.
"I'm serious. Why be apart, and all that?"
"Tommy."
The way his name curls out of Evan Buckley's mouth is like a favorite song. He never gets tired of hearing it.
Even when it's exasperated and confused. "I'm in love with you," Tommy murmurs, because his streak of insanity clearly hasn't passed. Evan's breath hitches. The worst part is that it's true. In a way he doesn't know how to quantify. He'd do a hell of a lot more than steal government property, for this man. He'd stay, for this man, at the risk of destroying his entire soul.
"Don't ask me because you feel sorry I'm technically homeless." It's an out. Teed up and ready for Tommy to swing. Tommy goes for the bunt.
"Pretty sure that was more of a demand than a question. You can say no."
Evan peeks through his lashes, chin tipped against Tommy's chest. "What if you change your mind?"
Well. That's a sore subject. Should have expected that.
Tommy slips a hand down his side. Gathers up his hand to slide their fingers together. "I won't. Believe me, at this point I've tried."
There's a quirk to Evans smile he hasn't seen in a long time. He's missed it. God, he's missed it.
This doesn't fix anything. Not a damn thing.
But Tommy doesn't want him to spend a single night going forward wondering whether or not he's worth all the trouble the rest of his family seems to have made him feel he is.
They'd been there, before. Right on the edge of something serious. Something permanent.
They can get it back.
"You're being serious," Evan comments, like he needs the confirmation just to make sure he's not hallucinating. Tommy hooks one of his legs, rolls until Evan is half under him.
"Baked Alaska serious," he intones, just to see Evan laugh.
"Where am I gonna put my bike rack?" he asks, after a serious, weighty pause, and Tommy presses in to suck Evans lower lip between his teeth in retaliation.
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nochepsicodelica · 10 months ago
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"Baby, what's wrong?" Toji leans forward on the bar counter to try and get a look at your face.
You hear Toji's voice, but you feel heavy, like you're being weighed down and you can't move. Your elbow is on the counter, allowing you to rest your chin in your palm. Your head is turned to the side and you're facing away from him. Your leg is bouncing like crazy against the metal bars of the stool you sit on and your heart is racing, your breathing coming out a little shaky as it exits through your nose.
"Hey." Toji's hand goes to your knee, moving along with every bounce of your leg. He doesn't attempt to still you, but he's hoping the warmth will manage to soothe you a little. "It's okay, ma. Listen to me." When you don't move, he stands from his seat and makes his way over to your other side to stand in front of you. "Focus on me." His hands come up to shield your eyes from all the light around you, blocking your peripheral vision so that your main view is him. He lays his fingers over your ears to somewhat muffle the sounds of the lively bar area.
You're overstimulated, overwhelmed by all the lights, and music, and everybody around you. You were so excited to spend some time out with Toji. You've been here with him before, and you remembered you had a really good time— definitely one of your favorite dates with him— so you expected this time to be just as fun. Everything was going well until you made it to the bar, where you're sitting, now, trying to calm down. Everywhere you turned, you made eye contact with someone, there was a group of people that was being way too loud, and the volume of the music being played was inconsistent— sometimes blaring, sometimes at a comfortable volume, and sometimes the music was almost inaudible. You felt like your head was spinning. With all of these things combined, you could hardly focus on Toji who was trying to get your attention, because the bartender was taking your drink orders. You asked him to repeat himself three times, and each time you couldn't process what he was saying. He ended up just getting you your usual.
The sensory overload only worsened as time went by. Whenever Toji said anything to you, you would just hum and nod your head, not really taking in his words. You ended up reaching rock bottom and couldn't respond to him at all. You weren't feeling well, and he eventually picked up on it, which led to this moment, where he's standing in front of you, helping you deescalate this awful feeling.
You blink slowly at Toji, holding his attentive gaze. He picks up your limp hand from where it rests on your thigh and brings it up to his face, positioning it so that you're cupping his jaw and your thumb is pressed against the scar on his lips.
Toji used to really hate his scar. Too many bad memories are linked to it. The blemish reminded him of how unwanted he was, growing up. When he met you, he was really insecure about it, to the point where his heart would sink to his stomach, when he caught you glancing at it for even the quickest second. He found out later on that his scar brings you comfort. Whenever you're stressed about something and Toji does a mental check in, the first thing you do is kiss his scar, before communicating what has you so stressed. Whenever you're sad, Toji pulls you onto his lap and lets you talk out all your feelings. As if by natural instinct, your thumb runs along the strike on his lips, before you wrap your arms around him and melt into his comforting embrace. Even at random times, you'll walk up to him and lay a barrage of kisses on his scar, before walking off to continue what you were doing, like it's a form of recharging, but also your motivation to get things done.
Though the method in which Toji got his scar was vehemently horrid, a lot of the negative memories are overridden by more positive ones of it bringing you tranquility. Before, there was absolutely nothing good about it. It used to piss him off, because it just served as a malignant reminder of his past, and it just sat there on his grim face—useless. Now that he knows that the sight and the feeling of it puts your mind at ease and that it grounds you and keeps you with him, his hatred towards the permanence of the tattered skin isn't as vile.
"Look, mama. You feel that?" He manually drags your thumb up and down his scar, in an attempt to bring you back. Your eyebrows furrow, then relax at the feeling of the familiar texture beneath the pad of your thumb. "Yeah, i'm here. It's okay, doll." When you manage to move your thumb on your own, he lets go of your hand and puts his hand back beside your face to shield you, again. He can feel people watching, but he really doesn't care what it looks like to them. It's none of their business, anyway.
"You wanna get out of here? We can go for a drive or a walk. Anything you want." He sees you press your lips together like you want to say something, but then you stop and just keep looking at him with that same look of exhaustion from your overwhelming amount of awareness. "Alright, let's get out of here, first." He pulls out his wallet and a few bills, leaving them beneath the glass of your unfinished drink, before helping you off the stool. "It's okay, doll. Don't even worry about it. Just hold onto me." You wrap an arm around him and he keeps his hand on your shoulder, squeezing occasionally to remind you that he's looking out for you, as he guides you to the exit.
You both decide to lean against the trunk of the car for a few minutes to get some fresh air. The parking lot is practically empty, save for three other cars scattered in different areas. You've managed to calm down a little more, but you still haven't said anything. It's a mixture of guilt and embarrassment for ending what was supposed to be a nice night out with your lover.
Your shame is visible. You can't even look up from your fidgeting hands. Toji takes one of them in both of his, aiming to start a conversation with you.
"Why are you stressing out on me, my sweet girl?" Your palm rests on top of Toji's, while the thumb of his free hand brushes your knuckles. He tilts his head to look at you as you stare at the ground for a few more seconds.
"I don't know what happened," you say, finally turning to look at him. "I was fine when we were on our way here, remember?" Toji nods, clearly remembering how excited you were when you saw the lit up, neon lettering. "Then, we got inside, and I felt weird—jittery, like when you have caffeine and don't put the energy to use. I felt like people were watching my every move, and my chest felt tight."
Toji hums, taking in the heaviness of your words and considers your feelings. "And why is it that you left me to figure out that you felt like you were dying, instead of telling me from the start?" His words aren't sharp, rather, doused with concern.
"That would have made it our shortest date night ever. We walk in, I say 'baby, I feel uncomfortable with how loud everything is', we walk out." Your brows raise, as if your explanation showcases the better option more clearly—what you chose to do, instead.
"That is one thousand times better than what you went through a few minutes ago." Toji can see your lips twitching, like you're aching to defend your reason for withholding your discomfort from him, but he won't have it. He's not going to waste time arguing over something he will always be right about. Your comfort, your health, your wellbeing— it's prioritized.
"I don't like seeing you that way." He gently pulls you so that you're standing right in front of him. His gorgeous, green eyes effortlessly hold you hostage and his hands settle on your lower back, further adding on to the feeling of being caught up in him. "You were frozen and you went silent— you were just out of it."
Your expression shows the guilt you've been stomaching since you walked out of the bar, and the feeling only intensifies at his evident concern for you.
"Fuck." He sighs, pulling you into a tight hug. "Don't look at me like that, ma. You know I care." He turns his head and takes in the ambrosial scent of your perfume, sourcing it from the side of your neck, where a few of his kisses land. "I don't want you to hide how you're feeling from me like that ever again. You understand?"
You nod against him. "Sorry."
"I'm not mad at you. I don't want you to apologize. Just tell me you understand," Toji clarifies.
"I understand," you confirm, quiet and disheartened, like you've just been scolded.
"Good. Now, tell me you love me." He loosens his hold and pulls you back, still maintaining a fairly close proximity with you. His hands take the ends of your coat and ride up until they reach the first button and hole of it. He merges them and goes up, feeling for the next ones, but when he reaches them, he pauses. Your attention is on what he's doing rather than his request.
"What?" You ask, looking at him.
"I'll wait," he responds, smiling softly at the bashfulness that shines through your expression.
"You're putting me on the spot," you say, giggling.
"You say it all the time. Why is it weird now?"
It's that smirk on his face and the knowing look in his eyes, that has your heart racing. It's the fact that he rescued you from something he couldn't feel—an internal hurricane. It's not hard to say the words, but you're damn nervous, this time.
"I love you, Toji," you, wholeheartedly, declare.
"I wasn't ready. Go again," he teases, because he lives for the way your eyes light up before you laugh.
"I love you, baby," you repeat, a gentle smile curled on your lips, remnants of your amusement towards his playfulness.
Toji sighs, mesmerized by the entirety of you. "You're so pretty, ma," he says, feeding the undying glow of your ethereal smile, in hopes that it doesn't dim again anytime soon. He continues buttoning up your coat, not breaking eye contact with you for even a second. When the last button is done, he shoves his hands into your pockets and pulls you in for a deep kiss. "I love you," he murmurs, against your lips, proceeding with more kisses.
Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, the warmth of his skin spreading through your palms with every ongoing kiss you share. Your hand repositions, your fingers resting beneath his jaw, allowing your thumb to slide down and get as close as you can to his scar, without interfering with the movement of his lips. It rests there until you finally separate from each other. You lean forward once more and press a lasting, final kiss to the strike.
"Feeling better?" Toji asks, a smug grin on his face.
"Much better," you respond. "Can we go somewhere else? Anywhere else. I don't think I can go back in there. It'll be awkward with the bartender having seen everything and just... fuck that. I can't go in there, again."
"Let's go for a drive," Toji says. He pulls his hands out of your now heated pockets, and takes his weight off the trunk, standing up straight and towering over you. "If you see anything interesting, we can stop and check it out."
"Let's get lost," you suggest, grinning mischievously.
Toji's eyebrows pinch in confusion. "Get lost? What does that mean?" He asks.
"It means, let's drive aimlessly and just... get lost," you repeat, enthusiastically.
He loves how excited you are, despite how insane you sound, which is why he doesn't have the heart to shut down your crazy idea.
"You know, it's almost impossible for me to get lost, 'cause of my jobs, doll. I'm sent everywhere, so anywhere we go, I know how to get us back home."
"I can't say the same, so it would be an adventure." You smile, internally giddy at the thought of having a guide through the dark unknown.
"It would be me kidnapping you." His hands go to your cheeks, forcing you to keep your eyes on him, so he can observe you to make sure you are in your right mind.
You laugh at the intensity of his gaze. "Not if I'm willingly going with you. Please? If you hate traveling with me, we'll never do it again. I promise."
Toji scoffs. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?"
You give him a charming smile, one you normally use to heavily influence his judgement.
"Fucking-" He groans, half frustrated, half smitten at the stunning sight before him. You don't even have the time to process the swiftness of him leaning down to press a hard kiss onto your lips. "God, you always do that. You always do that. You know what it does to me and you just... fuck." His breath stutters, and again, he's tasting the sweetness of your lips. His hands are still cupping your face, keeping you locked in with him. Toji doesn't stop until you're both breathing heavily through your noses and panting when he finally pulls away.
"Let's get lost," he says, in your words verbatim. Verdant orbs stare into your soul, in search of the smallest trace of uncertainty, but all he is able to find is wonder and adoration, staring right back at him. "Let's go away, doll."
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bingbongsupremacy · 3 months ago
Text
The Soldier's Baby
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader
Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.
Summary: Y/N, a former HYDRA captive, taken at 18, escapes with her young daughter-born not by choice but through HYDRA's experimentation using The Winter Soldier's genetic material. Traumatized and wary, Y/N is brought to the Avengers compound for safety and recovery. It's there she discovers that the father of her child, a man she had only seen in passing, was alive and nearby. Bucky, who has no memory of what HYDRA did to him and has never met Y/N, is blindsided when he learns he has a daughter. Will the two be able to work past this difficult situation to become the parents their little girl deserves? Will they find love along the way?
After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.
*Not Proof Read*
Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU
□□□□□□□
The metal of the chair was cold against your skin, the sterile lab lights buzzing faintly overhead. You try not to shiver, though you are in nothing but a thin gown, one size too small, clinging to you uncomfortably in all the places they like to mock.
"Subject Nine," a voice crackles from above. "Remain still. This will be quick."
You don't move. Not because you are obeying, but because your limbs are too heavy. Too tired. Too defeated. The restraints around your wrists dig into your flesh, but you barely notice anymore.
Dr. Johns, the lead scientist, enters the room with his usual haughty gait and bitter aftershave that made your stomach churn. He doesn't look at you. He rarely does. You aren't a person to them. Just a project.
"You should be honored," he says, flipping through a clipboard. "You've been chosen for something… special."
You don't speak.
He looks up then, eyes sharp and smiling in a way that feels wrong. "We're calling it Project Genesis. Has a nice ring, don't you think?"
Still, you say nothing. You'd learned silence was the only control you had left. But you can't stop your stomach from sinking, can't stop the coil of dread tightening in your chest. What are they going to do to me?
"We've selected the optimal pairing. Your mind-remarkably resilient to manipulation and incredible intelligence, and his… well. You'll see."
You frown. "His?"
He finally smiles. "Yes. We're combining your DNA with one of our finest specimens. You'll be carrying a child."
Your heart stops.
"What?" you croak. It was the first time you've spoken in weeks.
"A hybrid. The perfect balance of power and adaptability," he says matter-of-factly. "Your body will serve as the host. We'll be implanting within the next week."
"No," you whisper, eyes wide. "You can't-please. I don't want-"
Dr. Johns leans in closer. "Want?" he echoes. "You don't get to want. This isn't about you."
Here, nothing is ever about what I want. It's about what they can take and use.
The following week was hell.
You screamed. You cried. You begged. But the drugs were stronger than your resistance, and they didn't even look at you while they did it. Just hands and needles and cold words behind masks.
Then it was over.
And you were left in a cell, aching and furious.
For days, you lay curled on the thin cot, hands cradling your soft belly protectively, as if the new life inside you could already hear your sobbing. You didn't want this. Not like this. Not here.
But slowly, something inside you shifts.
The first time you feel the flutter, you are on your knees, scrubbing the concrete with shaking hands after they'd ordered you to "make yourself useful." Your palm pauses mid-swipe. A soft thump, deep in your stomach.
Your breath catches.
Was that…?
It comes again. A whisper from within. Not pain. Not control.
Just… life.
Tears fill your eyes as you drop the rag. You wrap your arms around yourself, hands shaking.
"Hi," you whisper to the silence. "I'm your mom."
This is not the life you want for your child. All you can do was love it and hope there was a way out.
Every time it kicks, your love for it grows stronger. The little baby underneath your heart. She is the only thing you have for yourself. The only thing that would love you back.
They try to stop you from talking to her. They say affection would ruin the experiment. But you don't care anymore.
You name it in secret-just a name between you and it. A name you never speak out loud, but repeat every night in your thoughts. My baby. My child. My everything.
Sometimes you envision a different life with your baby. A life where it would be born into a safe, loving home-not a facility. A life where you can give it everything it could ever want or need.
They still taunt you.
"You're barely holding together," a guard snortes. "Fat girl and a freak baby. What a combo. It's incredible they chose you as the surrogate. Clearly, there are better options."
You stare straight ahead, your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. Say what you want about me, you think. But don't you dare touch my baby.
Time passes slowly. Days bleed into weeks. Your belly grows, and with it, a fragile hope.
You don't know who the father is -not truly. They never say anything, and you know not to ask. You wonder if the father knows he's going to be a dad. If he is a victim like you, someone they forced into the same predicament.
That was likely the case.
Would your baby ever get to meet its father? Would it be safe for the baby to know him? All these questions yet no answers.
What kind of life will it have?
You try to escape numerous times. You try to get yourself and your baby out of the place you know as hell. It never works. They know you are too smart for digital locks. You can crack them within minutes. They settle for old-fashioned chain lock and cuffs. The more restricted you are, the less likely you would be able to find a way to get out of the situation.
-------
They make you give birth on a table. No warmth. No hand to hold. Just cold hands and barking orders.
You remember screaming. You remember crying. You remember the sharp pains wracking your body due to the lack of drugs to soothe them.
You remember the silence after her first wail.
"Let me see her!" you cry, body shaking. "Please-let me hold her-just once-please-!"
But they are already gone. The door slams. The silence returns.
And you bleed alone on the table, heartbroken. You knew this would happen. There was no way they'd let you keep her. You just wish that small sliver of hope buried deep in your chest had been correct.
You don't move for days.
They threaten you. Drug you. Torture you mentally. But you stay silent, numb.
Then, one day, they come with a new offer.
"You'll get to see her," Dr. Johns says smoothly, "once a week. But only if you behave."
You want to spit in his face. But the thought of your baby—of her eyes, her breath, her smile—shatters your resolve.
"…Okay," you say. At least you can check if she was okay.
-----
She is beautiful. Everything you imagine and more. With beautiful brown eyes and tuffs of brown hair. There are a few features you recognize in yourself. Your pout, your lashes. And there are features you don't recognize, like birthmarks or the shape of her nose. Those must be from her father-whoever he is.
Even through the glass, even under guard supervision, she is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
And one day, you find the file.
It's stupid. Someone left it open. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap.
But you can't help it. You have to know.
Subject: Project Genesis Maternal Donor: Subject Nine Paternal Donor: WS-13 (Winter Soldier)
You nearly drop it.
Him.
That man. The one with the metal arm. The one who never speaks.
Your heart breaks-not for yourself, but for him. He doesn't know. There is no way he does. I've seen them wipe his mind hundreds of times. If he knew, they would immediately wipe him. That's the kind of people they were. He doesn't know she exists.
You close the file, tuck it back carefully, and say nothing.
You don't tell anyone. You don't tell him, even though you sometimes see him in the halls on his way to the next mission. His stoic eyes and rough demeanor scare you. He isn't here to mess around. He has a mission, and that is his only focus.
Who knows what he would do if he found out he had a child? A man like him, so badly tortured. He's a killing machine. There's no telling if he was even capable of caring for anyone. He could become a risk to her. He could cause her harm. He could hurt me, too.
Sometimes your mind would wander. What if he does know? What if he knows he has a child and but doesn't care? On the other hand, what if he found out and he did care? Would he try to protect the baby?
The what-ifs plague your mind. In the end, you decide it is too much of a risk. You have no idea how he will react, and that scares you. It's better safe than sorry.
Because if you die -there will be no one left to protect her. You are her only shot.
----
The guards give you one hour. That was the rule.
One hour, once a week. Under supervision. In a sterile white room with a single metal chair and your baby sitting behind reinforced glass, until they allow you to hold her.
They never say her name—never call her anything but the subject or the specimen. But you say her name in your head a thousand times a day. It is the only thing that feels like yours.
When they first let you hold her, she is so small. Lighter than you imagined. Warm, wiggling in your arms like she knows you.
You sit down and don't move the entire hour, too scared they'll take her early if you do anything wrong.
"I missed you," you whisper, brushing your nose against her tiny head. "Did they treat you okay? Did they… Did you eat enough?"
She cooes softly, hand brushing against the thin hospital gown you are wearing. Your heart breaks into a thousand glass pieces.
"You're safe with me," you promise, even though it is a lie. You really can't do much to protect her. You have no leverage to use against them. You also aren't a trained supersoldier, like her father. They are more focused on your mental abilities than your physical strength, so they never bother to train you. "Just for now. You're safe."
The guard coughs behind you, clearly bored.
You glare down at your arms. "Don't listen to them, sweetheart. Mommy's here."
------
Weeks pass.
Your arms grow stronger from carrying her. Your body, tired and aching, moves faster in the cell training they force on you. You do everything they ask. Not because you want to-but because it keeps her safe.
She starts recognizing you.
She babbles when she sees you. Wriggle excitedly when you come into the room. One visit, she reaches her chubby arms out and gives the smallest, gummiest smile.
You cry so hard you can barely breathe.
When she falls asleep against your chest, her tiny hand wrapped around your finger -you pray time will freeze.
"Sleep, baby," you whisper. "Please… dream of trees, and blue skies, and things I can't give you."
Most days are like that. Peaceful between the two of you. However, there are times when things get difficult.
There is one day, she is quiet.
Too quiet.
You feel the panic rising in your throat the moment you step into the room. She isn't smiling. She isn't moving.
"Is she sick?" you ask the guards, voice rising. "What did you do?!"
"No questions," says the same monotone response. "One hour. No more."
You clutch her tightly, holding her against your chest, rocking her gently.
Her little head lifts. She lets out a tired breath. Her eyes-a beautiful shimmering brown-blink up at you.
Relief hits like a tidal wave. You cradle her even tighter.
"You scared Mommy," you whisper into her soft curls. "Don't ever do that again, okay?"
Your voice cracks.
"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
You have no idea what they are doing to your child. It kills you to think they are hurting her. You have no control. All you can do is try to bring some comfort in the short time you have with her.
-----
Life stays like that for two years. You spend the time you can with her. You teach her how to talk and walk. Even though the situation is difficult, she is a resilient baby. She is smart. She learns quickly. She definitely develops skills faster than other babies do. That makes you proud.
Then the visits stop.
No explanation. No announcement. Just… silence.
Days pass. Then weeks.
You scream and you fight. You are drugged.
And when you come to-bleary, arms strapped down in your cot, you know something is wrong.
The halls are quieter. Fewer footsteps. Fewer voices. Then none.
The next time someone opens your door, it isn't a guard.
It was no one.
A soft creak. A hiss of released air.
You wait.
No commands. No threats.
You pull the restraints free with little effort, too easily. The power has been cut. The systems are breaking down.
You stumble into the hallway, barefoot and filled with panic.
Lights flicker.
No soldiers.
No scientists.
Just the dead hum of a forgotten place.
And then-
A sound.
A baby crying.
Your baby crying.
Her.
You run harder than you ever have in your life.
Your legs burn, your body still weak from weeks of starvation and isolation, punishments for your lack of cooperation, but you run.
The lab is a maze. But your instincts, your love-cut through the fog.
You find her in a room filled with overturned equipment. She is crying, face red, fists curled. She is still in her tiny containment crib. But no one is watching her anymore.
You throw open the gate and collapse to your knees, cradling her against your chest.
"I'm here," you sob, rocking her. "I'm here. I got you. I got you."
She stops crying instantly, face pressed into your neck.
You clutch her so tight, your arms ache.
And then you find a room with a door that locks from the inside. It used to be a cell. Now, it's your only sanctuary.
You ration food. You keep her warm. You sing songs in a hoarse voice, trying to drown out your own fear.
You don't know how long you can last. But as long as she is breathing, you'd try.
You know, at some point, you will have to leave the building. You will need more food and water.
The thought terrifies you. You haven't been outside in years. You haven't seen the sun or the outside in so long. The world is different. It has to be. While you were stuck in a building that never seemed to change, you know the outside is different. There is no one for you to trust outside. You will be so exposed and vulnerable out there.
At least you know what you are working with in the confines of the building. You can keep her safe here for now. You will figure out the rest later.
You scavenge the building for as many resources as you can find. It is enough to keep you both okay for a few months. Definitely not enough to last longer than 8 months.
---
Three months passed. Winter was coming. You know you need to leave soon. You will both freeze to death if you stay here much longer.
You are thinner. Paler. You know your body is getting weaker, but you do your best to be there for your baby and plan your next steps.
Then one day-it all shattered.
You hear footsteps.
Not like before. Heavier and measured.
English voices.
You scoop her up. Her body is heavier now, growing. You run down the halls, bare feet slapping against concrete. The lights died long ago, and all you have is your memory of the maze.
She starts crying.
Too loud.
You hush her frantically. "Please, baby, shh-don't cry, don't cry, they'll hear you-"
Too late.
Footsteps speed up.
Voices bark orders.
Then you turn a corner-and freeze.
A woman stands at the end of the hall.
Red hair and black suit. Eyes wide.
She doesn't raise a weapon.
"Hey," she says, holding up both hands. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you."
You back away, toddler clutched tight. "No! Don't touch her! Don't take her!"
Others come. Bigger and scarier. You see a glowing chest light in the dark-hear a metal suit hiss.
You turn. You run.
But another figure appears behind you, this one carrying arrows.
You are surrounded.
The baby is sobbing now, screaming into your neck. She can sense your fear and desperation.
"Don't kill her!" you cry, collapsing to your knees. "Please-I'll do anything, just don't hurt her-please-!"
The redhead approaches slowly. "We're not here to hurt her," she says gently. "Or you."
You shake your head, body trembling. "Liar. You're all liars-she's just a project to you. She's all I have. Don't take her."
"We're the Avengers, we just want to help you. We are not a part of HYDRA," she says. "You're safe now."
You cling tighter to your baby.
"Please," you whisper, chest heaving. You don't believe their words. "Just let me keep her."
The redhead crouches beside you.
"You will."
------
The Quinjet is too loud.
You sit stiffly in a corner seat, clutching your daughter like she might vanish if you blink. She's curled up against your chest, worn out from crying and the chaos, her tiny hands fists in your torn clothes.
Your arms are shaking.
Everything feels like too much.
Too bright. Too fast. Too real.
You stare at the dark floor panels, heart pounding like a war drum. The whirring of the engines, the humming of voices you don't trust-none of it felt safe. You don't feel safe.
No one tries to take her from you. Not yet. That was the only reason you haven't fought.
She shifts in your arms, pressing her flushed cheek to your collarbone. Your hand automatically rubs gentle circles into her back, your mother's instincts stronger than the trauma clawing at your brain.
"She won't let go," Natasha murmurs to Bruce, standing just far enough not to crowd you. "Even when she's asleep."
"She shouldn't have to," Bruce says softly. "Not after what she's been through."
They don't think you can hear them.
But you did.
You heard everything.
They bring you to a room with soft lighting and gentle walls. It smells clean-but not like chemicals. Not like HYDRA.
Bruce Banner stands in the corner, hands folded, speaking in a voice like wind brushing over still water.
"I'm just going to take a look at you," he says gently. "Both of you. I promise I won't touch her unless you say it's okay."
You don't move.
Your baby is wide awake again, sitting in your lap, staring with wide eyes at the stranger in the white coat.
You pull her tighter against you.
"She's mine," you say. Your voice cracks. "No one touches her."
Bruce gives a small nod. "Of course. I just want to help."
You don't believe that.
But he doesn't push. Instead, he pulls out a scanner and crouches-to your eye level.
"May I scan you from here?"
You hesitate… then give a tiny nod.
The scan was quiet. No poking. No restraint.
"She's malnourished but stable," Bruce says, looking at your daughter. "You've been feeding her from rations?"
"Yes," you whisper.
He nods again, with genuine warmth. "You did an incredible job."
Your throat closes up. You tried.
You look down at your baby, who's pressing her forehead into your chest. She's calmer here. Calmer with you.
You've done something right.
"You've been through serious mental trauma," Bruce continues. "I think your system's still fighting the effects of long-term neurological exposure. We'll give you space, but if you ever want help-therapy, or medication, or even just rest-we'll be here."
You don't answer.
You are still waiting for the moment they take her away.
But no one moves.
They are waiting for you.
Later, they bring you to a different hospital room that was too nice to be real. Real bed. Blankets. A large mirror on the other side of the room. A window with sunlight. You can see the world. It was very different than what you remembered.
When you were taken, you were freshly 18. A time that was supposed to be exciting and full of new adventures was quickly robbed from you. All your dreams of finally getting to go to Harvard were crushed. You were from a smaller town, one that didn't have these massive buildings that surrounded you. You were used to fields and animals. Nothing like that was outside. It was a shock.
You don't know how to sleep in a bed anymore. But your baby is finally dozing in the crook of your arm.
You sit, awake, staring at the door.
And then it knocks.
"Hey. It's me. Natasha," comes the voice from the other side. "Can I come in?"
You don't say anything.
The door opens gently.
She enters slowly, hands empty. She sits across from you, not too close.
"I just want to ask you a few questions," she says quietly. "Is that okay?"
You look at her for a long moment… then give the smallest nod.
"What's your name?"
You lick your dry lips. "Y/N."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-six."
Her expression softens. "And how long were you in that facility?"
You look down at your baby. "Since I turned 18."
A beat of silence.
Natasha's jaw tightens-just a bit. "That's a long time."
You don't respond.
She nods to your baby, who is sound asleep now.
"What's her name?"
You hesitate-but just for a moment. You are too proud to stay silent.
"Daisy."
You always loved Daisies. Naming her that reminded you of the beautiful world outside of the building. A world you hoped you would get to show her.
Natasha smiles gently. "That's beautiful."
You nod slowly, brushing your fingers through your daughter's hair. "I thought so too."
Natasha leans forward just a little. "Can I ask about her father?"
Your whole body tenses.
Your eyes drop to Daisy's face again. So small. So innocent.
You swallow thickly. "I don't… I don't know him," you admit. "I never met him. Not really." You had only ever seen him in passing.
Natasha's gaze flickers, and you see it-just the briefest flash of concern. Worry.
"It wasn't like that," you say quickly. "No one… touched me. I mean, not—not that way."
She relaxes. Just slightly.
You toke a shaky breath.
"They called it Project Genesis. They told me they wanted to create a weapon with the perfect balance. My mind. His body. His strength. "You brush your fingers across Daisy's head. "I didn't even know whose DNA they used. Not at first."
"You found out?"
You nod slowly. "They left a file out once. I don't think they meant to. I saw his name."
Natasha doesn't speak.
"They called him… the Winter Soldier."
You wonder what happened to him. You stopped seeing him about a month before they stopped showing you Daisy. Had he gotten away? Was he a free man, living his life as normally as he could? Sometimes you wonder if you should have told him. He did have a right to know. If he had gotten away, would he have taken Daisy with him if he knew? Would he have kept her safe?
The room goes so quiet, you could hear your heartbeat.
"I didn't tell him," you whisper. "I was scared. I thought maybe he'd take her. Maybe he'd hurt her. Or… maybe he didn't know. I couldn't risk it. I had to protect her."
You looked up at Natasha, terrified.
"I swear I'm telling the truth."
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Her face said everything.
----3rd POV----
Outside, behind a one-way mirror, the rest of the team watched in stunned silence.
Steve stood stiff, fists clenched. His heart hurt for the woman. She had been forced into a situation no one should ever have to be. And he felt bad for his friend. Bucky had no idea. If Bucky knew he had a child, he would've told Steve. He also would've done everything in his power to save it from the horrors the baby undoubtedly experienced.
Sam glanced at Clint. "Is this even possible? Bucky's never mentioned having a kid before. Could she be lying? Trying to get something from him or us?"
Tony frowned. "HYDRA did a lot of things that shouldn't have been possible. It's not out of the realm to think they would go this far. They were selectively breeding."
"She doesn't know he's here. What's there to gain from lying about him?" Bruce said quietly. "I don't think she's lying."
Steve ran a hand through his hair. "I think she's telling the truth. I mean look at that kid. I knew she looked familiar. It makes sense now. She's got Buck's eyes and hair. We can also do a DNA test, right, Bruce?" he said, voice rough.
Bruce nods. "If he wants one done, I can try to convince Y/N to let us take some blood from the baby." He observes the baby through the glass. "She does look a lot like Bucky."
"We have to tell him." Clint looks around at the group of men.
"Who’s going to do it?" Sam asked.
"I will." Steve volunteers. "It'll be better coming from me."
----- 3rd POV -----
The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through the training room.
Sweat dripped from Bucky's brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His knuckles-flesh and metal-were raw from the relentless assault. The gym was quiet, empty except for the sound of effort. That's how he liked it.
This was the only place where the memories didn't claw so loudly at the back of his skull.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw faces-bloodied, terrified, dying. Faces he couldn't name. Faces he'd hurt. Even now, even free, the weight of what he'd done pressed against his chest like a boulder he could never move.
So he hit the bag.
Over and over.
Like he could punch his past into silence.
His metal arm whirred with each movement-controlled and brutal. He wasn't training to stay in shape. He was trying to feel something. Anything that wasn't guilt.
But then he heard it.
"Buck."
Steve's voice.
He didn't stop punching. Didn't look.
"I need to talk to you."
Still, he didn't stop. Not until Steve stepped into his line of sight.
Bucky dropped his fists, breathing heavy, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. "What is it?"
Steve hesitated.
And that… that was never a good sign.
Steve's voice was low, careful. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal.
"There's a woman here. She was rescued from a HYDRA facility."
Bucky blinked, wiping his face with a towel. "Okay…"
"She was part of an experiment. One of the worst ones. Mental manipulation. Long-term isolation. She's been in there since she was eighteen."
Bucky stiffened.
"I… I wouldn't be telling you this if it wasn't important."
"Steve," Bucky said, voice a warning. "What are you not saying?" Steve needs to stop beating around the bush.
Steve's throat bobbed.
"She has a daughter."
Bucky frowned. "Okay? So?"
Steve took a step closer. "We're... We're pretty sure she's yours. She looks a lot like you did as a kid. The mother says they used your DNA, Buck."
The words hit him like a bullet to the chest.
"What?"
"She didn't know at first. She found out later. The girl-her name's Daisy-is about two years old. HYDRA created her. They used you."
Bucky staggered back, as if someone had punched him in the gut.
"No." His voice cracked. "No, that's not-That can't be-"
"I know it's a lot," Steve said quickly. "I know. She didn't lie. She didn't even know you were here. She wasn't trying to manipulate anyone. All she's done is try to protect that little girl. If you want more confirmation, we can try to get a DNA test from Daisy. It might take some time to convince her mom to allow us to get close to her, but we can try if you want."
Bucky stared down at his hands.
His right hand-flesh and bone-trembled. His left hand-metal, inhuman-hung limp at his side.
"A kid?" he whispered. "My kid?"
His vision blurred. He didn't realize he was shaking until Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder.
"I didn't even know," Bucky rasped. "I didn't even know what they were doing. They took it from me. They used me again."
"I know, Buck."
He turned away, eyes wild. "I don't-What if I'm just like them? What if Daisy's like me? What if-"
"She's not," Steve said, voice firm. "She's sweet. Gentle. She looks at her mother like she's the whole damn world. She's a great kid, Buck."
Bucky's throat closed.
And then the question clawed its way out:
"Does she know I'm here now? The mother… does she hate me?"
"No," Steve said quietly. "She doesn't even blame you. She said she thinks you didn't know. That maybe you were just a name to them. She didn't tell anyone because she was scared. She's just trying to keep her daughter safe."
Bucky sank to the floor.
He didn't speak. Just pressed his face into his hands, breaths coming short and fast. Should I get a DNA test? That might put both the mother and the kid through a lot of trauma. Steve said Daisy looked like me. How could she look like me if she's not somehow related to me? I don't have any family left alive. It couldn't be a niece or something.
A kid.
A real one.
A little girl who existed in this world, who shouldn't, because of him.
And he didn't know if he had the right to see her.
-----
The compound garden was quiet except for the rustle of wind against tree branches and the distant hum of city life beyond the security walls. It didn't feel real, not after the concrete and cold metal of the facility. You still flinch every time someone closes a door too hard.
You sit on a bench near the far edge of the garden, your daughter cradled against your side, her tiny hands sticky with banana. The blanket around her small frame is a borrowed one-soft and blue with tiny stars stitched into the corners. It was Natasha's idea, something comforting and warm to help your daughter adjust.
Your own comfort? That was a different story.
You're still in borrowed clothes. Still tense. Still not sure when someone is going to pull the rug out from under you again.
Daisy's humming a little tune, off-key but sweet. Your hand moves in her hair, soothing her even though she doesn't need it. Maybe you do.
Then came the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps on the gravel path.
You don't move right away. You are used to the sounds of people coming. You'd learned that reacting too quickly made them think you were unstable.
But something about these steps made your body tense. Heavy. Measured.
You turned-and your breath caught.
It was him.
The man from the file. The man from the hallway glimpses when you'd been escorted for testing. The man who made your head race with a million questions.
The Winter Soldier.
No-Bucky Barnes. That's what Natasha calls him.
He looks like a shadow from the past given breath. His long hair is tied back in a loose band, strands escaping around his jaw. He's wearing a hoodie too big for him and boots that look scuffed from use. His vibranium arm shines in the filtered sunlight, catching faint reflections of the world around him.
His face-oh, his face.
He isn't the weapon you remember. He's a man. And he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.
He stops several feet away, eyes locked on you, then flickers to the child on your lap. His eyes stay on Daisy as he takes her in, like he's trying to memorize her.
He looks like he wants to speak but doesn't know how.
You sit up straighter, your arms instinctively wrapping more protectively around Daisy. She shifts, sensing your tension.
Bucky notices.
"I-" he starts, voice rough like gravel. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
You don't answer.
"I shouldn't've come," he murmurs. His hands hover at his sides, uncertain. "I didn't want to scare you. I just…"
He swallows hard, eyes flicking to Daisy again.
"She's mine?" he asks quietly.
You nod, slow and cautious. "Yes."
His jaw clenches. He looks like he might collapse under the weight of that one word.
"I didn't know. They didn't tell me," he whispers. "I swear, I didn't know."
"I believe you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He looks so different then how you'd seen him in the past. His face, which was usually stoic and emotionless, is filled with conflicting feelings. This has to be a lot for him to take in.
His eyes-startlingly blue, filled with pain, finally meet yours.
He takes one step forward and then pauses again. And then, hesitantly, in a voice that barely held together: "Did I-did I hurt you when she… when she was…" He trails off, the words choking in his throat. His eyes drop to the ground. "I hoped I wasn't capable of shit like that but… I don't know. I never know what they made me do. Not really."
You stare at him, breath caught in your chest.
You know what he meant. He wants to know if they made him rape you. It was too hard for him to say.
That has to be a horrible feeling to experience. Knowing your mind and body could have been potentially used to so horribly violate another person. HYDRA controlled his actions, but in the end, he was the one having to live with the consequences.
"No," you say softly. "You weren't even in the room."
His head jerks up to look at you. He's confused.
"It was in vitro," you clarify. You tear your gaze away from his face, embarrassed by your vulnerable experience. I wish I could've protected myself. Stopped what they did to me. I couldn't, which makes me feel so weak. You continue. "When I was first brought into the facility, they took some of my eggs. They fertilized the egg with your sperm in a lab and then put it back in me. You were never physically involved in it." You try to reassure the man. "They never let me see who the donor was. I didn't know until about a year after Daisy was born."
You push yourself to look at his face.
Relief crashes across his features-brief, raw, and almost too painful to look at. He nods, a quiet breath escaping him, but the tension doesn't leave his shoulders. Then sympathy and regret take over his face as your words settle in his head.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that...I can't imagine what that must've been like. Living in a place like that, in those conditions while pregnant...it's hard enough to survive without a baby." Bucky apologizes like it's his fault. Like he had put you through that situation. "If I had known...I would've tried to get you both out or helped you. It's not fair that you had to do that alone." He speaks genuinely.
"It's not your fault. They used you like they used me. There's nothing you could've done. They would have killed you or sent you away." I don't hold a grudge against him.
"Still, I'm very sorry."
You look at him again-really looked at him-and realize something that unsettles you.
He's just as scared as you are.
And just as broken.
There was silence between you. Heavy, aching silence. You both had experienced so much at the hands of the same people. While your journeys were different, you were both left with trauma and nightmares. You both missed time with your daughter.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It's your turn to apologize. "About her. I-I didn't know what you were going to do or react. If you would even care. I didn't know if it was safe to tell you. I couldn't risk being hurt and getting killed or losing the time they allowed me to see her." You nervously continue. "I had seen you a few times in the halls. You always looked angry and emotionless. Like a cold weapon. I was nervous to talk to you."
Bucky face is stiff. His eyes, however, hold sadness. " I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. They killed my personality and feelings. You did what you had to. She comes first. I'll never be angry for you putting her well-being first."
He isn't how you expected. Well, you didn't really know what to expect. It makes you sad he didn't get to spend time with her at all. At least you saw her once a week. This is the first time he's met her. While you missed a few milestones, he had missed them all. That's time he could never get back.
Then Daisy stirs.
She blinks up at the stranger, her small brows furrowing. "Mama?" she whispers.
You smooth a hand over her hair. "It's okay, sweetheart."
Bucky slowly crouches down, still not closing the distance.
He looks at Daisy with a softness that shocks you. His metal hand flexes on his knee, uncertain.
"She's… beautiful," he says, voice cracking.
Your throat tightens. "She is."
"How old?"
"Almost two and a half."
He nods slowly, trying to work the math in his head. "God…"
You see him glance toward her again.
He wants to reach out. You can tell.
But he doesn't.
And that matters more than anything else-he doesn't assume he has a right to her. He respects you. He's willing to go at your pace.
"Do you… do you want to sit?" you ask hesitantly.
He looks up, shocked. Then nods, barely breathing.
"I'll stay back here," he promises, lowering himself to the far end of the bench. "Just wanted to see her. That's all."
You watch him out of the corner of your eye as Daisy nibbles on the banana again, still watching him with curiosity. She giggles and waves at him with a wide grin.
Bucky's lips curl into a pained smile. He waves back.
"He good guy?" she asks, glancing at you.
You pause.
You look at Bucky again.
The sorrow on his face. The weight on his shoulders.
"I think he's trying to be," you said quietly.
----- 3rd POV -----
Bucky didn't remember walking back into the compound.
He remembered standing up from the bench with a nod and a faint, careful thank you to Y/N. He remembered Daisy waving her banana at him in a tiny, sticky goodbye. He remembered the ache in his chest when he looked at them one last time.
But after that, it was a blur.
Now he was back in the gym, his hoodie on the floor, fists slamming into the punching bag like it had personally ruined his life. Sweat clung to his skin, hair stuck to his forehead, and the fabric of his shirt felt suffocating. The leather wrap on his right hand had already started to fray.
Wham.
Wham.
WHAM.
"You're gonna break the wall if you keep that up."
Bucky didn't stop punching, but his jaw tensed. "Maybe it deserves it."
Steve stepped into view, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His voice was steady, but soft. "You went to see her?"
Bucky exhaled through his nose and gave the bag one last blow before stepping back. His chest heaved. "Yeah."
Steve didn't say anything for a long moment. He just waited.
Bucky ripped off the wraps on his hands, tossing them onto the floor. "Y/N, she's scared of me."
"She's been through hell," Steve said quietly.
"I know that," Bucky snapped, more at himself than Steve. "I saw it. I saw it all over her face. Every time I moved too fast, every time I even looked at her wrong, she flinched like I was going to-"
He broke off, dragging a hand over his face.
"I didn't mean to scare her."
Steve walked closer. "You didn't mean to have a kid, either."
Bucky barked a humorless laugh. "No, I didn't. Hydra made that choice for both of us. Took what they wanted, like they always did. Used me to make a baby and used her to carry it. That shit is cruel. All those procedures Y/N had to endure...going through pregnancy in a place like that. A time that was supposed to be happy for most must've been a nightmare for her. Yeah, they took sperm from me, but that was the end of my job. They made her carry Daisy and suffer alone. The fear she must've felt, Steve. The pain. And she had no one there to support her." Bucky was pissed and guilty.
He had wanted kids when he was younger. Before the war, he wanted a family. He wanted to be there for his wife, whoever she was, when the time came for them to have kids. He wanted to help her and be there to get everything she needed or wanted. He felt like it was the responsiblity of the father to be there to support the mother of their child. He hadn't known, so he wasn't able to be there. That hurt. Besides that, he missed so many milestones. Daisy's first laugh, first word. And so many more.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing a few steps away. "You know what's messed up? For a second-I was terrified I'd hurt her. That they made me violate her..." He swallowed the bile crawling up his throat at the thought. "But she said it was in vitro. That I wasn't even there. And I was relieved. Relieved I didn't hurt her."
"That's not messed up," Steve said. "That's human. It'd be messed up if you didn't care what had happened to her."
Bucky slumped onto a bench, metal hand resting on his thigh. "She said she'd seen me before. That I looked cold. Like a weapon."
Steve sat beside him, not too close. "You were being used as one."
"It doesn't matter. That face still haunts her. Still haunts me."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She was trying so hard to be brave. Holding that little girl like her life depended on it. Maybe it does."
Steve was quiet for a moment. "Did you look at her?"
Bucky glanced sideways. "The baby?"
Steve nodded.
Bucky's voice dropped to a whisper. "She’s perfect, Steve. Big eyes. Wild hair. She's got this laugh-she laughed at me. Me. Can you believe that?" His lips pulled into a soft, disbelieving smile. Then it faded.
"I don't know what to do. She's scared of me. Rightfully so. I don't even know what I am to that little girl. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a dad. I've never had a responsibility like that. I didn’t choose any of this."
"No," Steve agreed. "But you're here now. You're going to be a great dad, Bucky. You're just going to need to learn a little bit. There's nothing wrong with that. Y/N is still learning too."
Bucky closed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing into his spine. "What if I mess this up?"
Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and sure. "Then you keep trying. You show up and try again. You don't give up on your kid. And you let them set the pace."
------
You watch Daisy sleep from across the room, arms wrapped around your knees, curled into yourself like you used to in your cell.
The compound was too quiet sometimes. Not the same kind of terrifying quiet like HYDRA, but… too peaceful. Like silence, you hadn't earned.
You could still feel the warmth of the bench under your body. Still see the careful way Bucky had kept his distance. The way he'd crouched like he wasn't sure if he should even breathe too close to your daughter.
Our daughter.
This isn't how you had planned to have a family. As a young girl, you had always wanted to have a family someday. You wanted a lot of things. You want to graduate from Harvard with honors and get into a great graduate program. You wanted an amazing career in an industry where you could make a difference with the help of your intelligence. You wanted to find a man who loved you completely, no matter how much you weighed or what you looked like. You wanted to get married and have children in a beautiful home you worked hard for. You wanted your husband to be there when you gave birth to your babies, to be able to share the moment with you. You wanted your husband to be able to share your baby's beautiful moments and milestones with you. You wanted to throw birthday parties and show your baby off. You wanted so much.
And you got none of it.
You didn't get to graduate or get married. You didn't get to fall and love and have support through your pregnancy. You were forced through hundreds of tests, surgeries, and experiments until your bubbly, confident self was turned into a shell of who you were. You were forced to experience the heartbreak of being forcibly impregnated by a stranger, growing a bond with your baby, delivering her in a traumatic setting, and then getting her taken away.
You shiver at the thought.
You had seen his face in so many nightmares. Those glimpses in the hallway, the times he'd walked by in black gear with no emotion behind his eyes. The Winter Soldier. A ghost of war, of death, of silence.
Now that face had looked at you with fear. Guilt.
And tenderness.
He had looked at Daisy like she was made of stardust. Like she was the one good thing in a world full of pain.
Your heart twisted.
You wanted to hate him. To blame him. That would be easier than trying to navigate this next stage in life.
But he hadn't been in the room. He hadn't made the choice. He hadn't known.
Neither had you.
You reach up and touch your side, remembering the cold, sterile ache of the implantation procedure. The way they drugged you and stole pieces of you before violating your body and forcing you to take those changed pieces back. Remembering the nurse who whispered, "You should be honored. He's the pinnacle of perfection. Your child will be a masterpiece."
You blink hard, pressing your forehead to your knees. Rage and shame twist in your stomach.
You hadn't even known his name when Daisy started to grow inside her. Just a number. A file. A myth.
And now he was real.
So painfully real.
You weren't ready. You wanted to be-but you weren't. Not yet.
But the way he'd looked at Daisy…
It made something shift in you.
A glimmer of hope.
A flicker of trust.
You didn't know what was going to happen next. Didn't know if you could ever let him in completely. But maybe-just maybe-Daisy could have the chance at something better.
Maybe they all could.
------
It was late afternoon when the hallway outside the common room falls quiet again, the golden sunlight slants across the polished floors. The Avengers Compound always seems to hum with a soft, underlying rhythm-doors closing gently, distant voices, the faint clinking of cups or laughter echoing down corridors.
You sit on the floor with Daisy again, this time carefully braiding your daughter's hair-short, wavy strands that refuse to stay in the little plaits. Daisy keeps giggling and squirming, half-playing, half-patient. A picture book lies forgotten on the rug, open to a page about rainbows.
It feels… almost normal. A warmth in your chest you don't dare name yet.
You don't hear him at first.
"Um… hi." The voice was gravel-soft. Low. Hesitant.
You look up slowly, hands still tangled in your daughter's hair.
Bucky stands a few feet away, not moving any closer, shoulders drawn in like he's trying to make himself smaller. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the glint of his metal arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, are careful now-open in a quiet way, like he's trying not to spook you.
You stiffen slightly, but don't pull Daisy into your lap the way you might've just a few days ago.
He notices.
"I-I didn't mean to interrupt," he says quickly, raising one hand in a peaceable gesture. "I just… I was wondering if I could… if I could talk to her. To Daisy. Just for a little bit."
His voice cracks slightly on the name.
You blink. Daisy keeps playing with her plush porcupine, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults hovering above her.
"I wouldn't-" Bucky looks down at his boots, then up at you again, almost painfully slow. "I wouldn't touch her. Or scare her. I'd just… like to sit nearby. Maybe say hi. If that's okay."
There's a long silence. The kind where you can hear every breath.
You look at him-really look at him. He isn't trying to loom or press. If anything, he looks like he's bracing for you to flinch. For you to say no. For you to shut him down completely.
And yet… he's still here.
Still trying.
"Yeah sure. She's just playing," You say, finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "You can sit. If you want."
The relief that passes through Bucky's body isn't loud-but you feel it, somehow. Like something in the air softened.
"Thank you," he murmurs.
He steps over slowly and settles on the floor, leaving a comfortable space between them. He sits cross-legged, not facing Daisy directly-just angled enough to be part of the circle, but not too close. He doesn't speak right away. Just watches.
Daisy looks up from her toy and blinks at the new face.
She tilts her head.
Then offers him her porcupine.
Bucky lets out a breath of laughter, barely audible, as he reaches forward with a hand that trembles just slightly.
"That for me?" he asks softly.
Daisy nodded solemnly. "His name's Pokey."
He takes the plush in his large, careful hands and holds it like it is something delicate. "Pokey, huh? That's a good name."
You watch them both. Your hands drop from your daughter's hair as you sit back against the couch, unsure of what to feel. Your heart is beating a little too fast.
Daisy begins stacking plastic cups again. Her porcupine now rests between her and Bucky, like a silent peace offering.
"She likes you," You say after a beat. "I can tell."
"She's brave," Bucky says, watching her. "She's got your smile."
The compliment stirs something warm in your chest, though you don't show it.
You two sat like that for a while. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. A fragile beginning.
And Bucky doesn't push. He just stays.
Careful. Quiet.
Present.
----3rd POV----
Bucky sat alone on the balcony connected to his room, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his mouth. The sky was slipping into dusk, streaked in lilac and orange, and the air carried that subtle shift toward nighttime-the kind of cool that made you breathe a little deeper.
He hadn't moved for nearly an hour.
The image of Daisy-stacking plastic cups with gentle concentration, her nose scrunched, her little fingers brushing his when she passed him the porcupine-played on repeat in his mind.
She didn't know who he was.
And still, she smiled.
Still, she trusted him-instinctively, openly, like no one ever had without reason.
It was unbearable in the best and worst way.
The door behind him opened softly.
He didn't look back.
"Figured I'd find you out here," Steve said, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs in hand.
Bucky took one without a word. It was warm-chamomile or something equally Steve-like.
They sat in silence for a few long beats. The kind of silence only decades of friendship could make comfortable.
Steve finally spoke.
"How'd it go?"
Bucky let out a breath through his nose.
"She let me sit," he said. "That's more than I expected."
"She trusts you?" Steve asked gently.
"No. Not yet," Bucky murmured. "But she didn't flinch when I talked. She didn't grab Daisy and run."
Steve nodded. "That's progress."
"She looked scared of me," Bucky said finally, softly. "Even though she was trying not to be. I know that look."
Steve tilted his head, studying his best friend.
"And Daisy?" he asked.
"She gave me a damn stuffed animal," Bucky said, shaking his head. "Called it Pokey. Just… handed it to me like she already knew I wasn't gonna hurt her."
There was a beat of silence.
"I didn't think I'd ever get this," Bucky said, almost too quietly. "A kid. Even just… knowing there's someone out there who's part of me."
Steve set his mug down carefully on the railing.
"You didn't get this, Buck. It was taken from you. From both of you."
Bucky nodded slowly, staring at the darkening horizon. His hands clenched around the mug.
"I want to know her," he said. "But I don't wanna push Y/N. I don't wanna be that guy who comes in and messes it all up just because I showed up too late."
Steve looked at him, steady and kind.
"You being cautious already tells me you're not gonna mess it up. You care. You're trying. That counts."
Bucky exhaled deeply.
"I just hate that HYDRA used us both like that," he said. "Violated her. Used my DNA like it meant nothing. I feel like I'm walking into a house made of glass. One wrong word and it all shatters."
Steve nodded again, silent in understanding.
"You'll figure it out," he said. "She'll see it."
Bucky didn't answer. Just stared at the horizon, holding the warmth of the tea in his hands like an anchor.
----
The compound was quiet again.
You stand at the crib beside your bed, your fingers brushing softly over Daisy's soft hair. The toddler was fast asleep-tucked up tight, one arm around Pokey, the other sprawled across her blanket.
She looked so small like that. Fragile. But she wasn't, not really. Daisy had known nothing but chaos and confinement, and yet she still smiled. Still trusted.
Still shared her toys.
You turn away and sit down on the bed, your knees pulled up toward your chest. The sheets were soft. Clean. The scent of lavender drifted from the pillow.
It was all so different from the concrete cell.
From the cold, sterile walls of the lab.
And yet you couldn't stop the way your heart pounded anytime you saw someone unexpected in the hallway. Couldn't stop the way your body tensed when someone spoke too loudly. Couldn't stop glancing at the exits.
One of the moments with Bucky played in your head over and over.
His voice, low and cautious. The way he sat across from you, like he didn't want to breathe too loudly.
"Did I… did I hurt you…"
You swallow hard, your chest tightening again.
He'd been so careful. So afraid that he had done something monstrous without knowing. And when you told him he hadn't, you saw him breathe again. Like someone had finally taken the weight off his chest.
He wasn't the man who hurt you.
He'd never even been there.
And yet… he was the man whose face haunted you back then. Cold. Silent. Deadly. The Winter Soldier had passed by your cell more than once. You remembered the way guards stood straighter. How even the doctors looked nervous.
But this Bucky?
This was someone else entirely.
Gentle and broken.
And you didn't know what to do with that.
How could someone be the ghost in your nightmares and also the man your child smiled at?
You curled tighter into yourself and closed your eyes. Your body ached with memory and fatigue. Your heart-felt stretched thin with confusion and fear and… something else. Something warmer that you didn't dare name.
Not yet.
But maybe, if he stayed gentle… if he kept giving them space and showing up without demanding anything…
Maybe you could learn how to name it.
----
Bucky now spent a little more time with you and Daisy every few days-never too long, always careful not to push. Sometimes he brought little things for Daisy: a new picture book, a wooden toy. He always checked with you first.
And you two started to talk.
It started out slow with things like 'How are you?', 'Do you like the tower?', or just general conversation about the baby.
"She reminds me of Becca sometimes," Bucky says one afternoon as Daisy scribbled chalk shapes on the pavement. His soft eyes gaze down at her, a small smile curling on his lips. "My sister."
You tilt your head. "Was she older or younger?"
"Younger," he says, his smile widening at a memory. "Bossy. Tougher than I ever was."
You smile back. "I had a brother. He was older. He… tried to stop them when they came for me."
Bucky looks over, eyes shaded with something dark and aching. "I'm sorry."
"Me too," you whisper. "I don't even know if he made it."
Bucky gives you a sad smile. "My sister got sick and died a long time ago. This was after HYDRA got to me."
There was silence for a moment, not heavy-but shared. Bucky sits back on the bench, arms resting on his knees.
"You were only eighteen," he murmurs. "I read your file."
Your stomach clenches. "Oh."
"No- I just…" He sits up straighter. "I'm not trying to dig into your past. I just-wanted to understand. What they did to you, what they made you go through…"
His voice cracks a little, then hardens again. "It's not fair. None of it."
You look at him carefully. He was trying to understand you. "It wasn't your fault."
"But it's still part of me," he says. "HYDRA's part of me. And I hate that."
You are quiet for a while. Then softly you speak: "They tried to break both of us. But we're still here."
He looks at you. Really looked. There was something in his eyes-a kind of admiration you didn't know how to respond to. He gives you space, respects every boundary. And still, there's warmth. There's safety.
And you were beginning to feel it.
Your chest aches with something too complex to name. You knew you were starting to like him. To care. But you couldn't let it show. Not yet.
You turn your eyes to Daisy, who is now chalking a stick figure with dark hair.
Bucky smiles faintly beside her. "That one's me, isn't it?"
You laugh under your breath. "Looks like it. Strong jaw and everything."
He grins, and for a moment-just a fleeting second-you feel like a girl again. Not a prisoner. Not a lab rat. Just someone…normal.
And that was new.
---
Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU
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luxaofhesperides · 1 year ago
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the beginning - danny
0.
The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.
The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.
Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.
Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.
Did I get stabbed?
He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.
Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.
1. So.
Assassins.
Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.
And Danny, somehow, is a child again.
This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.
He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.
Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.
He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.
At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.
Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.
It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.
Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.
Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.
So, he needs a plan for this new life.
Step one: get out of dodge.
The rest he'll figure out on the way.
2.
Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.
No, that honor goes to superheroes.
Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!
To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.
Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.
It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.
Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.
At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.
When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.
It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.
Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.
He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.
His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.
Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.
That's all he really wants.
3.
Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.
If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.
But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.
And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.
Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.
"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.
"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"
"You can't stay here!"
"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"
His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.
Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.
The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.
"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.
"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."
He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.
Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.
When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.
At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.
4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.
No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.
It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.
His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.
He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.
Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.
If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.
He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.
But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.
He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.
The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.
If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.
It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.
"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."
"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."
They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.
He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.
The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.
5.
It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.
He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.
Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.
So.
Isolation sucks.
But at least they don't drug him anymore!
The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.
There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.
Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?
But no.
No one ever comes to save them.
So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.
He just needs to wait.
He just needs—
6.
When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.
He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.
…Huh.
The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.
There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.
He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.
But if it does work…
The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.
All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.
It's almost like coming back to life.
He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.
The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.
Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.
He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.
There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.
Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.
"Ellie?"
7.
Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.
No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.
Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.
He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.
"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."
She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.
Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.
This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.
This is Ellie.
She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.
She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.
She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.
Danny will never be able to give her that.
But maybe he can give her to someone who can.
8.
Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.
Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.
Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.
Danny's father, on the other hand…
It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.
It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.
The most important thing being that he has kids.
Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.
Okay. Cool.
Danny has siblings.
Awesome.
He's… not looking forward to those conversations.
At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.
But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.
9.
Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.
A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.
She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.
Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.
The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.
On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.
"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.
Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.
"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.
"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."
"But it is," Danny whispers.
Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."
"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."
"What for?"
"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."
10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.
Then he takes off his mask.
Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.
"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."
"I did. Are you…?"
"Mother told me about you."
So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.
"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."
"I was born to replace you."
Just like Ellie.
So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.
"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"
Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"
"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."
Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.
"Wait, what about—?"
When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.
It's for the best.
(masterpost for all parts)
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primofate · 10 months ago
Text
Is it a crime to post unfinished drafts? It's been sitting for 2 years already. I'm letting this one go.
Genshin Series - The sides of him only you get to have and see Part 5: Angry/Frustrated [All male characters]
Other works in this series: (Part 1 - Soft and Gentle) (Part 2 - flustered) (Part 3 - clingy) (Part 4 - Worried)
Warnings: some fluff, some angst, depending on the prompt, lots of different scenarios, some protective, some a bit yandere, some aggressive... quite long cause i got carried away >_>
Personal favourites in this work: Ayato, Bennett
Aether
When his investigation about his sister’s whereabouts turns up into a dead end
“...What if I never find her?” His voice is just a whisper as the two of you sit side by side around the campfire. Paimon is already sleeping off to the side, exhausted by the day’s events. 
You can hear the desperation in his voice, and it cripples you as well, the hurt that comes with losing a loved one and being unable to find them. You let yourself fall sideways and lay your head on his shoulder, hoping to give him some comfort. “...We’ll keep looking, Teyvat’s a big place, you know,” you whisper and it seems that your answer only serves to frustrate him more.
“That’s exactly the problem... Sometimes I don’t know where to start and I don’t know where to look first... I just...” His fists clench for a moment but he relaxes with a small sigh minutes later, arm wounding around your back to pull you closer to his side. “Sorry... I don’t mean to complain so much,” 
You shake your head as you bask in his warmth. “You’re allowed to feel this way, Aether. I’m right here beside you, okay?”
His gaze softens, head leaning towards the crown of your head to place a kiss there. “Thank you, Y/N,” he wouldn’t know what to do if he lost you as well.
Albedo
When someone is too rough with you.
Could he request you not to work at the tavern? Possibly, yes. But Albedo was not the type to tie you down or tell you what to do. Plus, you were capable of taking care of yourself. 
Sometimes he would pick you up from your shift, however, today the Cat’s Tail was a little understaffed and you had to work a few more orders before you could go. 
“Hey!” You jump as one tavern-goer stands and smashes his glass of beer on the table with a loud THUD. “This isn’t what I ordered!” Frankly you were used to this by now, but it didn’t mean that you were any less startled. You calmly walked over to the table and took back the mugs that you just placed when the same person grabs your wrist.
The mugs sway in your hand, the beer in it pouring over your fingers a little as it sloshed. “Sir?” You ask as the man’s hand tightens around your wrist. 
The man grunts and growls “Make sure you tell the bartender to give me a discount for giving the wrong order!” Drunkards were like that. They were loud and sometimes couldn’t control themselves, you twist your wrist away successfully and relay the message to the bartender, though you noticed that Albedo was there too, waiting for you to come back. 
Albedo catches your arm and lifts your wrist up to eye level. There’s a blank look on his face that you can’t quite read and for a moment his eyes dangerously flicker to the group of tavern-goers who gave you trouble. You sense that he’s a little irked. “It’s okay ‘Bedo, I’m fine, just the usual rowdy people, you know?” You reassure him and his stern face drops, replaced by that of defeat with a small sigh.
It’s “just the usual” you say. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about that, if this was “usual”, yet he understood. Every job came with its risks and this was already relatively safer than being an adventurer. Albeo sighs again and brings your wrist up to his lips, his eyes yet again dart towards the said table. He really wanted to have a word with those rude men, but he avoided conflict for your sake. 
“Alright, Y/N. As long as you keep your promise,” he reminds you. Jogging your memory that you had promised to tell him if something dire really happens at work.
Ayato
When his status affects you
You’re aware that ever since you and Ayato were married, his shuumatsuban had also been following you around. Ayato reassured you that it was for your own good, and you somewhat agreed. You weren’t that bothered by it, since the shuumatsuban were so good at concealing their presence, it seemed like nothing changed in your every day routine.
“Master Ayato,” and so imagine Ayato’s annoyance when he receives a report from one of his men that you were being tailed by someone suspicious. “...Capture him,”
In the secret dungeons of the Kamisato residence, there is a pitiful man sitting in the middle of a cell with bars. Kamisato Ayato stands in front of him, cold and calculating look on his face. “State your reason for tailing Y/N,” he would break this man quick, and get all the answers he needed for your safety.
“I-I-I swear I’m not a bad guy! I just--Someone told me they’d pay me a huge amount of money to kidnap Y/N!” Ayato doesn’t break his cold gaze from the man, but he also can’t control the way he unsheathes his sword and starts to clean it with a cloth, as if getting ready for an execution.
“Then for your own good I suggest you give me all the names of these people who bribed you,” His tone is calm, but also eerie. “After that’s done, you won’t lay your eyes on Y/N again... Is that understood?” 
He couldn’t afford for anything to happen to you, specially not when it was because of him.
Bennett
When his bad luck affects you
Bennett had been quiet the whole way back to Mondstadt. As per usual a few things happened that proved his luck was horrid. 
Today seemed to be one of the worst.
Not only did you not finish the commission given to you, but things happened one after the other.
First, the two of you couldn’t find the monster you were looking for. Second, when you finally found it, it proved to be difficult to subdue. Third, the treasure the two of you found was not really treasure at all. Fourth, you could not find the item that you were supposed to bring back to town and finally, fifth, a once wonderful, cloudless and breezy day suddenly turned glum and the rain poured down on your heads.
Bennett was utterly defeated, and you knew it cause he had been quiet up until the gates of Mondstadt, when the two of you finally took shelter for a moment from the rain. He usually would still be upbeat and positive, no matter what he went through, but seeing you sneeze and shiver in the rain, on top of being tired and grimey, he really couldn’t help but hate his bad luck.
You glanced at him at the corner of your eye, he was looking at the ground with his brows furrowed. The look of frustration was foreign in his face but you said what you always did after an adventure with him. “...Today was fun, Bennett. Let’s go again tomorrow!”
His head snaps up in an instant, eyes wide and tracing your face for any lies and dishonesty. All he saw was your bright smile and eager disposition. Truthfully you had learned to be incredibly positive because of him, and if he needed a little bit of that positivity, then you were willing to give it back, no matter how hard things were.
For a split second his lips looked as if they trembled, his shoulders relaxed and a wobbly smile appears on his face. He nearly barrels into you with a hug, and mumbles “You’re the best Y/N,”
Bennett always thought that you were his sun, and he loved every bit of the time he spent with you.
Chongyun
When he isn’t able to protect you
“’Yun?” You call out from your sitting position on your bed, and Chongyun, for the umpteenth time that day, slightly jerks up on the chair next to you, eyes darting towards your face. 
“Hm?” he says, trying to brush off the fact that he had been zoning out, small, shy smile on his face.
You’re silent for a moment, staring back at him. The cogs in your mind working a bit more. “...You’re upset aren’t you?” 
The way he tenses up at your accusation tells you the answer, but still he denies it. “N-No,” 
You sigh, your bandaged arm resting on your side. The wound didn’t hurt that much, but Chongyun was the one who insisted he’d feed you instead of making you use your dominant, injured arm. He was so embarrassed when he offered it. Face red and unsure what to say except that he was holding the bowl of porridge your mother made in his hands and that was enough of a cue for you. 
“...Aah,” You open your mouth again, and that’s when Chongyun snaps out of it, realizing that he hadn’t even finished feeding you. So he proceeds to give you another spoonful. 
“You know it’s not your fault, right?” You confirm after you swallow that bite and he again tenses up without saying anything. 
You knew he hated it when the two of you went adventuring together and you ended up getting hurt. Occasionally it would be him with the injury, but when you got injured, somehow, to him, it was a graver matter than him getting hurt. 
That statement opens his dam of insecurities. “I’m too weak...If I had been a little faster...”
“I must be pretty weak too then, if I wasn’t even able to dodge it,” you counter and you see him open his mouth in protest but close it again, knowing that you had laid a trap for him if he disagreed. He went silent again. 
“...I think you’re really cool Chongyun, the way you handle your claymore makes you look really handsome,” you giggled a little cause you knew he was going to go red and sputter out a response. 
“W-W-What do you mean?” He proceeds to shove another spoonful in your face, probably so that you wouldn’t actually be able to reply. “A-Anyway...I...I’ll work harder to protect you,” he finishes his sentence and you don’t protest nor say another thing anymore, seeing as he at least got some of his good mood back. 
Dainsleif
When you don’t keep a promise
“You said you would meet me by the tree in Windrise. Imagine my distress when you didn’t show up,” Dainsleif had his arms crossed over his chest, eyes actually glaring at you. 
“I know but you know how things can get. The job was a little more difficult than expected and it took longer to finish,” 
You’d found yourself trudging deep through the forest to locate the cabin he considered his “home”. Far away from everything else and nearly impossible to locate if you had never been there before. You arrived by morning, knocking at his door and unsurprised with the dumbfounded look on his face. 
He still welcomed you in, but he didn’t say a word and the air was tense even as he placed a glass of water on the table for you. 
Then you were here, getting the lecture from him. 
“Then you shouldn’t have promised to be there. It’s a simple thing to communicate with me that you’re not sure when you’ll be done, I would have waited,” He continued and you sighed, cause you knew that he was right. You really shouldn’t have promised you were going to be there on time. It’s not as if it’d be the end of the world if you were a day or two late. 
“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I just wanted to see you as soon as I could and I wasn’t thinking,” you should’ve known by now that promises were a heavy thing to Dainsleif. 
You heard him give out one of his own sighs and then his hand cups your chin and tilts it up to meet him eye to eye. “I trust you understand why I’m angry,” his voice had levelled down a little, and though he was frustrated earlier you can always see the worry behind his gaze and the love in his eyes. 
You smile a little and nod your head, still a little apologetic. “If I can’t find you, if you happen to go missing, do you know what that would do to me?” He asks you, eyes finally dropping the glare and just softly gazing at you.
“I know,” you whisper and lean your face closer to his hand. Your arm reaches out to hold his coat, tugging on it a little as if a small child. “...I know you weren’t able to sleep...and I spent the whole night trying to make it back to you...so can we rest for a bit?” You suggest and he found it a good idea.
He wordlessly sweeps you into his arms and kisses your forehead, bringing the two of you into the bedroom.
Diluc
When you forget to tell him where you’re going and he doesn’t know where you are
“Adelinde, did Y/N mention skipping dinner today?” Diluc asked his head maid. He was alone at the dinner table and you were nowhere to be found in the mansion. 
Adelinde considered her words carefully. A slight misuse of words would send the young master into a spiral of worry and anxiety. She was a hundred percent sure you had just forgotten to tell someone that you were going to be out for dinner, because you’ve done it before, bless your bad memory, but Adelinde really wished you would at least tell the young master. 
“...They didn’t mention, Master Diluc...but I’m sure they must be out on some errands in Mondstadt,” it was a gamble for Adelinde to state that, because she also didn’t know where you were, and she would be in deep trouble if you didn’t come home at all.
Diluc started to eat, albeit slowly and glanced at Adelinde when she made that statement. “...Did they mention going on an errand?” he asked again, to which Adelinde now had to truthfully reply. “...No,” 
Cue the distress in Diluc’s features. Furrowed brows, cutlery not even moving, eyes calculating. You could practically see all the assumptions run through his face. Maybe you were in trouble, maybe you were taken, maybe you were lost somewhere and needed help. You would have said something if you were going to be home late, no? 
Diluc dropped his cutlery on the table, and he started going back through his memories to determine whether or not you actually had said anything about today. He would have remembered, and as far as he could tell, you didn’t say anything about not having dinner with him today, or anything of the sort.
He was about to push himself up and away from the table, to double check at Mondstadt if anyone had seen you, when the front door opened, revealing you with a basket of goods and a smile on your face. Diluc practically deflated, your name a sigh on his lips, “Y/N,” 
You knew that look, and you knew that look that Adelinde was giving you. “Oh Archons. I’m sorry, I went out in a hurry and just forgot to tell anyone where I was going,” your smile dropped almost immediately as you scurried over to the table with an apologetic gaze on your face turned towards Diluc.
You knew how worried he could get, he could already feel the adrenaline starting to pump through him, thinking about all the worst case scenarios. Diluc sighed once again, repositioning himself properly in front of the table and picking up his cutlery again. He was slightly angry, you could tell. Mostly because this wasn’t the first time it had happened. “...Put your things down and we can eat,” he simply said and you pouted a little while passing the things over to Adelinde, then sitting on your side of the table.
“...I don’t get my welcome back kiss?” You chide him playfully, to which his eyes lazily graze over you and back to his plate of food.
“When you start remembering to tell someone where you’re going in the middle of the night, I’ll start giving you your welcome back kisses,” he strictly exclaims and you could only grumble under your breath.
Gorou
When he spends too much time training or working and loses time with you
“Hahhhh...” Gorou plops down on the tatami floor of his home with a loud and long sigh. Not only was training and the patrols a little harsh today, but that was another day gone without getting to see you.
How long had it been now? Eight, nine days? He was starting to get really antsy about not being able to see you and he knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his. 
That night he couldn’t immediately fall into a peaceful sleep. He tossed whenever he thought of you and turned whenever he started thinking too much of what the two of you would do together the next time you saw each other. It was like planning out a whole date in his mind but realizing that he didn’t even have any day offs soon. So he would deflate and be disappointed in himself, try to go to sleep, then get carried away thinking about you again, causing him to snap his eyes open and repeat the thinking process.
“Arrghhh!” At some point he shakes his head and shuts his eyes tight, the frustration getting to him. He had to sleep, or he’ll have a really tiring day tomorrow. 
When he woke up the next morning to knocks on his door he immediately thought he had overslept. He scrambled to his feet, swinging the door open with his still disheveled fluffy hair and said “I-I’ll be right there! I just--” then he reels back, blinking, realizing that it was you standing there are the door. “Y-Y/N?! What’re you doing here?”
He smooths his hair down, tries to pat down his wrinkly house clothes but his eyes are tacked on to you, wide and happy. 
“I figured I’d visit you this time, since you seem really busy,” you laugh sheepishly, scratching your cheek. “I hope I’m not intruding,”
“Of course not!” He replies quickly but coughs on his hand right after. “I-I mean. Yeah, you’re always welcome here,” he smiles and beams at you, but then slumps his shoulders right after. “I...I still have work though, so I won’t be able to spend a lot of time with you...”
You shake your head and wave your hands “That’s alright! I can still spend lunch and dinner with you, right? That’s more than enough for me,” 
His heart blooms with a warmth that engulfs his body, his cheeks might have turned red. You were just oh-so sweet to him and oh-so kind, he didn’t know what he did to deserve an angel like you.
Heizou
When he can’t help you with your problems
Heizou is a genius at solving problems, but he knows that sometimes there are problems that he can’t solve nor he shouldn’t interfere with. One of those was problems within your family.
Sure, he had solutions and probably ways to diffuse the rising tensions in your family, but he wasn’t really in the right place to do so. All he could do is listen to you rant and complain about how things are getting so much harder with your mom and dad, and you just wanting to run away from it all, move out as soon as you can but you were tied down with the obligation of caring for your sick mother. 
It pains him and frustrates him, watching you stress over it day by day, but as much as he wanted to tell your parents that they were affecting you this much, there are some things that he shouldn’t meddle with. 
All he could do was offer advice. “...Perhaps move out and live somewhere close to them? It would still give you the advantage of privacy,” he suggests, as he sits next to you on a bench, arm coming around and behind your back, hand resting on your hip.
“I would, but the houses nearby are actually pricey, mostly because they’re family houses, not for a single person rent,” You lean sideways into him. He’s always so good at giving you solutions, though you’re unaware of the internal battle inside him, seeing you so distraught like this.
“...Well why not live with me then?” You can hear that familiar mischief in his voice, and though you know he’s joking it still flusters you. 
“D-Don’t say that as a joke, Heizou!” He chuckles at your reaction, just as he expected, but he leans in to place a kiss atop your head, his next sentences sending a shiver up your spine. “It’s a joke now, but someday I’ll make it real, regardless of what your parents say,”
Of course he ends it with a wink.
Itto
When someone hurts you and he witnesses it
Itto doesn’t get angry easily. He just doesn’t have the capacity for it. He was loud, yes, but good natured overall and never means any actual harm to anyone. 
Unfortunately you can’t say the same thing about some people in Inazuma. For the most part, people were friendly, amicable, helpful...but sometimes there were the odd balls that just appeared out of nowhere, wreaking havoc when they wanted to.
Just the other day a group of ronin who claimed to be the strongest group of vagabonds roaming Inazuma entered town and they were loud and gruff about it. “Where’s the best inn in town?” They asked at the entrance, and a kind man directed them towards it.
The next day that man was bullied by the same ronin. “We said the BEST inn in town, not the most EXPENSIVE!” You had witnessed it, the man who was just trying to help them was starting to cower backwards, the ronin were complaining about the price of the room, how they wanted the man to pay for it and you just couldn’t stand that blatant bullying.
“What’s your problem? Of course it’s going to be expensive!” You appeared behind the group and just couldn’t help but be angry at their stupidity and overall disgusting behaviour. One of them looks at you, then starts to laugh and the others follow suit, all laughing at you as if you were a clown on the streets.
You didn’t falter and merely crossed your arms above your chest. “If you have nothing better to do then maybe you should look for a job so you can pay for your next inn,” was provoking them a good idea? Of course not, and you knew that.
One of the ronins grabs you and twists your arm behind your back. You could only let out a whimper at the sudden motion but as soon as it happened it was over. You found yourself suddenly pushed behind, looking at Itto’s back as he shoves the ronin away with a harsh force. 
“The hell do you think you’re doing touching Y/N like that?!” Itto’s voice is loud, louder than when he’s excited about eating ramen or louder than when he’s discovered a magnificent onikabuto. The anger in his voice is unusual, you don’t immediately recognize it as his.
Itto’s tall. Taller than any of the ronin around you and suddenly it’s as if the ronin become meek little mice, stepping away from him and you. “W-We were just--”
Itto brandishes his claymore, “Less talking, more fighting. You want a real arm wrestle? Come at me,” you can’t imagine what kind of face he’s making, but the ronin--actually just cowards--runs at the sight of Itto’s weapon and he’s just about to go after them when you call out to him, telling him to calm down.
He doesn’t listen easily, but you place a hand on his arm and he stops, still glaring and huffing at the sight of those stupid ronins running away. 
Scaramouche
When you have to be paired up with another Harbinger for work
“You’re going with who?” There’s poison dripping from his voice, but you’re so used to his antics by now that it doesn’t scare you one bit.
“Tartaglia. The Tsaritsa said--”
“Fuck what the Tsaritsa says,” Scaramouche cuts you off. “You’re not going with that fool,” He stands and paces back and forth now. You simply sit at the table and watch him, knowing that he’s going to throw one of his “tantrums” again. “Possibly the worst person to go on a mission with,” he continues to grumble, now biting on his thumb.
“You always get worked up whenever the two of us are paired up together. It really isn’t that bad,” you exclaim, shrugging your shoulders and he stops walking to glare at you. 
“So it’s a little bad? Is that what you’re insinuating?” He doesn’t let you finish and adds. “You don’t know how dangerous he is,”
You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh quite obviously. “Scara, I think you’re more dangerous?”
Tartaglia
“I’m different,” He mumbles under his breath.
When his alone time with you gets interrupted
Thoma
When you get sick but he’s busy
Venti
When he hasn’t seen you in days
Xiao
When he wants you to stay
Xingqiu
When a book he’s reading isn’t as good as he thought it would be
Zhongli
When someone doesn’t respect your boundaries
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captainfantasticalright · 3 months ago
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1967: you go too fast for me Crowley, or the year the Wolfenden report actually came into effect.
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It is no secret that in 1957 the Wolfenden Committee recommended the decriminalisation of private homosexual activity between consenting adults over the age of 21, but with heavier penalties against homosexual activity in public places.
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This is precisely what Anathema thinks of when she comments in the book that her book had been left in the back of the car of 'two consenting cycle repairmen'.
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Not only does that inform us as readers that the characters within the book perceive Crowley and Aziraphale as being a couple, especially by the (arguably) cleverest witch in the book, but also that their appearances (physical corporations) do in fact look older than 21 years old. (the age of consent)*
*It would take until the 2000s for the age of consent to be equalised, and for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender personnel to be able to serve openly in the armed forces.
But coming back to the term 'consenting' and the significance within the overall plot of Good Omens series-wise is the fact that they chose 1967, precisely 10 years later after the Wolfenden report and the year the Sexual Offences Act was passed (which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21 in England and Wales, while at the same time imposing heavier penalties on street offences) as a crucial point in storytelling.
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This is the last scene we see of them after the montage; this is precisely the point where Aziraphale makes that big, first move towards Crowley and manifests himself inside of the Bentley to protect him from a burglary that could have ended in disaster. This is Aziraphale stepping outside from his own box and venturing into admitting that yes, he would enjoy Crowley's company as more than just an Arrangement. He would like the picnics, he would like to dine openly with him.
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And this comes precisely at a time, a real world setting where even the Archbishop of Canterbury agreed, saying: “There is a sacred realm of privacy ... into which the law, generally speaking, must not intrude" (referring to homosexuality).
Although we know Aziraphale and Crowley are not men, but rather men-shaped beings of the world, there is something to be said about how the 1967 act reflects on Aziraphale's 'heavenly' beliefs and how that can be attributed not only to homosexuality*, but also a realm of privacy where neither Heaven or Hell (religion itself) need to interfere with his affairs.
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*we do know, however, how much the book and tv series lean into Aziraphale being 'gay', at least in our human understanding of labels and categorizing even though he is not; "pansy" "nancy boys" "gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide" (this one specifically marking Aziraphale canonically in the book as appearing to be a homosexual) "you've got the wrong shop" among others.
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A real life anecdote from the time says: John Carter was 17 at the time and doesn’t have a clear memory of the bill passing; he only realised the significance of the change with hindsight. He came out in the early 70s, after making contact with his university’s gay society, which wouldn’t have existed were it not for decriminalisation. “It meant that people could meet … and freely associate.” That was crucial, he says, because, “if you don’t even have a space where you can go, then people are cruising, they’re cottaging * ... It took many years for people who had been constantly looking over their shoulder, being worried, to develop proper ways of relating to each other. Ways that were not just based on sex or compromise or fear.”
*(No, cottaging is not living in a cottage)
No matter that the law had been passed, there was still a lot of stigma surrounding the word 'homosexual'. It wasn't until the 80s and 90s that it stopped being a crime in Scotland and Ireland; being further stigmatized with the AIDS crisis in the late 80s.
Regardless of the nature of the open confession Aziraphale lays bare to Crowley in 1967, it most definitely can be read as a 'coming out' for him. Perhaps not dealing with sexuality directly, but with religion layered on top of that. It is still too fast despite of the year, in spite of the millennia worked together under false pretenses. But it is an exterior, real life push that reinforces the idea for him to see that- if humans are able to recognize that man could be with man and not call it a crime, why could that same thinking not be applied to an angel and a demon living on Earth?
Aziraphale is doing more than blurting his heart out, he is openly hoping for the time that matches 1967 in its decriminalisation of homosexuality to one that applies for him and Crowley. So the thermos, the "better not" say thank you just yet, is a lingering promise to be there for when it finally happens. One which Crowley accepts with bare, open hands.
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dclovesdanny · 1 month ago
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Dead Serious as reincarnations of Odysseus and Penelope
Damian was Odysseus and Danny was Penelope
Damien had always remembered his past. It wasn’t something he told others, and never something he was particularly willing to speak of. The training served him well, yes, but telling grandfather or mother about it always felt wrong. (he ignored the fact that grandfather reminded him so much of Poseidon but almost worse.)
Even after he went to live with his father, he ignored the remnants of his past life. He ignored how Grayson‘s attitude reminded him far too much of Polites for comfort, and how Drake reminded him of a scary mixture of Athena and Eurylocus. He ignored how Brown reminded him of Hermes and how much of Odysseus he saw in Todd.
He ignored at all until he met Daniel Fenton, and everything fell into place.
Danny had always known he was a reincarnation. While inventing and video games has always been fun, weaving was still one of his passions. Jazz had noticed it when he was younger and always made sure to buy him books on weaving.
Apparently, ghosts were able to tell when people were reincarnations, but not what they were. Clockwork recognized him, though. Pandora did too after a few visits to her kingdom.
(he tried to ignore how often he saw his past and others. He tried to forget about how he once asked clockwork, if any of his family had been reincarnated and how clockwork had told him that Odysseus and Telemachus would be or had been reincarnated, but it was unlikely either of them would remember unless they came into contact with ectoplasm.)
(the minute he met Dani, something in him, screamed mine. He could tell that a big part of why Dani chose him was because of the memories. (He tried to ignore how similar Vlad and Antinous were. At this point, he was almost in his son(now daughter)’s shoes.))
Jazz had ended up taking him with her when they went to Gotham. Their parents had to declared it would be a good fresh start, hoping that the space would do him good.
(Danny had asked clockwork if his parents knew he was a reincarnation. He was told that they didn’t know what consciously, but it was part of the reason why they have been so willing to let him and jazz be so independent.)
(jazz didn’t talk about her past life. Danny Respected that.)
It was his first day at Gotham Academy, and the receptionist told him that one of his classmates would be showing him around. Ellie was off at Gotham Middle School, so he was by himself, waiting in the office until the receptionist called him over.
Green eyes made eye contact with blue ones, and everything fell into place.
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hayatoseyepatch · 10 months ago
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Description: You couldn't believe your misfortune. Once more, you found yourself tethered to Sylus, stuck in a closet with no choice but to stay hidden so you both wouldn't be discovered. But this time around, it seems Sylus has every intention of making sure you have a hard time remaining quiet enough not to be caught. Character: Sylus (Love & Deepspace) Word Count: 2.1k Contains: Sylus x Fem!Reader. SMUT. Forced proximity, penetrative sex, semi-public sex (kinda?), trying not to get caught, dirty talk, praise, degradation, Sylus being Sylus.
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Authour's Note: So I just realized it's been almost an entire month since I've published an actual fic, 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖕 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖕. Hi y'all thanks for sticking around and being patient with me! Between kinktober prepping and working on my matchup event (thanks for being patient I'm getting those out asap) I've been SWAMPED. This is based off the "Immobilized" memory, I couldn't stop thinking about this ever since I pulled it so here we are.. This is my first Love & Deepspace fic, so please be gentle with me, if there's anything I can improve please let me know! I just started playing and I'm already hooked (its so bad save me). Anyways I hope you enjoy!
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The enclosed space in the closet is cramped, you and Sylus were chest to chest, both trying to remain quiet as to not be caught. You couldn’t believe you had been so foolish as to forget another one of your belongings in this room. The bond around your wrists still tethering you together, he smirked, a glint in his vermillion eyes as he leaned down. His lips pressed against the shell of your ear, you could feel his hot breath caress the sensitive skin as he speaks. “Careful, kitten, or I’m going to get the wrong idea and think you like being stuck in a cramped space with me.” He teases, that infuriating grin never leaving his lips. You reach your free hand over, shoving him harshly, which only serves to make him chuckle.
You peek through the slots in the closet door, the roommate you had for this event was just sitting down at the vanity in the room to get started on her hair and makeup. You exhaled, careful not to do so too loudly to alert her to the fact you were currently tethered to the leader of Onychinus. The mischievous glint in Sylus’ eye was impossible to ignore. He stood to full height, in two strides in the cramped space, he had your back pressed against the wall. His head ducking to the crook of your neck, his breaths fanning across your skin had your heart racing and breaths coming in unevenly. “What are you doing?” You whisper harshly to him, though your words are hardly threatening due to the way your voice shook from having him so close.
The only response you get is a soft ‘shh’ sound coming from his lips before his lips attach themselves to your neck. His mouth begins to leave open-mouthed kisses up the expanse of your neck, not stopping until his lips reach the shell of your ear. “Seems like we’ll be trapped here for a while, sweetie.” His whisper comes in between rasping breaths to your ear. 
“Let’s see how quiet you can be while we ‘pass the time’, shall we?” His sentence was punctuated with a playful nip to the skin of your neck. His large hand grabbing the back of your thigh to wrap one leg around his hip. Any words you could attempt to formulate would be cut off by the following kiss he presses against your lips. The tension between you two over the last few weeks could be cut with a knife and Sylus couldn’t stand it any longer, he needed to have you. He was a man who seized opportunity, and he saw this as the perfect one to make you his.
You can’t help but melt into the kiss. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you never wondered what kissing Sylus would be like, as frustrated as it made you, you couldn’t help but think of him often. The striking red of his eyes, his broad shoulders, that deep rasp that his voice held making every word he spoke go straight to your- Your trailing thoughts were interrupted by a gasp, feeling him roll his hips into yours, feeling just how much the kiss was effecting him against your center. He pulls from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips for a moment before it snaps. Looking up you meet those vermillion orbs, he lifts a sculpted eyebrow, smirk returning to his features. 
“Someone seems distracted. Something on your mind, sweetie?” His words are hushed as to not draw attention to the third party just outside the closet door. Suddenly your current predicament comes rushing back, alarm bells ringing in your head. “We shouldn’t, what if we get caught?” You look up at him, eyes laced with panic, to which he only chuckles under his breath. 
“Well, then I guess you’ll just have to be quiet then won't you, kitten?” He cuts you off once more with his lips, his tongue slipping past your parted lips with ease. His hand slipping up the smooth skin of your thigh, well past the fabric of your skirt. He relishes the sweet whimper he receives when the pads of his fingers come into contact with the damp fabric of your panties. His next words coming murmured against your lips. “But of course we can always stop if that’s what you want.” He goes to pull from you, grinning when your lips chase his as he attempts to separate. 
“Though if we’re going by the state of your panties, darling, I’d say you want this as much as I do.” He coos, pushing the fabric to the side. He tsks as he collects your wetness on the pads of his fingers, using it as aid to glide his fingers against the sensitive nub of your clit. “So wet, is this all for me, little bird?”
Your fingers grip the fabric of his sweater, so lost in the feeling of him you don’t notice the bind connecting your wrists had vanished. His fingers begin rubbing lazy circles against your sensitive spot, lips returning to your neck. “I couldn’t hear you, kitten, who made you this wet?” He grins as you grip him harder, nails pinching his skin through the fabric. Your words are unsteady and hushed, trying your best to remain concealed. 
“Yes, Sylus, I’m this wet for you.” His grin is palpable, guiding his fingers to your entrance. Rewarding your compliance with a finger sliding past the velvety walls of your cunt. “That’s my girl.” Without hesitation, he slips a second finger inside you, groaning lowly at how your walls contracted around his fingers. Just feeling how tight you were has his eyes rolling back in his head. He works you over with his fingers, digits scissoring inside you to offer some preparation of what's to come. He works you over on his fingers, pumping them in and out of your tight heat. 
“I don’t know, baby, I think if anything’s gonna get us caught, I think it just might be this cute little cunt.” He chuckles softly as you slap his shoulder in protest. “It’s not my fault she’s being so vocal for me, do you hear her?”
His words have heat rising to your cheeks as he speaks. He curls his digits, pads of his fingers expertly hit the spongy spot within your walls that has your eyes seeing while. Bundling his shirt in your fists, lunging forward to sink your teeth into the skin of his neck to muffle your moans as you shake against him. Walls spasming around his fingers as you come undone on his fingers. He hisses upon the impact of your bite but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. He barely allows you time to recuperate, maintaining eye contact as he slips his fingers from your cunt and past his lips, tasting you on his digits and groaning low in his throat. 
“Absolutely delicious sweetie.” He purrs, lifting your thighs to wrap around his waist. Supporting your weight with one hand that grips the plush skin of your ass. In one swift movement, he has his pants unzipped, pulling his hardened member from his boxers. Hand holding the base to position himself at your entrance. “Need to hear you, kitten. Tell me how much you want me inside you.”
Your eyes look up into his own, holding onto him as you're pressed between him and the wall. Chewing on your bottom lip, whimpering as he uses your slick as leverage to tease your clit with the mushroom tip of his cock. Unable to take his teasing any longer, you comply, not recognizing your own voice from the need lacing your tone. “Please, Sylus, I need you. Need you to fill me up with your cock, want to feel you splitting me open, please.” 
Your words send a shiver up his spine, wishing only that he could hear you whisper to him so sweetly on repeat. “Now how could I deny my little bird when she begs me so sweetly?” He grins slipping past the tight ring of your entrance, silencing your sounds with his mouth. Tongues and teeth clashing from the intensity of the kiss both of you being consumed by your need for one another. He spurs on, continuing to sink inch by inch before bottoming out. He lets out a shaky breath against your lips, pulling away just far enough to check that you were okay. The half-lidded expression you send him has his cock throbbing, your eyes begging him to move. The both of you catch the sound of the door shutting outside the closet door, the tell tale sign that you both no longer needed to be quiet. “Fuck, finally, need to hear you kitten. Don’t you dare fucking muffle a single sound, you hear me?” He groans into the skin of your neck.
His hips start to move, setting a brutal pace from the start. Every moan, whimper, and call of his name that slips past your lips goes straight to his cock. The sounds only spurred him to continue slamming his cock against your gummy walls. Leaning forward as he began rolling his hips against your own, pressing another desperate kiss against your lips. He pulls from you after a moment, using his thumb and finger to open your mouth and spitting directly between your now-parted lips. Watching with hunger as he watches your throat contract as you swallow.  
“Gods kitten, so goddamn pretty.” He grunted out throwing his head back, his hands coming to the backs of your thighs, using them as anchors to pull you down on his cock. The feeling has a deep groan slipping past his lips, his eyes rolling back in his head from the intense pleasure. “Fuck sweetie, so fucking tight. Gonna have you molded to my shape by the time I’m done with you.”
His words have you shivering, eyes hazy with pleasured tears glassing over your vision. Feeling your end approaching, needing desperately for him to push you both over the ledge. “Please Sylus, fuck me harder. Fuck, please, Sy can't take it, please.” Your words ignite a fire in him, hand coming to the small of your back pushing you down just a bit further angling your hips for a better angle. 
“Oh? is that really what you want kitten? Want me to breed this pretty little pussy? Have you walk out of here and back to base with my cum dripping down your thighs? Want me to fuck you harder, is that so?” he questions, a satisfied grin on his face, but unable to deny the effect your words had on him. “Well your wish is my command, sweetie, begging me so prettily. Oh so proud of you, that’s my girl.” He grips your hips, slamming them against your own the sounds of skin slapping echoing in the room. “Fuck daddy, please, fuck please” You beg, hearing the pathetic need in your own voice. Your eyes roll back, hearing your own wetness now, coil inside tightening at a rapid rate aching to snap.
Sylus felt his own coil reaching its end. He knew that it was bound to break and crumble, much faster than it usually did from the sheer tightness of your gummy walls. Whimpers started falling from his mouth as he heard your calling to him begging for your own sweet release. His thrusts became sloppy, desperate, as he urged you both to tumble over the edge. 
“Go on kitten, give it to me, you can let go.” He whispered in your ear, making sure that you released before he finished the chase for his own high. Reaching between your legs rubbing your clit in small tight circles, feeling you tighten around him as he shivered a bit. Your cries and begs were like music to his ears. Unable to help it, your hips rolling against the attention to your clit. Hand gripping him by the back of his neck to pull him into a heated kiss, moans spilling into his mouth. One last harsh thrust has your coil snapping, crying into his mouth as your walls clamp down on his cock. Sylus groaned, biting down on your shoulder, sure he would leave a mark in his wake. Falling over the edge himself. A low groan and a cry of your name falling from his lips. His hips slowed as he allowed you both to come down from your highs, holding you close to him. Pressing his forehead against your own as he stilled his hips. 
“So beautiful sweetie, did so fucking good for me. Let's get you home, kitten. Get you nice and cleaned up where you can rest.” Sylus never imagined this being the situation where you both would find yourselves in each other’s arms. But he would be the last to complain, so long as he was finally able to call you his, he couldn’t ask for more.
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Dividers by @cafekitsune & @adornedwithlight. Writing & character banners by me. Special thanks to @staraxiaa & @ambiguouslady42 for beta reading for me you guys are the best! Tagging: @pixelcafe-network
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ddarker-dreams · 1 year ago
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What Remains Unspoken.
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Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan
Warnings: Yandere themes & unhealthy relationships. Word count: 2.2k.
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If there’s anywhere Feitan looks out of his element, it’s in the sun. 
The celestial object serves as his antitheses — warm, bright, and inviting. Given his pallid countenance, he must agree. On the rare occasions you can go outside, he keeps to the shadows, whose darkness could never match the depravity festering inside his rotten soul. You believe night itself would flee from him if it knew a fraction of his crimes. 
When you first saw him enter direct sunlight, a certain superstition overtook you, triumphing over reason. You observed with tentative expectation, waiting for something to happen, whatever that something may be. For his skin to break out into blisters, flesh to sizzle, and howls of agony to dominate the air as he disintegrated into a pile of ash; in short, a demise befitting a monster like himself. Regrettably, this didn’t happen. Disappointment weighed heavy on your chest when he went on his merry way. 
Presently, he stands hidden amidst a cluster of trees, acting every bit the fairytale ghoul your overactive imagination wished him to be. Through the branches' interstices, light speckles his dark outerwear. It’s a hot, balmy day, though evening’s arrival soothes the worst of the heat. 
Unlike him, you’re dressed for the weather. This morning, upon leaving your shower, you found the comfortable clothes you picked out beforehand ‘mysteriously’ replaced. A short, light blue dress featuring a sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps laid there instead. That wasn’t all. Jewelry, heels, and other various accessories were tossed haphazardly alongside it, like you’d been undecided on what to wear before a first date. Except you hadn’t been the one to get everything out. Feitan was. Prior to that, he never took any interest in what you wore. 
No, that attribute belongs to another, whose memory fills you with sickening dread. 
You sit at a wooden picnic table, examining the park’s abundant foliage. There’s little else for you to do. Feitan’s yet to give any indication as to why you’re here. Typically, his modus operandi consists of stashing you far away from the public’s purview. From time to time, you’ll travel elsewhere, always using methods that limit your potential interactions with others. This part of the park may be less populated, but hikers and families can still stroll by. You take care not to draw attention to yourself when they do. 
Sighing, you stand, fully aware of the eyes monitoring you in the distance. Unsure of what else to do, you approach the last place you spotted Feitan. He says nothing as you approach. You hug yourself, almost regretting your decision to seek him out. By giving you no parameters to work with, you’re left constantly second-guessing yourself, fearing that you’ve broken some unspoken rule. Standing by his side feels like a safer bet than risking a stranger coming over to strike up a conversation. 
“Bored?” Feitan asks. 
You freeze, thinking over your next words with care. If he believes this little outing is a ‘privilege’, you doubt he’d appreciate you maligning it. Then again, he’s suggested creative punishments for your tongue whenever it’s formed a lie. Considering this, you decide it’s best to redirect the conversation. 
“I’m just wondering if there’s anything I should be doing,” you say. When he raises a thin eyebrow, you hastily add, “Sorry, I mean—” 
He flicks your forehead, silencing you. 
“So nervous,” he croons. “Like little rabbit.” 
Irritation bubbles up inside your chest, like a geyser ready to erupt. You want to scoff, asking why he thinks that is, but the provocation goes unchallenged. He isn’t wrong, per se. Every snap of a twig or distant conversation the wind carries instills unease. Endless grisly possibilities swarm your mind. All it could take is a greeting, wave, hell, even a look for Feitan to decide that person’s committed the ultimate transgression. 
Suddenly, this preoccupation flees your mind.
Shivers erupt all over your body. Your breathing halts, as do all other forms of movement. The five senses that categorize and make sense of the world recede, like the shoreline moments before a tsunami. What remains eclipses common sense. It’s this unprovable premonition, a whisper amidst the universe’s chaotic chorus few can ever hear. No tangible stimuli support this phenomenon. You’d believe yourself temporarily mad, if not for one damning detail. 
You’ve felt this before. 
The time you’d been found after your first (and only) escape. 
After a well-meaning Hunter pried you from the shackles of captivity, for less than a minute. 
Then, at the height of your hubris, when you yelled that your first love would be your last. 
The intensity honed to a fine point. It pierced through you like a gunshot, so visceral that you’d check yourself for signs of the wound. You never found anything. You think it was how your brain wanted to make sense of the unknown, mistaking the force of concentrated emotion for a flesh wound. This extremity wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t malevolent either; it was oppressive. Heavy, carnal. A starved beast prowling toward cornered prey. 
When you’d been subjected to this, the subjugator always spoke some variation of— 
“—Apologies. My control waned there, for a moment… but can you blame me?” 
Someone’s touching you. Someone’s cupping your face in their hands, devouring each detail of your being, and Feitan’s letting them. You stumble back, only to be caught. The hands holding you in place are larger than Feitan’s. Warmer too, a little less calloused, though no less stained in oceans of blood. If Feitan’s eyes are knife-like, trying to stab through your skull for any hint at your inner thoughts, then these eyes are calm. Calculating in a way that makes you feel small. 
“You’re lovelier than I remember,” the man murmurs. A breeze passes through, displacing your hair, which he tucks back into place. His lips twitch upward, indicating amusement. “What? Did you believe you’d ridden yourself of me?” 
Despite your reverie, you shake your head. The man before you — Chrollo Lucilfer — smiles. It’s deceptively soft. Had you not known him better, you’d think the fondness he currently regards you with as warm; the gentle flames of a hearth. There are tells that reveal another story. His grip varies in strength as he’s reminded of how delicate you are, indicating a lack of his usual ‘mindfulness.’ You both know he’s putting on a front of normalcy, yet the charade is rarely this lackluster. He descended upon you faster than the human eye could comprehend. There’d been no casual stride, just an impulse to have you as immediately as physics would allow. His pupils are dilated and his cheeks slightly flushed, like you were a substance to get drunk off of. 
The embrace he pulls you into is tight enough to make you squeak. 
You expect him to rile you up, whispering teasing words into your ear, yet he’s silent. Unusually so. He buries his face into the crook of your exposed neck, breathing you in, holding you close. Any pretense of cordiality is dropped as he acts like the greedy man he truly is. This neediness is reminiscent of a child reunited with their lost, favorite toy. 
The unsettling intimacy doesn’t last for long. 
Chrollo releases you from his grasp. The relief is fleeting, as you’re acutely aware of Feitan’s presence. He’s stationed not far behind you, watching the scene in silence. The sadistic man’s capacity to share fully eluded your understanding. From what you can remember, Chrollo’s more willing to discuss their past, but solely on his terms. He’s never explained why Feitan is the way he is, or how he views you. 
“He’s fond of you, in his own way,” is the most you got out of Chrollo, during a late-night talk. “He’s just shy.” 
“It’s good to see you again, Fei,” Chrollo greets. 
Feitan nods — his way of returning the sentiment, you reckon. In Chrollo’s absence, you’ve learned to interpret his behavior to minimize friction. The deference he has for Chrollo is subtle yet undeniable. Others might misinterpret Feitan’s silence as indifference, but you know better. In Chrollo’s presence, he straightens his posture, giving him rapt attention. He follows any order given by his boss. 
Especially those regarding you. 
Ever since that fateful September, Feitan went from a background character in your life to the lead role. He didn’t reveal much, just that you wouldn’t see ‘the boss’ anytime soon, as he needed to ‘fix things.’ York New was a sore subject that you rarely broached. Nearly ten months have passed since you’ve last seen Chrollo. Physically, he’s the same. There are bandages wrapped around his forehead, covering his forehead tattoo. He’s wearing his teal earrings, dark jeans, and a gray v-neck. 
Seeing him now, it’s almost like nothing’s changed. 
Almost. 
“Lost in thought, love?” Chrollo wonders. 
Blinking rapidly, you realize they’re both staring at you, awaiting an answer. 
“You’re… you’re back,” is your genius observation.
“I am.” 
“You were… um… gone,” you fiddle with your fingers, “For a long time.” 
“I was,” he agrees with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. You see dark circles forming beneath them. “This entire affair has proven itself tedious. No matter. In a few short days, it’ll all be over.” 
“There’s more to take care of?” 
He hums, the sound low and somehow eerie. “You could put it that way. Originally, I was going to wait until after I evened one last score to see you, but impatience got the best of me.” 
“Ah,” you shift your weight from foot to foot. “That explains it, then.” 
“Explains what, dear?” 
“You seem, I don’t know… off? Creepy to the second power? Cubed?” 
Chrollo gives you a blank stare. Feitan’s hissing something about how you ‘talk too much,’ his displeasure evident. It dawns on you then that you haven’t interacted with Chrollo in so long, it’s possible his tolerance for your nonsense isn’t what it once was. Especially considering the state he’s in now. Regret churns your insides as silence fills the air, thickening it like smoke. You think to apologize, only to recall their dislike for insincerity. Feitan never wanted apologies, whereas Chrollo accepted them if proven genuine through a rigorous process. 
You wince at the sound Chrollo muffles behind his hand. 
Then, much to your disbelief, it evolves into a chuckle. 
His shoulders tremble as his eyes turn crescent-shaped, gleaming with mirth. He shakes his head and clears his throat. After a few seconds, he regains control of himself, though his posture is less rigid. This visage aligns better with your memories of him. He liked pretending he was ordinary — almost as much as you liked pretending to believe him. 
Feitan clicks his tongue. “This girl… always says. Never thinks.” 
“You must admit, it’s a cute habit,” Chrollo says.
To this, Feitan mutters a phrase in his native language, turning his gaze away from you. 
You cross your arms over your chest. They both had an irritating tendency to talk about you like you weren’t present, a pet peeve you hadn’t had to deal with in a while. The candidness they displayed made you wonder what they spoke about when you weren’t around. A pandora’s box best left unopened, surely. 
Chrollo pries one of your hands free to hold in his own. “Words cannot convey how much I missed you."
He follows this admission up by kissing the back of your hand.
“... I can’t stick around much longer, I’m afraid,” he murmurs. “Bear with me a while longer.” 
Another chaste kiss. After allowing his lips to linger on your skin a while longer, he relinquishes his grip, tucking his hands into his pockets to deter him from further indulgence. 
Unexpectedly, it’s Feitan who shifts the topic. 
“Boss,” he speaks, now lurking by your side. “She watch the fight?” 
Furrowing your eyebrows, you glance between them, thrown off by the cryptic language. Truthfully, you don’t want to know about whatever it is Chrollo has to do. From what you can glean, it’s likely to involve people getting hurt or dying. You’ve learned the best way to keep your conscience clean is to remain ignorant. If you press on certain issues, Feitan will gleefully overshare gritty details you could’ve gone without. 
His response is swift and firm. “No, not this one.” 
“... That bad?” Feitan asks. When all Chrollo does is smile, he adds, “Heh. Poor clown.” 
Chrollo’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Upon reading the caller’s name, he steps away. “Keep an eye on her for me a while longer, Fei.” 
The aforementioned man grunts. 
Chrollo spares you a long, final look. 
His lips part, as if he intends to say something, before they shut. Inquisitive, you tilt your head, not used to him hesitating. He’s always projected this self-assured image — untouchable, near omnipotent. Flaws don’t suit him. There's this invisible screen that separates you from men like him and Feitan. Their access to abilities beyond comprehension elevates them, setting them apart.
You prefer it that way. Categorizing them as 'others' is easier than reconciling the fact their more human than infernal.
Eventually, he gives you an unusually reserved smile. 
"After everything's over, I'll find you."
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screamin-abt-haikyuu · 1 year ago
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You're jealous but you can't do anything because you're not dating him (Part 7) - Wakatoshi Ushijima
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Pairing: Ushijima x Fem! reader
Genre: Angst to fluff
Warnings: none, really? Reader calls him Toshi.
Requested by: @ushisrever
A/N: Can't believe I posted the last update to this more than two years ago. Has it really been that long???? The incomplete series has been bothering me for two years now lmao. Didn't think I'd ever find a fitting scenario for Ushiwaka but thanks to @dira333 helping me sound off some ideas, I was able to get that perfect "snap!" you get when you fit a puzzle piece in perfectly. Gave me enough brain juice to write this out before going back into hibernation.
Serving you some fresh, hot angst and then some lol. Enjoy the burn and then the healing. For someone who was as far removed from Ushiwaka (emotionally) as one can, writing this actually made me see him in a new light. Loved writing him. Hopefully, it stays as true to his canon nature as it can. Hopefully I don't trash this before it's out💀 but if you're reading this, it's good lol.
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It feels like the entire Shiratorizawa is at the gates of the school.
"I can't believe she's coming to our school!"
"AAA I can't stop imagining how she'll look in our school uniform."
"Do you think she already has a boyfriend? Maybe I have a chance?"
"I don't know about a boyfriend but you certainly don't have a chance with her."
"Must you always be so cruel?!"
"If you think a star child actor who has made it so big in the industry is going to date a simpleton like you, you're delusional."
You sigh, annoyed, as you try to make your way through the babbling crowd. You're already late for your morning classes and you couldn't care any less about Hoshiko Nakamura. Or any celebrity for that matter.
"In fact, I don't think any boy in this school has a chance with her. Hmm... except maybe Ushiwaka? Not that he'd be interested in dating her anyway. Sometimes I feel like that guy doesn't have any emotions at all."
Your ears perk up at the Ace's name.
Wakatoshi Ushijima has become somewhat of a celebrity at school ever since he was selected for the under 19 representative for Japan in the Youth World Championship.
He was already well known as the formidable volleyball player who crushes any team that he takes on. However, his serious and stoic nature has kept most people from approaching him. Till now, at least.
The girl was right. Wakatoshi wouldn't even think about dating anyone. You seem fairly sure of that. However, the suggestion still leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
You're wrong about him not having any emotions you think as you finally break free from the crowd and sprint towards your classroom.
You've known Wakatoshi for as long as you can remember. You remember when his family moved into the house next to yours when you were just little kids. You remember watching the reserved, determined figure of the boy practicing volleyball all by himself in the nearby park. You remember going up to him and offering to play with him. Out of all these memories, the most vivid of them all was the way his eyes subtly lit up when you said you wanted to play with him.
Time has blurred into a haze since then. Even though you both went to different schools all through junior and middle school years, you both kept alive the tradition of playing volleyball together in park.
"You should come to Shiratorizawa," he had said that fateful day. You both were in the last year of middle school. It was a beautiful evening as you both walked back home from the park, the setting sun throwing hues of red and gold across the partially cloudy sky.
"That's not in my hands. I tried in middle school, remember? I want Shiratorizawa but Shiratorizawa doesn't seem to want me," you said, kicking a pebble on the road. Funny how I could say the same about you.
"That was three years ago. You have grown," he said without pause.
"We'll see. I don't want to get my hopes too high. You know just as well as I do that they give preference to athletes over normal students like me. Casual volleyball games with you are just about as sporty as I get," you said as you reached out to open the gate to your home.
You turned to say goodbye to him and found him looking at you, his expression more serious than usual.
"It's not about athleticism."
"Shiratorizawa only accepts the best. Be it volleyball or anything else. I believe you fit into that category. You should come," he says, looking straight into your eyes.
Your stomach flutters. How could he have so much faith in you? There is no doubt that he believes in you because Wakatoshi Ushijima always means what he says. Almost 5 years of knowing him had taught you that. You still found it hard to digest, though.
"I'll try my best, I promise."
"I know you will."
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"Class, please give a warm welcome your new classmate, Hoshiko Nakamura!"
You can't help but gawk at her. Saying she is pretty would be a severe understatement. If she looks pretty on screen, it is nothing compared to what she looks like off screen. You look at your desk partner to see if he is thinking the same. Wakatoshi, however, seems to simply be listening to the teacher.
"Miss Nakamura, I'm sure you will have no problem settling in here. To kind of help you settle in this new environment, I was thinking of seating you next to Ushijima as I believe you two have met before at some of the national events."
The teacher might as well have thrown a bus at you and it would have felt just about the same as you do now.
Hoshiko's face lights up. "That would be great. Wakatoshi-kun has always been a delight to be with. Thank you for having me," she says and bows.
Did she just call him by his first name?
"Ah, Y/N, sorry for springing this on you so suddenly. I wanted to get a hold of you before morning class but couldn't. I hope it's not a problem," the teacher says.
You force a polite smile. "It's not a problem at all," you say and start packing your bag.
Hoshiko walks up to the desk and waits patiently for you to gather your stuff, thanking you again.
Your legs feel heavy as you take the empty seat diagonal to them in the adjacent row.
I'm panicking for no reason. They just know each other from an event. It makes sense to make her sit with a familiar and safe person, given her popularity. Yes, Wakatoshi is definitely the ideal choice in this scenario. He is not someone who would be creepy in any sense. He's also strong and intimidating so it would keep the creeps away. It's fine. It'll be fine. Nothing is going to happen between them... right?
"Wakatoshi-kun, I'm so glad I got to sit next to you," she says, smiling at him, speaking loud enough for people sitting nearby to hear.
"Actually, if I'm being honest, when I decided to come back to my hometown to complete my studies, I knew I wanted to go to Shiratorizawa immediately," she continues.
"Of course. Shiratorizawa is the best school in the prefecture. It's only natural to want to study here," Ushijima says, completely seriously.
Hoshiko blushes. "Ah... that is not what I meant... nevermind," she says, causing the guy behind them to burst into laughter.
It seems like the hollow sensation growing in your stomach is here to stay.
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It has been two months since the day Hoshiko joined your school. With Ushijima going to school earlier than usual and practicing late into the night for the Inter High preliminaries, he hasn't been able to spend much time with you lately. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered you because you could see him in class everyday but with Hoshiko now taking your place, you barely get to say more than hi to him.
However, with the prelims now over and the upcoming week-long break ahead, you're hoping to get some one-on-one time with him once again. All these years with him have made him such an intrinsic part of your daily life that it feels like something big is missing when he's not around. To the world, Wakatoshi Ushijima might be a lot of things. But to you, Wakatoshi Ushijima is home. He is comfort. He is strength. He is someone that you know like the back of your own hand. He is someone that your heart always keeps coming back to. He is the only love you have ever known.
You know that he doesn't share the same feelings for you. But that doesn't stop your heart from longing for him.
The lessons for the day are over and you walk back to your class, eager to pack your bag and go home with Ushijima. You wonder if he'll want to go to the park in the evening.
"She's asking him out! She's asking him out!"
"No WAY! I am SO jealous."
A small crowd has gathered around the window and they're whispering amongst themselves as they look outside.
"Man, that Ushiwaka is so lucky! He gets to date the most beautiful girl in the entire country."
"I mean… he is in the nation's top 3 aces and an under 19 representative of Japan. Not to mention he's tall and strong and good looking. They're actually perfect for each other."
Your heart drops down to your feet.
You look out the window and find yourself looking at Hoshiko and Ushijima standing a ways away from the school building. They're in a quiet, secluded spot and Hoshiko seems to be blushing as she says something to him. You see him nod and say something in return. Hoshiko's face lights up in pure delight and even though they are at a distance, you can hear the joy in her voice.
"No way!!!! He said yes?? I thought he wasn't interested in girls!"
"Goddamn it! There goes my chance!"
You feel dizzy as you watch the two of them walk back to school together.
No. This can't be. You have always known that he doesn't like you that way. But you thought he wasn't interested in dating at all.
No. You shouldn't make any assumptions just yet. These gossip mongers are messing with your head. For all you know, he could have said yes to being in a show or something. You shouldn't despair before you hear the truth from him.
You blink back your tears and run to your class. Thankfully, it's empty. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself and wait. Both of them soon appear in the hallway. The crowd surrounds them instantly, wanting to drown them in questions but Ushijima breaks away from them easily and walks towards the class. He comes up to you.
"Y/N. I'm sorry I won't be able to come to the park today."
It's true.
"Hoshiko and I are going to watch this new movie playing at the theatre-"
He's going on a date with her.
"Apparently it has a lot of volleyball in it-"
He's going on a date with h-
"You should join us."
Huh?
"What?"
"I figured you might like it since you play volleyball with me even though you don't play it otherwise."
What? What? What?? What is happening right now??
Ushijima patiently waits for your answer.
"Uh... Whose idea was it to go to the movie?"
"Nakamura's. Why?"
"And how did she bring up the idea?"
"Well, I was returning from the club and she asked to speak to me in private. And then she told me about the movie and if I wanted to watch it with her."
He didn't get it.
"Ah... Toshi... I'm pretty sure she was asking you out on a date."
His eyes widen with surprise.
"A... date? But she never said she had romantic feelings for me."
Could this mean...? Can I hope...?
"Well, her asking you out on the date was her way of saying it."
"I see. I didn't realise. Thank you for telling me. In that case, I should tell her my feelings for her as well."
He has feelings for her.
Your heart shatters.
You're glad that he walks out right away because you couldn't have stopped your tears from coming out even if you wanted to. You run out of the back door, desperate to get far away.
I guess I was the problem all this time. I just wasn't someone you could look at that way.
You had always known that. You had always known that he didn't feel for you the way you did. But that hadn't stopped you from falling for him. Hard. How could you have not? Eight years of knowing him... You didn't even realise when you fell for him. Loving him just came so naturally to you.
Logically, it makes sense. They make sense. She is beautiful and tall and smart. And so is he. They are the type of couple who would be featured on the cover of a magazine. Which, given their career trajectories, is bound to happen sooner or later.
But the heart doesn't care for logic and at this moment you feel like it will actually burst from the amount of pain you're feeling.
You spend the rest of the evening and the entire night crying in your room.
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Morning comes and you feel worse than ever. Your head is throbbing, your nose is stuffy and your eyes are swollen. You decide to skip school. It's the last day before break anyway. Maybe this break will be good for you. It will give you some time to adjust to everything and compose yourself.
You go back to bed and sleep through the entire day.
You thought you'd feel better after getting some rest but you still feel like shit.
You drag yourself out of bed. Your entire body feels like it weighs ten times more.
Maybe a shower and some fresh air will do you good.
You head out.
No matter how much you try to think of something else, your mind keeps coming back to him. Your eyes keep searching for him. You look in the direction of his room. The curtains are open and you can see it is empty.
Of course he's not home yet. He's probably out with her again.
Even though it's barely a minute away, you feel exhausted by the time you reach the park. Thankfully, it is empty.
You sit on one of the swings and look around. Most of your memories with Ushijima are tied to this park. This is where you both have spent the majority of your last eight years together.
All the sweet memories make you tear up again.
"You didn't come to school today."
You were so lost in your head that you didn't realise when he walked up to you. You blink back your tears.
"Oh... hi. Yeah, I - I wasn't feeling very well today," you say, not meeting his eye.
"You seem upset."
He noticed.
"Oh... I'm fine. Really. It's just been a rough day. It's nothing to worry about," you say, still evading his gaze.
He sits on the swing next to you. You look to the side and see he has a volleyball in his lap.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
You quickly avert your gaze again.
"No."
"I see. Well, would you like me to distract you? Talk about something else?"
It is getting harder to keep your tears in check. You're sure your voice will crack if you speak. You just nod.
"You would've liked the movie. It wasn't as focused on volleyball as Nakamura said it would-"
Great. He's chosen the worst topic he could have talked about. You don't want to hear about his date. You need to change the topic. Quickly.
"What are you doing here?" you blurt out the one question that has been weighing on your mind ever since he came here.
"What do you mean? I came here to play volleyball with you."
"I- I mean... I thought you would spend your free time with Ho-Hoshiko from now."
"Why would I do that?"
"B- because you're d-dating her?" Your voice cracks.
"I am not dating Nakamura."
What?
"What do you mean you're not dating her? I thought you liked her. Didn't you go on a date with her yesterday?"
"I do like her. Just not romantically. And no, I went to watch the movie with Tendou. She had already bought the tickets so I bought them from her. I wanted to watch it with you but you went home. "
"But... you left to tell her your feelings for her..."
"I did. I wanted to clarify that I only feel for her as a friend. It was only thanks to you that I was able to tell her in time before I ended up hurting her unintentionally."
"I...see..."
Relief floods your heart. You suddenly feel a hundred pounds lighter. You finally gather the courage to look at him. He is looking right back at you.
"Can I ask you something?" you say, your lower lip trembling.
"Of course."
"Do you have romantic feelings for anyone?"
You instantly regret speaking up as soon as the question leaves your mouth. You know he never lies. And if he doesn't feel the same w-
"Yes. You."
You stare at him blankly.
It's subtle but his expression has changed from completely serious to something a little softer. You can't quite place what it is. Is it concern? nervousness? Adoration?
"R-really? You like me? Romantically?"
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Ah," he rubs his chin, "I'm not sure..."
You're still having difficulty believing that any of this is real.
"You know," he continues, "After my father, you were the first person who ever wanted to play with me."
He points towards the corner of the park. "I was practicing against that wall that day when you came up to me. Do you remember?"
"Of course I remember. I can never forget that day."
"So many people have come and gone from my life but you have been with me for so long that, I guess somewhere along the way I just assumed you would stay forever. Which, I now realise, I shouldn't have."
He feels the same. He has always felt the same.
"Toshi?"
He turns to you again.
"I love you."
He breaks into a soft smile.
"I love you too."
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Holyshit this was a ride. I'm glad I wrote this and I hope you guys enjoy.
Reblogs appreciated. Please do not steal or repost.
Taglist: @pinkiipeachiikeen @duckymcdoorknob @kakiwrites @ebiharachan @r0binscript I wasn't sure if you guys still want to be tagged for this series, seeing that it has been over two years so let me know if you want me to remove you from the taglist.
Check out THIS POST to know what all characters I have written for in this series.
MASTERLISTS | If you enjoy my work and want to, you can Buy me a Kofi!
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retroaria · 10 months ago
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₊˚⊹♡ …Love, Love, Love… ₊˚⊹♡
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blue lock boys and how they’d describe their love for you!
cw: dramatic descriptions of affection, i think maybe there is a bit of implied personality for all of them, but honestly i’m sure you’re all lovely ppl and will still resonate with it!!
BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy 🪽 -aria | isagi, bachira, kaiser
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚
𝜗𝜚 Isagi Yoichi
One day Isagi realized that if he could spend the rest of his life in the gentleness and warmth of your presence, he doesn’t think he could ever be truly unhappy. Then, as if his last thought had been the missing piece to why his heart burned so hard for you, he realized he was in love with you. Humans are human, he knows this. He knows that there’s no such thing as a perfect person, no one who could truly do no wrong, and he uses this to justify his boundless admiration of you.
He doesn’t care if it’s unfair to see you as the exception, the only person who genuinely is perfect. He knows he isn’t, but here you are, allowing him to bask in your grace. Every word you say and every action you take has a lighthearted nuance to it, an irrefutable sense of joy, it pulls him in until all he can see when he looks at you is a literal angel. When Isagi realized he was in love with you, he swore he would do everything in his power, for the rest of his life, to protect the ethereal light that showers over you, so long as he could bask in it alongside you. Your peace, your happiness, your sense of wonder, he wanted to watch it all flourish forever and ever. And so, he follows your lead, he listens when you speak, he validates your purpose, and he lets you be exactly who you are and who you want to be. Nothing has to change for him, he knows he can’t get any better than perfect.
𝜗𝜚 Bachira Meguru
When Bachira and you first started dating, he was overwhelmed by the feeling of acceptance that had once been so foreign to him. It felt as though you and all your love for him had encased his mind, body, and soul in a world he had never known before. After some time, Bachira realized that it was your world he had been consumed by. A world devoid of cruelty and all the things he had not yet forgiven, though now, maybe he could. If every moment of his life lead him on the path where one day he would stumble into your universe of love and light, he would endure it all again a million times over, knowing he’d come out the other end happier than ever.
He submits to you in a way that is wholly transparent. Bachira gives you all of him, never faltering in insecurity or shame like he may have before. He can’t help but flutter when you commend him for being so himself around you. How could you not see it? How could you hold the key to the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him and still be so blissfully unaware? It’s adorable, he decides. A testament of your undeniable benevolence and tenderness towards him. He’ll spend the rest of his life thanking you for letting him into your world, where he could unfold before you and be loved as he is.
𝜗𝜚 Michael Kaiser
Kaiser had taken you for naive when you first met, he thinks about it now and curses himself for his arrogance. What if he had let your love pass him by? If memory serves him right, he was a shell. A cold, shitty shell of a man guarding the heart of a boy that never was. It was pathetic, truly, but you never seemed to think so. There was who Kaiser saw himself as deep down, and who he knew others saw him as. The two may have been different in regard to their perspectives, but they both concluded the same thing; he was an asshole.
But you were a deviator. You took every word he said and every terrible thing he did as a reflection of all he’d ever known, you saw him in a completely different light. “Michael, why won’t you let me in?” those words still make him dizzy to this day. It was a loaded question, one that you weren’t afraid to ask. It provided him with a new piece, an unexplored path. And so, he let you in, giving you the chance to turn all he’d ever known on its head, and teach him something new. There was what Kaiser thought he knew about himself, and what others thought they knew about him, but then, there was what you fully understood about him. Which then turned into all the things you loved about him, things that he hadn’t ever seen in himself. You didn’t change him, you embraced him. Your embrace was so tight that it cracked the shell he hid within and let your love seep in. He realized he wanted to stay in that embrace forever, and it became clear that he loved you.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚
i got a little lazy with kaisers at the end i’m sorry 😞 this would’ve been too much to do a lot of characters in one post so if you want to see this prompt with other characters please request and i will do them!!! MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN ❤️
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚
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fatuismooches · 4 months ago
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(x) As the Second Harbinger, one would think Il Dottore would be wholly disinterested in something like White Day. And it was a perfectly reasonable guess, after all, have you seen the Doctor?! But no, they would be wrong, having not seen how Dottore and his segments carefully procured their own little thing for you as a reciprocal gift for your previous presents on Valentine's Day.
Was this odd behavior for the scholars? Most definitely. Even for you this was uncharted territory. What could have prompted Dottore, who largely ignored the existence of holidays, to take the initiative? You believed it to be him finally deciding to be a cutie again. (As the banker once said, if Dottore didn't put more effort in, he may just sweep you off your feet instead - and as joking as the Ninth may have been, it had served to push Dottore forward (as planned).
Prime Dottore does the best thing he can for you - spend quality time with you. Sure, as much as you like all the neat gadgets he makes you to pass the time, it gets to a point it can no longer replace his presence. And so you two have dinner - whether you prefer it to be fancy with a romantic atmosphere, or something more relaxed with you two munching in bed. The day ends with lots of talking and rambling from both of you, a much needed break and reminder of your love. And don't worry, he didn't try to cook this time.
Alpha gifts you a pack of the very best pens Teyvat has to offer. They write flawlessly and it's genuinely breathtaking. After all, he remembers very well those days you spent in the Akademiya, and how you grumbled about only having cheap pens, but had all these essays to write. And since Alpha knows how much you love being fancy - don't worry - he got them in different colors too. Just don't draw on his notes (please do). And don't bother sharing them with him. He will probably end up breaking them eventually and get grumpy at you, as if it's your fault ink splattered all over him.
Beta is very proud of his gift and was secretly itching the whole time to see the look on your face once he finally gave it to you. Of course, it's machine related. As you've probably guessed, the gift in question is a Ruin Guard... customized to resemble... you? See, he had his agents give it a new coat of paint that is similar to you, and he's added a few small articles of your clothing that could go on it! It's majestic! Yeah... it may be a bit impractical, seeing as how huge it is, and you have to walk all the way to Beta's lab to play with it, but do you see his big, sharp grin right now? It's the culmination of his work for his dearly beloved, his two favorite things combined!
Delta isn't really a stellar gift giver, being as serious and unemotional as he is. But he still does believe in returning effort, especially when it came to you. However, that doesn't really change the fact he's unsure of what to give you, so he just sticks to the way he best communicates with you - actions - seeing as when he talks he isn't the most fun to listen to. Just expect to see a lot of your favorite things popping up throughout a very stress-free day.
Zeta presents you with a collection of books he's been storing that he'd think you'd like. Although this segment never seems to be around, and seems to talk even less, it doesn't mean he doesn't know what's going on in your life. Zeta listens to everything with interest and almost an uncanny precise memory, noting everything down. And of course, when he happens to hear agents speak about things you're also interested in, that is also noted. Sure, these things may not always be his sort of thing, but if you want the extraordinary rare first edition of "Shogun Almighty: Reborn as Raiden With Unlimited Power" or "Pretty Please, Kitsune Guuji?", he'll get his hands on it... even if it raises some eyebrows.
Though still a child, Zandy would never dare to miss out on gifting you something! He shares with you one of his plushies - a simple blue teddy bear. It's honestly quite out of place considering his other toys and his most treasured Ruin Guard plushies, but it reminds you of the boy - cute, tiny, huggable, and blue. If you wear earrings, he'll also somehow get his hands on a matching pair, so you're always carrying a piece of him! After all, as much as you'd like to be cool and wear Dottore's blue vial on your ear too, it's not as comfortable as he makes it looks...
Sigma's gift is as sweet as he is, combining two of his interests - plants and sweets - and what does that get you? Chocolate roses of course! The segment gifts you the bouquet all romantically, before one rose is suddenly plucked and promptly devoured, of course while he watches you laugh and munch one right after. It becomes a tradition of sorts afterward, and you learned to make them yourself to surprise him too! It's such a shame he can't grow chocolate flowers in his greenhouse...
Phi leaves you with a nice perfume/cologne, nothing too overpowering, with a lovely designed bottle with the patterns of her clothes. Somehow it never runs out (she refills it when you're not around). The trick is that the smell is quite similar to hers, so whenever you wear it, the other segments get slightly annoyed as they're practically smelling her on you - completely unfair of course. Before they can try to cover you with theirs instead, Phi always whisks you away.
Omega, for once, has a bit of trouble deciding what your gift is, surprisingly. He's pondered over it for a while, catching himself idly thinking about it. He believes it must be the perfect gift, the best gift - the gift you like the best. Being the observant person you are, you notice his thinking and inquire, and so he just bluntly asks you what you would like the best. You can't help but let out a laugh, claiming that although you think his thoughtfulness is cute, there was really no need to think that hard into it - you'd appreciate and love anything because he was the best lover you could ask for! And then it hits Omega - that's right, he is the best - already superior to his other selves. And so, that night, you had your gift all to yourself, every inch of him.
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three-semicolons · 12 days ago
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Prompt: During a fight with a magical entity, members of the bat family are all forced to hear Dick’s inner thoughts. Luckily, the magic is set to naturally fade in a few weeks, but unluckily, there is no way to expedite the process. They figure that telling Dick would only serve to make him uncomfortable, so it is decided cumulatively to keep quiet about it.
A lot is revealed, but now those afflicted with the curse must decide whether it’s worth it to confess the whole situation to Dick or to leave the revelations unaddressed.
Below are possible avenues this could be taken, from fluffy to angsty:
1.) Everyone kind of doubts that Dick loves them as much as he says. There’s so much self-loathing in the bat family that, even though Dick hugs and comforts and serves in any way he can, there’s always this underlying notion that it’s all a performance.
But then Dick tells Tim “good job” on a patrol night, and his inner thoughts continue with an I’m so proud of you. Look at how much you’ve grown.
Jason decides to actually come to dinner one night and Dick gives him a polite hug, but inside he’s gushing I can’t believe you’re here, I’m so happy to see you, I missed you, I love you.
Bruce gives Dick an apology for something he did and Dick accepts it in a way that Bruce would normally interpret as more placating than anything, but then he hears I could never hate you, you’re everything to me, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done.
Stephanie feels insecure about her place as a vigilante, and Dick tells her she’s doing just fine. But as he walks away to continue his route, she hears You’re just like me, all fire and passion and determination. I can’t believe how well you’ve made a name for yourself — better, younger, and with less support than I ever had.
Etc etc.
2.) Number 1 but angsty. Essentially, Dick’s real reaction to the jabs his siblings make.
Damian makes some throw-away comment about Dick being trailer trash or of impure blood and Dick responds with his normal chastising grin and a “Dami, come on now!”. But Damian is flooded with memories of cold juvie hallways and the longing for a crowded bonfire and raucous laughter while inside an empty, desolate manor and an I miss you please come back I love you please-
Jason spits a comment about Dick being a perfect golden boy with Batman wrapped around his finger and Dick playfully sticks out his tongue, but inner-Dick retorts with a grim I wish he felt that way. Maybe then he would have adopted me.
Tim is ranting about his most recent relationship woes to Dick and makes an off-hand comment about how he wouldn’t understand because he’ll take any ass he can get and implies he’s kind of a man-whore, but chokes halfway through when he’s suddenly flooded with rain and a painful grip on his wrists and a pleading no please stop please I’m poison don’t touch me. It disappears almost instantly, and the only affirmation he gets that anything happened at all is the worried look Dick flashes at him — like Tim was the one they should be concerned about.
3.) Dick’s inner monologue is filled with a series of statements that are increasingly worrying. They begin as what could be excused as weird intrusive thoughts or just Dick being Dick, but a combination of recurring themes and escalating severity causes the family to eventually realize that something is very wrong. Use your favorite Dick trauma of choice.
Add more if you want! You could also do something shippy if you want a character who thinks their crush on Dick is unrequited but it turns out Dick feels the same way, or even a silly game night fic where Dick keeps losing at Poker because he’s narrating his cards, and over time he becomes convinced that everyone is cheating. Which, you know, they kind of are.
Go nuts with it.
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