Ivy’s Daughter • Two

filtering light 「 ch. 1 」

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pairing: park jimin x reader x jeon jungkook

includes: bunny!reader, human!park jimin, human!jeon jungkook, golden retriever!jung hoseok, human!min yoongi, tiger!kim taehyung, human!kim namjoon, human!kim seokjin.

word count: 6k

warnings: none

summary: the reader is a bunny hybrid with a past that has left her traumatized and struggling to heal. some things can be helped with therapy, but some things can only be fixed through realizing you're not all of the things that hurt you—you are, in fact, just loved.

[ one ] [ two ] [ three ] [ four ] [ five ] [ six ] [ seven ]

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The garden of The Violet was lush and sprawling, filling everything the eye could see with green leaves, bright flowers, and twinkling butterflies. The day was perfect; spring had just begun and the days were perfectly cool, the sun warming whatever parts of people it could touch. The humans moving around were all smiling, making polite conversation, and snacking on whatever food had been put out by the catering company. The banner that hung over the entrance to the garden reminded everyone that they were there for a cause: The Violet Hybrid Awareness Fund. As if the attendees could forget anyway.

The Violet had set up the event to raise awareness for hybrid care and hybrid lives—something the foundation had become directly involved in when they opened a shelter of their own almost a decade prior. Hybrid rights was a young movement but there were more and more people dedicating themselves to being a voice for the hybrids who were constantly being silenced. The Violet had invited some of the community’s most powerful and influential people to spend the day learning more about hybrid life and how they can help hybrids even if they didn’t want to adopt one.

There had been classes on almost every kind of hybrid and what they were like. There were classes on hybrid treatment (and cases of mistreatment). There were classes detailing The Violet’s plan to improve as many hybrid lives as possible. Currently, hybrids still had to be adopted to be free, and when they were in public they were required by law to wear their collars. The Violet, however, wanted hybrids to be enabled to gain their independence and autonomy without fear of humans interfering or hurting them.

While it was now generally frowned upon to have hybrids as servants, there were plenty of people in the world who thought of hybrids as property they paid for and could do what they wanted with. There were a few programs forming that worked to create policies that protected hybrids and made it possible to prosecute people who treated their hybrids inhumanely, but there was still a lot of work to be done. The Violet was asking communities to partner with them in the fight.

The morning had been filled with information and passionate words from founders of The Violet as well as from employees who had one story or another of how they were faced with the injustice of hybrid treatment and how they chose to stand and fight for those who were not allowed to fight for themselves. It was all very emotional and moving, if Park Jimin did say so himself.

Jimin had been invited alongside his partner, Jeon Jungkook, and a few of their friends. They felt strongly about the treatment of hybrids—anyone with eyes to see the abuse they suffered would be—but truly the two had no idea there was so much they didn’t know about hybrids in general. Their friend Namjoon was more knowledgeable on the subject, and he had been excited about the event for weeks. Namjoon was heavily involved in The Violet’s efforts to raise the quality of life for hybrids, even volunteering his time on top of donating hundreds of thousands of dollars to the foundation every year. How he found time on top of being the CEO of his own clean energy company was anyone’s guess. But if he struggled with balance it didn’t show as he approached the table his people sat at. He was grinning with excitement.

“Are you excited to meet the hybrids?” He asked, sitting down and stealing a cheese cracker off of Jungkook’s plate.

“Hybrids?” Jimin asked, looking up from the pamphlet he’d been reading. It was about hybrid nesting and he found it interesting enough that he’d been reading in silence, paying little attention to his surroundings until Namjoon spoke up.

“Yeah, the lady said it earlier. Some hybrids from the shelter are going to be here so we can meet them.” Jungkook remembered.

“Oh,” was all Jimin said.

He felt a little overwhelmed with information about the reality hybrids faced. In the seminar he sat in, they had talked about cases in which hybrids were mistreated and defended themselves but were impounded as a result. Past shelters were nothing like what The Violet had going on. There were pictures of small cages, unsanitary living conditions, and overcrowding. Staff members were just as likely to abuse the hybrids they were responsible for as the monsters the hybrids had just escaped.

“One of my trainers has a hybrid,” Jungkook said around a bite of melon. “She’s a cat hybrid. Kind of feisty.”

“Our CFO has a cat hybrid.” Namjoon nodded. “They usually have their person and everyone else can fuck off.” He chuckled.

“What kind of hybrid is the best to work with?” Jungkook asked Namjoon, wide eyes inquiring up at him.

“I get along well with dog hybrids. They’re the most approachable.”

“You mean you scare the other ones off.”  Jimin laughed. Namjoon blushed and shifted in his seat like he was being put out by the teasing.

“Ah—okay, okay.” He rolled his eyes. Everyone knew Namjoon was a bit clumsy. Dog hybrids found it funny if anything. He did in fact alarm a lot of the prey hybrids, who were already weary of him because of his size. “Anyway, most of the hybrids visiting will be low key. Some dogs, some cats, maybe a hamster. The more agreeable hybrids.”

“Agreeable?” Jungkook questioned.

“Yeah,  the ones who are okay with people for the most part. Some of the more exotic hybrids take a while to warm up to humans and wouldn’t benefit from something like this.” He sipped his drink. “But The Violet wanted to bring some hybrids who wouldn’t mind people but could also benefit from more exposure to people.”

The three men hummed in thought.

“Will you know any of them?” Jimin asked.

“No, probably not. Most of my work is done in the offices.”

And they fell into conversation about Namjoon’s work with The Violet, his business trying to make clean energy for the city, and his partner Jin. Jin was out of town on his own business, and wasn’t able to make it. None of the men missed the way Namjoon’s eyes softened when he spoke about missing his husband. It made the guys promise to try and distract him until Jin got back, making an offer to look around at the new art exhibit that had opened downtown. Namjoon was taking them up on that when the hybrids arrived.

There was no announcement at first, so as not to make the hybrids uncomfortable. But slowly, they started trickling in from inside the building. The first to be noticed was a golden retriever that spoke loudly and with an excited lilt in his tone. There was a scottish fold hybrid that sat alone until a few women approached her to make conversation. There weren’t more than twenty-five hybrids but the guests could see where they were based on the pockets of people that surrounded them.

Most thrived on the attention, their tails shaking back and forth behind them as they answered people’s questions. Others were visibly nervous and it seemed as though the staff members would notice and subtly guide attendees elsewhere so the hybrid would not be overwhelmed. It was truly interesting to witness. With images of hybrids being mistreated still fresh in their minds, everyone was being mindful and kind.

After about fifteen minutes, the announcement was finally made that The Violet’s hybrids had arrived and were making themselves comfortable. There were some activities for everyone to do to just relax and have fun. A corner for painting with easels and canvases was set up off to the side, away from where a game of soccer had started out between some dog hybrids and a few athletes who had come to support The Violet. Some younger hybrids were drawing with chalk along the walkways of the garden. Some hybrids kept to themselves and others joined in groups with humans, making small talk and just enjoying the opportunity to meet people who weren’t staff members. Everyone seemed occupied, doing their own thing, and Jungkook had decided he wanted to try his hand at painting.

There were a couple mouse hybrids that had started up in the paint area, and he greeted them as he looked around the supplies for what he might want. Jungkook had seen hybrids in passing, but had never really interacted with them. None of his friends owned any, and the ones he had met on the street were often not allowed to interact with strangers. That was why an event like this was important, he thought, to teach hybrids they shouldn’t have to be afraid of strangers. Though, a small part of his mind whispered that more often than not hybrids had a reason to fear humans. Regardless, humans should learn to be more comfortable with hybrids as well.

He grabbed a few sheets of watercolor paper, some brushes, a pen, some paint, and headed back to the table where his friends were. On his way he also snagged a plate of pastries, grinning to himself at the sight of the sweets. He placed his things down on the table and realized Jimin was talking with a hybrid. It was the golden retriever he had seen come out first.

When the hybrid got to the table where Jimin and Namjoon were chatting, he told them his name was Hoseok. Hoseok was very obviously friendly and extroverted. He had made his rounds talking to anyone and everyone. His conversation with Jimin was about what kind of work Jimin did. Jimin, it turned out, worked in security.

“Yeah? Like Park Systems level security?” Hoseok joked. Park Systems was a well known security company based in the city. The company was trusted with most of the big business security teams as well as basic home security systems. Hoseok had made the joke because the idea of the CEO of Park Systems being at The Violet talking to a golden retriever hybrid seemed laughable. When Jimin extended his hand and introduced himself as Park Jimin, Hoseok’s face had dropped in shock.

“No way.”

Hoseok had a million questions about it. He erupted in a flurry of inquiries. Jungkook was giggling at the hybrid’s enthusiasm when Namjoon leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Hey, Kook, I think you have a shadow.”

Jungkook looked at him with confusion and Namjoon’s eyes flicked over his shoulder. The younger man slowly turned his head and there, pretending to play with a wildflower, was a hybrid he hadn’t noticed before.

You had started out at the front of the garden, playing with some of the younger hybrids and making hop-scotch. The kids loved when you jumped around with them, your ears flopping back and forth. You were only the second bunny hybrid The Violet had housed, and the children all found you adorable. However, when they had inevitably run off to play, you were left to your own devices with no excuse to avoid talking to the humans around.

You knew the staff was keeping a close eye on you. This was the first event you had been to since you came to The Violet, and you still struggled with big crowds of people. You were promised it would be relaxed and lowkey, and it was true. No one was staring too much, and no one was approaching you to ask questions. The people at the event were conscious that you were a bunny, and the one thing on the pamphlet about bunny hybrid care that was emphasized was their skittishness. When they were spooked, they would bolt. The caterer who handed you a plate of snacks even smiled softly at you, gentle and soothing as if trained. You assumed The Violet actually had trained them.

You had just settled in a particularly sunny patch of grass when you saw him. At first your heart stopped, thinking he was another bunny hybrid like yourself. But you realized almost immediately that he was human. However, the longer you looked the more you could see why you had mistaken him for a hybrid. His eyes were big and brown, and flicked this way and that as he took in his surroundings. He nibbled on his food while listening to the large man beside him talk about something. When someone said something he found amusing his nose would scrunch up in a way you found endearing. The man wasn’t a hybrid but he almost acted like one.

You had been content watching from afar as he relaxed and talked to the people at his table. He didn’t seem too interested in the hybrids around them, though when one walked by he gave them a nod or a small smile to be polite. When he got out of his seat, you had panicked slightly, fearing he was leaving though you had no grounds to. When you followed at a distance, it was clear he was just going to entertain himself.

You watched him look through the paints and brushes in the section for art, his brow furrowing in thought. He was frowning slightly with concentration, though when he noticed the two mouse hybrids looking at him he quickly softened his expression to say hello. He was choosing his colors after agonizing over the options and then he was moving back toward the table. In his arms he juggled the paper and all of the supplies he wanted. You were worried he was going to drop them. When he stopped to snag a plate of treats, you had giggled into your hand as you watched his balancing act of holding art supplies and piling desserts on the plate before balancing it all for the home stretch.

You tried to remain casual about it. You’d stop to admire a flower and debated picking it. You’d made small talk with a hybrid who asked if you were enjoying yourself. All the while your eyes were flicking back to the man, as if you were afraid he would disappear. Eventually, you had settled back in your spot, holding several flowers you deemed too pretty to not pick. The man was starting to mess around with his paints, listening to the people around him talk, sometimes smiling to himself as though he was just happy to exist in the same place as his friends. It was the first of only two times you would think to yourself that a human was beautiful. Not just attractive, but beautiful. In the same way as your flowers, or a sun shower or the sound of your friend Hoseok singing in the morning when he brought you a glass of juice and some fruit to nibble on.

You were so transfixed on the man that you didn’t register his friend’s attention on you. He had noticed you get up and had watched with curiosity as you lingered behind the youngest of their friend group. He was sure you weren’t aware of his gaze as you watched Jungkook wander around. He even chuckled to himself at your expression when a chatty pomeranian hybrid intercepted you and struck up a conversation. You were trying to be polite but the worry in your brow and shiftiness of your eyes told Namjoon you were agitated. It was almost heartbreaking how obviously enraptured with Jungkook you were. He couldn’t help but tell Jungkook about it the moment he thought no one would be paying attention.

When Jungkook moved and you realized he was turning to look at you, you froze. Your head tipped down and your fingers nervously rubbed at the flowers in your lap. Your cheeks were pink with the embarrassment of getting caught and part of you was gnawing at itself with fear. No one liked to be stared at. You were supposed to keep to yourself and not bother guests. You had learned that attracting attention from humans was dangerous. You should have been more careful, no matter how interested you were in the man.

Jungkook was also blushing. You were perhaps the cutest creature he had ever seen. With your head down, all he could see were your ears. One was a warm brown, almost black like your hair, and the other was white. He hadn’t seen a hybrid with two different colored ears before, and he found it charming. Even if you weren’t trying to make yourself as small as possible (like you presently were) you would be one of the most delicate hybrids there. He realized he had seen you earlier, playing with the children, and had mistaken you for one of the younger hybrids. By yourself, however, it was clear you were older, maybe around his age even. Jungkook had only gotten a glimpse of your eyes before you had ducked your head down, but from just a look he knew they were big and round, expressive in their emotion. He was intrigued.

“What do I do?” He asked, almost speaking out of the side of his mouth as if any movement would send you away. Namjoon found it incredibly cute.

“Don’t scare her away.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. Very helpful, hyung. He racked his brain for what he had learned about bunny hybrids, but all he could remember was that they flopped sometimes and it was a good thing. Jungkook was so caught up in trying to remember what the staff had said about bunny hybrids that he didn’t notice Jimin’s conversation with Hoseok had paused at Jungkook and Namjoon’s whispering. Hoseok was looking between Jungkook and you, his eyes thoughtful before a grin appeared, bright and energetic.

“She likes strawberries.” Hoseok whispered. The men followed his eyes to the plate of fruit Jimin had abandoned. There was a small pile of strawberries in the middle. Jungkook met Hoseok’s eyes and didn’t notice the way Jimin was watching him..

A few feet away, you knew they were talking about you.. Hoseok usually took enough of the attention that you could get by unnoticed but even he was whispering. You wanted to glare at him to communicate your feelings of betrayal but couldn’t bring yourself to look at any of them.

“Jimin, are you going to finish these strawberries?” Jungkook asked, his voice raised loud enough for it to carry across the garden. It was the first time you had really heard it fully and your ears twitched.

“Oh, I don’t think I can. They look delicious, but I’m so full.” Jimin played along, rubbing his tummy as though stuffed when in reality, he hadn’t eaten much.

Your ears were tilting towards them, intrigued by the idea of fresh strawberries. You snuck a peak and saw the forbidden fruit, piled high on a small plate by Jungkook’s elbow. But in the short glance you saw that Jungkook was still looking at you and you felt so shy you couldn’t move from where you sat.

Two emotions were warring in your chest. There was the desire to draw nearer to someone who seemed like you—who seemed safe (Hoseok wasn’t sensing any danger, surely, or he wouldn’t be engaging with them)—and the feeling that it was a trap. Like you would approach the table and the moment before you touched the berries a hand would shoot out and grab your wrist and you’d be punished for not fighting your temptations. You’d be punished for not controlling your urges, once again.

Was this a trap? You looked again at the strawberries and tears began to brim your eyes. You desperately wanted to go closer but the risk was too much. The conflict was stressing you out. So you didn’t move from your spot, paralyzed with the desire to move and the fear to go.

Over at the table, Jungkook deflated. Jimin gave him an encouraging smile and his hand went to squeeze his shoulder in an attempt to comfort the younger boy. Hoseok, however, was undeterred.

“Just give her time.” He said firmly. He watched the way your ears twitched and knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the fruit for long.

“Do you know her?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah, she’s my best friend,” he grinned proudly. The surprised looks didn’t go unnoticed. It was a surprise that you let the loud hybrid anywhere near you. You looked like a leaf falling to the ground would convince you to run for cover.

But Hoseok knew you better.

He struck up a conversation with Jungkook instead, trying to distract them to give you the window to feel safe enough to move.

It turned out that Jungkook’s occupation went hand in hand with Jimin’s. He had a studio where his trainers lead different exercise classes like Bikram yoga or boxing, as well as taught self-defense classes such as Krav Maga and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. It was obvious that Jungkook himself was very athletic and in shape, even in his oversized clothing.

Jungkook was talking about why he started working out when out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. He stuttered almost imperceptibly in his speech but recovered quickly, fighting a smile at the sight of you shifting your posture. He could have laughed at himself. He had never paid so much attention to one person before. Besides Jimin, of course.

When Hoseok had gotten Jungkook talking, the lull of his voice was almost too much to resist. You were struggling against the movement of your inner self weighing the risk of coming closer. Your inner bunny wanted to hide just in case, but even she was being drawn in by the sight of the fruit lying out, just asking to be eaten. All of your lines of defense were crumbling.

You were moving slowly, almost not of your own volition. It was as if something else was propelling you forward and you were inching toward the corner of the table where the plate rested.

When you reached the table, directly next to him, Jungkook kept talking but watched as your small hand reached out. Your fingers clutched a strawberry, your eyes darted around at each face at the table to see if they were paying attention to you but each of the males’ faces were trained anywhere else though they were all aware of you. Tension was coiled in your chest as you envisioned the hand that threatened to grab you. At last you brought the fruit to your lips and you took a nibble.

It was like every man at the table exhaled. Jungkook was beaming inwardly and Jimin was wiping at his nose to hide his smile. Namjoon was pushing his food around his plate with a small smile of his own and Hoseok was grinning in victory. You made a small noise, almost a clicking sound in the back of your throat, and all of them wondered what it was except for Hoseok, who knew it meant you were happy.

You weren’t being punished. You were a little closer to the stranger who kept looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Hello, happy bun. Would you like to sit down?” Hoseok was the first to address you and Jungkook’s eyes cut to him in fear that he was going to scare you away. Somehow, in the way that Hoseok just seemed to know things, it was exactly what you needed. Verbal affirmation that you could stay. You looked shyly at Jungkook and he immediately scooted, practically sitting on Namjoon. Namjoon cursed and also moved to the empty seat at his right. The older man’s grumpiness made you giggle and Jungkook’s eyes widened at the sound. He looked directly at Jimin to see if he had heard it and Jimin’s expression was one of slight awe. Jungkook ignored Namjoon’s grumbling as you lowered yourself in the now empty chair, timidly glancing at Jimin to your left and Jungkook to your right.

The seat was warm, and you could smell something warm, musky, and slightly floral.

“I like your flowers,” Jungkook told you. “Could I draw them?” He asked. You nodded, lifting the flowers to hand to him but Jungkook stopped you. “You’re fine. Just hold them like you were.”

Jimin started telling Hoseok about how Jungkook was incredibly talented at drawing and painting things. “Jungkook drew our friend’s wedding portrait.” He bragged. It was the first time you’d heard someone say his name. Jungkook.

You weren’t speaking but watching Jungkook draw, leaning slightly closer to get a better view. He was not just drawing the flowers, but you could see he was also drawing you. Or at least part of you. The watercolors were roughly spreading across the page, making the image of the flowers in your grasp. You practically preened, making a happy noise as you leaned into Jungkook, unaware of the fact that you were now touching beyond the unconscious comfort it gave you to be close to him.

Jimin was melting, however, watching the attention you gave his love. How you looked is how he felt. You watched Jungkook with thee expression he had only ever seen Jungkook himself make, when he found something interesting and beautiful and inspiring. He was sure you weren’t aware you were doing it.

While you were in your own little world, the afternoon went on with the activities. There were classic games like a two-legged race (which Jimin and Hoseok lost phenomenally at), a game of musical chairs that Hoseok won, and an egg toss that resulted in some impressive work by a pair of labrador hybrids. You watched everyone running around and having fun, and you looked like you wanted to get closer as Jimin and Namjoon entered the tug-of-war competition. Jungkook’s gaze went from you to the people lining up and back to you. Then he asked, “Want to go watch?”

You squeaked in surprise that he had directly addressed you and Jungkook patiently waited for you to compose yourself. You looked back at where Jimin and Namjoon playfully pretended to stretch and warm up, jokingly eyeing the hybrids that had volunteered to play. It looked fun, and Jungkook’s large friend looked strong, like a bull hybrid you’d seen once. You found yourself nodding and wordlessly, your hand moved to grasp Jungkook’s.

He watched it happen in slow motion, your hand moving from your lap towards his own where he mindlessly swung his pen around. He let the pen fall from his fingers in favor of opening his palm to you. Your hand was so small compared to his that he almost cooed. Your fingers wrapped around his and you looked at him with a vulnerability that made him want to place himself between you and anything that even thought about looking at you.

Hoseok saw the exchange from his place by the snack table and grinned. He allowed himself a single yip of celebration.

Jungkook led you to the tables nearest the competition and when Jimin saw the two of you watching he started acting cute, doing little dances and waving. It made you blush and hide in Jungkook’s shoulder, giggling to yourself. Jungkook gave Jimin a thumbs up and mouthed ‘keep it up’. Namjoon watched the whole interaction with thinly veiled amusement and made a note to himself. Before Jimin could make you laugh any more, the staff member officiating the tug-of-war game started talking and telling everyone the rules.

The tarp with mud was pulled into the middle of the field and the players lined up. You peaked out from behind Jungkook’s shoulder and watched as his friends lined up with five other random attendees and got into place.

You were sure the hybrids would win immediately. Hybrids were created to be stronger than humans. However, when the whistle blew and everyone started pulling in their own direction, it was clear why the human team had put Namjoon at the very back of the rope. At first he was leaning back to resist the pull of the hybrids, but after a moment, when the team had gotten their bearings, he turned and started walking in the other direction, the rope over his shoulder. Namjoon was strong. You watched him with wide eyes, huddling close to Jungkook.

Just like when you had taken his seat, this scent surrounded you. It was lavender and something else you didn’t have a name for: but with him close you got a better whiff. It was a warm scent, earthy and musky. You hadn’t smelled something like it before and you decided you liked it. You tried to inhale discreetly, rubbing your cheek against Jungkook’s shoulder. The scenting was almost unconscious. Almost. There was a part of you that wanted some of the smell on yourself, so even when the day was over and you were back in your room at The Violet, you would have the memory of him still on your cheek.

Jungkook was completely unaware of the scenting. All he knew was that you had started nuzzling him and he thought it was endearing. He was struggling to focus on the tug-of-war match in front of him. And when one of the humans slips and falls into the tarp of mud, his laughter is partly at their expense and partly an excuse to indulge in the happiness he felt that you had warmed up to him. He doesn’t catch you looking at him over his shoulder, smiling at the sound of his laughter.

Eventually, nature had the last say. Namjoon was strong, but not seven hybrids strong. The human side of the rope was pulled into the mud and Jimin’s shout of defeat startled you. So much so that you jumped and moved back behind Jungkook. He let you grip his hand, moving his other hand to stroke your arm in assurance.

“It’s okay…” He realized at that moment that he didn’t even know your name. “Jimin is just playing.” He soothed. Jimin. That was his name.

“Is he okay?” You ask quietly. It’s the first full sentence you’ve spoken in the hour you had spent with him. Jungkook grinned and it was stunning you.

“He’s fine, bun.” He resorted to the nickname he’d heard Hoseok use, and you clicked your approval and rubbed your forehead against Jungkook’s back. Your face warmed with embarrassment but you couldn’t help yourself.

Jimin came bounding up then, covered in mud and grinning ear to ear. He gave Jungkook a kiss that Jungkook scrunched his nose at because Jimin was completely covered in mud.

“We almost won.” He insisted.

“If only your team was full of Joonies.” Jungkook laughed.

Jimin noticed you peeking out at him from behind Jungkook’s shoulder but didn’t say anything. He just gave you a smile that left you smiling yourself. Then he excused himself to try and get as much mud off as possible for the ride home. “Make sure Kook doesn’t get into any trouble, okay?” He asked you. He waited until you nodded shyly before taking off.

The mention of the event ending had dread plummeting your stomach to the ground. You knew eventually that Jungkook would leave but you had pushed those thoughts out of your mind. Of course he had to go. Jimin had to go, too. They had lives to get back to and they couldn’t stay and feed you strawberries all day. It made you sad and your ears drooped, tickling Jungkook’s cheek. He could sense the mood shift and to cheer you up asked if you wanted to share a plate of strawberries. Then when you two sat back down you ate all of them.

When the staff members started canvasing the garden, the sun was starting to set. They were rounding up hybrids and telling them to say their final goodbyes to the friends they had made. You were sitting in between Jimin and Jungkook, dozing off, your head lolling forward as you struggled to stay awake and enjoy your last moments with them. In your heart you longed for a different life. One where instead of the staff member squeezing your shoulder and quietly letting you know it was time to start heading out, Jungkook would let you sleep, safe and warm with his scent beside you, until it became so late that he carried you to your bed—no, your nest. In this dream you had a nest of your own. A warm place of blankets, pillows, lavender, and bergamot.

But that wasn’t your life, and in your life, Hoseok was coming to collect you and walk with you back to your dorm. Pushing the urge to cry down, you barely managed a sound as you gave Jungkook’s hand one last squeeze. You two hadn’t let go since the tug-of-war game. It was a heartbreaking thing to see, and Jimin was equally moved when you said goodbye to him, your soft voice floating up to his ears.

The group watched you go and when you disappeared around the corner, the mood was noticeably depressed. Jungkook looked like a kicked puppy. Jimin’s hand was going up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him but honestly, even he didn’t know what to say. Jungkook had obviously connected with you and you with him.

“Maybe we can come back and visit her,” he offered quietly. Jungkook was blinking rapidly, nodding his head.

“Have you ever thought of adopting a hybrid?” Namjoon chose this moment to bring up what he had been thinking the whole day. Jimin and Jungkook shot their heads in his direction.

“What?” Jimin asked at the same moment Jungkook said “Could we?”

Namjoon’s expression was that of self-satisfaction.

“Those were all hybrids that live at The Violet.” He stated the obvious. “The long-term goal isn’t for them to spend the rest of their lives there. It’s for them to be adopted and get to live their lives in a home where they are safe and free to live autonomously with people who will love and care for them. That’s probably part of The Violet’s aim in bringing them here to the event. If anyone were to be interested in adopting a hybrid, they have the opportunity to interact with some and get a feel for what would fit best in their homes and lives.”

Jimin was going back and forth between looking at Namjoon and looking at Jungkook, who was looking as though someone had handed him banana milk on a platter and he found out there was a million dollars in the bottom of the jug.

Then, Jungkook seemed to deflate. He was staring at the table, processing what Namjoon had said. Watching you leave had felt like having his heart wretched out of his chest. It was worse knowing you didn’t want to leave. But he had learned enough in the seminars to know that taking care of a hybrid was a big job. They needed a lot of attention and care. You had to be an expert on your hybrid because they were relying on you to keep them safe and healthy. Jungkook didn’t know if he was up for that kind of responsibility. “I can’t take care of a hybrid by myself.”

The words were mumbled, as though he were just processing aloud and hadn’t realized he’d spoken at all. And he hadn’t realized. Not until Jimin made a disapproving sound and his hand went to Jungkook’s thigh. He squeezed it lightly and Jungkook looked up at him.

“No, you can’t.” He was staring so softly at Jungkook that the younger boy almost missed how negative his words were. Almost. Part of him had hoped Jimin would disagree and tell Jungkook he was entirely capable of taking care of you. So, Jungkook looked on, confused and slightly betrayed as his boyfriend leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“But we can.”

© sybilwriting 2021

Some doodles of the Smiling Banker Man.

love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.

or

it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.

or

“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”

warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!

i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.

Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.

It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.

ii. you break, i mend.

Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.

The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.

Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.

He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.

‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.

Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.

He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.

The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.

(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.

“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.

Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.

(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.

By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”

The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.

(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.

“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”

Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.

Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.

It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.

Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.

“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.

The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.

Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.

“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.

“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”

She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.

“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.

“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.

Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”

Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.

Saints.

It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.

The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.

“Are you with me?”

No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.

It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.

“None of that.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.

“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.

“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”

“I know.”

A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”

Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.

It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.

“If you break, I mend, remember?”

(mend

BREAK)

Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.

Saints be damned.

Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.

iii. a raven and a crow

The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.

He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.

It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.

“Inej?”

“Good.”

Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.

“Jes?”

“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.

He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.

The goods are safe.

“Nina?”

“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.

There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…

His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.

And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.

(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.

And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.

There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.

Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.

Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.

“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.

For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.

She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”

Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)

“You’ve got it?”

“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”

His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.

“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.

Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.

(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.

“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.

Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.

“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”

“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.

“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”

(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”

He pouts.

“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”

He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”

Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.

“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.

It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.

He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”

It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.

“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.

“A raven?”

“Yeah.”

Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.

Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”

Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.

And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.

(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”

Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.

“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.

Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.

(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”

Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.

She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”

(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.

“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”

“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.

“You know it’s true.”

He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.

Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”

And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.

Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.

“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”

The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.

“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.

(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.

“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”

Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.

“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.

“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.

(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”

It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.

The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.

R.

A Raven.

No fucking way.

He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.

Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.

(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)

iv. a broken lock and a key

Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)

(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.

After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.

He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.

Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.

On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.

So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.

It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.

Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.

“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”

(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”

And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.

He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.

She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”

“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.

“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.

“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.

“You’re gonna keep me company?”

Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”

She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.

It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.

Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”

(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.

“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.

“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.

There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.

She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”

He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”

“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.

And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”

He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.

To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”

His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.

“What?”

There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.

“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.

Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.

v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.

As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.

“Did you finally figure it out?”

He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.

“What?”

She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.

“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”

Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”

“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”

“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”

“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”

Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?

“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”

He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.

“Yeah.”

“Actually?”

She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.

“Got the documents to prove it, too.”

Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”

“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."

Jesper understands.

He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.

Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.

“Lovers, huh?”

(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.

“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”

Poly!Namjin

Requested: anon asked: Hello! Can you do a poly!Namjin (Bts) and Poly relationship with N and Ken (Vixx)?❤️

Pairing: BTS Seokjin x Namjoon x Reader

Genre: poly!au, 1920s!au

Warnings:  drinking, blood and violence, swearing, probably minor historical inaccuracies

I got way off track writing this as I got so distracted just relearning about all the history. So sorry about the mini history lesson. I got a little over excited. I did force myself to not use much of the lingo though, as I doubt many people would understand that. Also thank you Airplane Pt 2 for gifting me with the perfect gif.

(This is almost 6000 words of complete and utter rubbish oops)

America in the 1920s

The Roaring Twenties

The First World War was over, bringing with it much social and politcal change

Women had the vote, jazz music was all the rage, automobiles were starting to fill the streets of more than just cities, mass media was on the rise

Celebrities started being born in Hollywood and on Broadway; names such as Coco Chanel, Josephine Baker, Charlie Chaplin and Babe Ruth were household names

But it was also known as the ‘Prohibition era’ thanks to the Volstead Act that was passed in October 1919 stating that all beverages over 0.5% were illegal; a way the government tried to lower crime rates

Not that it worked out that way of course, as with the prohibition came the rise of speakeasies, underground establishments used to sell alcohol

Keep reading

silly guy radar explodes

broken rules

Viktor x gn!Reader (SFW)

Synopsis: Viktor has two rules: 1) no decorations. 2) no gifts. They're fairly easy rules to follow until you and Viktor get closer and he opens up to you about why he has them. The next thing you know, you're standing outside his door holding a little wrapped present.

Warnings: slight friends to lovers, nervous and shy viktor, general softness, some awkwardness/secondhand embarrassment, viktor trying his best

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Just a soft little story idea I had for Viktor :) Merry, Merry Christmas!

The gift felt too small. The five-by-five box felt dainty in your hands. It was velvet underneath the gold and silver wrapping paper. A soft, dark blue velvet with artificial diamonds embedded in the lid. It had a weight to it that made it feel heavier than it was. A little bit of glass, some perfectly polished metal; it felt like a solid rock in your hands.

Gifts were off the table. An easy ruling to come to when one of your two employers actively avoided holidays. His birthday, the winter celebrations, Halloween. Even the romance festival in the spring. No gifts and no celebrating. 

Well, in the lab, that is. 

“It is a hazard,” he said whenever the subject was broached. He wouldn’t even look up from whatever he was working on, those glittering eyes glued to his desk. “No decorations.”

It wasn’t a rule you could exactly argue with. It was a laboratory with dangerous machinery—garland, lights, and felt decorations didn’t mix where sparks flew and flames were open. 

But the no gifts rule, however…you hadn't bent it last year, but it felt applicable to do so this year. At least with Viktor, it did. You'd already broken it with Jayce for every holiday. Some baked goods, a fancy pen, a new notebook, or protective gear. He accepted it with the sole follow-up of don’t tell Viktor. 

Even if Viktor already knew. 

The new items had to come from somewhere, right? 

But Viktor just kept his head down as he worked. Some sly comments here and there about how he wondered how Jayce had come into the ownership of the new protective mask. Said specifically when you were holding sensitive material and balancing it on a tray to bring to Viktor. 

You almost dropped a hex crystal on him on more than one occasion when he had the worst—or, perhaps, the best—timing of his comments. But there was ill intent behind them. In fact, half of the time, upon you recovering from nearly breaking a hex crystal or a stack of beakers, Viktor would smile up at you. 

“Have you always been a rule breaker?” 

That was a popular question he threw at you with different variations. Always cheeky about it, too. At first, you hadn't caught the sly smile, and you'd started stuttering out an apology that you'd gotten him something too, but since there was the no-gift rule, you hadn’t followed through, but you had picked something out for him. 

“It is alright, (Y/N),” he’d say softly. A hand would go to your shoulder to help steady you before he took whatever you were holding. “I have the rule for a reason. If Jayce chooses to break it, that is his prerogative.”

“Okay,” you breathed out, the fear of losing your assistant position fading more and more as Viktor smiled up at you. “If you ever change your mind—”

“I will not.” The soft smile got tighter. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

You dropped it after that, never pushing the topic, even when Viktor teased you about the gifts given to Jayce. It wasn't like you were buying them to suck up to Jayce either—nor had you asked Viktor in order to do so with him. But the previous year working alongside them, you'd broken a different rule. 

No gifts, sure. But when you spent a third of your day in the lab with the two scientists, it was hard not to blur the line between employee and friend. Of course, it'd been a hard line at first. But as the months passed and you spent more late nights in the lab—ones that earned you curious, envious, and judgmental looks from the other assistants—it was kind of hard not to go from assistant to friend. Especially when you had sleepy brain and, rather quickly, things would turn into fits of laughter.

Mostly between you and Jayce as you fell against each other. Viktor was a bit more closed off, but his laughter was even more rewarding than anything. The little smiles, the branch away from his cold, workaholic behavior; you were determined to get the ice to completely melt. 

When you all shared common interests, it was fairly easy. 

The second year of what was supposed to be an internship rolled around, you weren't brought back as an intern. They asked you to be their full-time assistant—pay and obligatory help with any questions you might have about your classes at the academy included. 

How the hell could you say no to that? 

That’s when you started bending the rules. Sure, you had a bit more security and there was a stronger friendship underlying the relationship, but you still didn’t break it with Viktor. 

“There was not much celebrating to do in the Undercity,” he said one evening during year two. He was staring out the window at the crashing waves on the coast. There was a chill permeating the walls. Colder than typical for fall when the bushes and trees were still a bright summer green. “Given my situation, I was not attending many reciprocatory celebrations.”

You nearly dropped the freshly washed beakers. The glass felt thinner and more fragile in your hands than ever, and you stopped in your tracks. Viktor kept his eyes glued to the window and took some long, steadying breaths. His hands were resting on the desk before he pulled them to his lap and ran the right over his leg. 

That was the first time he’d ever said anything about his time pre-Piltover. Sure, Jayce had made mention of a few different anecdotes—Viktor being from the Undercity, the feat he faced getting into the academy, and absolutely zero mention of Viktor’s family. There were dots there to connect that created a Viktor-shaped image filled with a few walls around specific rulings that made a bit more sense. 

That didn’t stop the sudden surprise of Viktor being the one to share the information. 

“Jayce had mentioned I had never explained my desire—or lack thereof—for certain decisions made for the lab.” He pressed his fingers into the sensitive tissue around his knee. “Or, perhaps this friendship is a better label.”

He finally looked at you, the slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. A little vulnerability hung in the simple expression, and he looked back down at his desk when your eyes met. 

"I appreciate you sticking to it." He sighed and rolled his shoulders. "I do not bite, (Y/N). You can continue your work."

He tapped the empty space where you were supposed to put the beakers, and it was like you were kicked back into gear. Soft steps echoed in the now-empty room as you sauntered up beside him. A few potential responses rattled in your head as you sat them down on the metal top and pushed them toward him. 

A year ago, you probably would’ve just nervously nodded, excused yourself, and then beat yourself up for being such an awkward idiot. But after waking Viktor up in his room when he was late for presentations, staying late and helping him alone in the lab, having dinners and lunches with him—it was different. 

“You don’t have to explain anything, you know that?” You nudged his arm softly with your elbow. “You’re allowed whatever rules you want without feeling like you gotta explain them. But thanks for telling me. I know you don’t like talking about that stuff.”

Not the Undercity—Viktor was extremely open about the mistreatment of the citizens. But his personal time there? That stayed under lock and key. 

He knew what you meant. A clear representation in his softened gaze when he peered up at you. 

“Yes.” He nodded and pushed a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. “Given your new position, you have…I felt you should know, that is all.” 

“Fair enough.” You held your breath as you squeezed his shoulder. A lingering touch you hadn’t intended as one, but when there was a pale pink on his cheeks, you stayed to watch it sneak down his neck. “If you need anything else, I’ll be in the adjacent room working on a research paper.”

"Of course." Viktor nodded, and you took that as your cue to leave. "Should you require any assistance…"

“I know. Thanks, Vik.” 

He gave one sharp nod before the tinkering began, and you were slipping into the other room, breath held and heart reacting. It was like a racehorse aiming for first, and you plopped into your desk chair, holding your imaginary pearls. 

Viktor had confided in you. After a year of only academic and research talk—some funny stories, too, but those were mostly from Jayce—it was like jumping from an airship without any safety precautions. 

You were a grinning mess as you rocked back and forth, left to right, the tips of your toes on the ground and guiding you. Giddy. You were giddy. 

Finally, your friendship with Viktor was taking a step forward. 

He wasn’t exactly an open book after that, but he was starting to turn the key in the diary lock whenever it was just the two of you. Little tidbits slipped out whenever you were sitting side-by-side and working in comfortable silence. It was never at your expense either—you never had to share some deep, dark secret in order for him to feel like he should reciprocate. 

Sometimes he just…decided to share. 

How he liked to tinker as a child. He'd built boats, robots, new canes, even items that could be classified as weapons, but he never used them as such. How he'd snuck up into Piltover and basically slid unnoticed into campus until he proved his keep. How the hell could the professor say no when such a brilliant mind was present? 

"It is a unique conundrum," he murmured when the topic of your distaste toward a few elitist classmates. "Such a collection of brilliant minds, yet the classism separates those who could interact and prove to make a difference."

He sat back and laughed quietly. He wiped his hand on a rag before it rubbed the back of his neck, working out a knot. 

“It can be rather isolating in the Undercity when you are in my particular shoes, but coming to the academy, I expected it to be a similar experience.” He peered over at you and the pink was back on his cheeks. “Sure, there were times of isolation and, of course, distaste toward Piltover’s lifestyle. But I am grateful to have proven my old fears incorrect.”

He shrugged and reached forward, handing you a wrench and nudging the small engine you'd been watching him play with toward you. He pointed at a bolt that needed to be tightened, and you carefully moved, rarely allowed to directly help with whatever Viktor was personally working on. 

“Even if one is painfully egotistical and the other leans toward the desire of ignoring rules." He smiled when you pulled the wrench back, and he pointed to another bolt. "But Jayce and I would not be where we are were rules not broken." 

Viktor's hand grazed atop yours when he took the wrench back, and the pale pink traveled up to his ears. He cleared his throat and gave you the next instruction before you could even fathom a response. It seemed he hadn't wanted to hear one either once he immediately moved on from the topic, going into detail about wires, safety, and passing you some pliers. 

You’d heard the speech before, but you still listened. Even if you were a bit thrown by the sudden shift in subject. 

It was when you were walking back to your room that night that you decided you’d break the rule beyond Jayce that year. You just had to come up with the perfect present for Viktor. 

It sat in the fake-diamond studded blue velvet box beneath the silver and gold wrapping paper. There was a little ribbon wrapped around it, and you played with the bow it made on top as you stood outside Viktor's room. It was a fifty-fifty chance he was actually in there, and you just needed to muster up the courage to check. 

But it was also a fifty-fifty chance whether he’d like or dislike your rule-breaking decision. 

Still, you couldn't stand outside in the blue and white garland-covered hallway all night. Either Viktor would return and find you, or he'd leave and find you. So, you just had to knock. 

You knocked twice. Hard enough for him to hear if he was all the way back in his bedroom. Counted to thirty as you waited for him to open the door. Told yourself that if you got to sixty, you’d knock again. Then if he didn’t answer after that, you’d leave and check the lab. 

At forty-five, he answered the door looking a bit disheveled and unfurrowed his brows upon seeing you. His khaki slacks were wrinkled, his white shirt was unbuttoned and showing off the tank top underneath, and his red tie was left hanging untied around his neck. He had what looked like a new cane in his hand with vibrant reds and golds on it. 

Then his eyes dropped to the present in your hands. 

"It's not a gift." But you held up the obvious present, and Viktor cocked a thick brow. "I promise. It just fell into the wrapping paper and then spiraled into the ribbon." 

You turned the bottom of it to face him and shrugged. 

"Then it fell onto a little tag that said 'to: Viktor, ' so, really, I'm just playing messenger here." You turned it bow-side up and fixed the slightly turned ribbon. "No idea who it could possibly be from or what it could be. Just doing what I felt was the Good Samaritan thing to do and delivering it.”

Viktor sucked in his cheeks ever so slightly before nodding, smiling, and, with obvious amusement, stepped back. He held out his left hand and motioned for you to enter, and you trotted into his dorm. 

"Sit, please." He followed you to the couch where you always sat whenever you had to bring him something there, and any conversing took place. Well, any beyond the typical thank you he gave for the personal delivery of something from Jayce or Heimerdinger. “So, if you do not know who this ‘not gift’ is from, how did it come into your ownership?”

“Magically appeared in the stack of presents I had already wrapped.” You held it up as Viktor sat beside you, his cane resting in front of you on the coffee table. “I was so confused, so I took a look, and bam, it was meant for you.”

"Ah." Viktor held it carefully as if he was worried he'd break it before even unwrapping it. "Well, you did not have to go out of your way to deliver such a package, but I…appreciate it."

You waved a hand and shrugged. 

"It's the holiday season. I had to do it.”

“Mhm.” Viktor gave you an expectant look before he gently tugged the bow undone. He let it fall to his lap before he reached down and gathered it up, moving it to the coffee table before carefully undoing the wrapping paper. The same way you used to as a child to try and take it off without ripping a single inch of it. “Well, I know it is not from Jayce. He could never wrap anything this well.”

You raised your brows and snickered—Jayce couldn’t wrap to save his life. Last year, you’d helped him pick out a gift for his mom and wrapped it for him. When you happened to be in the room with her after she’d received it, she gave your arm a squeeze and thanked you for clearly wrapping her present. 

You gave Jayce shit over it for the next three weeks until he finally said it’d been the one thing he’d never been able to master. 

"It looks like the sky one of my first nights at the academy," Viktor murmured when he got to the box, and your heart lurched in your chest. "I was given access to the telescope in one of the courses. One of the few ways to truly see the stars in their genuine beauty."

He ran his fingers over the top of the box and smiled. 

“Perhaps I need to revisit the telescope. Have you had the chance to visit it?” 

Viktor peered over at you and it was such a genuine, unexpected question that you just stared at him for a few seconds. You were still recovering from his previous sentiment. His smile grew the longer you lingered in silence, simply blinking at him as you tried to find words to say.

“No,” you finally muttered. You mentally slapped yourself in the face and laughed softly. “I haven’t, unfortunately. My schedule never took me that direction.”

"Do you wish to visit?" His head cocked to the side, and you felt like you'd slipped into an alternate dimension where Viktor was interested in doing things outside of the lab. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’ve been wanting to, but…well, you know.”

“I will take you.” Viktor smiled and glanced back down at the box. “It is one of the few extra benefits of my position alongside the professor.”

Before you could respond, Viktor opened the box, and his brows rose. It was a dark blue velvet on the interior, too, just lacking the fake diamonds. Instead, however, it held a silver pocket watch. The chain was hidden through a small slit beneath it, wrapped perfectly underneath the cushion the watch sat on, and Viktor looked like he was going to melt as he picked it up. 

He pressed a little button on the top and the front sprung open. He glanced at you with a curious expression before holding it up to his ear. 

“It’s unfixable according to the seller,” you whispered as you watched the realization dawn on Viktor. “Told him I knew someone who would take that challenge with a smile.”

Viktor lowered the watch and turned it over, carefully gathering the chain and twisting it around his fingers. He truly melted when he saw the back. A few of the runes he’d discovered work with the hex crystals were engraved in diamond with one in the center. 

“He engraved it for free when I told him who I was bringing it to.” You found yourself turning the ring on your middle finger until the metal was warm from the friction. “Although, I did pick the design, so I hope it’s something you—oh.”

Viktor’s arms were around you. You laughed a little as you returned the hug, hugging his lean frame as tight as you could as he let out a somewhat shuddered breath. 

"Thank you," he whispered next to your ear, but he didn't pull back. "Truly. This is…"

“I figured the ‘having to fix it’ caveat was enough of a loophole to claim it wasn’t a gift. So, technically, I’m not breaking the rule.” You idly played with the ends of his hair to give your hands something to do so you didn’t fidget. “That counts, right?”

Viktor pulled back, and his eyes were a bit red as he chuckled and held up the watch. 

“It is a spectacular ‘non-gift.’ Thank you.” His voice broke as he looked down at it. “I am sorry, I do not…I do not have anything to reciprocate with.”

"No, Vik." You reached out as he sat the box down on the coffee table. "It's not about that. I don't expect anything in return at all. I was just out browsing stuff when I saw it, and the guy was talking to me about it, and I just kinda…I knew I had to get it for you."

You very tentatively moved your hand from his wrist to his hand. The intention was a bit blurred as you carefully settled your hand atop his, giving him a light squeeze, and smiled at him. The desperation for him to know that he didn't need to give you anything in return was a little heart-stopping, and you ran through whatever options you could think of to hammer that idea home. 

“Seriously, Vik. Just having you in my life is gift enough.” You squeeze his hand again. “You owe me nothing.”

Viktor stared down at your hand, and you felt his start to shake beneath it. You'd had physical contact before, but as you felt his hand shake, part of you was regretting the choice. The last thing you wanted was to make Viktor uncomfortable. Crossing a line when you were already doing so with the gift was not what you'd intended and you held your breath as you slowly started to move your hand back to your lap.

You gave him a soft smile as you flattened out your bottoms and started to stand. Overstaying your welcome was also on the list of no-gos you were trying to avoid. And with the continued silence, it felt like you were. 

Except you only made it to the part where you put your hands on your knees before Viktor's hand was on your wrist. His mouth was pressed into a fine line, and you stopped the instant you looked at him. There was always a lot happening in his head—from work to pleasure—but this time, it looked like he was untangling a heap of lights that'd been long tangled together. 

And then he moved. 

It was hesitant, and his hand visibly trembled, but you stayed totally still as he reached for your cheek. His jaw clenched before he let out a shaky breath, and you pushed your spiked adrenaline and surprise aside and helped him. Silently prayed that you hadn't completely misread Viktor's intentions as you scooted closer and smiled, leaning in as he did.

You caught the pale pink spreading over him before your eyes fluttered shut and his mouth pressed to yours. 

His hand twitched on your cheek and you held back your excitement as you reached up and put yours over his. Held it there with a tender hold as you kissed him back. Soft and sweet, nervous and tentative as Viktor’s hair tickled your forehead. His nails dug slightly into your skin when he realized you weren’t pulling away or shoving him back, and he gained a bit more confidence as you reached up and slid a hand over his chest, shoulder, and up to his neck. 

He tasted like cinnamon and vanilla, but you hadn't noticed any cookies or baked goods when you came in. No coffee or tea, either. And he smelled like a goddamn bakery. Usually, that was left as an undertone to what you could only describe as metal, sparks, and literal magic itself. 

But the tender touch of Viktor’s mouth on yours was more like magic than the hex crystals themselves. 

You would’ve damn well gone a lot farther, too, as Viktor’s tongue grazed your bottom lip, but it was like that triggered a response in him and he pulled back. He was panting as he kept his eyes fixed on your chest, the hand still holding the pocket watch coming up and the tips of his fingers touching his mouth. 

He was bright red as he smiled and forced his eyes up to yours. 

“I…”

“That was a hell of a gift,” you said with a wide grin. “Shit, Vik. Way to one-up me.”

Viktor’s exhale came with a laugh and he seemed to visibly relax. You threw up your hands and sat back, shaking your head. 

“You know, I was so excited and worried about whether you’d like your gift—excuse me, ‘non-gift.’ And then you just one-up me so easily.” You scoffed and tried to keep a straight face, but your grin came through without a fight. “That’s mean.”

“My apologies,” he murmured with such a small smile that it was your turn to melt. 

“So, is that the gift you give everyone or…” You motioned to yourself.

“No.” His eyes fell to the watch as he turned it over in his hands. “I do not give gifts to anyone else.”

“Damn, Vik.” You nudged his shoulder playfully. “Giving out such a special gift and you said you didn’t have anything to give me.”

“So that…was okay?” He peered up at you with wide eyes, his mouth pressed into a worried line, and you contemplated reaching across and shaking his shoulders and yelling yes. “I…did not…I do not wish to compromise our current relationship—”

“Vik,” you murmured and reached over, taking his hand. “It was more than okay. I promise.”

You leaned over and dropped your head against his shoulder. His arm moved as you pulled it to your chest and hugged it. 

"Seriously. Really, really okay." You pursed your lips. "Although I think Jayce might be a little jealous that I got such a spectacular gift, and he didn't get anything.”

It took a moment, but when Viktor gradually moved and leaned his head against yours, you nearly cheered. Of all potential outcomes for the evening, this had been so far down on the list that it was categorized under the 'impossible fantasies' heading. Awkward rejection of the gift or simply disliking it—those were what you expected. Maybe a simple thank you and a reminder to not break the rule again, but not this. 

Not an ‘impossible fantasy’ level reaction. 

“I, uh…” Viktor reached down and intertwined his fingers with yours. “I am making tea and going over some of my old research. Do you want to stay? I would love the company.”

You technically had more to do that night since you hadn’t expected any outcome where Viktor asked you to stay. But you damn well weren’t going to say no. Not after that—not when you picked your head up and you caught Viktor’s focus dropping back down to your mouth. 

“I’d love to stay,” you murmured with a smirk. 

“Wonderful.” Viktor bit his lip before giving your hand a squeeze. 

You watched with masked glee as he swapped the pocket watch for his cane and stood. He slid his tie off and dropped it to the table before going into the small kitchen all dorms had and put on the kettle, moving with the same ease he had in the lab whenever you worked together. 

You grabbed his little throw blanket and pulled it over your lap, getting comfortable as you watched him work. Your lips still tingled from his, and you were already missing the warmth from his hand on your cheek. Something you hoped would be repeated upon your staying—something you hadn't even thought conceivable with Viktor outside of a few unpoliced thoughts and fantasies when working alongside him. 

Yeah—you nodded to yourself and grinned as Viktor grabbed two mugs and peered back at you with that tiny smile. 

You’d definitely made the right call in deciding to break the rule this year.  

mr & mrs park.

synopsis : in which the task of killing your enemy is abruptly put on a pause when you discover their cute little secret.

pairing : mafia seonghwa x reader.

theme ( s ) : romcom, angst, action & smut.

word count : 50K ( i- )

there are three things you need to know before you read this.

one, you screwed up.

two, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

three, you’re holding onto a revolver.

Keep reading

An assortment of Ghost hcs @lady-necropolis and I created sorry if they’re awkward and poorly written I’ve never done this before

Relationship hcs:

Terzo

Likes seeing his s/o in his clothes, has a very “what’s mine is yours” attitude. Also he thinks it’s hot.

He likes to play with his s/o’s hair when he’s stressed or they’re stressed or whenever he possibly can. And if they have long hair he braids it. @lady-necropolis actually wrote a fic based on this ! It’s really good 🥰.

Very fun to be with because of his confidence and extravagance, definitely brings a shy s/o out of their shell and brings out their best side.

However a lot of his confidence is probably him putting on airs and he will let his s/o see his soft and vulnerable side, probably talks to them about his worries at 2am lol

Copia

Love language is touch, has to be constantly touching his s/o partially bc he’s touch starved and he just likes to check that they’re still there partially for reassurance. He is very fragile ok.

Very needy and requires a lot of reassurance but he is very worth it.

Texts his s/o constantly (as long as they don’t mind, he doesn’t want to be a nuisance)

Very patient and understanding with his s/o and happy to hear about and help with any problems they may have if he can.

Family hcs:

They all know each other inside out, including which buttons to press to annoy each other and how to calm each other down.

Terzo’s love language is “collecting” things from his brothers and s/o he wanders into their room and takes their clothes and little things that remind him of them so he can have little pieces of them wherever he is, they know he does this but they don’t mind.

Because of this he’s happy to share his wardrobe with his s/o and his brothers.

Secondo is the dad. He dads everyone, including terzo even though he’s only 3 months younger. He’s such a dad he even dads primo.

Terzo loves his big brothers but is closer to secondo. He has definitely slipped up and called him dad before, hes even said it in front of Nihil. Nihil didn’t even notice.

Terzo definitely slept in secondos bed a lot when they were younger, they were a comfort for each other.

If you want to hurt terzo you have to go through secondo. He is very protective.

The emeritus brothers adopt copia. Secondo dads him (obviously) and he loves it, he absolutely thrives.

Secondo teaches him swear words. He also taught terzo.

Secondo has definitely berated sister for being a bad mother to copia , he will not stand for this shit. Overhearing this conversation is how copia found out, he didn’t mention it to anyone it was a very stressful realisation for him.

General hcs:

Terzo

Loves baths, loves bath bombs. He smells really really nice.

Has the biggest bed, very luxurious and comfy. His room is also very lavish and fancy, it’s much nicer than copias. Sorry copia.

Doesn’t get angry too often but when he does he literally explodes he is a ball of rage he will break things and yells very very loudly.

Gets pep talks from secondo when he’s feeling self conscious or worrying about something.

You get excellent gossip about him from secondo and primo, they know everything.

Primo

Practically raised secondo as he’s a lot older and Nihil was useless.

Has some really sick vintage band shirts, terzo definitely steals them and wears them.

Knows about copias parentage before copia does. Before anyone does actually (except sister obviously)

literally cannot be lied to, no really one knows why but it’s impossible.

Knows everything about everyone, no one knows how

Secondo

Tall. Ridiculously fucking tall, man is a tree.

Bullies terzo for being small, doesn’t mean to hurt him though because he does love him (secretly)

Only person who knows how much he loves terzo is terzo (and probably primo again, can’t hide things from him)

Will not for the life of him use chapstick. He crusty.

He’s usually quite grumpy but he is absolutely terrifying when angry, if he gets angry run just fucking run.

Only person able to calm him down when he’s raging is terzo. Or his s/o but terzo is really the only one brave enough to try. (He has to hug him while he’s storming around so he has to be very fast and very sneaky)

Only copia has ever seen him cry and it doesn’t happen very often, copia was very young so secondo doesn’t think he remembers. (He does)

Copia

He’s very in touch with his emotions and cries a lot. He literally wears his heart on his sleeve. He had to try very very hard to get it under control after becoming papa because it’s too dangerous to be so open.

Angry cryer, always cries when he’s angry and it frustrates him. It ends up making him cry more and he does not appreciate it.

Chinese is not his favourite food, sister doesn’t know enough about him to know what it is. Hell, he didn’t even know until he went on tour and could fully be himself for the first time and not the person he is at the ministry.

Angst hcs

Terzo was furious when he was fired, had a full on screaming match with sister and Nihil, probably threw something at Nihils head.

He had to be restrained and dragged away by primo and secondo and he was still screaming insults at them in Italian all the way down the hall.

Copia saw it being Nihils right hand man, he probably cried as he was very shocked and stressed and he just doesn’t. Know. What. To. Do. He felt awful seeing terzo like that and being unable to stand up for him. Went to his rooms afterwards and apologised. Lots of tears from both of them.

There are more but my brain is fried rn lmao but if anyone likes these expect future posts !!!

He me fr fr

Have We Met Before?

Summary : America Chavez says that you and Bucky are together in every universe. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Wife! Sorceress! Reader (she/her) (+ brief Reporter!Bucky x spider woman!reader / ravager!Bucky x Nova Corps!Reader / knight!Bucky x princess!reader)

Warnings/tags : multiverse stuff, slight cursing, Injury. Featuring America Chavez, Strange and Wong. Fluff!!!!!!!

Word count : 6.9k

Note : This was inspired by the song of the same name by Tom Rosenthal. I also just think Bucky would be super protective over the MCU’s young heroes, y’know? Like, he knows what it’s like to be young and talented in this field and would try his best to make sure none of the next generation of heroes would get taken advantage of and used like he was. Anyway, enjoy!

Earth-616...

The sun hung low over the terracotta roofs the day you first met America Chavez.

You, a teacher of shielding magic in Kamar-Taj, often sought out to train new recruits in the art of defensive spells, were meditating when she arrived.

She stood near the center of the courtyard, her jacket dusted with ash, boots scuffed and worn from a recent battle. She looked relaxed, but her eyes scanned the space with the paranoia of someone who had seen too many things go wrong too quickly. Strange had brought her in personally.

There was a spark about her—a being of chaos and confidence wrapped in a teenage body. Even the air around her seemed to him with potential. As you walked toward her, preparing the same measured welcome you gave all new students, she looked up, caught your eye, and smiled. 

“Hi!” She exclaimed, “I know you!”

You furrowed your eyebrows, puzzled. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Not this you,” she said with a smirk. “Other yous. I can travel to different realities.”

You studied her for a moment, and in that instant, your understanding of the multiverse shifted slightly—not in theory, not in abstract philosophy, but in practice. 

She was real, tangible, and standing three feet in front of you, smiling like this sort of thing happened every Tuesday.

And maybe, for her, it did.

—

You quickly became her favourite teacher.

She liked Strange, but you were more sympathetic than him, and less rigid than Wong. You were enough of a challenge to keep her attention— on good days, anyway. America had a habit of brushing off lessons she didn’t think she needed. If a spell didn’t explode or glow or bend reality sideways, she wasn’t that interested. But she also had a habit of punching holes through space and tearing through dimensions like they were paper. She could travel without a Sling Ring, which made her a magnet for trouble.

See, that kind of power doesn’t go unnoticed. That kind of power needed protection.

So you pushed her a little harder. Taught her advanced shielding techniques, the kind that could hold up against dimensional anomalies and the occasional demon. You worked patiently with her, correcting her form, teaching her to stabilise her breathing, to anchor her focus in the midst of chaos. 

She rolled her eyes more than once, but she listened. And when it mattered, she applied what she learned.

She wasn’t a quick learner, but she was talented. 

You liked her instantly.

By the end of your first month teaching her, you established a rhythm. She’d show up (sometimes late), and you’d teach her something new. 

Sometimes she challenged you, sometimes she surprised you, but always, she reminded you why you taught in Kamar-Taj in the first place.

That day, after a particularly solid session—she’d finally nailed an advanced protection spell, the Sigil of the Aegis, and managed to hold it steady under pressure. “You’ve been practicing—good. It shows,” you said with a smile. “But I gotta run. My husband’s waiting for me at home.”

America perked up immediately. “Oh! Tell Bucky I said hi!”

You blinked. “I never told you about Bucky.”

She gave a little shrug, casual as ever. “Didn’t need to. You’re with him in every universe.”

Oh?

You paused, her words lodging deeper than you ever expected. You felt a gentle warmth bloom in your chest— perhaps a sense of inevitability, of cosmic affection. You smiled, more to yourself than to her.

“Well,” you finally said, after processing her words, “That’s good to know.”

—

After the first six months, the classrooms of Kamar-Taj weren’t enough for America anymore. She craved more than theory, more than chants and sigils. She wanted something real. She wanted something to punch.

And being married to a feisty ex-assassin, you understood that hunger better than most. You understood the calling that came from knowing you were built for something bigger than the four walls of a training room. 

So… you started bringing her on missions.

At first, it was small stuff— clearing out rogue spirits in the Alps, helping Wong seal a breach in an ancient temple, handling a cursed artifact that had ended up in the hands of an unsuspecting kid in Tokyo. 

She was fearless on the field, and just reckless enough to keep you on your toes. And she loved every second of it.

Sometimes it was just the two of you. Other times, when physical force was needed, Bucky joined you.

Where you moved with grace, he moved with force. Where you cast with precision, he fought with instinct. You were opposites in many ways— but you worked like clockwork together. 

The first time the three of you teamed up, America gave Bucky one long look and smirked. “So, the Winter Soldier in this universe, huh? Doesn’t look so scary.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Give me five minutes and a reason.”

“He’s all bark until someone threatens me,” You laughed. “Then it gets messy.”

From then on, the three of you became a strange little unit. America would tease Bucky constantly—calling him grumpy, old man, or “Sergeant Sunshine” on good days. She’d stick close to you when he got too serious. You always laughed.

—

When this all started, America had two legal guardians— Wong and Strange. Recently, you and Bucky were added to the list. 

So you started inviting her to yours and Bucky’s home more, especially when Strange or Wong had pressing matters to attend to. Dinner at your apartment became a regular thing. She’d crash on the couch in an old hoodie, eating popcorn and flipping through your spellbooks like they were comic books. Bucky cooked big, hearty meals more often than not, recipes that reminded him of a time before this one. You’d float the dishes clean afterward with a flick of your hand, and America would clap.

Strange and Wong would sometimes be invited too, and they’d bicker about magical ethics. At least they’d brought dessert. One time, Wong showed up with six tubs of ice cream and didn’t explain why. No one asked.

Then came Madripoor.

A Skrull impersonated you during an ambush, but America decked her with a right hook, and she dropped like a sack of bricks.

“My sister doesn’t stand like that,” she said, shaking out her fist.

You didn’t say anything right away, but you beamed with pride. 

After that, she started calling you her big sister like it had always been the case.

Bucky didn’t argue. In fact, he was fond of it. 

He started teaching her how to throw knives, how to read people’s movements in combat, how to hit where it counted. “Just in case the magic fails.” he’d say with a shrug. 

He trained her like she mattered to him, like he’d already decided she was family.

“She reminds me of you, you know,” he said one night, after America had passed out on your favourite armchair in the living room with her mouth open, TV still on.

You were curled up beside him on the couch, your legs over his lap, a cup of tea floating in the air between you.

“She’s louder,” you replied with a smile.

He chuckled. “Yeah, but she’s got that same… fire. She knows she’s meant for more, just waiting for the world to catch up.”

You glanced at her, snoring under your old jacket, curled up like she hadn’t fought a demon with Wong twelve hours ago. “I get it. She doesn’t just want to survive. She wants to matter.”

Bucky tangled his metal arm in your hair, scratching softly at your scalp. “She does. Especially to you.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “To us.”

Bucky smiled and nodded, kissing the top of your head.

—

Then, something started… changing. Especially in lessons.

America started showing up late, later than usual—and when she did, her energy was all over the place. Spells fizzled out, sigils came out crooked, and her focus was… somewhere else entirely. 

She was still trying, still cracking jokes, but something had… shifted. 

After the third lesson in a row where she couldn’t hold a basic containment shield (even though she’d mastered it weeks ago), you finally decided to ask around.

You found Wong and Strange in the library, deep in a debate about magical interference patterns in unstable realities. They paused when you walked in, and Wong raised an eyebrow at the look on your face.

“America is distracted,” you said simply. “I’ve tried scolding her, grounding exercises, even bribing her with snacks. Nothing’s working.”

Wong gave a thoughtful nod. “Food usually does the job. That is serious.”

Strange leaned back in his chair with an annoyingly smug grin. “I think I know what it is.”

You folded your arms. “If it’s dimensional exhaustion, just say so. Don’t be cryptic.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” He smirked. “I think she’s got a crush.”

You blinked. “A what?”

Strange gestured vaguely toward the southern wing of the compound. “On that new teenage sorcerer. The cocky one from London. You know, the one who wears sunglasses indoors and thinks enchantments are a ‘vibe.’”

You stared at him. “Huh?”

Wong groaned. “Dear gods. Leo?” 

“Yeah,” Strange said. “I caught her staring at him throw basic sparks into the air. She didn’t blink for, like, five whole minutes.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “She’s letting her shields drop because she has a crush?”

“She’s sixteen,” Wong said with a sigh. “It’s developmentally appropriate.”

“Tell that to the demon who nearly melted my eyebrows off yesterday.”

Strange raised a finger. “To be fair, you were the one who let her take point on that breach.”

You scowled. “She begged to.”

“She wanted to impress Leo,” Strange said with a shrug. “Teenagers do dumb things when they have crushes.”

Wong crossed his arms. “So did you. Still do.”

Strange narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make this about me.”

You sighed and dropped into the nearest chair. “Okay. So. Teen crush. What do I do? Forbid her from seeing him? Set your cloak on surveillance duty?”

“Or,” Wong said gently, “talk to her. Like you always do.”

You groaned dramatically, head in your hands. “I liked it better when the only thing she wanted to punch was interdimensional rifts.”

“She still does,” Wong said with a small smile. “She just also wants to punch them while looking cool in front of Leo.”

“Honestly, you should be proud,” Strange added, “She’s becoming terrifyingly normal.”

You could only chuckle, because they were right. She was growing. And real growth was never clean or controlled.

Especially not when teenage feelings got involved.

But you were still a legal guardian to her. The only female one, too. Neither lunatic wizards in front of you would know how to handle it, and as much as you loved your husband, he would not know how to handle girl talk. 

So you stood up, dusted off your robes, and said, “Fine. I’ll talk to her. But if he hurts her, I’m sending him into a mirror dimension for a week.”

Strange grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

—

You found her by the koi pond, skipping stones with the same power she usually reserved for punching demons. Her robe sleeves were pulled down over her hands.

You didn’t approach right away. You stood there for a second, arms crossed, watching the way she groaned every time a stone bounced fewer than three times.

Finally, you said, “You know your shields are garbage lately, right?”

America sighed without looking at you. “Yeah.”

You stepped beside her, picked up a pebble, and skipped it clean across the pond— six hops. 

She gave you a side-eye. “Okay, show off.”

You smiled. “You wanna talk about it?”

She hesitated, but then said without looking up, “You ever like someone who’s... dumb hot but also kinda ridiculous?”

You nodded solemnly. “Bucky had an eyeliner phase.”

She turned to you, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Long story,” you shook your head, “Focus. You mean Leo?”

She winced. “You know?”

“Everyone knows. Wong’s pretending he doesn’t, but Strange tells me you stare at him like he’s a walking portal to a candy dimension.”

“I hate it,” America groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s cool and I’m… I dunno. I punch holes in space,” she sighed, “Not exactly first-date material.”

You nudged her shoulder. “You just need a plan, kid.”

She looked up, hopeful. “You’re gonna help me?”

You grinned. “What are big sisters for?”

After some (a lot) of encouragement, she found him in the spellcasting chambers and stammered out something along the lines of, “Hey, do you wanna get noodles and maybe talk about...like...not magical stuff for once?”

Leo blinked behind his ever-present sunglasses and gave her a grin that somehow tied her stomach into a knot and annoyed her all at once.

“Only if you don’t punch open a portal in the middle of dinner,” he said.

She punched his arm lightly. “No promises.”

He smiled. “It’s a date.”

—

Back in your home, America was pacing like a storm in a bottle while you tossed clothes across the guest bed, which has turned more and more into her second bedroom.

“I don’t know what to wear. I can’t look like I’m trying too hard, right?”

You held up a bright red flannel and black jeans. “There. Makes your eyes pop.”

She grabbed them, holding them up in the mirror. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Then came the shoes decision, and the hair style spell, and a tiny protective charm you discreetly stitched into her jacket pocket— just in case.

And when she was almost ready, Bucky strolled in.

He looked at the pile of clothing chaos, then at America.

“…Where are you going?”

America froze like a deer in headlights. You smiled. “She has a date, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “With who?”

America muttered under her breath, “Leo.”

Bucky stared at her. “Sunglasses Indoors Leo?”

She nodded, cheeks burning. “Yep.”

He crossed his arms, metal plating shifting with a whir. “Is he human? Does he have a criminal record? What’s his GPA? Has he ever made a pact with an ancient entity?”

You stepped between them before America combusted from secondhand embarrassment. “He’s fine, Buck. Wong already did the background check.”

Bucky looked unconvinced. “If he hurts her—”

“I’ll punch him into another reality,” America said quickly. “Relax, Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head, but he still handed her a switchblade. “Keep it in your boot. Just in case.”

“I can tear open a hole in space.”

“Still.”

—

That night, America left through a portal with flushed cheeks, perfect eyeliner (Bucky’s doing), and the world’s most awkwardly concealed switchblade in her boot.

You and Bucky watched her go, standing side by side at the window.

“She’ll be fine,” you said.

“She’s still just a kid,” he grumbled.

You leaned into him. “She’s got this.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your temple. “Still interrogating the boyfriend when I see him.”

You smiled. “Obviously.”

—

The date went well—really well. America came back that night practically floating. 

She walked into your study smiling from ear like she’d just discovered treasure in a new universe, then immediately collapsed face-first onto the couch with a dramatic groan.

“He ordered dumplings for me without asking,” she mumbled into a cushion. “Because I mentioned it one time like two days ago.”

“That’s your bar?” You raised an eyebrow. “Dumpling telepathy?”

She rolled over, eyes bright. “It’s not just that! We talked for hours. Like, real talk. He told me about how his dad was a monk and he hated it. He said I’m like— this walking, talking reminder that the multiverse is bigger than all the rules he grew up with.”

Bucky, sitting nearby cleaning a knife, glanced over. “Sounds like he talks a lot.”

America waved a hand. “Yeah, but it’s good talk.”

For the next few months, it was like a new light had switched on in her. Still reckless, still stubborn—but brighter around the edges. 

She practiced spells with more purpose (if not more focus), sometimes scribbling his name in the margins of her notes with tiny hearts, like magic school had turned into high school overnight.

And she gushed. Oh god, she gushed.

Leo said this. Leo did that. Leo levitated an entire tray of fries because he didn’t want to stop holding her hand. Leo cast a musical glamour to make her laugh. Leo kissed her in the rain and she swears it was like being in a movie.

You smiled through most of it. You’d tease her sometimes. You offered advice when she asked. And when she didn’t, you still made sure she knew you were there.

Bucky, of course, took longer to warm up. He never threatened Leo outright, but every time the boy showed up at your door, Bucky just happened to be cleaning a rifle.

“Be safe,” he’d always say as America ran out the door. “No unsupervised pocket dimension hopping.”

But then the stories… changed.

Not in tone— she was still breathless, still had rose tinted glasses on—but in content. She started mentioning how he didn’t like sparring with her anymore because he said she “came on too strong.” How he’d get quiet when she talked about going on missions.

“He says I make everything too big,” she said once, curling deeper into a blanket while your tea kettle whispered in the background. “That I treat magic like it’s a fight instead of a philosophy.”

You didn’t say anything then.

You just handed her a cup and listened.

Because it wasn’t your place to step in— not yet. Not when she was still so hopeful, still so sure she could bend the edges of her world to match his if she just tried hard enough.

But you noticed the red flags.

You noticed how, after a couple of months, her posture shrank when she talked about him. She laughed less when he was around. How her magic sparked in unpredictable, frustrating bursts when she thought no one was looking. How she said “sorry” too often. For being late, training too hard, for simply… taking up space.

Once, during a lesson, she flubbed a shield charm she could’ve done in her sleep, and when you offered to go over it again, she waved it off with a tired smile. “Leo says I overthink everything. Maybe I should just... stop trying so hard.”

That one hurt.

But still, you didn’t say anything. You just adjusted the angle of her stance, guiding her through the sigil again. 

You’d built a relationship on trust and choice, so you needed to let her figure things out for herself while still making sure she held her head up high.

Now, even Bucky’s muscles tensed every time she brought Leo up. But even he couldn’t bear to tell her the truth he were starting to see:

That sometimes people can love you and still not understand the way you’re built.

That sometimes, someone wonderful just isn’t right.

That he wasn’t bad— but he was small, and she was infinite.

So you just waited and watched.

—

One day, Strange poked his head into the training hall after a novice lesson, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself, like a man who had been asked to do brain surgery with chopsticks.

“America in Wong’s study,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “She asked for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your spellcasting hand. “Everything okay?”

“Leo… well...” Strange scratched the back of his neck. “I... tried. I made tea. I offered her a lecture on heartbreak through a metaphysical lens.”

You snorted. “You two tried to girl talk, didn’t you?”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “I thought I was doing well. Wong even mentioned Beyoncé.”

“… dear god.”

“She’s waiting,” he said, already walking away.

—

Wong’s study was unusually quiet when you stepped inside. The Sorcerer Supreme himself was nowhere in sight.

America probably told him to go because he just didn’t have anything worthwhile to say to get over a boy. 

She sat curled up in one of the high-backed chairs by the fire, legs tucked beneath her, oversized robe sleeves hanging past her hands. She stared at the floor.

You didn’t say anything, but you walked in slowly, careful not to startle her, and took the chair opposite her. You waited.

Eventually, her voice came flat, like it had been sanded down. “I told Leo it’s over.”

You nodded once. “Want to tell me what happened?”

She took a deep breath. “He said I’m becoming… too much.”

There it was, the dealbreaker. 

You could almost hear it, the way she'd been turning that phrase over and over in her mind.

“He said he loves how strong I am, but he also said I have too much of a temper. That I make everything a fight. That he doesn't like being around someone who’s always ready to run headfirst into danger.”

You let her keep going.

“He said I never sit still. That I always want more. And I tried, you know? I really tried. I stopped portaling. Skipped training. Just to show him I could be… less.” She swallowed hard. “It didn’t help. He wasn’t happier. I just felt like a stranger to myself.”

“You’re never too much,” You leaned forward slightly, “He was just too little.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” She blinked, tears threatening to spill but not quite falling. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

“Would you have listened?”

She froze, before giving you a rueful shake of her head.

“I was a teenage girl once, too, y’know.” You smiled gently. “Sometimes you have to feel it for yourself. Sometimes love has to fall apart before you see it was never really whole. But I need you to know— I’m here. No matter what.”

Her fingers trembled, just slightly. “It sucks.”

“It does.”

“He was almost enough,” she whispered. “But I can’t do almost.”

You studied her, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, wide with the kind of grief that makes a person seem older than they are. 

You reached over and took her hand in both of yours, “America, your standards are already higher than most people twice your age. That’s not something to be ashamed of. That’s something to be proud of.”

She gave a choked laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You gave her hand a squeeze. “You knew it didn’t feel right, and you walked away. That takes guts.”

She sat quietly for a moment. Then, she hiccuped. “You know… there’s a reason for that.” She looked up at you now. “It’s you. You and Bucky. You’re always together.”

Your breath hitched. She hadn’t said it like a compliment. She said it like it was an undeniable truth. 

“In every version of you I’ve seen,” she continued, “you two are always in love.”

You tilted your head. She had mentioned this before, but never quite expanded on it. “What do you mean?”

America sniffled, shifting slightly in her seat. “There’s a universe where you’re Spider-Woman. Bucky’s this sarcastic, reckless reporter who keeps getting himself kidnapped. You save him from actual robot ninjas and kiss him upside down in an alley.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds dramatic.”

“Oh, it was.” She smiled faintly. “There’s another one where you’re a Nova Corps commander and he’s a Ravager. You risk everything to protect him. Your rank, your life. You betrayed your division to be with him.”

You hadn’t asked for these glimpses before—never wanted to pry into how the multiverse folded versions of you into different shapes. But now… now you realise how much more she actually knew you and Bucky. 

“And this one—this medieval one—where you’re a princess, and he’s your knight. He loses an eye protecting you during a siege.” Her voice cracked. “I cried in that one.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of it all settling in your soul.

“In every universe,” she said softly, “you choose each other. No matter how different the world is. Even when it doesn’t make sense. You always find your way back.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers gently along her skin. “That’s… a lot.”

“Well…” She shrugged, cheeks flushed, but didn’t look away. “You’re why I have high standards. Every time I see you, I think—that’s what love is supposed to look like. That’s why I couldn’t take ‘almost.’”

You hadn’t realised she'd been watching. That across every world she slipped through, she’d been collecting pieces of your love story like broken glass, trying to piece together something whole for herself in the process. Perhaps, it explained why she got attached to you both so quickly. 

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, your voice soft. “You just haven’t met your Bucky yet.”

“Yeah. Okay.” A tear rolled down her cheek, but she smiled through it. “That makes sense.”

You opened your arms, and she folded into them like she’d been waiting for permission. You held her close, her forehead against your shoulder, breathing finally evening out.

Because maybe that was the secret the multiverse had been trying to whisper to her all along—that some loves echo. That some hearts are meant to find each other, no matter how many versions of the world exist. No matter how far apart they start.

And maybe one day, she would find that kind of love. A love that wasn’t almost. A love that chose her back, again and again, across time and space.

But until then—she had you.

She had Strange.

She had Wong.

She had Bucky.

And for now, that was more than enough.

—

Meanwhile, on Earth 363…

You crept in through the second-story window like you always did, the faintest thwip of your web the only sound betraying your arrival. The apartment was dark, save for the soft glow from the living room

Still in your Spider-Woman suit, you moved stealthily through the hall, peeking around the corner just as Bucky stepped into view, holding a mug in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other.

“You’re late,” he said, amused and entirely unsurprised. He was still in his work clothes, the name tag from the Daily Bugle still clipped to his pocket.

You groaned and flopped dramatically over the back of the couch. “How do you know I’m here? I didn’t even make a sound.”

Bucky grinned, setting his mug down as he walked over to you. “You smell like roof tar and adrenaline.”

“…well, shit.”

He leaned down and gently tugged at your mask. “C’mere.”

You let him peel it off, your hair a messy halo from hours of swinging across rooftops. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks, then kissed you. You felt loved and warm and so very home.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.

“I saw you this morning.”

“Still.”

You grinned and kissed him again, slower this time, one arm snaking around his back, the other cradling the back of his neck. The cookie he had was now abandoned for good.

Eventually, you both sank onto the couch, limbs tangled and a blanket pulled over you. 

“I wonder how America Chavez is doing,” Bucky said suddenly, as if the universe had given him a sudden urge to ask, his voice muffled as he buried it in your shoulder. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

You blinked, then smiled. “Me neither… wonder where she’s gone off to.”

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling the slight thump of Bucky’s heartbeat against your ribs.

Wherever she was, you hoped she was safe.

You hoped she found good people. 

—

Meanwhile, in Universe-8990…

The engine hum of Bucky’s ravager ship was a familiar purr beneath your boots, the kind of sound that settled in your bones’ memory after enough time spent in deep space. You sat cross-legged on the floor of the weapons bay, your busted blaster disassembled on a crate in front of you, hands smeared with grease and face in frustration.

“I swear,” you muttered, yanking at a stubborn coil, “I could field-strip this thing in my sleep during basic training, and now I can’t even hold it right.”

“You’re probably just mad because it reminds you of the Nova Corps, babe,” Bucky said, waltzing over with a crooked grin and a Nanobot Welder in hand. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, but couldn’t quite stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Of course I’m not. I'm devastatingly handsome and occasionally insightful.”

He dropped to his knees beside you, his shoulder bumping yours. Without a word, he took the blaster from your hands, flipped it over, and adjusted the coil with a flick of his wrist. The click of realignment was so smooth, you almost didn’t hear it.

You gasped. “You’re kidding.”

“Ravager skills,” He winked. “We get creative out here without a billion credits in R&D.”

You rolled your eyes. He always looked and sounded so cocky, but underneath was the man who risked a death sentence by harboring a former Nova Commander like you. The man who never once asked if you regretted choosing him over the Corps.

“Thanks,” you said, gentler now.

“For fixing your weapon, or for stealing you away from a galactic space militia?”

You tilted your head. “Both.”

Bucky smiled, then leaned in slowly and kissed you. As always, the kiss was gentle. His fingers brushed under your chin, thumb ghosting over your cheekbones. 

When you pulled back, you let your forehead rest against his. 

“I wonder how America Chavez is doing,” Bucky said suddenly, as if the universe suddenly told him to say it. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Yeah... me neither.”

She had helped you once—ripped open the stars and gave you a door when you thought there wasn’t one. And now, with the Corps calling you a traitor and half the galaxy after your head, you hoped she was somewhere out there, safe and happy. 

–

Meanwhile, on Earth-223…

The castle halls had been quiet for hours, the usual echoing bustle replaced with the rustle of wind through ancient stone and the occasional hoot of an owl beyond the nursery window. You rocked gently in the gilded chair beside the cradle, your newborn swaddled in your arms, his tiny fists curled against your chest as he breathed in adorable hiccupping sighs.

The fire crackled low in the hearth. Everything felt… right.

From across the room, you heard the familiar clink of armour being put down. James stood by the wardrobe, his tunic slung over one shoulder, hair damp from a quick wash. The eyepatch over his left eye caught the firelight like polished obsidian— your knight, and now your husband.

“You’re still awake,” he said as he padded over barefoot.

“He wouldn’t settle,” you whispered, glancing down at the bundle of joy in your arms. “Too curious, I think. Like his father.”

James chuckled softly, lowering himself to one knee beside you. He reached out and ran a calloused finger down the curve of your son’s cheek— the heir to the throne. 

“He’s perfect,” he said.

“You say that every night.”

“And I’ll say it every night after this.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead. “He’s going to be strong, like his mother. Brave, too.”

You looked at James, heart swelling until it threatened to spill over. “You’re not too bad in those departments yourself, my love.”

He could only give you a tired grin. 

You reached out, brushing your fingers through the hair above his ear— careful not to disturb the scar that ran beneath his eyepatch— a souvenir from the siege. The day he nearly gave his life for you. The day he threw himself in front of you, sword drawn, as the enemy breached the gate.

“I still think about that night,” you whispered.

“I don’t,” he replied just as quietly. “I only think about this one.”

You smiled down at your child, who had finally drifted into a peaceful sleep.

James leaned his head against your knee for a moment, before sighing, as if the universe had told him to ask this question. “I wonder how America Chavez is doing,” he said, almost absently. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Your smile faltered just slightly, but fondness curled in your chest. “Me neither, my love.”

She had disappeared like a star falling sideways through the sky, always moving, always needed somewhere else. But there had been a time, not so long ago, when she stood at your side—young and fierce and loyal beyond reason. 

Wherever she was, you hoped she found a kingdom to settle in. 

—

Back in Earth-616…

You had just gotten back from Kamar-Taj. 

The buzz of a sling ring portal hummed behind you, your muscles sore from the emotional more than the physical toll. The second you stepped into your home and shut the door behind you, you let out a deep breath.

And there he was, your husband, half-reclined on the couch, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a book resting on his lap. He looked up the second he sensed you, and the lines on his forehead relaxing instantly. 

“Hey,” he said, already setting the book aside as he stood.

You let your bag drop to the floor and walked straight into his arms.

He pulled you in without a word, hugging you, metal hand pressing gently against the small of your back while the human combed into your hair. You melted into his chest, burying your face in the cotton of his Henley.

“The kid okay?” he asked after a moment, “Wong called. Told me everything.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, and nodded with a sad smile. “She will be.”

He watched you for a second, like he was trying to gauge how okay you were. Then he led you to the couch, letting you curl into his side with your legs thrown over his lap and his arm around your waist. 

“America was the one who broke it off,” you said, head resting against his shoulder.

Bucky’s arms twitched just a little. “Good.”

You blinked, tilting your head up at him. “Good?”

He gave you that wicked smirk—the one that said he was already plotting something. “Where’s this Leo kid live again? Is it the left wing of the eastern temple?”

You groaned. “Bucky—”

“I’m not gonna do anything,” he said, which was exactly what he would say before doing something. “I’m just saying. You care about her. So I care about her. That’s the rule.”

You bit back a smile. “Since when is that the rule?”

“Since I fell in love with you,” he said without missing a beat.

Even after all these years, your heart still did a stupid little backflip.

“Well…” You hesitated, tracing patterns on his vibranium arm with your fingertip. “She said we are the reason she has high standards. She’s seen us together enough times to believe that kind of love is real. That she… wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

Bucky was quiet for a beat, processing that. Then he exhaled, brushing his fingers gently through your hair.

“Huh,” he said, “I’m proud of her.”

You smiled. “Yeah?”

Bucky nodded, “Took me long enough to learn that lesson. She’s ahead of the curve.” He leaned in, his nose brushing yours. 

You kissed him then. Slowly. Sweetly. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye as he pulled you closer, if that was even physically possible.

“Have I mentioned lately,” you whispered, “how much I love you?”

“Not since this morning,” he let out a small laugh, kissing you again and smiling into it. “I was starting to worry.”

You chuckled.

One day, you’d tell him the rest of the conversation. You’d sit him down and let America tell him about all the other versions of the two of you she’d seen—the princess and the knight, the runaway and the Ravager, the dramatic spider-kiss. 

But not tonight.

Tonight belonged to just this version of you and him. The one where his hand fit perfectly in yours, and your hearts beat in sync on a worn down couch that felt like the center of the universe.

And honestly… it kind of was.

-end.

yes it’s 616 for all intents and purposes even though I am well aware it is also the designation for the main comic universe. Edit: a lovely comment pointed out that America is a lesbian and dw, I am aware and I didn’t mean to undermine her sexuality! I should’ve mentioned that I am currently working on a part 2 where America starts questioning her sexuality ft. Bi!reader that centers around setting apart aesthetic attraction vs romantic attraction 🫶

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst