tw: yandere, horror, gore, graphic sensory deprivation, some gore. yandere!god!gojo/human!reader. yearning and devotion like you wouldn't believe. objectification? object body horror? gojo's in a very weird situation.
Satoru Gojo as a forgotten god who once protected humankind from curses.
Only, he protected them a little too well - centuries have passed, and with Sukuna sealed away, and curses gone from living memory, humanity no longer has any need of him.
Satoru Gojo who has exactly one "believer" left to sustain him after all this time.
One devotee who cleans out his dilapidated shrine, whose visits break out the monotony and isolation of his defunct existence, whose prayers anchor his frayed mind to this plane of existence.
Darkness had long since surrounded him. Without worship, without people, without any reason to continue his existence -
He's just like another rusted nail in this ancient temple. Old, crumbling, holding up a rotted ceiling that could barely be called a shelter.
A lonely god. A tool with no use. An exercise in futility.
And then you showed up.
You'd be the first to admit it's a sort of creepy shrine.
When you stumble on it, you're sore and exhausted from the hike. The eyes carved into the gate stare down at you; heavy, piercing, boring deep into your soul.
But you had never been very superstitious, and the sun was blazing. You head in, quickly, darting into the shade with a relieved sigh.
Weary limbs cry out in relief as you slump down inside, in the shade. There's still that hot, oppressive summer heat, but at least you're out of the sun.
Lazily, you glance over the interior of the building. It's modestly sized, but not so small as to suggest this wasn't once a frequently visited shrine.
It's seen better days, you're sure. Actually, as soon as you take a long drink from your bottle and sit there a few seconds, the nagging urge to tidy creeps up on you.
There's a broom against one of the walls. A pain - there's no water in it, though - and even some burned away incense at the altar.
Eyes again, you note as you sweep the dust methodically towards the entrance.
They're engraved in wood, with deep burrows in them that you suppose are meant to be pupils. Two, four... six of them, it looks like.
There's dust everywhere in here, really. One day wouldn't be enough to clean all this up, even if you had everything you needed.
Still, it seems a little rude to just leave after rushing in.
You dig out some trail mix. Oats, cranberries - fruit and rice count as offerings, right?
There's no incense, so you awkwardly set a match down in the incense holder and light it.
Hands clasped in prayer, you bow your head, just a little. Thank you for having me. Please let me return home safely.
You should say something nice, too, right? Uhm...
I like your eyes.
Awkward! If there's a spirit here, they're probably laughing at you.
It's a good thing they don't exist! But if they do, they can feel free to laugh, you suppose.
As you leave, you swear the floor is creaking; but it's a light sound, rustic and almost bouncy. Funny.
It puts a skip in your step, and you do in fact arrive home safe.
The darkness had been complete. Absolute. Divine, in its way, surrounding him in perfect blackness so thick he couldn't even see himself.
Perhaps he could have faded away like that. Found peace in the emptiness. Returned to the ether from whence he came; after so long like this, he would have welcomed true nothingness.
It hadn't always been this way.
He had been celebrated, once. A protector of the people. Exorciser of curses. They had sung his name in praise, prayed to him for protection from curses, knelt at his altar and filled it with finery.
But he grew mighty, and the people grew safe. Curses around the world dwindled. The mortals lost their fear, and later, their knowledge.
His power was infinite, but their need of him had not been. Fool that he was, he thought it was a good thing.
As the mortals had trickled away over time, his attachment to this earth had also withered.
And that never mattered to him; not as long as his followers, his friends were there to keep him company.
Even if it was just one person, Satoru didn't mind. He wasn't a greedy god.
But for the mortals, who no longer had any use of him, it seems even that was asking too much.
His friends had disappeared. Slowly, over time, and then all at once. Mortals were like that - fleeting. Eventually all who remained were there by courtesy alone, and as centuries passed, they visited less, moved away, lost interest.
With no purpose, he had lost his power. With no offerings, he had lost his form. When his eyes had been stolen, he had been unable to even protect himself, and lost his sight.
And because no one had spoken to him in centuries, Satoru Gojo could no longer hear -
Until you.
it's just another day for him. if it's even a day at all - it's not like he has any way of knowing. There's no way for him to tell time.
Except, you come.
He hears your thoughts, your feelings, your little worries. He receives your humble offering like weight on a limb that can hardly bear it. A withered tree branch struggling to hold up a budding fruit.
Light as it is, your thoughts, your easy humor is filling.
"I like your eyes" - ha! Millenia ago, he would have howled with laughter at the understatement.
Today? Your inflection, your sincerity, your gratitude despite how little he had to offer...
He feels again. In the darkness, in the silence, with no body or surroundings to speak of, Satoru feels it -
Warmth.
The feeling is gentle, at first, like a quiet acceptance at a gravestone.
It was a nice moment, but the exception to the rule. He had long since understood his fate. Consigned to the void.
Like all the other mortals, you had no use for him -
But still, you returned.
You pass by here often, he gathers. His shrine groans, and he feels it, like old bones shifting underfoot from the new, bustling visitor.
When you lay down a rug before his altar, to kneel on as you pray, it feels like a blanket laid over him.
Your prayers are nothing special. Which is good, because he can't help you anyways.
Please let my boss give me a raise...
I hope the convenience store has the sandwich I like.
Don't let it rain tomorrow... I hate hiking in the rain.
Small, modest prayers, for his small and modest shrine.
But with you lighting incense and leaving rice and wine, he feels his essence gather again.
A candle flickers by his altar, and he finds his breath. And each breath is painful, splintering in his side with each movement... until you peel out the bad planks to put in new ones.
Your repairs are patchwork, clearly done by a novice - but you try. You labor and toil for him, for his empty, worthless, ugly shrine which has nothing to offer you but a smattering of shade.
It's something he would have been ashamed of, once. Being unable to reward your devotion. Generosity had always been in his nature.
For all the good it did. Perhaps that's why they all died out - of all the gods, he was the most powerful, the most beautiful, offered everything to the mortals, and what did it get him? Nothing.
It's silly, now, to feel bashful about his welcome to the sole follower who scampers about his exposed ribcage. To wince at the creak in the steps that raise you up to meet up. To feel his windows flush as you look them over and decide they need dusting again.
He does it anyways. His time in the darkness should have taught him not to hope. It should have cracked him open beyond repair as the mortals drained him dry and left him to rot.
Maybe it has. If you were to scavenge his corpse, if you could be the last in the very long line of mortals who exploited and used him, who picked at his meat until he had truly nothing left... he thinks he'd be happy with that.
But as he is now, it's just so embarrassing. To be in this state.
When you fix up his doors - the paper was yellowed, dirtied, torn, and you replace it with a fresh bright set - Satoru almost feels beautiful.
When had he stopped being beautiful? It's been centuries. The memory of it is gone, the vision - no living mortal has seen his face, now - but he wasn't always this decrepit thing. He'd been beautiful, once.
But he's starting to remember the shape of it. Nourished by a thousand tiny acts of devotion, even if it's just from one person.
As much as it is, he still can't manifest a physical form. Even if he could, he wouldn't; how could he make his grand entrance as your one and only god with so little of his power?
He still can't even see. The god of the six eyes, stripped of his vision. Powerless.
What do you look like, anyways? Are you tall? What color is your skin? Your hair? How long is it?
You're his only follower, after all. It's natural to be curious. The only connection he has to the world, the only company he gets, the only stimulation he has - it's all you. His lifeline in the darkness.
Color disappeared from his world so long ago; he can't even envision it in his mind, but he wants it so desperately.
It doesn't matter the shape or shade. He just wants to see you.
But it's not the only thing he wants. Satoru had never thought of himself as greedy. Starved of contact as he is, devoid of every form of sustenance a god requires, even this little bit should satisfy him.
It only makes him hungrier. You'd given him a taste, shown him what it felt like not to be alone anymore.
It makes him scared.
And with each return, it grew. The terror.
How long will it be before you come back?
Will you come back?
Was this the final time he would encounter you - encounter anyone - and he simply didn't know it?
The thought alone causes him an anguish so severe it's like a physical pain. Electrifying his nonexistent form, searing alarm and suffering into every facet of his being.
There's this one step, the last one your foot touches as you leave his shrine. It feels like a raw nerve.
A glance against it shoots anxiety though him. The candle by his altar flickers, breathless. He cannot see the darkness anymore; his whole world is dark. But he feels it closing in. Suffocating.
This really might be the end, every time you touch that step. Humans don't live long lives, or even safe ones. What if you die on the way to him? What if you get sick and can't come?
What if you stop caring? It's surprising that you've cared this long. He doesn't have anything to offer you.
It would only be natural for you to abandon his shrine. He does nothing for you. He only takes and takes and takes and enjoys your company and effort for nothing in return.
Satoru has never quite wanted to die. And he still doesn't - he wants you to keep coming back.
But if you don't, he truly will go mad with craving of it.
Where are you when you aren't with him?
Family, maybe. Surely not a lover - you've mentioned in a prayer or two; It would be nice to meet a cute guy.
If you just keep coming, he can show you the most beautiful man you'll ever see. You won't want anyone else once you see him.
There's so much he would do for you, if only he could. Even if he couldn't see ever again - if he could just touch - if he could just speak to you -
Satoru tries to curb those thoughts. Excitement comes to him slowly, in inches, weary and unsure after centuries of disuse. After countless instances of being crushed.
Before you, any hope for an improvement in his situation had been met with a long, slow, drawn out defeat.
He'd learned not to dream. But he could not stop himself now, just as he can't stop his endless worries.
How... how long has it been? He doesn't know. Can't tell.
You're... coming back. Right...?
Won't you?
In some ways, it's more agonizing than the emptiness. Waiting in the emptiness, sitting idly in the void.
There are no days or nights in his world. No sunsets, no cicadas crying, not a single thing to observe or interact with.
Every second you're not there. That's all it is. Second by second, instant by instant, drowning in the depths of countless worries. His thoughts are all he has.
And they're terrifying. He tries, now, because he has something to try for, to count the seconds until you come back.
One hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred fifteen.... one hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred sixteen....
Seventeen...
Eighteen...
Nineteen...
Twenty...
...
...
Twenty... two? Twenty three?
...
Please... come back soon.
Please... please...
Come back.
It's not worth anything, you're sure. Probably just glass, to be honest.
But as soon as you lay eyes on it in the thrift store, something about it catches your attention. Maybe it's the size - it looks like it would fit exactly.
You make your purchase and head off to your little shrine, almost giddy with excitement.
It's a far hike away from a populated area. No visitors. You have to take a train just to get to the trailhead, and then remember the way from there.
It's like having a secret fortress as a child. Your little project, the tiny safe space you had away from anyone else.
After days and days worth of labor, you've prettied up the interior a bit. It's not craftsmanship, not like the people who must have built this place - but it was well-done, sturdy, and you're proud of the work you've put into it.
It's clean. Everything that's damaged has been replaced - or repaired, where you could.
You pass your cozy little spot by the door, setting your bag and shoes aside in the entryway you built. There's more supplies in the far corner - mid-hike snacks and offerings, included!
Sometimes it's just nice to take your lunch out here and leave out a little food offering at the altar to pretend you're sharing a meal with someone. Talk about your day and all.
The food is always gone, so there must be a mouse or cat or some other animal sneaking in and eating it.
Or maybe there's other visitors... doubtful, though. No one comes along this way. And that's just fine.
Even if you had the money to get someone to come out here to do repairs, it's all the more special to do it yourself, right? Plus, you didn't want to share this place.
Of course, you ponder as you settle beside the altar, it's not as if there's much to share.
The chimes you'd hung at the entrance seem to rattle in disagreement. You've gotten a little eccentric since visiting this place - but that's the fun of it, isn't it?
Superstitions are just made up folklore and nonsense stories. It's far better to make your own little traditions, your good-luck strategies, your relaxing routines.
You take a moment to admire the surroundings. The shrine had a lot of character; inlaid decorations, paintings, faded paint and special carvings in the fixtures.
It must have been well-loved, once. Though it's on the smaller side, and it was suspiciously empty when you got here.
But you'd filled it up - little by little. Just dragging cleaning supplies in here, at first, and then containers and counters to store them.
Then a proper incense holder, and then a pack of them. Then a trash can for when you have to sweep things out. Then the rug, and a chair or two, and some pictures and trinkets to lay by the altar.
A picture of your cat (okay, a few). Your graduation. Some nice photos you'd taken on the walk here. Even a picture of the shrine from outside, once you'd dusted off the exterior as best you could.
Plus an anime figurine from a show you loved, your favorite hair pin, and a very pretty ring you'd found at the thrift shop. Little treasures.
It is your altar, after all. This whole shrine is just for you; you won't deny there's a special feeling to it. Having a sacred place, forgotten though it may be, to call your own. Even if you didn't really believe in that sort of thing.
Just being here, all by yourself, had a calming, meditative effect on you. Or maybe it was the walk here.
You dig through your pouch for a granola bar. Unwrapping it, you stare for a moment, then split off a little part to set on the altar.
Can't let your little friend go hungry, can you? And if there were a god in here, it would be rude not to share.
Speaking of!
You pull the dubious gemstone out from your shopping bag, standing right in front of the intricate, ancient carving.
As you'd suspected - it fits in just perfectly! Right into the carving of one of the eyes, where the pupil would be.
Looking at it again, even if it's just glass, it's a pretty brilliant blue, isn't it?
If you were superstitious, you'd swear it was glittering at you.
You make your pointless offering, your banal prayer, and then - after lighting some incense and carefully sweeping the place again - you leave.
You don't catch the eye blinking at your back.
You couldn't really believe it when you first saw it.
A building with a line through it. Glowing hot. It crumbles, falling down - there's people in there - there's people down there -
Screaming, of course. It fills the streets, loud and harrowing.
People are - it's like -
Like something out of a video game. Guts. Gore. Blood and viscera being spread around.
Their bodies are just flying apart, for - what the fuck is doing it? What's happening?
You back away from the scene, but you hear screams behind you, too. Glancing away from the carnage only to watch a grown man's body crumple and curl up, as if in the maws of some giant, invisible monster -
And there it is.
Massive. Looming. And there's so fucking many of them.
Ravaging the crowds, chasing after people. Men, women, children, running and stumbling and being caught. Limbs lost, only for the person to follow -
You fall to your knees. Heart beating out of your chest.
But you - you can't stop here - there's on nearby -
It doesn't matter, does it? They're everywhere.
A comet, seemingly shooting through the sky, blazes a fiery path into the street.
Not a comet. A person. Red - no, his hair is a faint ink - tattoos everywhere four arms - four eyes -
You think of your little shrine, tucked away and hidden in the middle of a peaceful nowhere. A blue gemstone for an eye. What you wouldn't give to be there now.
This person's eyes land on you, red, vicious, unforgiving. He points a finger at you, flicking, and -
But nothing happens to you. You open your eyes, hesitant.
There's someone in front of you. Clad in white, with pale hair. Standing in the midst of the blood and carnage, completely unbothered.
A strange... aura surrounds him. Like an air of power and weight to the surroundings that warps the space inches away from him, curving the light like some kind of refraction through glass.
"Sukuna," He greets the man like an old friend, "How long has it been? I see you're a little fussy after just waking up."
'Sukuna' snorts. "Still playing the hero, you fool? You're a shadow of your former self."
"Oh," The purr in the white-haired man's voice sends shivers down your spine, "Certainly. But a shadow of infinity is still infinity, you know? Unless you've managed to think of a way to get past it in all that time you were locked up."
There's a sound - words you don't catch - and the white-haired man is next to you all a sudden, hands on you, and you're -
You're somewhere else completely. It takes a moment to look around you - open - open skies? - and below you -
Carnage.
The white-haired man whistles. "Using his domain right away, huh? He really is grumpy."
You cling to him, suddenly filled with a weightless terror at the height. An arm around your waist secures you to him. You're - you don't know how many stories it is in the air but you're level with the tops of skyscrapers.
"Who are you?" You say, throat raw, coughing as you speak.
His eyes, when they lock onto yours, are the deepest and purest blue you've ever seen.
"Satoru Gojo," He says, smiling, glowing, as if he's wanted to say that his whole life, "Don't worry, I've come to save you."
As close as you are, you notice now, in fine detail, the delicate, smooth lines of his face. Elegant, regal, and profoundly lovely.
His skin is clean, unmarked, so impossibly perfect he looks like a doll. Eyes bright and happy to see you. He glows, ethereal, with some kind of inner light.
"GOJO!" An angered shout, so loud that it carries up from what must be ground floor, sounds out.
One of the nearby buildings collapses, and you watch a figure dance up the rubble of it, the impact of its movements splintering concrete like particle board.
Your heart nearly stops in its chest as the figure approaches - Sukuna - like lightning, face full of fury, about to rain down on you -
But he stops still in the air. Sneering in rage.
"Awh," Satoru drawls, his arm wrapping around you tighter, "Looks like you're not doing so hot, either, huh? Not at full power yet? Sure would be a shame if I used my domain..."
Sukuna's face contorts in shock, "And what about your other worshippers? You're going to leave them down there to their fates?"
"Yup!" He chirps, but his smile grows sharp. "I'm only here to save one person."
Red eyes narrow... and Sukuna backs away. "Have your fun then. Next time I see you, you're dead."
"Have fun with that," Satoru sings and Sukuna charges back down into the fray, leveling an entire city block.
"What?" You're shuddering now, even as he wraps another arm around you, gasping as your racing heart slows down.
Satoru's face nestles against your hair. "Oh, don't worry about him. He doesn't have a way to hurt me anyways. And even if he did... I'd just kill him first."
"Then - " This is insane, this is all so insane and make-believe that you barely think about what you say, "Then why don't you?"
He squints. "Do I haaaaave to?"
And those eyes - those eyes - examine you carefully and you get this strange sense of nostalgia, of something.
"What do you mean? He's killing people!" You sound almost as hysteric as you feel.
Instantly, you feel insane for demanding such a thing from this guy, but - everything happening is crazy, too. He'd said that he could, anyways.
"He's killing other people," Satoru corrects, "Not you. You have me. You'll be just fine!"
"Oh my god." Other people. Everyone - down there - they'd been ripped apart like dolls, "Oh my god - you have to do something - Satoru-"
His face twists, mouth turning downwards, "This is the very first prayer you're saying out loud, and you want to pray for other people?"
Something in his voice makes you pause. Not warning, but sheer, unmitigated disappointment. As if he had been expecting something specific from you and been let down.
"Prayer?" The word is almost lost on you. There's a vibration - shock. Shock, you're shaking.
You notice, then, that his arm around you - his whole body pressed against yours - is unusually cold. As if he's made entirely from ice.
Or maybe it's just those icy eyes staring at you, into you.
"I said I was here to save you," Satoru continues. His voice has this strange, echoing quality, rattling around in your head like a melodic hymn, "No one else."
"Why?" The word emerges from you before you can think about it.
And then he smiles again - beatific, gorgeous, something so pure you could almost call it divine, and he speaks.
"Why wouldn't I save you?" His face draws closer to you, breathtaking in its beauty. He nuzzles your nose playfully, "My one and only believer. You're the only person who's prayed at my shrine in centuries."
The shrine. You -
"You thought of me, too," White lashes lower softly over those impossibly pretty eyes, "Of being with me. I could tell... I could see, actually. Because of you."
Your heart is racing, now, so many thoughts crashing together in your head - but an explosion in the distance makes you flinch, brings your mind back.
Satoru hugs you harder, closer, "Let's go home, now-"
Home - "Please," You beg, thinking frantically of where your loved ones might be right now, "My family - my friends - can't you-"
And that pretty face twists again. You feel your heart drop right through your stomach.
"They don't matter," He bites out, vicious, "They've never prayed to me, never visited. I'm not their god, I'm yours, and I don't care what happens to them."
"But I do!" Your hands come up to his chest, clutching at his shirt, "Please! How were they supposed to worship you, they - they didn't even know you existed - "
Your mind completed the thought - you'd never told anyone. You liked the shrine as your special, secret place. You liked having it all to yourself. It was your fault, if anything.
But for the first time, you catch yourself. It... might not be a good thing to admit.
Satoru laughs, "Even if they knew, they wouldn't care. It'd make it worse, even. Until the end, you're my one and only..."
Those eyes seem to glow, shimmer, iridescent - you think you're seeing double, or something, superimposed irises over each other -
"You don't know that," You say, desperately, thinking of the people below, their bodies ripped into shreds like tissue paper, "I promise, I'll bring them to the shrine, I'll-"
"No!" His voice sounds, ringing again through your head, but this time loudly, like a thunderclap, "I don't want them. It's fake, all of it's fake - so many people worshipped me just to save their own worthless little mortal lives. And do you know what happened to me? When I was no longer needed?"
"They wouldn't do that!" Your entire body aches with the strain, as if his words physically compressed you, "I wouldn't-"
"But they would!" Satoru snaps, and it feels like a rubber band stinging in your head, "And I'll be left alone - abandoned - do you have any idea what it feels like? How long I was stuck like that?"
"I don't," You cry, "I don't, I'm sorry, please. Please, just don't leave them to die!"
Those blue, blue eyes take you in for a moment, and Satoru relaxes briefly. For a moment, relief courses through you, and you can't help but sigh.
"No, you don't. You're only mortal. You've known so little in your small mortal life, you think they're important. You've never felt anything like that..."
No... oh, no.
"It's okay," He holds you against him, closer, "I can show you."
Everything goes dark.
It's... it's still dark, now. Nothing has changed. It feels like it's been a while - or, has it been?
You... can't tell.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand... even counting seconds in your head feels disorienting, inconsistent. You can't hear your own thoughts.
But you know them. You have to know them, right? Otherwise you couldn't be thinking at all right now.
You can't see anything. Or maybe there's just nothing here? It's black, everywhere, in all directions.
It's... which way is up? There's no pull on you, nothing at your feet, nothing on your shoulders, no pressure anywhere or direction that you can tell.
You look down at your hands - there's nothing there.
In fact, you don't even feel yourself move. You try to look left, right - nothing changes. It's like being underwater, like floating, but you don't feel - you don't feel anything.
The numbness is all-encompassing. It's not that your limbs are still; it's more like they're gone completely.
There's nothing there, just empty space. You're no more able to move your own arms than you were able to move the moon in the sky.
If you could feel your heart, maybe it would be racing.
Distantly, terrifyingly, you realize that you haven't even taken a breath. You can't take one.
How - how... does that work again?
It's so familiar - you remember it - air rushing into your lungs, chest expanding, then letting it out -
But it just - it won't come, it's not working, you can't breathe and maybe you don't need to but there's a panic inside you too because what if you never breathe again?
What if you get out of here and you don't know how to breathe? What's happening to your body now? Why can't you feel anything?
The questions rush over you like a flood, overwhelming, all at once. Anxiety fills you like breathlessness would, like the desperate, overwhelming need for air but -
There was - you'd gotten home and. And then that person, Sukuna - and then all that bloodshed, the chaos, and then Satoru and then - and then here?
Was that what happened? It feels like it's been a while. Has it been?
Maybe this is a dream. Maybe you're dead.
Fuck, what if you're dead? What if this is what it is, forever?
"See?" The voice - it's him, you recognize, but the sound of it shakes you, shakes your entire universe, because all you have now are your thoughts.
"This is what it was like. Every time you left, this is what you left me in. This is what the mortals condemned me to."
It's hard to listen, to understand, and yet you KNOW - you FEEL it, so profoundly.
The sound of his voice fills you, fills ears you still can't sense, that you can't tell you even have.
As soon as he finishes speaking it's like your hearing is gone entirely, replaced by a supreme silence, one that makes you question if you heard him at all.
If you just hallucinated.
And then -
And then -
You feel them open. Six of them... six eyes.
He looks - and his eyes define you, fill in your body like the sound has filled your ears. Like you exist because he sees you.
And you realize, suddenly, that you are not inside your body at all.
You are looking at yourself from the outside, seeing parts of yourself you've never seen before -
Satoru blinks, and you feel all six eyes close and open again.
What is this, you cannot whisper, for you have no mouth, but Satoru knows your thoughts.
Instinctively, you know this; that he can hear you. There is no mouth to produce words, and yet they appear in your mind all the same, and you know that it is from him.
"This... is godhood," Satoru answers, "This is my life without you. Before you. They left me to rot."
Even though you can't hear - you just know the words - the bitterness comes along with them, and you feel it like you would your own.
A person you'd done a favor who turned their back to you instead of repaying it. A friendship where you always seemed to make the effort to connect, to show care, to meet up. A relationship of all take and no give. Showing up to a party only to find out everyone had already left.
The wet, heavy, raw-throated rage that had once accompanied different instants is old, festered. Stale.
Every feeling from your memory seems to coalesce into that final word, rot.
Rotted, pilfered, abandoned. You're worth nothing now; you know it deep in your bones. You have no power. No one is coming to help you. You don't even have a body.
"Do you understand?"
The words hit your mind like raindrops. Splattering against your awareness, trickling, sliding along formless surfaces of your consciousness until you can conceive an answer.
He'd - he'd been here whenever you weren't here. And it was because of... mortals? Everyone? There's so much feeling there, but nowhere to direct it; like a dam build up and ready to pour over anything that happened to be in its path.
The weight of it is unbearable. This place is hellish enough as it is -
"And your friends, your family, everyone out there getting torn apart by Sukuna - what did they do to help me? What did they do to help you?"
Nothing. They've done nothing, they could do nothing, they were worthless and weak and they deserved their fate - how could you feel sorry for them when they'd just leave you behind -
Thoughts crowd up, it's all blending together. Twisting, invasive, the words just seep through your brain, steeped in centuries of dissatisfaction.
This - it's people you care about! It's not their fault they can't help you! It's not their fault they couldn't help Satoru -
"Stop saying my name in the same sentence as those other people. You should only care about me. I'm your god."
Yours. All yours, he'd said it before. The god of the six eyes, your precious secret in your little shrine all to yourself, your safe place.
Why should you share him with anyone?
Why should he share you?
"No one else deserves your love. Why love something that does nothing for you?"
That - it wasn't like that - was it? Maybe with some people you knew, but - not all of them - right?
Questions trickle through you, sticky, tacky. It's hard to even muddle through them, to question what's yours, what's his.
And that's the scariest part. Where one begins, where the other ends, it's not clear anymore. Your own feelings, from your own memories, things that happened to you - you know they happened to you - and then -
Shrine gates empty. So many had walked through them, praying for salvation.
Each and every desperate wish had moved your heart; "Please save me," "Protect my family," "I've lost everything."
Of course you should help them. You want to help them. That's the right thing to do -
Empty, now. Bleak, forgotten. Lonely.
They didn't need you anymore. They all left. You're hungry, now. Starving. Wasting away.
They pick at your body like vultures. Peck your eyes away. Leave you in the dark.
It's dark. It's so, so dark.
Dark. Silent. Empty.
You and your thoughts and your grief and nothing else. Memories of a time when you had a life. People cared about you.
To... him? Everything is so overwhelming, so mind-numbingly terrifying, so vast in the emptiness that surrounds you. The body you see in the darkness but can't feel, it looks so lonely, so alone -
Arms that embrace. A chest against your back. Breath returning to your lungs.
"You're everything. You're the reason I'm still here... the reason I can see. You gave me my eyes back."
Warnings: This will include dark elements. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: Tommy Shelby, maid!reader
Summary: youâve adapted to your employerâs moods, but you donât realise how attached heâs become to you .
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah đ
Mr. Shelby doesn't return that day. You aren't entirely put off. It's not the first and surely won't be the last time business keeps him away. It is more usual than not. Or was.
You retire to your room and reread the letter your mother last sent. It's been three years since you saw either her or your father. You worked at the courthouse cleaning the steps and corridors. The income was paltry and you collected coal to sell from the alleys. That hardly got you enough pence for the effort. Then Mallory suggested you to Mr. Shelby, whom she knew from some business at the courthouse. And for a year since, you've done his bidding. It all feels a rather long time.
You sleep lightly but through the night. The house is empty when you wake so your work is not much at all. You sew up a split in one of the curtains, not sure of how it got there.
You eat the leftovers of the previous days breakfast so they do not spoil and brew a cup of tea just for you. You are listless with only yourself to tend. In your idleness you can't but wonder what had Mr. Shelby so mercurial these last days. His moods were like the wind; one moment blowing this way, the next the other.
Again, he does not return. The night passes much the same as the previous. The next day and night as well.
On the third day without Mr. Shelby, the postman appears again. He has a letter for you. Your mother again.
You keep it in your apron pocket, preparing for your employer's return as you try not to think of why she would write another letter so soon after the last. Did the money help? Was it not enough?
The end of the day comes and you close yourself up in your room. You undress and pause as you feel the letter in your apron. You light your lamp and sit in your shift.Â
You unfold the paper. It isnât your motherâs writing; itâs your fatherâs messy scrawl. There isnât much to it. âYou need to come hoom.â The misspelling assures you of his penmanship.
Your chest knots and you set the letter aside. Before you can extinguish the wick, the front door swings open with a bang. You blow out the flame and listen to the subsequent footfalls. Youâre still and wary.
They ascend the staircase. Knowing Mr. Shelbyâs business and how he rushed away, you cannot be certain this isnât someone uninvited. Itâs the cough that assures you otherwise.
Mr. Shelby clears his throat and snorts. He mutters to himself, something you canât make out. He chuckles and paces heavily.
You retreat to your bed. You slip beneath the quilt and listen to his movement fade away. As you recline, some clicks and dull thumps come from down the hall. Then you hear the subtle drone of a record on the victrola.
You close your eyes but your mind will not let you doze. Youâll have to go. They would not tell you so if it was not urgent. Not unless it was worth the missed income. You wonder what Mr. Shelby should say. If he forbids it, would you oblige?
A sudden shatter shakes you from your circumspect. You sit up as the noise brings back echoes of another time. You never liked the sound.
Without a thought, you rush out. Before you can get far, a shadow appears before you. Mr. Shelby catches your shoulders and herds you back.
âEh, hen, Iâve only gone and made a mess.â He girds. âYou wouldnât want to cut yourself.â
You look past him. In the light of his open door, you see the scatter of shards down the corridor. He was going somewhere when the calamity struck. One of the snifters from his cabinet.
âSirââ
âShh, shh,â he sways and you smell the blend of alcohol and something heavier. Perhaps blood. You canât see him as his back blocks out the light. âIâve got you. Canât have a pretty hen walking on glass.â
He scoops you up before you can escape. He staggers and turns clumsily on his heels. You note the slur in his voice.
âMr. Shelby. You may put me down.â You say.
âI shall deliver you without harmââ He insists.
âMy room is the other wayââ
He chortles and stomps over the broken glass toward the open door of his bedroom. You wriggle in his grasp.
âHave you been drinking?â You ask.
He laughs louder.
âSir,â you tap his chest. âPlease, put me down. This glass cannot be leftââ
âI.â He says curtly, quieting you. âI am your employer. You obey me.â
You stiffen in his embrace. You press your hand firm to his chest.
âI am meant to clean up after you. It is all I mean to do.â
âAnd I mean toâŚâ he lets his words drift into a hum and he hiccups.
As he gets closer to the open door, the light washes over him. You see then the gash through his right eye brow and the tint of red over his skin. That smell is blood.
âPut me down,â you hiss and kick your feet. âMr. Shelby. Youââ
âMr. Shelby!â He mimics. âI will do as I wishââ
You writhe until his hold on your slips. He grunts and stumbles as you drop to your feet and steady him before he can tip through the doorway. You put both hands on his chest.
âWhat has happened to you?â You gasp.
âNothing⌠nothing so bad as what I did,â he snarls.
You blanch. You take a breath. âSit.â
You try to usher him toward the cushioned bench before his fireplace. He resists and grabs your wrists. He draws you against him as he slips your hands onto his shoulders.
âDo you like to dance?â He drawls as the music buzzes from the needle.
âSir. You must let me clean you up.â You tug away and he catches your hips.
âMm,â his fingertips tickle through the thin linen of your slip. âYou must let meâŚâ He bends down and you lean away. He pauses as his eyes dip down and you follow his gaze. He drags his hands away from the white fabric as flaking red rubs off. âAhâŚâ he looks at his palms.
He stares at his hands and wobbles. You touch his elbow and patiently herd him to the bench. He sits heavily.
âSorry, henâŚâ he brushes his fingertips together.
You back away without a word. You shuffle out and carefully tiptoe around the glass. You feel a sharp graze but avoid putting your full weight upon it.
You hurry down the stairs to fetch the broom and pan. You come back up and twist on the light switch. You sweep up the broken glass. At least for the sake of cleaning, there was no liquor spilled. Though that is less a benefit for Mr. Shelby.
You dump the glass and put away the broom. You go back upstairs and pause. He sings out-of-key as the record skips. You veer off to your room and pull on the heavy grey robe and your slippers.
You take a face cloth and fill a basin with warm water in the lavatory. You return to him. Heâs sprawled out, mumbling lyrics. You set down the water and cloth and stop the victrola.
You near him and take in his disheveled state. Thereâs blood on his collar, down to his unbuttoned vest. His suspenders hang down around his hips and half his shirt is untucked. His jacket is on the floor.
You wet the cloth and bend over him. He grunts as wipe his brow. Itâs deep and painful. The rest of his face is stained but unharmed.
You press the cloth to his brow to stem the small beads of blood that rise as you wipe away the crust. You check his hands; smaller cuts and some bruises. His forearms show no trauma. You tilt his head back to examine his neck.
âHen,â he brushes his fingers along the thick robe. âYou are dressed like an old man.â
You hush him and lift the cloth slightly. âThis will need to be stitched.â
He groans. âIâm fine, hen. Iâve had worse.â He grabs onto the robe and tugs. âItâs too bigâŚâ
âMr. Shelby,â you touch his hand gently nudge him away. âWith due respect, you are drunk and filthy, and it is the middle of the night.â
He quiets and stares at you as you continue to clean his face. You focus on that task. He closes his eyes.
âForgive me, hen. Iâve disappointed you,â he grumbles.
"I've never been great at anything until I started loving you!" And now I'm yelling because how would it get through his head otherwise? "Because as far as everybody ever told me I've never been good enough, and I've never done things right." My voice is shaking but I've never been more confident in anything else that has ever come out of my mouth.
His eyes betray every emotion he's feeling but his lips are set in a firm line and I know deep down that I still won't be enough. His jaw is so tense and I long to run my fingers on his cheeks and for him to feel the touch of my love one last time.
"But if there is one thing no one, and certainly not you, can take from me is that I've loved you right." He's not budging. My voice echoes around us. He almost looks bored. Almost. In the moonlight I can still see how wet his eyes are, and my heart breaks.
"And I don't care if it's the only thing I ever get right because it's all I ever want to do!" I know this practically sounds like pleading, and I would give up the rest of the time I have left on this Earth for him to touch me. Kiss me. Tell me he knows. That he knows I love him more than anything.
But he doesn't say a thing. He looks at me with heartbreak in his eyes and my heart feels heavier than stone. It's plummeting at the bottom of our feet and soon it'll crack. One step and he could crush it entirely.
A sob escapes me and I can't help one last try. "Please look at me and tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I don't love you and tell me you don't feel the same and that once again I've done everything wrong . It's the only way I'll believe you." I'm struggling not to fall to the ground and let the ocean flow. I need to hear his voice, his answer.
I need to hear him say that I could never be wrong about us.
But when I look up, and our eyes meet, I almost wish I had been a failure to him too. He smiles and it feels so sad that I choke on my sobs. He almost reaches for me, but then changes his mind and runs his hands through locks that have too often rested in my lap.
He opens his mouth and takes a step, "You did love me right," I'm holding my breath, desperately trying not too chase the hope that is running through me. "And I wish I could tell you we're right for each other." His foot on my heart, and his landing step sinks it too fast to even notice.
His voice seems so far away when he adds "But our timing couldn't be more wrong, darling." My head is spinning.
And then I realize, it's not my heart that is sinking, but my whole body and soul too.
Request: Can I request a Natsu x reader where the reader gets trapped and Grays helping her so Natsu is super worried and he rushes to help but she tells him that sheâs okay and to help someone else.
Please donât plagiarize my work!
Word Count: 782
You feel your entire body shake, hands pressing harshly against the open wound on your stomach. Your vision is a blur, and you donât exactly see everything clearly and coherently; but you know itâs Gray next to you and itâs his hands that are applying pressure to your openly bleeding wound.
And you know if it hadnât been for him, you would be dead.
But you also know youâre in excruciating pain and that your eyes feel terribly heavy and that you could pass out any second. And even if everything feels like just one giant chaotic mess of a blur, you can hear and sense the commotion that continues on around you.
The mission hadnât been as simple as it originally seemed and things quickly flew out of control the second a dark guild became involved. You didnât know where Lucy or Erza or even Wendy was; which, at the moment was a problem. If anything, you needed Wendy more then ever. However, the one thing you knew was that Natsu was somewhere close; you could feel the warmth from his flames.
And even if it was Wendy and her healing abilities you needed and it was Gray helping you right now, you wanted Natsu.
âYouâve got to stay awake, okay, Y/N? At least until Wendy gets here. Just donât fall asleep on me, okay?â
Grayâs words become more a muffled more than anything. You try to make sense of what heâs saying but it doesnât really amount to anything. You do, however, hear him let out a slew of curses and you can only imagine it has something to do with your current state. You know youâre bleeding, a lot at that; you might even be bleeding out. But the pain was so intense that it overcame any possibly worry you could have about whether youâd live to see tomorrow.
You just wanted to pain to stop.
Gray attempts to move you, but the second he tries, your lips part as a blood-curling scream comes rippling past your lips. Instantly, he stops. And as he does, eventually, so do you.
However, your scream was enough to catch the attention of Natsu. With his enhanced hearing, he catches it no problem. The second your piercing scream echoes inside his mind, everything seems to just freeze. The enemy before him drowns out to the background and every muscle in his body freezes. Y/N. I needed to get to Y/N.
A few moments later, after failed attempts from Gray of stopping the bleeding, you hear him call out exactly for who youâve been yearning for. You manage to open your eyes wide enough to see Natsu racing his way towards you, all but skidding to his knees next to you as his wide and panicked eyes take in the sight of you. âWhat happened?âÂ
His question is obviously directed at Gray as you start coughing, blood dripping past your lips, your skin scarily pale.
âI⌠I donât know,â Gray stammers out, shaking his head violently. âHe was just so quick and then suddenly Y/N was on the ground bleeding and I donât even know what happenedââ
âHey,â you call out weakly, voice raspy. The sound of your voice instantly halts Grayâs rambling as both boys to turn you. You manage enough strength to set your hand over Natsuâs own, tired and weak eyes meeting his. A choked cough leaves your lips, you swallow thickly, then, âiâm okay. Iâm okay.â
Natsu just shakes his head;Â âyouâre bleeding out.â
âI just really want to sleepâŚâ
Natsu turns to Gray, seemingly speaking with his eyes. Gray nods;Â âapplying pressure to the wound. Iâll find Wendy.â
âBe quick.â
When you open your eyes again, Grayâs gone and itâs just Natsu. âYouâre gonna be okay, Y/N. I promise. I wonât leave your side until youâre okay.â
âBut, the⌠the mages, theirââ
âDonât worry about them. Erza and Lucy will deal with them. Gray with find Wendy and youâll be fine.â
You shake your head weakly, âiâm fine, donât worry aboutââ
Natsuâs hand squeezes around your tightly, firmly, as he shakes his head. âIâm not leaving your side until Wendy getâs here, okay? I promise.â
Weakly, lips dry, eyes heavy, you nod;Â âokay.â
Natsu tries to ignore the bang of his heart against his chest, the thickness of his saliva as he tries to keep a level-head. Heâs sick to his stomach with worry, shaking at the thought of losing you. He canât lose you. If he hadnât known that before, he does now, seeing you like this. Bleeding, pale, in pain⌠Natsu canât bare the thought of it.
Hi!! If this doesn't catch your eye, then feel free to delete this.
Could I please request a Bridgerton imagine where Eloise meets Reader and realises that R would be perfect for one of her brothers (you can decide which one)? Eloise then tries to matchmake them or even just introduce them to each other??
so, this is love
âNo.â
âOh, come on, Y/N/N.â
âNope.â
âPlease?â
âNo.â
âPretty please?â
âEloise, you can give me the sad eyes all you want, my answer is not going to change.â
âBut if you just -â
âEloise, I will burn you with this cigarette in a minute - stop it.â
Eloise slumped back against the tree and gave Y/N a glower that would rival Anthony. Y/N - whoâd been friends with the Bridgertonâs for almost four years - ignored the glowering glare her friend was giving her and puffed on her cigarette.
âAre you coming to the ball tomorrow?â Eloise asked, dropping her glower. She reached over and snatched the cigarette out of Y/Nâs hand.
âYes, of course,â Y/N replied, frowning. âYou know I am - no.â
âOne dance.â
âNo.â
âJust one.â
âNo.â
Eloise practically growled. âOh, come on, Y/N! You love Colin!â
âYes, as a friend, El,â Y/N replied, scoffing. âDonât you dare try and set me up with your brother.â
Eloise sighed but held her hands up in surrender. âAlright, I wonât. But youâll still come tomorrow?â
âI donât really have much choice,â Y/N muttered. âI promised your mother and Anthony.â
âPut together with Anthony, I felt as if I was going to be executed if I didnât say yes!â Y/N exclaimed, throwing her hands up. âHe glowered at me, El. Glowered.â
âAh, yes, Anthony Bridgertonâs infamous glower,â Eloise said, nodding. She handed the cigarette back to Y/N. âNow you have to come.â
Y/N let out a sarcastic laugh as she took the cigarette. âVery funny, El.â
âWhatâs funny?â
Y/N jumped and almost fell off the swing she was sitting on. âJesus Christ, Benedict!â She exclaimed, putting a hand on her chest.Â
âSorry,â Benedict said, struggling not to smile. He sat down on the swing next to her and held his hand out for the cigarette.Â
âOh, weâre all just sharing now, are we?â Y/N muttered, handing the cigarette to him.Â
âWe were just talking about how Mother and Anthony managed to make Y/N agree to attend the ball tomorrow night,â Eloise said, picking at the grass around her.
âHe glowered, she smiled,â Y/N muttered, shuddering either from the sudden gust of wind or the memory of being cornered in Anthonyâs office.
Benedict laughed and choked on the smoke he accidentally inhaled. âOnce they corner you, there's no escape, believe me, I know!â
Y/N groaned, slouching as much as she could in the swing. âI donât want to go, though - no offence.â
âNone taken,â Eloise called, shaking her head. âI donât want to go either.â
Y/N groaned again and leant back on the swing, tilting her head back until her hair was touching the grass. She pushed herself back and forth with her feet as she contemplated her impending doom, half listening to the conversation Benedict and Eloise were having.
Sheâd never been one for balls - she was a introvert like Eloise - and preferred hiding in her house (or Bridgerton house which was quickly becoming a second home to her) reading a book.Â
When sheâd first entered society sheâd been a wallflower. Y/N and Eloise had met at a ball and had bonded over the fact neither one wanted to be there. A few balls later and Y/N found herself dancing with Colin Bridgerton.
It hadnât taken much before she fell down a rabbit hole titled Big Crush on Colin Bridgerton.Â
Not that she would ever admit it to anyone. Unfortunately, Eloise had found out and - after much badgering and nagging - Y/N had reluctantly admitted that she was right and ever since then, Eloise had been determined to set her up with her brother.Â
Y/N had been avoiding Colin ever since Eloise had found out, not that she thought heâd noticed.
Y/N tilted back a bit further and yelped as she lost her balance and fell onto the grass. âOh, right, thatâs it, Iâm not going,â she moaned, staring up at the tree and glowering at the inconvenience that had just occurred to her.Â
Benedict snorted as he stood up and held out a hand to her. âOh, stop complaining, Y/N/N, youâll be fine. Iâll keep an eye on you.â
Y/N begrudgingly took Benedictâs hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet and pull a twig out her hair. âYes, and then the entire ton can glare at me because Iâm friends with the most eligible bachelors in London.â
Benedict smacked her on the back of the head and Y/N slapped his arm in retaliation.
âChildren,â Eloise called - sounding scarily like Violet. âY/N, you are coming whether you like it or not. In fact, Iâm going to make Benedict come and get you at noon tomorrow so you can get ready here.â
âAnd so I donât run away?â Y/N added, raising an eyebrow at Eloise.
âThat too.â
Y/N muttered something that sounded suspiciously like she was cursing the entire Bridgerton name, but she nodded. âFine. Benedict can come and get me.â
âIâm so glad Iâm appreciated by you,â Benedict said sarcastically, putting an arm around her shoulders. âItâs such a refreshing change.â
She wasnât hiding.
There just happened to be a significantly large potted plant in front of the chair she was sitting in.Â
Y/N had to admit that she did look beautiful. The midnight blue dress sparkled in the dozens of candles dotted around the room and her hair had been pinned up with jewelled violet hair pins that Violet had leant her for the night.
That didnât, however, change the fact that she didnât want to be there and was trying her hardest to avoid Colin.Â
Eloise, however, had had the opposite idea and had been glued to Colinâs side the entire night, trying to find Y/N and make her dance with her brother.Â
âIs my Motherâs orange tree plant providing subtle enough cover, Y/N/N, or would you like a cheese plant as well?â
Y/N stuck her tongue out at Anthony. âI know youâre joking but I wouldnât mind if it happened to appear next to the orange tree.â
Anthony chuckled and sat down next to her, offering her one of the glasses of lemonade heâd been holding. âYou canât hide behind a plant all evening.â
âIâm doing a pretty good job of it so far,â she retorted, sipping on the drink. âIt is a very nice plant.â
âWhy are you hiding?â Anthony asked, leaning back in his chair.
âYour sister is trying to set me up with Colin,â Y/N muttered, glowering at the plant as if it was Eloiseâs face.
âWho? El?â
âYes, Eloise,â Y/N snapped. âOnce that woman gets an idea she physically cannot let it go until sheâs finished with it.â
Anthony laughed. âYouâre hiding from Eloise?â
âSheâs terrifying when sheâs on a mission, Anthony,â Y/N replied, turning in her chair to look at her friend. âYouâve seen her with the whole Whistledown fiasco.â
âI was wondering why sheâs been glued to Colinâs side or night,â Anthony mused.
Y/N groaned, dramatically throwing her head back against the wall. âIâm doomed, Anthony. Doomed.â
âLet it never be said youâre not dramatic,â Anthony muttered, sipping his drink. âWant to dance?â
âIf I dance she might see me. I should hide behind foliage when possible.â
âSheâs not a predator, Y/N. Besides, you promised me a dance,â Anthony said, standing up and holding his hand out.
âNo,â Y/N grumbled, taking his hand and letting him drag her onto the floor, âsheâs an apex predator.âÂ
Anthony rolled his eyes. âYes, alright, sheâs an apex predator. Now, I know you donât like my family tonight but please try to avoid stepping on my toes, these shoes have just been polished.â
Y/N resisted the childish urge to stamp on Anthonyâs foot, just to prove a point.Â
The dance was a slightly energetic one - a far cry from a waltz, thankfully - and Y/N found that she was actually enjoying herself. Anthony spun her around the room and lifted her up into the air, watching her giggle with excitement with a triumphant smile.
The song slowly came to an end and they bowed to each other. Y/N giggled again and hugged Anthony.
Anthony, forgetting that Y/N had spent too much time around them and probably knew more swear words than he did, gaped at her. âWhat?â
Y/N nodded behind him with fear in her eyes. âIâve been snared.â
âY/N! There you are!â Eloise called, barging through the crowd and dragging Colin behind her. Colin followed his sister with an amused smile. âIâve been looking for you.â
âAnd Iâve been dancing with Anthony,â Y/N replied, trying to avoid looking at Colin.Â
Eloiseâs eyes narrowed at her for a second. âColin has a question to ask you,â she said, pushing her brother forward.
Colin stepped forward and Y/N was forced to look at him. She titled her head up - no matter what height she seemed to be, he always seemed to be taller - and met his gaze. She struggled to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as he made eye contact with her and smiled.
âI was wondering if you would like to waltz with me?â Colin asked, gesturing to the band who were preparing for the next dance.
âWaltz?â Y/N asked, staring at him.
âYou donât need anyoneâs permission, do you?â Colin asked, frowning. âI just assumed with you being an only child -â
âShe has my permission to waltz, brother,â Anthony said, stepping forward and standing next to Y/N. âI am her chaperone after all.â
Y/N gave Anthony a glare of betrayal. âYes, of course,â she said, turning back to Colin. âIâd be happy to dance with you.â
âExcellent,â Colin said, taking Y/Nâs hand.
As he led her to the dance floor, Y/N glared at Anthony and Eloise, who she now realised had teamed up together. They both looked far too pleased with themselves and when they began to follow them onto the dance floor she realised she had no way out.
âAre you alright?â Colin asked, eyeing her with concern as Y/N sighed heavily. âIâve hardly seen you all evening.â
âIâve been outside,â Y/N lied, nodding to convince herself. âAway from... people.â
Colin chuckled, nodding with an air of understanding. âYes, I understand.â
Colin moved his hand on to her waist and Y/N tried not to make the sharp intake of breath she took obvious. His hand rested on her waist and the small of her back, just below where the back of her dress ended and exposed her skin. His other hand grabbed hers and, despite the white, silk gloves she was wearing, she could feel the heat of his hands.Â
âY/N?â Colin asked softly.
Y/Nâs eyes snapped to his and she was engulfed by the pure delight, love and enjoyment in them. The crinkled slightly as he smiled at her.Â
âYeah?â
âWe have an audience,â Colin said, nodding to his left.Â
Y/N followed his gaze and tried not to groan aloud when she noticed the entire Bridgerton family - minus Eloise and Anthony whoâd annoyingly joined them on the dance floor - watching them.
âOh, for -â Y/N cut herself off and sighed. âNo, itâs fine,â she said, looking back at Colin.Â
âAre you sure?â He asked.
The orchestra finished tuning and the first notes of the waltz began.
âYes,â Y/N said, smiling a pure smile of joy for the first time that night. âItâs perfect.â
They began dancing around the room to the gentle melody of the waltz.Â
âHave you been avoiding me?â Colin asked suddenly.
Y/N blinked in surprise as he spun her. âYou noticed?â
She mentally cursed herself because that was not what she meant to say.Â
âOf course I noticed, Y/N,â Colin said, frowning. âI go to talk to you and youâre not there. Youâve disappeared off with Hyacinth or Benedict.â
Y/N sighed, realising she wasnât going to get away with lying. âOk, fine. I have been avoiding you, Colin.â
Y/N cursed in her head as Colin spun her away to Anthony (she was beginning to suspect the two Bridgerton siblings had purposefully joined them in the dance to make it even harder to talk to him).
âBad time,â she growled to Anthony.
âEloise forced me too,â Anthony replied, unfazed by the anger that was directed at him.Â
âCan I ask you a question?â Y/N asked, looking up at him.
âOf course, Y/N/N.â
âAm I... suitable for Colin?â She asked, finally voicing her main concern and the reason sheâd been avoiding him. âI know I'm not a perfect lady - and I have hardly any dowry and that my family is all but non-existent -â
âY/N,â Anthony said softly, cutting her off. âYou are more than enough for my brother. I donât care about anything except the fact that you love him.â
Y/N opened her mouth to protest but Anthony cut her off before she could.
âIâve seen the way you two look at each other, Y/N,â he said gently, twirling her. âYou are practically a Bridgerton already, why not make it official?â
Y/Nâs eyes widened but before she could question him, she was spun back to Colin.Â
âSo, we were talking about you avoiding me,â Colin said, a cheeky grin on his face.
Y/N let out a stuttered breath as Colin moved his hand up slightly, his fingers brushing over her bare back.Â
âColin... I...â
âI know,â Colin said gently, looking her in the eye.
Y/N faltered. âYou know... what?â
âWhy youâve been avoiding me,â Colin elaborated.Â
âOh?â
âEloise told me.â
âOh.â
Colin laughed. âYouâre change of tone is so telling - you are rubbish at hiding your emotions.â
âYeah, well Iâm obviously not that bad,â Y/N muttered. âWhat did Eloise say, exactly?â
âThat you like me and sheâs been trying to set us up for the past few weeks,â Colin replied, twirling her around a few times. âIs that why youâve been avoiding me?â
Y/N shrugged slightly. âYouâre a Bridgerton, Colin. You could have any woman in this room - the majority of whom are far more suitable than me, an orphan with hardly any dowry and a grandmother who doesnât care -â
âBut I want you, Y/N,â Colin said, moving his hand from her back to tilt her chin up.
Y/N allowed him to lift her head up and gazed into his eyes. âYou... want me?â
âI did just say that, didnât I?â Colin quipped, his eyes twinkling.
Y/N rolled her eyes. âHaha, very funny.â She paused. âBut... you do want... me?â
âOf course I do!â Colin said, surprised that she was even doubting his affections. âY/N, Iâve wanted you from the moment you walked into me and nearly fell down the stairs.â
Y/N let out a snort that she quickly disguised with a cough. âThank you for saving me, by the way,â she replied, smiling. âThat would have been interesting.â
âEspecially since you almost took Benedict out with you,â Colin added.
Y/N laughed, throwing her head back. âOh, god, donât remind me!â
Colin moved his hands to her waist and lifted her into the air as the music reached its climax. He slowly lowered her back down, his hands staying on her waist, and Y/N felt the sudden urge to take him there and then.
âI love you, Y/N Y/L/N,â Colin said softly, his voice almost a whisper in her ear. âI love everything about you. I love your clumsiness, your eye for art, the way you sing... I love you.â
Y/N looked up at him. âI love you too, Colin.â
Colin smiled and stepped closer to her, his hands tightening on her waist.Â
Someone bumped into Y/N and she fell forward into Colin - the man catching her and holding her up against him.
âStupid heels,â Eloise cursed, wobbling and grabbing Anthonyâs arm to steady herself. âOh, hi! How was your dance?â
Y/N bit her lip and looked at Colin, struggling not to laugh. âSomeday, Eloise,â she said, turning to look at her friend, âIâm going to be hanged for murdering you.â
Eloise took Y/Nâs arm. âIf you get caught Iâll be disappointed.â
âWho said Iâd be caught?â Y/N questioned. âI just assumed your brothers would hang me themselves.â
The two women laughed as they walked off to the drinks table, chatting vividly about a subject women probably shouldnât be talking about.
âI love her, brother,â Colin said, turning to look at Anthony.
Anthony chuckled and smiled, patting him on the back. âYes, I noticed, Colin,â
I've been reading Claws of Carnality instead of listening to my online classes today, but I cannot bring myself to feel guilty for it. You have a real talent for writing. I am so stunned by how well and detailed this story is written. I am in awe of you and your work! Keep going :)
Oh, goodness!!! I hope my work didnât distract you !! It is very flattering, however, to know that you wanted to enjoy my work and found it interesting enough to spend your time reading it!
I am a little self conscious with this story after some feedback Iâve gotten about it, but your sweet message was such a breath of fresh air for me to take in and Iâm really glad you feel the way that you do about my work. Thank you so much, lovely!
Warnings: literally just chit chat fluff and character building
Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.
Notes: sooo⌠I like Tywin Lannister. This is kinda fun I think. Let me know.
Previously On⌠Part One
âA Rose of Gold?â (Y/n) scoffed. âDo we look like Tyrellâs to you?â
âI-I,â The bard stuttered over his words, âI could play the Lion and the Lady for you, Lady Lannister.â
A guffaw went up around the group of Lannister soldiers. There was no worse Westerlands song he could have chosen to play for (Y/n) Lannister than the one effectively about how she should not exist.
âBest choose something else,â An older soldier, named Tygett after Tywinâs younger brother, advised.
None of the group whoâd come up with (Y/n) from Casterly Rock felt particularly welcome in Winterfell. Every morning since sheâd sent word for her father to ride north, (Y/n) had left the keep in the early hours of the morning to join her men in the barracks to break fast; and every night since her father replied that he was on his way with all haste, she had dropped all pretense of social interaction with the Starks or the Kingâs party and taken all of her meals with her men.
The twenty or so soldiers were camped around a large bonfire behind the stables of Winterfell, as they were every night. The meal was soup, one of the large pots Winterfellâs kitchen had delivered to the barracks for any men not invited to the feast. A few well-placed coins by (Y/n) had managed to get all of the rolls baked for that nightâs supper delivered, instead, to the fireside, and some of the Northâs musicians who had been displaced by those brought with the King had thought to join the Lannister to earn some gold from them.
Authorâs note: I was really in my harry feels whilst writing this so sorry about that lmao also I proofread this so many times and it still SUCKS ASS. I posted this entire thing earlier from my phone but tumblr deleted everything except the title so yeah Iâm sorry if there arenât italics and bolds on some of the words where they should be but iâm just to lazy to go through the entire thing and find them all again, maybe iâll do it later but who knows. I do not own harry potter or the storyline/characters they are the intellectual property of J.K Rowling. (not my gif)
Word Count: 5.9k
Summary: Thereâs little to nothing Draco values more than his reputation so when he sees it slipping, heâll do anything in his power to catch it.
Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader / Platonic!Harry Potter x Fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, foul language, asshole!draco and daddy issues lol
This is an AU so all the information doesnât exactly line up with the HP storyline for example Voldemort hasnât returned but still exists so little from Harryâs history changes but Dumbledoreâs still alive.
After yours and Dracoâs interaction the other night youâd strongly begun reconsidering his offer to accompany him to the ball, maybe he wasnât as bad as you thought, I mean whatâs the worst that could happen? So many things your anxiety was quick to answer, the most important one being that Harry and Ron would probably never speak to you again.
âY/N are you even listening to me?â Hermioneâs voice snapped you out of your trance, her blurry hand waving in front of your face, you quickly began blinking in an attempt to bring your surroundings back into focus, âsorryâ you then muttered sending her an apologetic smile before gesturing for her to continue with whatever sheâd been talking about.
âAs I was saying, I need a cute date for the ball, who do you think will annoy Ron the most?â you were about to answer when a voice from behind you beat you to it.
prompt: âkill everything dear to you and then you will know how it feels.â
t/w: mentions of death
a/n: this is set a year after the battle of hogwarts! wrote this at 1am n havent proofread it so chances are it sucks but iâm posting it anyway bc you only live once am i right folks
In the darkness and silence of a winterâs night, the water is eerily calmâtoo calm, almost, with a foreboding feeling hanging over it. At the edge of the lake stands a girl whose heart has long since grown much too cold to feel anything but the wide, gaping void inside of her chest. She doesnât shiver; just stands there, holding her wand at her side, gaze fixed on the reflection of the moonshine against the shapeless water, waiting.
And waiting.
And when the figure appears from behind herâa loud, almost deafening snap in the complete and utter silence of the woods, she doesnât turn around right away.
Instead, she twirls her wand in her hand, frowning down at the lake as though expecting something to break through the calm surface and swallow her whole, carry her down into its depths and leave her somewhere deep, deep down, away from the rest of the world.
Thinking about it now, it doesnât sound that bad.
Harry hurts his daughterâs feelings when he plays favorites
Word Count: 5.3K
This is PURE ANGST itâs not SMUT no matter how kinky the title sounds
-
âAnd where do you think you were all night long?â Harry stands in the kitchen, a glass of water sitting in front of him as he stares a stare that could burn a hole through his daughter. His hair is disheveled from waking up in the middle of his sleep, and just when heâd walked downstairs to get some water - assuming all three of his children were asleep - he spotted his 16 year old daughter tiptoeing in through the front door of their large house.
Rose flinches, eyes shutting as she wishes to poof her way out of the situation. She knew she would be grounded for the rest of the week. Harry didnât have much trust in her, and wouldnât believe that she was just trying to stay out of her home at her friend Ellieâs house, but it was true. She wasnât doing drugs, drinking, having sex, or anything that he probably thought she was doing.
âIâll just go ground myself for the rest of the week.â She simply says. Harry nods momentarily, agreeing with her punishment, but he doesnât like that she doesnât seem affected by it at all. So before she can reach the large marble staircase, he changes the circumstances to her punishment.
âRest of the month, Rose. Youâve got to know what youâve done.â Y/Nâs fists ball at her sides, and she tries not to show her anger boiling up in her chest. She knew that if Ethan - her brother who was just a year older than her - had been the one showing up late, he wouldâve been met with a disappointed conversation and no real circumstance.
âDad, donât you think thatâs a little too far?â She questions, Green eyes locking onto his own as they stare at each other across the living room. He shakes his head, he loved his daughter, but he needed her to know that sneaking out and doing lord knows what wasnât an appropriate behavior, especially when he was once her age and knew exactly what kids did at 16.
an ! kinda short, but I felt like cutting it there was better, feedback is always a good idea !!!
summary ! The youngest of the Maximoff siblings had lived through heartbreak twice now. First her parentâs death and then her older siblingâs abandonment. She did not know what she had done wrong, only that she searched for them for 3 years before HYDRA recruited her. She joined them when she learnt Pietro and Wanda had came here after leaving her. Now 6 years after their departure, she was in the process of becoming HYDRAâs best asset ever.
part one   part dos    part tres    part quatro    part cinco   part seis  Â
As if the tension had vanished, The Avengers were all gathering around, ready to land on Ukrainian soil.
âThereâs a clearing not far from the border, weâll land there, and Tony, Sam and Pietro will scout the area. No mistakes allowed okay. You see her, or a Hydra agent, you report back to the team before doing anything.â
The instructions were clear, everyone knew what their job was and their role on this mission. But it felt reassuring for the most part to hear them being said one last time before arriving. Comforting glances meeting stressed stares, the jet would be landing in seconds now.
âguys, weâve got a problemâ Bruce was frowning when he turned towards the team.
They all tried to approach him at the same time, but all of them not fitting in the cockpit, they let Tony and Steve go through, knowing they were leading the mission.
âWhatâs happening Bruce?â Tonyâs usually casual tone was nothing but down to business and it meant naught except for the fact that he was probably freaking out just as much as the others right now.
âThereâs lots of movement coming from the border and somethingâs down in the middle of the clearing.â
The look Steve and Tony exchanged did nothing to help Bruce come down to a decision. They knew what the movement could mean, and it augured nothing good. As for the thing it the middle of the clearing, the scan showed it was still, unmoving, it could be a frightened animal or just a glitch.
âWe have to land, Bruce land the quinjetâ That was Pietro talking, but his determination was only followed by agreeing hums. Everyone on the team was ready for whatever they would encounter once they had touched down, at least if they landed now, they would just get it over with.
âPietro-â Steve didnât have time to reason with him that Bucky interrupted him.
âNo time to argue, we could already be down thereâ The serious look in his friendâs eyes was enough to convince him, he knew there was nothing more he could do to prepare his friends for what could possibly happen once they landed.
He nodded towards Bruce who immediately took matters in hands and started the quinjetâs descent.
  Mal had always had trouble at the beginning to control her new-found abilities, she could never fully understand just how it all worked. But after years of training, she now mastered the art of hiding her powers away, she was so hell-bent on keeping them from everyone around her even when she was at the facility and everyone knew what was running through her veins, she never was one to make a show of her powers.
She liked them, they made her feel powerful and important and that kind of feeling could never be replaced by anything else. Although Mal loved being special amongst the ordinary people, she was almost if not all self-doubt.
That doubt had been eating her alive her whole life, because the feeling of power that came after her experiment did nothing to erase the disappointment and questions she had always had.
So, she kept her powers to herself because they were hers, and if she couldnât have anything else, not even friends or a loving family, at least she had them. They were always there, buzzing at the back of her head or flowing in her veins. They were always there for her, and she intended to keep it that way. They were hers, and she didnât want the last thing she had to be taken from her.
But there were times, like this one, when those powers couldnât be restrained. They asked, no, they didnât ask they just made themselves known and pushed and tugged at Malâs restrains, pushed and pushed until she couldnât handle all the back and forth and had to let them out.
Strangely enough those times almost never happened at the facility, she assumed that it was because she had to use them every day, but now with almost three weeks on the run, three weeks without ever using them. She could just feel them take over her body, she knew she was losing control and fast, unfortunately for the young girl, when it all came rushing down, she wouldnât be able to stop them.
But maybe for the first time ever, she didnât want to stop them. Maybe they all deserved to feel her wrath, Hydra had made her this way and she was tired of all the control, of all the pain and manipulation. She had been naĂŻve and weak but now that was all over, she knew now, that the world was cruel and offered no relief for people like Mal.
She might not have been able to understand just how much damage she could do, nor did she know the extent of her powers, but she was fully aware of the fight that was about to happen.
The jet had landed, she didnât seem to recognize Hydraâs logo or colors or anything that had to do with their organization but if it wasnât them who could it have been. After all, right now, it didnât matter, those people hadnât landed in the exact clearing she was in all while pursued by agents just to bring her to safety. She could only count on herself and those people would suffer the same fate the agents would.
Even though she was aware that the moment the agents arrived she would be surrounded, not an ounce a fear could be felt, all that was radiating from her body was power.
The gates opened and her vision immediately focused on the group of people walking down the aircraft. At first, it felt like they hadnât even noticed her presence, which funnily enough made Mal chuckle because she could have hit them by surprise. But this wasnât the way she wanted to do this, she wanted them to see what she could do. Not hide behind her mentor this time.
Once they realized that it was indeed a person standing in the middle of the cold and wild clearing, it seemed they stilled. All of them.
As if trying not to scare her away, one of them took two steps forward and was about to talk when a first wave of agents was heard running and shouting from the other side of the clearing.
The buzzing in her veins intensifies at the notion of danger, it sizzled right under her skin and she was trying so hard to keep it there.
Upon seeing the twenty or so guards which were previously guarding the border run towards her, Malâs resolve dissolved into nothing. Their faces all contorted in anger they sure didnât expect when Mal started advancing towards them.
The determination in her pace and her aura dominating their fake masculinity, they still didnât stop because after all, what could a 16-year-old possibly do to them. They should have been more careful.
The shouts of the individuals behind her were unheard and she stopped dead in her tracks, her hands extended towards the dark night sky, The Avengers wished they could have been ready for this.
Unleashing her power into the air felt liberating, the electricity shooting up in the sky in violet-like lighting strikes, just to shoot back down straight onto the group of agents. Her arms tingling from the sensation, itâs like she couldnât get enough of it, it felt addicting to her. Her power had been locked up for too long in her flesh prison, to let it roam free and wreak havoc was a sight she wanted to imprint in her mind.
Seeing as some of them had been only grazed by the shocks and only a few of them were laying still on the floor, she wasnât satisfied. When would they learn the lesson, she hadnât left all those men at the facility because she thought it would be pretty, it was a warning for them not to come find her.
Her arms descending towards the men, an electric flow coming from deep within her crushed every manâs spine. Frying their brains, they fell like flies leaving the snow almost untouched.
The rage and power still clouding her vision and judgment, she turned around ready to show the weird costume-y guys what was waiting for them.
But she surely didnât expect them to be standing so close to her, all with mouth agape. She thought she could take advantage of the situation when a voice stopped her.
âAmalyaâŚâ Wandaâs voice was pure hurt, seeing her little sister kill those men with little to no regret just felt like a horrifying scene for her.
Mal turned to look at the woman and her knees almost gave out from under her when she recognized the two people looking straight at her.
Here they were her so-called brother and sister. Here they were, still looking almost like the last time she had seen them except a bit older. Her eyes watered but she refused to let the tears fall, they didnât deserve another one of them. She had spent so many nights and days crying for them.
âItâs us Amalyaâ Pietroâs heart hurt, the only rational thought for him would be to run and hold her for god knows how long, but the things she had just done prevented him from doing so. She probably was scared right now and even if they were family it had been a while since they had seen each other.
Mal felt anything but afraid.
Mal recognized them, but she didnât know who they were anymore. Who leaves their 10-year-old sister to fend for herself in a poor and corrupted country? The tears were long gone now, the electricity buzzing once more, but this time it was even stronger.
The whole team could feel it in the air, hair going up because of static electricity, Malâs eyes shining purple, a mist started enveloping her. She felt intimidating. The whole lot of them, they almost wanted to take a step back, the atmosphere way too tense to breathe properly, they all wondered how a teenager could express such dominance.
âPlease come with us honey, weâve missed youâ Wanda didnât have time to utter her words that they went straight to Malâs core, just like fuel she erupted, electricity crackling all around her, lightning coming from all around her.
She looked at them dead in the eyes, her own filled with nothing, her stare was blank and thatâs what hurt the twins the most.
âItâs Mal nowâ Her cold demeanor matched her tone, not wasting a second more she started the fight back up.
an ! PLease forgive me for the ENORMOUS delay, I donât even have an excuse but just starting back up this series. Send ask if you donât wanna be on the taglist anymore, sorry everyone i know im a disappointment lol
summary ! The youngest of the Maximoff siblings had lived through heartbreak twice now. First her parentâs death and then her older siblingâs abandonment. She did not know what she had done wrong, only that she searched for them for 3 years before HYDRA recruited her. She joined them when she learnt Pietro and Wanda had came here after leaving her. Now 6 years after their departure, she was in the process of becoming HYDRAâs best asset ever.
part one   part dos    part tres    part quatro    part cinco   part seis  Â
At dawn, when the sun starts to rise in the sky, the various shades of orange, yellow and pink illuminating the sky, thatâs when Pietro used to feel the most peaceful. Of course, that was before they went and discovered the rampage that fueled his baby sister on the run. Before he saw what years of abandonment had done to her.
A few months ago, Pietro would have loved getting up before everyone else and go on his morning run, running faster than the forever circulating cars of New York City, when the city was awakening. Heâd sometimes even go as far as the Liberty Statue, so he could admire the lady in the morning light, without the sea of tourists.
But now everything had changed, and he felt that when he woke up and had to force himself out of bed. When he didnât have the motivation to go around the city, when looking at the rising sun didnât feel as tranquil as it did before.
He could only think about her, Amalya.
Wondering where she was at this second, what she could be doing, how she was feeling. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness enveloped him once again. Pietro felt useless.
What was he going to become if he couldnât even look after his own little sister?
He didnât feel deserving of the Avengers. He felt like all they had done since they rescued him and Wanda from HYDRA was helping them, and all he could do was joke around and make mistakes on missions.
He was startled when he heard the knock on his door. To his surprise his body got up and went to open the door, but it felt as if he was far away from it. Like he was watching his body move from the outside.
Outside the door stood a very concerned Wanda, immediately she entered the room taking Pietro into her arms.
âPietâ why are you crying ?â her voice was soft and worried, as usual these days.
But Pietro pushed her away to feel his wet cheeks, he hadnât even realized he was crying until his sister told him so.
He dried his tear-stained cheeks and smiled sadly at the witch. Then, proceeded to shrug, not knowing how to express his feelings out loud, not really wanting to share either.
âYou know weâve told you a thousand times that it is not your fault ! Why do you keep doing this to yourself Pietro it isnât healthy for you to think all thisâ Wanda felt she had to check up on everyoneâs state daily, at least it prevented her from letting her thoughts wander.
âI canât help feeling this way you know!â The tears building up in his eyes made him hate himself even more, he wished he could just find his sister in two shakes of a lambâs tail.
âWell it isnât easy for any of us right now, but could you try at least? For her?â
âDonât you think I know that it isnât easy for you for me or for anyone in this fucking tower ? I know it okay? But none of you abandoned her like I did, so please please Wanda leave me the fuck alone and donât tell me how to feel.â
The hurt in her brotherâs voice wasnât like any she had ever heard, she wasnât used to seeing him so torn and hurt, she couldnât even be mad at him feeling what he felt, she was left speechless.
âStop getting into my head please Wandaâ He had always been annoyed when she searched for something in his head and had somehow found a way to block her out, which he did right away.
He didnât want her to find out yet, he knew she wasnât ready.
Not that he was either.
â While the Avengers were slowly starting to awaken in the Tower, it was already mid-afternoon in far-east Europe.
On her 10th day of running, Mal woke up startled by a loud knocking on the door. Whoever was behind it did not seem friendly enough for her to open it. A man was bellowing in Russian on the other side, his energy felt angry and annoyed.
Even though the sixteen-year-old girl had nothing to be afraid of, considering the amount of chaos she could bring up in just about three seconds, she didnât feel safe.
After all, she had broken into a small cottage on the outskirts of a city through the backdoor. She just needed to sleep for a while, rest and eat so she could go on. The adrenaline from the first few days following the escape was slowly starting to dissipate and the heaviness of her fatigued body slowed her down.
Her muscles were tired of all the running, the calves of her feet had started to harden, not used to so much exercise in so uncomfortable shoes. The young girl had had to change clothes often in order to hide her identity from the people on the streets, especially the agents that she could recognize easily and were dispatched in small groups all over the country.
Her disappearance from the facility had caused a real panic over at HYDRA headquarters. A real man-hunt had been put in place, so they could retrieve the girl as soon as possible. In fact, the government had even been informed -not to the extend as knowing that she was a mutant- of her escape.
Upon hearing the very disturbing and worrying news, the authorities had put word on the street of this girl who was wanted by the government. Her image could be seen everywhere, on all medias allowed in Russia they were displaying nearly 24/7 a picture of her face.
As she had no money, she couldnât buy herself any food, any clothes, anything to allow her to survive.
All she could do was steal or mend, which was rendered difficult for the most part considering every corner she turned, the police was there looking for her.
She doubted most of them knew what she was wanted for. She knew the evil organization wouldnât ever compromise their mission, their goal. They were a secret.
She was a secret.
But she had escaped, and they had been forced to reveal her identity to the world. Now she most definitely knew that she couldnât ever return or be found. They would hurt her, for disobeying, for hurting their men, for exposing herself to the world.
As she was slipping out the backdoor once again, the front one flew open and she ran. Cursing herself for waking up so late. Now she was sure the man was going to report forced entry and the authorities could find any kind of stuff belonging to her. From hair to her socks, they would be able to retrace her steps.
Great, now she had to change plans entirely.
The city she had just entered was situated on the Russian border, she was so close but so far. Because a mistake like the one she had just made could cost her everything.
At least, if the man had seen her run he wouldnât be able to give the same description of her as the one the photo showed. After the four first days, she had been lucky enough to find a DIY-hair dye lotion in a supermarket trash.
She was ashamed of having to search through the garbage to get what she needed, but at the end of the day she didnât have a lot of options. So now she had somewhat icy blonde bleached hair which made her blend in more in the big crowds of Russian girls. The dye wasnât all that great though, it had hurt her scalp and even though she had followed the instructions she knew the color wasnât going to last very long.
The only option she felt like she had was to cross the border before the sun set, today. Because finding shelter for the night would be way harder than it had been, the borders being heavily controlled at all times.
Mal knew she was probably only two kilometers away from Ukraine, which was less than a 30 minutesâ walk. It seemed so easy, too easy. That is why she felt more comfortable waiting for the night to come and the sun to come down, it felt safer. Like the night would hide her away.
After a little time of walking by herself and looking over her shoulder from time to time she entered the space of a small coffeeshop not too far away from the border. She had found some change laying around in the house she had stayed in the previous morning and decided best to wait silently in an unknown shop.
Even with a full plan in head Mal never even thought that she would eventually have to leave the coffee shop. She had stayed there all day, reading magazines and ordering the cheapest thing on the menu with the little money she had found in the houseâs cabinets in the morning.
It was now 8pm and she was outside, kicking herself for not thinking that guards would be covering the entire area for the night, being this close to the border had left her with too much hope it had clouded her judgment. She now had to find a way to reach it without bringing any suspicion upon herself.
At least she had managed to go through the whole day unnoticed.
She was glad for the combat boots on her feet, the cold wind harshly wiping her face wouldnât have been so kind with her extremities. She kept walking, grateful for the busy city she had chosen as a last stop before freedom.
She wondered what that felt like, to truly be free. Not like that feeling she had in the train but truly being able to enjoy a moment, without having someone monitoring you or having to constantly look over your shoulder.
The experiment she had gone through with Hydraâs surgeons and scientists had sadly blurred some of her childhood memories. The face of her parents wasnât clear enough for her to draw a perfect family picture, but surprisingly enough she could remember the exact conversation her brother and sister had had before abandoning her. Memories like these only fueled her rage to get back at them, her entire life had been about being good enough for them, and she now knew she had sacrificed so many things just to realize they had never cared.
Knowing she couldnât stay in one place for more than a few minutes without a guard looking at her suspiciously, she decided to keep moving and chose the most direct way to the border, hoping her plan would work.
And so, she walked, her mind still trying to make out the color of her motherâs eyes, and her dadâs voice.
â The chaos that was taking place in the Tower was like no other. It didnât resemble anything that any of them had encountered before. Nothing like one of Tonyâs after parties or like a fight between Sam and Pietro. The tower was bustling, the Avengers hurriedly trying to get all of their stuff together so they could be flying as fast as possible.
Thanks to one of Furyâs sources, they had been informed about some of the young girlâs whereabouts. The conclusion made had been that she would try to cross the border tonight or during the following day. So, here they were, changing into gear and getting the jet ready.
âIs everyone ready?â Steveâs voice boomed out throughout the main room, making everyone still their actions and look at him, âWe have to leave, now, or else weâll be coming back empty-handed once moreâ.
People around him had concentrated faces, even if there wasnât going to be a fight, nobody was taking this mission lightly. It was important for them to be concentrated, for once no one dared to try and lighten the oppressive and tensed atmosphere, all too preoccupied to try and make a joke.
The lack of response from his teammates would have troubled Steve if he, himself had not been worried about his best friend and the twins. He had tried to get them to stay at the Tower and not go on the mission, unfortunately, all his good intentions were not taken into account when the conservation exploded into an argument.
Of course, the twins had to come. If anyone was going to save their baby sister, it had to be them. Not only did they feel responsible for what had happened to her, but they couldnât even bear the thought of staying one more day stuck in the Tower with nothing to do and no new information.
Steve had, in the end, stopped trying to persuade them, knowing the discussion would not lead anywhere near a sound decision. He knew they would do anything to get her back and know what happened, but what he feared most was Pietroâs need for revenge. He could see it in his eyes, and feel it in his attitude, Hydraâs touch on his sister was not something that he was willing to just let go. He was afraid that getting her back would never be enough for him.
Another thing on Steveâs mind was Bucky.
The winter soldier had been even more serious than usual. He was always either working out and destroying punching bags or in the lab uselessly trying to be of some help to locate the girl. Steve knew her situation bothered and angered his friend, but he was scared of the consequences participating in such a mission could have on him.
Bucky was a grown man, but another encounter with Hydra was never something he could truly be prepared for. The memories and experience he had with them were still there, and always would be. Steve wondered why his best friend, even with everything he had been through at Hydraâs hands, was still so committed in finding the girl.
Steve was now sitting on the quinjet, still drowning in worry when Natasha sat next to him, snapping him out of his trance like state.
âIf you frown any more, even your super-soldier serum wonât be able to prevent the wrinkles youâll have.â She lightly tapped his shoulders in way that wanted to be comforting.
Steve chuckled, the first time since the news had been delivered.
âIâm worried about themâ
âEveryone isâ She looked around at every single one of their teammates, âWe canât take another failing in this mission, weâve worked too much, itâs taken a toll on everybodyâ
âI know, weâll find her.â
The rest of the flight was spent in silence. The thick and tensed atmosphere felt almost suffocating but no one dared to talk.
â As Mal approached the border, she knew her plan was working when the guards around her were too preoccupied with the crowd forming on the square not too far. No one was looking at her, the distraction she had conceived working like a charm giving her the perfect opportunity to escape and slip through Hydraâs grip. Coming up to the last one of the guards who had stayed behind to keep watch, she extended her hand to give him her fake identity card.
He looked at it intently and asked her why she was going out of the country. She answered and when he looked back down, his eyes widened, and she knew her cover was blown. Panicked, she punched him violently in the throat, the man dropping unconscious on the floor.
Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she ran as fast as she could and when she stopped running, any notion of time she could have had before was lost. Trying to regain her breath she looked around her.
Kneeling in a clearing covered in snow, the only thing surrounding her were trees. Both a blessing and curse she thought, she could hide in the forest, but her footprints were the only ones here, she knew she had made a mistake by choosing to go off the roads. Because her prints would be easily recognizable and the clouds not presenting any sign of snow did nothing to reassure her.
Her head was spinning with the amount of blood rushing to her head because of the running, preventing her from thinking straight and establishing a plan. The exhaustion from the past few days was starting to show its face and she knew that if she didnât keep moving, she would pass out in the middle of this beautiful clearing.
But before she could even try and define the first step of her plan, she heard the shouts of men behind her.
Head spinning around, she turned and could feel the earth trembling with each soldierâs footstep. Tears of frustration now spilling on her cheeks, she knew she didnât have time to run, especially now that she had been discovered.
Concentrating, she mustered up all the energy she had left and prepared herself for the battle running towards her. Electricity buzzing through her system, just itching and begging to be let out, she breathed in.
But before she even had the time to exhale, the sound of an engine sounded all around her. The clearing before illuminated by the moonâs soft light was now pitch dark, the aircraft blocking out any of that light.
Mal didnât panic, she didnât faint like she thought she would.
She got angry.
Fury flooded her veins and raged through her being like a hurricane upon being surrounded. She was ready to fight, once again, she wouldnât stop because she was so angry and tired of people trying to take her freedom away from her. She had enough.
She wasnât going to go down without a fight. They would know just what she was truly made of.
They would understand just how much power she had, because no one would take her liberty again.
And when she the jet finally landed, Mal exhaled, her eyes turning the deepest shade of amethyst.
Hey could you please tag me in the next parts of Mal-evolence ? It is So So amazing and I'm in love with it soooo much!! I think the idea is so great!! Have you got any idea when part 8 will be out and how many more you are going to make?
omg thank you so much!!! i was actually thinking about if i should keep going with this fanfic or not since idk what people think of it :)) but thank you, iâll try posting the next part tomorrow if I can (itâs already 11pm here) tysm, ofc iâll add youidk how many more parts there will be i guess itâll depend on you guys wishes
idk french so Iâm just gonna assume this is sponsored fanart of an oddly intense soulmate au
âeverything is black and white until you touch your soulmate⌠when you do, some of your bones start to glow through your skin like a living piss-colored lava lamp/x-ray!!!! what a miracle!!!â
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