#Why is my interest suddenly sparked now

[icharchivist]

thinking about how in DAI's Jaws of Hakkon the spirits have been calling the Inquisitor "the one who blazes like fire".

thinking about how Cole supports that because he says in a few banters that he can't see through the Inquisitor because they're too bright, because of the anchor

thinking about the confirmation that elves come from spirits

thinking about how Sera was always hinted to be closer to her spiritual nature and that it's, in a way, likely why she rejected current elven culture

thinking about how Sera's ears point where the Fade is, how Sera sees more into the Breach, how Sera has instincts she can't explain that makes her more Elfy

thinking about Solas saying she had "a purity of purpose", and also says "We are not so far apart, you and I." when Sera describes how she sees the Breach

thinking about how, when meeting Sera, the first thing she asks the Inquisitor is "so you're the one who glows?"

[teojira]

I saw that you had transformers on your fandom list, will you be willing to write a 'bot of choice x human reader jealousy/protectiveness fic? Like in that one scene from Transformers 2 where the Deception Pretender tried to seduce Sam but Bee absolutely wasn't having that but had to stay in car mode?

[Aren't you supposed to be more mature than this?]

Summary: Optimus knows better than to get attached to you (too late), he can't help but side eye you and a stranger interacting. (Based on Knightverse Optimus, after ROTB!)

Word count: 800+ words!

Pronouns: They/them

Warnings: Optimus is bad at feelings, Optimus being down bad, extremely self indulgent. Mainly Optimus' Pov as well! Lmk if I need to tag anything!

A/N: Everyone who knows me knows of my obsession and love for this man it's so bad, I have him tattooed and have a whole ass shrine I love HIMMM, Thank you sm for the request! He is the love of my life.

Optimus Prime has been called many things, many of which are true, things he'd accept with pride.

A great leader, a good friend, a valuable teammate, A war criminal.

A jealous bot was never one of them, until recently.

He wasn't sure when he started to take a shine towards you. Was it after Unicron? When he held you in his servos, cradling you to his chest as he transformed back into his bipedal form, only letting go of you after the confused looks from Bee and Mirage.

Maybe it was a while after that, when you offered to help clean him up, Noah was too busy rebuilding Mirage to offer his services to the big man himself.

Optimus could never wipe the feeling of your small hands gently running across his frame, taking extra care to mend any scratches you found, constantly checking in to make sure he was comfortable.

He's ashamed to admit, but he kept shuddering under your touch, his senses overwhelmed by your presence. Every time his cooling fans turned on, he'd wave it off as it was just hot outside. (it's 60 degrees out, liar.)

He tries to recharge that night, but the feeling in his chassis makes him restless. He can see his sensors go haywire at the mere thought of you. He is so fucked, he shuts his eyes and groans deeply, his mask shooting up to mask the sound, lest he wakes the others.

Primus help him.

With his new revelation, Optimus tries his best to distance himself towards you, always making excuses as to why he can't drive you home or to work (a flicker of jealously when Arcee offers, no one catches his digits curling ever so slightly into his palm), saying he must go on patrol for the time being. He waves you off when you try and care for him, asking if he'd like any help with any scrapes and dents, saying he can live with them, he's been through worse.

Its only natural that you'd give him some space, that's the kind of person you are, kind, loving, respectful, loyal to a fault, but it doesn't escape his notice when your smile falls after he politely tells you you're not needed, his spark aching when you turn around to go find another bot.

Optimus watches you now, stationed on the street.

He has no right to be upset when you're stopped outside of the garage by an older man, the man so clearly taking interest in you while you're very politely listening and nodding, shooting that oh so pretty smile to a man who he's sure is not fit to be anywhere near you, not worthy of the warm smile you wear.

It makes him seethe in jealousy, and it's scary.

He can not remember a time when he had ever been jealous. He's a prime. He was supposed to be a calm and collected leader and yet. And yet, he's so close to blowing his hor-

You suddenly whirl towards him. If he was any better of a man, he wouldn't immediately think of how cute you looked, how your lips moved as you let out a yelp.

It isn't until that thought passes his mind that he realizes he used his truckers horn. Embarrassment trickles through his body, although now he has your attention, and you are making your way towards him. The man following behind you keeps the conversation going, not catching a hint.

Optimus is ready to honk again, especially if this man keeps following so close behind you, way too close for comfort.

You beat him to it, turning around as you rest a hand on Optimus’ cabins door handle, shooting the man a polite smile.

“Sorry about that, but my husband is actually here to pick me up, so I have to go. Have a good day!” And You hoist yourself up, quickly buckling your seat belt, gently patting the dashboard in hopes Optimus fucking drives before you're bothered anymore.

Optimus’ processor buffers, his engine revving as he goes on autopilot to tale you both away. Does he know where to drive to? Certainly no, but you're with him now. He's sure you could ask him to take you to distant planets, and he'd make it work for you and only you.

“Thank you for the save, big guy.” You smile brightly at his steering wheel, your eyes lovingly trailing across the autobot symbol that sits in the center.

“It was nothing, I am glad to be there to assist.” The cabin rumbles with his voice, soothing your anxiety. You curl into your seat, resting your head.

“Where are we going?”

“If I'm not mistaken, you mentioned wanting to go to upstate New York to drive along some scenic routes? I'll gladly be your escort.”

He is so ridiculously falling for you, but he can't bring himself to hate it, especially when you excitedly hop in your seat.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[bunnygirllover45]

— CREATURES OF HABIT. ♱ TRIGGER WARNING(S): This one is about psychological training, pet play undertones (they're not undertones they're very on the nose but oh well.), slightly suggestive. dark content. Johann itself is a warning. WORD COUNT: 1k words. ADDITIONAL NOTES: First time writing something for this guy in a while, sorry if it sucks. I just enjoy writing psych yandere stuff.

The first months in Johann’s basement were grueling. The sudden change of pace, the claustrophobic sensation of always being surrounded by the same walls, you swore multiple times you were about to break, but each time you felt like that, Johann was always there to put you back in place like a beautiful —and fucked up— puzzle.

Then, one day, out of nowhere, Johann introduced some ‘mental exercises’ for you. He told you they were so your brain didn’t stagnate over time due to the confinement, but you couldn’t help but feel like there were some ulterior motives behind it.  Most of the exercises were simple, from just sitting at a table and drawing shapes on paper to following basic instructions, no matter what was going on, Johann never skipped the routine.

Today’s exercise was simple enough: sit down and obey. Johann was really patient with you, so despite your early nervousness, you always found yourself quickly getting accustomed to the session, trying your best not to overthink how utterly weird the whole setting was. Being mentally trained by your kidnapper—no. Scratch that; lover.

“You know about Pavlov’s experiments?” Johann asked softly, tilting his head to look at you. His brown hair fell over his stare, obscuring his expression under the dim light of the basement. His legs were stretched under the table, brushing against yours. “Pavlov discovered that dogs were prone to begin to salivate once they saw the trainers that often brought them food, it was an unconscious action they made.”

“They associate ‘this person’ with ‘food’. The same goes with sounds.” He explained carefully, playing with the chain of the collar attached to your neck, tugging it lightly in an almost mindless manner. “Notice how sometimes when you make sounds in the kitchen your pet always comes? It’s because they relate that sound with food.” 

A smile tugged on Johann’s features as he focused his dark eyes back on you, the intensity in his eyes made you shiver—you knew that look all too well, some wicked idea just sparked inside his twisted head. “I thought it would be interesting to try that with you.” 

The way he whispered those words with that tone of his that was equally aloof as it hid some of his excitement made you tremble, but a part of you felt curious about the idea too. Lately, you found yourself associating the sound of the chain of your collar with going outside, Johann always kept the collar inside the house but not the chain, which was saved for when you two went outside for short walks —for your legs sake, as he says—.

“What… did you have in mind?” You managed to ask softly, staring at him with expectating eyes. Johann almost shrugged nonchalantly at your question, his fingers caressing the length of the chain around your neck before settling on top of your hand, intertwining his long fingers with yours, his thumb now tracing circles on your knuckles.

“I don’t really know, why don’t we start with something simple?” his free hand reached to cup your cheek, tenderly caressing your skin, you almost leaned into it before he surprised you by suddenly snapping his fingers against your ear. The sound left you confused for a second not because of its loudness but because of how close it felt, you self-consciously reached to cup your ear, staring at him with a frown. “Why did you do that…?” 

“Sorry.” He chuckled, pulling your hand away from your ear to replace it with his own. “You know I don’t like screaming at you, so each time I want you to be quiet I’ll do that, okay?” 

“Each time I snap my fingers, you’ll be quiet.” 

A part of you wanted to protest, but at least you gave him the benefit that he hadn’t ever screamed to you before when you tried to escape or do something that slightly annoyed him, he was gentle, in his own twisted way, but Johann also had to establish some limits if he wanted to keep peace inside the little paradise he made only for you. “Snap equals quiet. Repeat that to yourself mentally until it becomes like second nature.”

As you got lost in your thoughts for a few seconds, you suddenly felt Johann’s hand tracing your thigh, up and down, his nails scratching your skin in a way that didn’t make it hurt but tingle, it was suddenly so overstimulating, the feeling of him tracing maddeningly slow circles on your skin out of nowhere.

Your eyes snapped back to him, but Johann didn’t seem to have any expression at all, he only looked at you with those empty black voids of his eyes, completely still in his seat. Your legs began to tremble as he traced closer and closer to the skin of your thighs, scratching softly, caressing in his own, tenderly violent way. “What are you…?"

Snap.

You jolted suddenly, your mouth closing shut at the sudden sound. Johann’s chuckle followed your reaction, and as you slowly opened your eyes again you found him smiling at you, pupils swallowing his already dark irises. “I’m glad to see it’s already working.”

“But-” Snap. “Quiet.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his sudden abuse of power, but Johann only smiled at you. “Don’t pout… I’m just having fun with you.” He tugged at your lower lip playfully. “You’re a quick learner, I’m proud of you.” 

A sudden rush of heat reached your cheeks at his words, and you found yourself looking away from him, but suddenly Johann caught your chin between his fingers, clicking his tongue. “C’mon… don’t look away. I need to know if the training is working or not.” 

“And don’t tense your jaw either, you’ll make your face hurt.” His big hand now cupped your face, pressing at the sides of your cheeks to unclench your jaw, you sighed in a defeated manner. 

Johann slowly stood up, walking around the table until he was leaning behind you, his brown hair making your neck tickle and your skin prickle with goosebumps at the feeling of his breathing against your ear. “I should test it in other settings, don’t you think?” 

His voice was heavy with suggestive undertones, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the idea, nodding slowly you looked at Johann, he gave you a small smile before pressing his lips against your temple. “That’s my darling.” 

Until each one of my actions seeps into your brain matter— until you cannot breathe without copying the movements of my own chest. Until your very existence intertwines with mine.

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A PILE: What do people feel when they look into your eyes?

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you go ahead and read both!

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My Masterlist🫶🏻

── .✦ PILE I

cards pulled: The world reversed, 10 of wands, Ace of wands, 3 of pentacles, 2 of pentacles.

Hello pile 1! So starting off with your reading, your eyes hold weight. Like, people stare into them and feel this deep, almost overwhelming pull as if you know things. You know when someone makes eye contact and immediately looks away? That’s why. Your gaze makes people feel exposed. 

Maybe, Your eyes look different depending on the mood you’re in. It’s almost supernatural. When you’re deep in thought, they can look distant like you’re somewhere else entirely. But when you’re focused on someone? It’s game over for them. Your gaze locks them in place, and they suddenly forget how to breathe. Another hit I’m getting your eyes glow in certain lighting. Like, maybe in the golden hour sun, or under dim lighting, there’s this otherworldly sheen to them. People notice it and get caught in a daze. You could be walking past someone, and they’ll turn back just to check if they really saw what they think they saw. (Hint: They did, and now they can’t stop thinking about it.)

But here’s the thing your energy isn’t necessarily intimidating; it’s just unfiltered truth. People sense that you carry wisdom, resilience, and maybe even some silent battles that have shaped you. The World reversed tells me that people feel like you’ve seen life’s highs and lows, and it shows in the way your eyes hold untold stories. Some might feel comforted by that, but others? Oof they go into a full-on existential crisis when they meet your gaze. people look into your eyes and get this weird mix of heavy emotions and admiration. Like, they see a depth that reminds them of their own struggles, but at the same time, they see someone who is still standing, pushing forward, making things happen.  But (and this is interesting), people also feel a need to prove themselves to you. The Three of Pentacles tells me that when people lock eyes with you, there’s this unconscious pressure to be better, to work harder, to impress you. Your eyes challenge people, like, “Are you really putting in the effort? Are you really stepping up in your life?” And some people LOVE that they want to earn your respect. But for others? They shrink. They can’t handle being held to a silent standard.

Now, let’s talk about the fire in your gaze. Because it’s not all deep emotional weight and existential reckoning your eyes also ignite something in people. The Ace of Wands is passion, energy, inspiration your gaze has this spark that wakes people up. It’s like staring into pure potential people look at you and suddenly start daydreaming about big moves, wild possibilities, and even risky choices they never considered before. Also... I HAVE TO SAY IT some people get lowkey obsessed with you because your eyes make them feel ALIVE. Like, they weren’t even thinking about you that way, but now? They’re pacing their room at replaying that one glance you gave them. 😭. People can’t pin you down, and that drives them INSANE. Your gaze shifts between calm and intense, warm and unreadable, steady and playful people never know what’s coming next. And THAT? That’s dangerous. They start overanalyzing, wondering, “What did that look mean? Did they just read my mind? Do they hate me? Do they secretly love me??” And now they’re in a full-blown mental crisis because of you.

Your eyes have this almost ethereal, timeless quality like they’ve seen things beyond this lifetime. The Soft yet piercing contrast is WILD. Your eyes can look gentle one second, then suddenly hold a gaze so powerful it makes people nervous. They flicker between warmth and unreadability, and that unpredictability makes people obsessed.  I hope this reading resonated with you, Thank you for reading till here, i hope you have an amazing day! Sending you all the love and good vibes!

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── .✦ PILE II

Cards pulled: 9 of pentacles, Queen of swords, 9 of wands, Page of swords, Wheel of fortune.

HELLO pile 2! Okay, listen. Your eyes? They do NOT play around. Your eyes carry this deadly mix of wisdom, confidence, and just a little bit of "don't mess with me" energy. There’s an air of control like you’re the one observing, assessing, deciding whether someone is worth your time. And BABY, people feel that. They know they have to come correct with you, or not come at all. Your eyes are DANGEROUSLY ATTRACTIVE.

Your eyes have that “I see through you” energy.  I am seeing so many words to describe you eyes, like Passionate, rebellious, playful but intense. These eyes command attention. They’re the type that makes people flustered or lose their train of thought mid-sentence. There’s also something undeniably seductive about them not just in a romantic way, but in a “I can’t stop looking at you” way. Your gaze slices through the BS like a sword. People who are fake, insecure, or hiding something? They literally can’t hold eye contact with you for too long because they feel exposed (and maybe even a little judged). They are also Elegant but lethal. Your eyes have that old-money, untouchable confidence. You don’t even need to say "I told you so" your eyes already did. I feel like, yall know HOW to use your eyes in your favour, and if not, i beg you besties to learn that😭you would literally unlock another whole level of magic.

I also see that your eyes scream self-sufficiency, like you know exactly who you are and what you bring to the table. People get the sense that you’re impossible to own they either meet your standards or they’re dismissed. your eyes are so freaking sharp and observant, it’s almost unnerving. People feel like you pick up on everything tiny changes in their tone, subtle body language shifts, the way their hands fidget when they lie. The wheel of fortune signifies the unpredictability of your energy. Your eyes don’t just see people they make them feel like anything could happen. This tells me the mystery your eyes hold is a huge part of your personality. There’s a karmic pull people don’t just glance at you and move on. Your gaze leaves an impact that lingers long after they look away.

Your eyes could Mysterious most of the times, even if you don’t try. Some people have deep, soulful eyes that pull you in and whisper secrets. YOURS is the king That tell people, “Try and figure me out. Good luck, though.” There’s a challenge in your gaze, and it drives people CRAZY.

Just like pile 1, your eyes could also look different depending on your mood. When you’re calm, they’re collected, regal, and unreadable. But when you’re passionate about something? They light up like fire, and suddenly, everyone is hyper-focused on you. But they ALWAYS hold that sense of mystery to them.  I’m getting cat energy sleek, unpredictable, untouchable. If you stare too long, it feels like you’re reading minds.

People feel drawn to you, not just for your looks but for the energy you carry, one that’s both mysterious and captivating. There’s a quiet confidence in your gaze that makes people want to know more, yet they also recognize that you don’t let just anyone in. Whether it’s admiration, curiosity, or a little bit of intimidation, one thing’s for sure, people don’t forget the way you look at them.That was intense, but I LOVED every second of it. 😭 Thank you for reading till here, i hope you have an amazing day! 

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── .✦ PILE III

Cards Pulled: 2 of swords, the moon, 8 of pentacles, page of cups, 9 of swords.

Omg. Okay. When people look into your eyes, it’s like they’ve suddenly stepped into a thriller movie. No, seriously. There’s a hypnotic depth here, which is too obvious. Pile 3, your eyes hold a mystery that people can’t quite put their finger on. There’s something dreamy, distant, and almost otherworldly about them

Let’s start with the obvious: People feel confused, intrigued, and just a little bit haunted when they look at you. Babe, you radiate the type of energy that makes people second-guess what they are doing. Like, they’re staring at you, trying to figure out what’s going on behind those eyes, and suddenly, they’re re-evaluating their whole existence. 💀 Your eyes hold secrets. Unspoken words. Feelings that can’t be named. They might see flickers of sadness, nostalgia, or even a past life connection that lowkey freaks them out (in a good way). But let’s be real, you don’t let people in easily. That 9 of Swords here tells me you’ve seen things. You’ve felt things. Your eyes carry the weight of emotions you don’t always verbalize, and people feel that heaviness, even if they can’t explain it.

But here’s the thing, they’re not just drawn to your depth; they’re drawn to your creativity, your softness, your quiet hope. The Page of Cups is giving, “There’s a dreamer behind these walls.” And omg, people can SENSE that. Your eyes have this soft, artistic melancholy, like someone who writes poetry or listens to sad indie songs while staring at the stars.  There’s something about your gaze that commands respect. People see work ethic. Strength. Determination. Your eyes say, “I’ve worked for everything I have,” and people feel that energy before you even open your mouth. It’s giving silent resilience. Like, someone could stare into your eyes and KNOW you’ve had moments where you were tired, drained, on the edge of breaking down, but you never did. And That’s powerful.

Some people, They straight-up don’t know what to do with your energy. They look into your eyes, and suddenly, they’re questioning if they should run towards you or run away. (The Moon + 2 of Swords energy is no joke.) There’s this magnetism, but also uncertainty. You give off that, “Come closer, but only if you’re ready to see the real me” vibe. And bestie, not everyone is ready for that level of depth. Now, I HAVE to say this: If you’ve ever been told, “You’re hard to read” or “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” just know that it’s so real. People might assume you’re guarded, mysterious, or distant, but that’s just because they don’t realize how much is happening beneath the surface. And the funniest part? Even when you do show emotion, people still question if they’re seeing the full picture. 

People don’t just look into your eyes, they get lost in them. this pile is literally the most poetic and softest of the all the three. Some people see sadness, some see secrets, some see silent strength. But everyone? They see something. I hope this reading resonated with you, Thank you for reading till here, i hope you have an amazing day! Sending you all the love and good vibes!

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[yoonlyhan]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ in which mikage reo accidentally described you when asked who's his type

mikage reo is fairly popular in his school because of his family's well-know successful business, his charismatic and extroverted personality, and his good-looking physical appearance.

everyone loves mikage reo. he's an easy-to-approach guy that's why no one had felt uncomfortable approaching him. he'd always greet everyone with kindness and a smile.

his well-known personality stirred curiosity among his peers. everyone would see reo mostly with his classmates or his bestfriend, nagi seishiro. so is there anyone has sparked the interest of reo's heart?

like not playing football or hanging out with nagi but with someone romantically? is there?

“so sudden?” reo and nagi was approached by girls and suddenly asked if reo has a girlfriend or... a boyfriend?!

the girls immediately looked at nagi with possibilities.

nagi only blinked at them and scratched his head. “ehh, i don't think reo has one.”

nagi answered when he felt the girls' curiosity eyes. it was like pressuring him to talk as well though he didn't know why.

“i don't have one.” reo shrugged. “why ask?” he slightly tilt his head at the girls, seeking reasons at the sudden approach.

“really?” the girls looked back at reo.

“yep!”

reo circled his arm around nagi and smiled at them. “i'm busy with football right now!” he happily said.

the girls slounch their shoulders, slightly dissapointed on his answer. it seems the truth but the girls wanted to hear more about it.

“any ex girlfriends?”

“i think reo knows a lot of girls that likes him...” one girl shyly looked down with a slight blush on her cheeks. “is there a chance you're interested on one of them?”

“ah, well—” reo was cut off when a girl step forward.

“then what's reo's type?”

the girls looked at reo with hopeful and curious eyes as they all wait for reo's answer. when truthfully, he doesn't know how to answer it.

reo pulled back his arm that was around nagi and awkwardly scratched his nape. there was a moment of silence of waiting and thinking until reo finally spoke.

“someone... kind?”

the girls almost passed on the floor.

“what a boring answer, reo!”

“everyone can be kind so is everyone your type?”

“is that what you only find in a person? i'm sure there's something more!”

their yell gathered many people, mostly their classmates have circled around them to hear reo's answer.

nagi was telling reo that he wanted to get out of the crowd but reo was busy being pressured by people to tell them his type. reo was also thinking but he hadn't really given it that much of a thought until now.

mikage reo started to list some traits out loud that he could possibly liked in a girl until the crowds whispered an occuring name.

nagi happened to hear them and thought for a while. “eh? reo likes y/n?”

“y/n?” reo echoed.

“huh? what's up?”

everyone swiftly turned their head at the door and saw you entering. you tilted your head when you heard your name in the midst of the crowd.

people look back at reo then to you then to reo then to you.

“ah! reo likes y/n!” someone shouted in realization that made your eyes widen in surprise.

when you turn your head to reo, he was mimicking your expression except... he's blushing?

i was this close 🤏 on making this a reonagi fic

masterlist ♡

© all written works are created and owned by @yoonlyhan. do not plagiarise or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances. u will be blocked :x

credits to @strangergraphics for the wonderful divider ♡

[sailoryuns]

INAMORATA ─── PSH

genre. idol!sunghoon x model!f!reader | established relationship

warnings. angst, fluff (moreso towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hoon being lowkey toxic, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread wc -> 1.5k

ps. the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to sunghoon was like conversing with the wall, never fully grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with jake or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

sunghoon felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere y/n, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hoon, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious y/n? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” sunghoon couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you sunghoon. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” sunghoon angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

sunghoon’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed core “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, sunghoon!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your sloppy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hoon-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m’so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, sunghoon loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. sunghoon knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a string of curses leaves your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. sunghoon slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and stomach.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing sunghoon’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe this is all mine.” sunghoon whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much, baby.”

“love you too hoon.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎

[sanjisluvbot]

Intuition

Masterlist

Yandere Batfam Blurb

Next

The pain faded when you turned sixteen, only having a phantom ache when one more stray was added to your ‘family’. There was no reason to wonder why they were so uninterested in your life, for as long as you could remember, they had been creatures of the night, and you were the anomaly. Oddly enough.

At first, they tried to integrate you into their lifestyle, but it was hard when all you craved was love, affection, and a place to call home. So they grew uninterested. The worst you ever felt was hearing snide remarks and playground bullying just because you were different. 

Your interest lies in the arts that weren’t comparable to figuring out the Riddler's plans or stopping the Joker. To the world, you were most impressive, but after a while even the praise from others meant nothing. Resentment grew easily of course, being giggled at when you left the room was beyond degrading and insufferable. But when offered a spot in one of New York’s best schools for the arts, every memory that left you crying leaped clean off your chest.

A brand new start in a new city—the best city— is exactly what you need. Packing was a challenge as you couldn’t bring the heart to throw away everything and leave without a suitcase and a part of you felt like you would return to the manor one day, so you left everything reminding you of Gotham. 

The last thing on your plate before you left would be telling Bruce. You stalked down the gothic halls filled with priceless paintings and old photos, elated, you planned to simply ask for money and be out of his hair.

No more crying, pleading, begging your pseudo father to have interest shown towards you. You knocked on the door to his office, waiting patiently before he let out a tired grunt to come in. He looked up at you, gaze meeting, his eyes lingering for only a second before focusing back on his papers.

“ Y/n.”

“ Father, I need money for a flight to New York.”

He paused his writing, looking up at you curiously. You went on to briefly explain that you were accepted into a new school and would be leaving later that night. You bit your lip anxiously, wondering why he suddenly looked so shocked by what you said, he had always known about your love for music, dance, and drawing, not that he truly paid any mind to your ‘senseless babbling’ as he would call it. 

“ Do you want one of my credit cards?” he questioned, finally redirecting his intense stare back to his work. 

“ Yes, that will do.” 

He hummed and shooed you away by telling you Alfred would give you everything you needed before your flight. Walking back to your room, that phantom pain visited your chest cavity. Even knowing you were leaving didn’t truly spark anything in him and you thought you knew better than to expect a reaction other than indifference. The little girl in you finally let the last ember of hope fade out that day.

  The flight to New York was brisk but you're glad you chose it. Alfred offered to just drive you, but it would be dreadful having to show your dorm and lifestyle change from the mansion. Although he wasn’t as unkind to you as the others, Alfred never once stopped the rude comments or showed interest in anything about you, not even in what you liked to eat. What was the point of having an uncomfortable ride? 

New York was exhilarating, the city is exactly as described and you couldn’t be more in love. The city was alive and electric, it breathed hopes and dreams to anyone who stepped inside. It was easy to make friends, the school was heavily social and you quickly settled into this new life.

Parties during spring break and recognition for your talents had you in a multitude of social circles you couldn’t even recognize the girl you had become. A newfound confidence in every stride and a smile that never left your face. Now and then you would get some calls, unknown numbers, plus a few in between those calls from Bruce.

It was strange but you ignored both, getting a new number all together because Bruce would never care about your slight over-the-top spending habits to call you about it. Maybe he was beginning to see what he was missing out on, oh well. The heat of the city was something you barely felt under all the smog of Gotham, the pollution seldom let you see the blue of the sky. 

New york was full of people who knew who they were, and what they wanted, and even if they were unsure they stood confident. You embraced it, dressing in clothes that would’ve had you outcasted in Gotham and its gothic glory, letting the colors dance on the bronze of your skin. The caterpillar finally became a butterfly, oh so radiant, that must be what drew everyone into you.

When the semester finally came to its end, furthermore, you had presented your final piece, performed a new play, sending off the graduates and the other students off with glee, you decided it was time for a vacation. “Y/n, do you have any plans for the summer?” your friend asked while the two of you lounged at a small cafe. 

“ I think we should go to the Hamptons if you don’t have anything planned.”

“ I’ll be overseas for the first two weeks of July, I would love to go in August.”

While you spent the first days of summer lounging under the sun, the bats were still surrounded by darkness, following their same routine. It was one of those days where everyone decided to linger around the cave.

Bruce was oddly glued to his phone screen even when his youngest son tried getting his attention by throwing a knife at him. Easily dodging and continuing to tap away only made the young boy angrier. “ Father, we need to continue training, what has you so distracted?” 

“ We can train later, Damien, I’m very busy,” he grumbles. 

All of his children suddenly stopped what they were doing, curiosity beginning to peak, could it be a new villain? The joker again? With one look from Dick to Jason to Tim his screen was easily pulled up onto the large monitor. It was a surprise to all when they saw your face, smiling and radiant all over the screen. “ Since when did Y/n have social media?” Barbra spoke up. 

“ Recently. Since she…moved to New York for school,” Bruce replied. On the screen, a video appeared, you were accepting an award for one of your paintings. The family became engrossed in the new life you had, telling Bruce to click comments and click on your friends' pages.

Jason was irritated, he can’t even remember the last time he saw you, and Bruce never told anyone you were just going to up and leave. “ Why didn’t you tell us she was going to New York? When did she even leave?” He barked at Bruce. Bruce sighed, looking up at him, “ Well, when she left we were dealing with Penguin and you weren’t around until two months ago so I just never got to it.” 

“Well, why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Dick or Tim could’ve told me if you told literally anyone else.” 

Bruce shrugged his shoulders, turning back to his screen, “ Well, now you know Jason, and so does everyone else.” Bruce was becoming agitated by questions, he wanted to continue looking at your little life you’ve been building, watching his little girl laugh and smile made him feel bittersweet.

He was beginning to realize how little time the two of you spent together and how he would ignore you whenever you tried to make a connection. He should be there giving you flowers and taking you sightseeing, but you left all on your own only asking for a credit card. The others went on their way, four of them becoming increasingly interested in this new and improved Y/n Wayne. 

After a grueling night, the four men of the bunch return to the manor, without word, they had Tim pull up everything involving you dating back five years. The pictures became sparse when you got younger, but it was evident you had always been obsessed with art no matter what form it took.

Hacking into your social media was angering, not just because of what they saw behind your public posts, but because of the ease of your passwords. Throughout your posts were dances, paintings, you at galleries, and you with friends… who were also bad influences to a sixteen year old girl. When diving deeper, they knew they might find things they didn’t like, such as videos on your google photos of you at parties.

All but one adorned red ears and everyone was forced to look away, not being able to bear witness to you being as reckless as they were at your age. Wanting to keep their image of you, their baby girl, squeaky clean. 

You painted your first days of summer away, relaxing in your dorm finally having some alone time for the first time in almost a year. It was the most peace you’ve had in life, you should’ve known there was no way in hell that this was truly your life now. 

Too good to be true. It was just too fuckin good to be true. As your first week of summer break ended and you were enjoying the breeze in central park your phone rang, looking down at your bright screen the caller ID read Bruce Wayne. Your scrunched your face, irritation filtering into your spirit. You answer trying your best not to sigh as he began speaking. 

“ Y/n, are you busy right now?” 

“ No Br-father,”

“ O-oh well I wanted to talk to you about returning to Gotham for a while.” Bruce spoke, trying to hide the fact that he was flabbergasted. You almost called him Bruce before quickly correcting yourself. New York has done a number on his baby girl.

You snatch the phone from your ear almost ferociously, return to gotham he said? Return to the place where you spent over a deade miserable? Someone better have died again for you to even consider something so preposterous. 

“ Um I don’t know if I can return any time soon, I have a trip planned and I’m working on a few paintings that I want to submit for a show in September.” You spoke.

He smiled into the phone, the slight waver of your voice let him know you were lying. He hummed thoughtfully, “ I’ll send Alfred over now and we can bring your paintings, and over dinner we will discuss this trip you plan on going on and with who.” You couldn’t hide your bewilderedness, you almost forgot you weren’t speaking to just anyone but Bruce Wayne. A billionaire who could make anything happen including but not limited to sending over his butler to gather his daughter’s painting in under an hour. 

“ I’m honestly just not too keen on being in Gotham—Listen father I have to get back to my work.” With that you hung up your phone rushing to the nearest exit of the park throwing out what was left of a drink you were carrying. You rushed to your dorm, not even to pack an over night bag but to simply gaze at it lovingly.

This space, this mini apartment meant the world to you and every part of it showcased memories old and new. In this moment non of it felt real, it was all dream like to you. 

The sun seeped in through the windows, reaching all the way to your ankles illuminating your dorm in a warmth that Gotham probably only experienced before the existence of humans. Your phone buzzed again and it was a message from Alfred letting you know he would be in front of your dorm in less than twenty minutes.

You bit your lip while a sense of dread washed over you. Such a familiar feeling but the last few months had you believing you’d never experience it again. You’d have to face Bruce and that whole godforsaken family again when you had just gotten used to thinking that part of your life had possibly been a figment of your imagination. 

You laugh at yourself, thoughts running amuck when you knew you now had fifteen minutes to back a bag and put your painting into something that wouldn’t damage it during the drive. You lull your head back and clap your hands before quickly moving around the apartment gathering your belongings. 

When the car pulled up your body fought itself. Run back inside, hide underneath your bed and turn off your phone pretend as if you’d ran away or maybe you didn’t hear— do something but don’t get in that car— do not go back to Gotham. You gave alfred a polite smile that vanished when you turned your head back to the road.

Small talk was even more aggravating when you genuinely didn’t want to associate yourself with people. Your grew angry when the drive was nearing its end, Gotham and New York were too close for your liking and you had little to no time to prepare and rehearse the made up conversations in your head. The manor came into view and your eyes almost buldged out of your head when Bruce was waiting for you outside the manor door with his youngest little goblin. 

You got out of the car, heels scrapping the pavement and extending you an extra pillar of strength. Your eyes met neither Bruce or Damien but you held your head high as they observe you. Bruce smiled at you walking over and embracing you. You were frozen in place. 

“ Y/n you look beautiful, I hope your ride was pleasant.” 

When he realized you weren’t moving to embrace him back he released you stepping back to look you in your eyes. Your lifted an eyebrow and side stepped him following Alfred into the manor trying to shake off the confusion within your spirit. The manor was dark and unwelcoming all but screaming at your bright colors to leave at once.

You grounded yourself with the sound of your heels stalking through the cold manor to your room feeling Damien and your father’s presence behind you. Alfred helped you settle into your room while the two watch, you felt like you were under a microscope from how hard their eyes burned into your every being and movement. 

“ Y/n why don’t you show your brother and I your new painting—”

“ Father can yo please just tell me what the fuck is going on? Why are you behaving as if you even care about a single thing I do? Why am I back at the manor and why on earth was it so important for me to get picked up almost immediately after your weird phone call?” You couldn’t stand another minute of this weird shit.

Why was hovering over you pretending like he cared about you? You knew who bruce Wayne was, especially the Bruce who presetented towards you, his odd child, the child who didn’t have any interest in being a vigilante. The chil he neglected and let get bullied and ridiculed by his other other children who thought she was a useless accessory for the Wayne’s public name.

Bruce sighed, he knew he shouldn’t have come on so strong right off the bat but he couldn’t help himself. He was enamored by the way you simply came out of the car like you couldn’t care any less to be here. You, one of his first children along with Dick whom he barely paid any attention due to his life as Batman.

He had no words that would southe you, he along with the rest of your siblings were riddled in guilt and admiration for you. He knew how the children spoke about you, but he never stepped in due to knowing that although they might sound harsh to outsiders the children were always somewhat jealous of your carefree life that they themselves know they could never have. 

Out of every kid you were the one who had absolutely no interest in him as Batman and becoming one of the vigilanties under his wing. You did whatever you wanted to do without thinking there is a possibility of your identity being revealed and you would need to spend all night fighting someone or something twice your size.

Bruce was only now realizing that you had been ostrasized from them, his baby probably thinking she was hated for simply existing. Without letting his small smile drop from his face he walked in your room further sitting on the edge of your bed. “ I called you because I knew summer had just started and I wanted you to come home, the manor has been empty without you as you know most of your siblings don’t live here anymore.” 

“ I’ll save the in depth version of this coversation for dinner as I have invited over the entire family to welcome you back… and Y/n, I care about you very much.” You gave him an incredulous look as he got up, pat your head, and walked out with Alfred and Damien.

The little demon only sparring you a glare once more before following his father. A wave of nausea unearthed itself in the pit of your stomach.

A/N: Thoughts…Prayers…. Concepts !!! :D

[inseobts]

Green Rival

zoro x fem!reader + yonji x fem!reader

you all meet sanji's brothers again after wci and that's how your boyfriend zoro finds out you have another green haired suitor

words count: 3.2k

tags: sanji's annoying brothers, jealousy, romance, soft

masterlist || ko-fi

The day had started so well. The sea was calm, the weather was nice, and for once, nobody was trying to kill you.

But of course, peace never lasts when you’re with the Strawhats.

“Land ahead!” Luffy shouts from the crow’s nest.

Everyone gathers on deck, watching as a small island comes into view. Nami, ever the responsible one, is already squinting at her map.

“This island wasn’t on the log pose…” she mutters.

Sanji, who had been flipping a pan of eggs in the kitchen just moments ago, suddenly freezes mid-step. His cigarette nearly falls out of his mouth.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you weirdo?” Zoro asks, raising an eyebrow at Sanji’s weird reaction.

Sanji, looking like he just saw a ghost, grits his teeth “I have a very bad feeling about this...”

The moment you all step onto the island, it becomes very clear why.

Standing in the middle of a clearing, looking just as shocked as you all feel, are none other than Judge and the Vinsmoke brothers, aka Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji.

The silence is actually painful.

“…Well. This is awkward...” Nami says, breaking the tense atmosphere.

Judge just glares at Sanji like the disappointing science experiment gone wrong he thinks his son is. Sanji’s face twists in anger, and you’re already bracing for a fight...

... at least until Yonji (the green one btw) suddenly grins and rushes toward you.

“Y/N!!!!!”

Oh no.

Yonji practically sparkles as he walks up, chest puffed out like he’s the main event “It’s been way too long, gorgeous”

You resist the urge to groan. You knew this would happen. You knew the second he saw you, he’d start this nonsense again.

Zoro, however, was not expecting this at all.

“…What the...?”

Before you can even react, Yonji swoops down, takes your hand and kisses it, and then he winks “I never forgot about you, you know.”

Zoro’s eye twitches. Twice.

Franky watches with interest “Whoa. What’s happening?”

Chopper blinks “That guy is still flirting?”

Brook chuckles “Oh my, how bold!”

Nami, looking far too entertained, smirks at you “I forgot about this little detail from Whole Cake Island. The green one had a thing for you, huh?”

Zoro is still frozen. Processing. Trying to understand why this is a thing that exists in HIS world.

You, on the other hand, yank your hand back before Yonji can do something stupid... again “Yonji. No.”

Yonji gasps dramatically, clutching his chest “You wound me, y/n! After all the time we spent together in Whole Cake Island...”

“You mean the time you spent getting punched in the face?” Sanji interrupts, rubbing his temples like this is giving him an actual migraine.

Yonji waves him off “That's how we flirt...” He turns back to you, flashing what he clearly thinks is a charming smile “But I see you’ve still got that spark! You know, you don’t have to stay with your boyfriend... what was even his name? Or did you break up with him to be with me finally???”

Zoro finally snaps out of it “EXCUSE ME?!”

“Oh, so YOU are the competition...” Yonji muses, looking Zoro up and down with a disgusted face “Huh. I gotta say, y/n, you’ve got an interesting taste. He’s got the whole ‘grumpy ronin’ thing going on. You into that??”

Luffy perks up “Oh yeah, she’s totally into that...”

Nami grins “Yup, definitely her type.”

Chopper nods enthusiastically “Yeah, she likes grumpy, swordy guys.”

Brook laughs “Ahh, young love~”

Zoro, who had been slowly turning redder throughout this conversation, finally explodes “SHUT THE HELL UP, ALL OF YOU!!”

Yonji smirks “Touchy, huh? You sure he treats you right, y/n? Maybe you should consider a man who can actually handle you.”

Zoro immediately reaches for his swords “That’s it. I’m killing him. Now.”

You physically have to grab Zoro’s arm to stop him from committing actual murder “Zoro, breathe... Breathe.”

Yonji just smirks wider “See? He’s too hot-headed for you. A real man stays cool and confident. Just like me.”

Sanji, who has been suffering through this entire thing, finally loses it “OH FOR GOD’S SAKE, YONJI! Y/N WOULD RATHER DIE THAN GO ANYWHERE WITH OR NEAR YOU!”

Yonji sighs, placing a hand over his heart “You guys are so mean to me.”

Luffy laughs “This guy is kinda funny!”

Sanji lights up a new cigarette “Do not encourage him.”

Zoro glares at Luffy “Which side are you on?”

Brook hums “Although… now that I look at you two…”

You blink “What?”

Brook tilts his head “Yonji and Zoro… they do look kind of similar, don’t they?”

Everyone pauses.

You turn to look at Yonji. Then back at Zoro.

Oh my god.

The green hair. The sharp features. The stupidly stubborn expressions.

You gasp “Oh my god.”

Zoro frowns “What?”

You grin “Zoro… he... he kinda looks like you...”

Zoro’s eye twitches “NO HE DOESN’T.”

Usopp laughs and then he turns to the rest of the crew, so that everyone except for you, sanji and zoro could hear “He actually looks as if Zoro and Sanji had a son”

Everyone starts laughing, trying to hide from you and you look at them confused before Yonji steps in “Huh. Now that you all mention it… I am kinda like a better-looking version of him, aren’t I?”

Zoro draws his swords immediately.

“I WILL END YOU.”

The crew absolutely loses it. Luffy is on the floor wheezing, Nami is wiping tears from her eyes, and Sanji, for the first time in his life, actually agrees with Zoro about murdering someone.

You, meanwhile, just smirk and pat Zoro’s arm “Don’t worry. You’re the only green-haired idiot for me.”

Zoro grumbles, but you can see the tips of his ears turning pink “…Good.”

Yonji just sighs dramatically “Ah, well. Guess I’ll have to try again next time.”

Before anyone can react, he casually leans against a tree, arms crossed “Anyway, what brings you all here? Came to visit me?”

Zoro glares “Like hell we would.”

Yonji smirks “Deny it all you want, y/n clearly missed me.”

You see the change in Zoro’s demeanor almost immediately. His grip on his swords tightens. His brows furrow deeper, and you can practically hear the low growl in his throat. There’s something almost dangerous in the way he’s glaring at Yonji now.

Zoro, no longer content to just grumble, takes a step toward you, his eyes still locked on Yonji “You seriously don’t find this guy annoying?”

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone towords you “What? Yonji?”

Zoro’s eye twitches “Yeah, Yonji. That guy. You know, the one who can’t seem to keep his hands to himself—”

“Oh, come on, Zoro! I’m not interested in him” you interject, but it’s too late. Zoro’s already fuming. He crosses his arms, looking like he might set something on fire if his glare gets any more intense.

You sigh, giving him an exasperated look “I literally just told you, he’s annoying, okay? Does that make you happy?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just glares some more, while Yonji seems to be enjoying the show. You can’t help but notice how Zoro’s getting even more upset by the second. It’s like watching a kettle about to boil over.

“You don't have to say things you don't think just to make me happy and I swear, if I see him wink at you one more time…” Zoro mutters to himself, barely holding it together.

Nami, who’s been snickering in the background, calls out “Zoro, calm down! We’ve got bigger things to deal with than this drama.”

Luffy, ever the troublemaker, raises an eyebrow and says “Yeah, Zoro, you’re acting all jealous!”

Zoro shoots them both a deadly glare, making them immediately stop. But you can tell they all are having way too much fun with this.

You’re starting to feel like you might actually be caught in the middle of some absurd love triangle, and that’s definitely not what you signed up for today.

“Okay, enough with the staring contest,” you say, rolling your eyes, “Zoro, stop. You're acting like an idiot.”

Zoro huffs, still refusing to look at you “I’m not the idiot here and I'm not jealous,” he says through clenched teeth “I just don’t like the guy.”

“Sure, sure, Zoro,” you tease, walking up to him and nudging him with your shoulder “You really don’t like him, huh?”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, clearly still not ready to admit anything. His eye twitches as he stares out into the distance, and you can see the muscles in his jaw working overtime today “Yeah. I really don’t like him, so what? Don't treat me like a kid...”

You smile softly at him “Don't pay him this much attention, he's just trying his best but it's useless anyway. And I have to admit, your jealousy is a bit cute” you say trying to make him relax about the situation, but this actually worsen everything but you realise it only later.

In fact, Zoro’s posture stiffens, and his fists ball at his sides. He finally turns his head, his gaze sharp and cold as he looks at you. For a moment, the tension between you both is thick enough to cut with a sword.

And then, without any warning, he growls “If you like him so much, why don’t you go with him then?”

You stare at Zoro in disbelief. The words hit you harder than you expected, and your heart does a little lurch in your chest. Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms, trying to keep your cool “What did you just say?”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, clearly not ready for the words to come out like that, but his pride won’t let him backtrack. He looks away, then mutters “I said if you like him so much, go with him, then.”

Your mouth falls open, the shock of his words giving way to a flush of anger “Excuse me?” You take a step toward him, shaking your head in disbelief “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You really think I want to go off with him??”

Zoro stays silent, a vein popping in his temple as he looks anywhere but at you. His posture is stiff, like he’s forcing himself not to turn and walk away.

You continue, voice rising with frustration “You’re really THIS MUCH jealous of Yonji? Really?”

Zoro’s eye twitches “Stop saying that... I already said it, I’m not jealous” he says flatly, but you can see his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Yeah? So I’m the problem, huh?" You take another step forward, chest puffed with frustration.

Before Zoro can retort, a voice interrupts, smooth, smooth as ever.

“You know, y/n,” Yonji says, stepping forward with a dramatic flourish “if you need someone who understands you, I’m here. I always was.”

You let out an exasperated groan, rolling your eyes so hard you nearly hurt yourself "Oh my god, Yonji, please stop now. I told you—"

Before you can even finish, Yonji is already presenting you with a ridiculous bouquet of flowers, smirking “You’ve always had such exquisite taste. I’m sure these would look beautiful on you.”

Zoro’s eye twitches again, his patience hanging by a thread “Are you seriously still doing this, you idiot? Can't you read the room?”

But Yonji doesn’t seem to care. He’s too busy smirking at you, eyes glinting as he presents the flowers like they’re the most precious thing in the world “You’re much too beautiful to settle for someone who can’t even get his words right to you” Yonji says smoothly, his voice dripping with faux sincerity.

This does not help.

You feel your patience starting to snap "Oh my God, Yonji!" you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air “Seriously? Stop trying to give me flowers in the middle of this!” You take a deep breath and turn back to Zoro, who still looks like a bundle of rage and frustration.

He’s glaring at Yonji now, his jaw clenched and his body coiled like a spring, ready to snap. The silence that hangs between you all is thick with tension.

“I just want the best for you darling, and that's me, I'm clearly the best option”

And then, just like this the tension breaks.

Zoro suddenly yells, his voice booming with pure fury “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU DAMNED PEST!!”

The entire crew jumps in shock. You quickly turn to Zoro, trying to calm him down before the situation gets any worse “Zoro, please, calm down—”

But Zoro is already stalking toward Yonji, his swords drawn, every inch of him radiating the kind of anger you’re well acquainted with. You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry, but you definitely don’t want him making this worse.

“Zoro, stop!” you shout, rushing toward him and grabbing his arm before he can do anything rash "You’re acting like an idiot! Just let it go, please!”

For a moment, Zoro just stands there, muscles tense under your grip, his breathing ragged. His glare stays locked on Yonji, but he’s clearly fighting himself, trying to hold back.

Yonji, who’s been far too entertained by this entire scene, steps back with an exaggerated sigh “Ah, you two. Such passion,” he says, still holding out the bouquet like it’s a peace offering “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re both jealous. What’s the matter? Not enough room for two men in y/n’s life?”

Zoro’s eye twitches again. You, meanwhile, feel a headache coming on “Yonji, this is not helping!”

And that’s when it happens.

Zoro glances at you, eyes still sharp, but now there’s a hint of... something else? His voice drops low, almost like he’s growling under his breath “I don’t like anyone who gets in the way of what’s mine...” he says, and you freeze.

Wait, what did he just say?

Before you can process, Zoro turns around with a grumble “Whatever. I don’t have time to argue with you. We’re wasting time.”

You can’t help but laugh at his stubbornness. It’s adorable in its own way, and you finally decide to make it stop once and for all.

You take a step forward, pulling Zoro gently by the arm to face you. He looks down at you, eyes still a little tense, and you put your hands on his chest “Zoro,” you say with a soft smile “You're the only one I care about, okay?”

He freezes for a moment, as if trying to process your words. His expression softens, just a bit.

“You’re mine, huh?” you tease with a playful grin, mimicking his voice.

Zoro’s face goes a little pink, but he quickly brushes it off with a muttered, “Shut up.”

You laugh softly, finally stepping into his space, wrapping your arms around his waist “You’re such a dork,” you say affectionately, resting your head against his chest “But you’re my dork.”

He sighs, but this time, it’s not out of irritation. He relaxes, his arms wrapping around you “Yeah, yeah… don’t go getting all soft on me now.”

You pull back just a little, eyes gleaming with mischief “I could get really soft on you, you know.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow, then smirks “Not in front of everyone.”

At that, you both glance over at the rest of the crew, who are all staring at you two, wide-eyed, waiting for the next dramatic turn.

“You guys are all so immature” you groan, making Zoro chuckle as you try to hide burying your face into his chest.

“Well, someone had to tell that weirdo green Sanji who’s the boss” Zoro mutters, a soft smirk still on his face.

You laugh softly, finally feeling the calm after the storm of jealousy pass between the two of you. At least for now, anyway.

“And just for the record,” you add, “I’m not breaking up with you anytime soon, no matter how annoying Yonji gets.”

Zoro grumbles, but you catch the small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulls you closer, ignoring the rest of the crew's teasing.

“Good” he says, settling into you.

The tension finally starts to dissipate. Yonji, seeing that his attempts at flirting have officially failed, grumbles to himself and starts wandering off “Whatever. You guys are no fun.” He gives one last exaggerated sigh, throwing his hands up, and disappears into the woods. Where the rest of his family left minutes ago without saying a word.

Franky, trying to lighten the mood, claps Zoro on the back, nearly knocking him off balance “Damn, Zoro, you’re really serious about her, huh?”

Zoro barely acknowledges him, still standing rigid, his arms crossed tightly. The rest of the crew, including Sanji, are chuckling or whispering among themselves, all far too entertained by the scene that just unfolded.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead in exasperation “I swear, you guys are all impossible…”

Luffy grins, completely oblivious to the tension, and waves at you both “Alright! Let’s go, guys! We’re leaving! On to the next adventure!”

Nami and Chopper follow Luffy, not bothering to look back, still snickering. Brook gives a little laugh as he walks past, his bony fingers strumming a tune on his invisible guitar.

Sanji, still puffing on a cigarette, shoots you both a knowing glance before he follows after the rest of the crew “Don’t think I like you now just because I hate my brother more” he says with a wink.

Zoro grumbles something under his breath, but you can tell he’s starting to cool off. He turns his back to you and walks a few steps toward the ship, but then pauses.

You watch him for a moment, the way his broad shoulders relax as the weight of the situation begins to lift. When he’s not looking, you smile to yourself and quietly walk up behind him.

Without thinking too much about it, you quickly step forward, your heart racing a little. Before Zoro can turn around, you give him a quick kiss.

Zoro freezes, his body stiffening for a moment, and you quickly pull back, your heart pounding in your chest. For just a second, there’s a silence. The world seems to stop moving, and you hold your breath, wondering if you’ve done something ridiculous.

Zoro slowly turns his head, his face flushed, and he looks at you in surprise. But then he just grins, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Is that your way of saying you’re not mad at me anymore?” he asks, his voice gruff but softer than before.

You laugh softly, not sure if you’re nervous or happy or both “Maybe,” you say, shrugging “But don’t let it get to your head. You’re still a pain in the ass.”

Zoro’s grin widens “I’ll take that as a win.”

With that, he turns back toward the ship, walking a bit slower now, as if he’s giving you a chance to catch up. You follow behind, a contented smile on your face, and you know that despite everything, all it's going to be okay.

And as you board the ship, side by side, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Maybe this is how things were always meant to be.

[avengxrz]

the thunderbabies ; bucky barnes x reader

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 20.4k (sorry)

summary: you and bucky barnes were enemies. always arguing, always getting paired up for missions that ended with yelling and maybe a few broken ribs. but when the rest of the thunderbolts get turned into toddlers by accident, you and bucky are the only ones left to take care of them. suddenly, you're stuck playing mom and dad to five chaotic babies with too much energy and too many opinions. between diaper changes, late-night cuddles, and a few soft moments you didn’t expect, something between you and bucky starts to shift. but when the babies go back to normal, will they remember what happened... and will he?

warnings: slow burn, enemies to reluctant co-parents to something more, emotional whiplash, soft bucky barnes, soft reader but in denial, found family vibes, accidental parenting, hurt/comfort, some angst, a lot of fluff, crying (mostly the reader), bucky calls the toddlers “his kids” once and means it, thunderbolts chaos, baby bob being the favorite, baby walker being loud, baby yelena being feral, baby ava being shy, baby alexei being dramatic, tiny duck plushie slander, and one single dance on the porch that might ruin you.

note: this was supposed to be a joke. it is not a joke anymore. it got feelings. i blame baby bob. thank you to my brain for deciding bucky barnes as a dad is both funny and heartbreaking. this story includes a lot of cuddles, chaos, and emotional damage. thank you for reading and if you cry, good. i did too.

masterlist

The elevator dinged just once before the doors slammed open like they were afraid of the man inside. Bucky Barnes stormed into the Tower lounge with all the grace of a loaded weapon. His boots were thunder, his jaw was a locked trigger, and his eyes were practically glowing with rage. The kind that was cold, quiet, lethal—but held together by the sheer force of “if I talk right now, I will commit a felony.”

The rest of the Thunderbolts froze mid-conversation. Ava paused in her weird halfway-phase through the kitchen counter. Yelena blinked, a Cheeto half-raised to her mouth. John Walker raised an eyebrow like he was about to make it about him. Again.

Only Bob—the sweet, sunshine-soul Bob—visibly recoiled, clutching his comic book like a holy relic and mouthing a silent “oh no.”

Bucky's metal hand slammed onto the kitchen counter hard enough to make everyone jump. “I can’t stand that bitch.”

The room went dead silent.

Except for Alexei, who straightened on the couch like a Soviet mother had just entered the room and slapped him.

“HEY!” he barked. “We do not talk to women like that!”

Bucky didn’t even look at him. He was pacing now, jacket half-off, murder radiating off him like steam. “She acts like she knows everything. She doesn’t follow orders, she pulls blades out of thin air, and then she’s got the nerve to put one to my throat—”

“She did what now?” Yelena asked, suddenly way more interested.

But Bob was frozen. Like actually frozen. Pale, wide-eyed, whispering something that sounded like a prayer—

Because you had just appeared beside him. Not walked in. Not entered through a door.

Teleported. Green shimmer. Quiet spark. Instant chaos. You were sitting way too calmly on the edge of the couch, next to Bob like you'd been there all day. One hand resting lazily on the back cushion, the other pinching a chip from his bowl like you hadn’t just appeared from a different plane of existence.

“Aw, Bucky,” you said sweetly, voice smooth as honey and twice as toxic. “Miss me already?”

Bob made a noise like a dying animal and scooted three inches away without blinking. Bucky stopped pacing. Turned. Saw you. And you smiled. Smug. Glowing. Infuriating.

His nostrils flared. “You—”

“Me,” you said, cocking your head. “The ‘bitch’ in question. Please, go on. I love fan mail.”

“Do you try to be insufferable,” he growled, “or is that just a natural talent?”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Why, Barnes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re obsessed with me.”

He pointed at you. “You put a knife to my throat!”

“You put your hand on mine,” you said, still grinning. “I thought we were playing.”

Alexei stood up now, arms crossed, beard twitching. “I do not approve of violence unless it is mutual, respectful, or in sanctioned combat—preferably against Nazis.”

Yelena popped a chip in her mouth. “Or bad exes.”

“Or him,” Ava added, jerking her thumb at Walker.

“Excuse me?” Walker said, offended. “I was literally just standing here.”

“I’m just saying,” Ava muttered, “you look punchable.”

Meanwhile, Bob—still terrified—whispered, “Do we need to… call someone? Like HR?”

You were still staring at Bucky, your smirk razor sharp. “I didn’t even go for the jugular,” you added, chip between your fingers. “Should I have?”

Bucky’s jaw was locked so tight it looked like he was going to break his own teeth. He stepped toward you—dangerously close—and leaned down, voice low enough to chill bone.

“You really want to see what happens when I stop holding back?”

You tilted your head, lips parting in the softest smile.

“Yes,” you said. “I do.”

BOB ACTUALLY FAINTED.Bob slumped sideways, half sliding off the couch like a fainting goat in a tactical vest. His head lolled against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut as he murmured something unintelligible that might’ve been a prayer. Or a death rattle.

“BOB?!” you yelped, already scrambling to catch him before he hit the floor.

Your whole vibe shifted in an instant—from feral gremlin to panicked older sibling with a protective streak the size of Asgard.

“Oh, my god—Bob?! Hey, hey, don’t you dare pass out on me, sunshine.” You cradled his head like he was made of glass, gently tapping his cheek. “Wake up. Come on. You’re okay. You’re okay, I’m here. Shhh.”

Yelena, from across the room: “He’s rebooting.”

Walker leaned in, squinting. “Should we get like—uh, water? Salt? Exorcist?”

“I swear to god,” you snapped, eyes blazing as you whipped your head toward Bucky, “if he doesn’t wake up in ten seconds I’m shoving your vibranium arm up your emotionally constipated ass.”

Bucky blinked. “My fault?! He passed out because you—you—teleported in like a damn banshee and started running your mouth!”

“Oh no, no no no,” you said, finger in his face, still cradling Bob like a sleepy kitten. “Don’t you DARE try to pin this on me. You’re the one who came in here radiating murder! You slammed a table. You screamed. You scared my baby.”

“Baby?!”

“Yes, Barnes. MY baby. Not yours. Not ours. Mine.”

Alexei, from the background, solemnly nodded. “She has claimed him. It is law now.”

“You yelled,” you continued, full-on mom rage now. “You yelled and Bob immediately shut down like a Windows 98 laptop in a thunderstorm. That’s not dramatic. That’s trauma.”

“I didn’t even touch him!”

“Yeah, well, your aura did!”

Bob stirred weakly, blinking up at you with the slow confusion of someone waking up after anesthesia.

“Wh-what… happened…?” he mumbled.

“Oh, sweetie,” you whispered, brushing his hair back. “You saw raw unfiltered heterosexual conflict. It was too much.”

Walker blinked. “Why’s she treating him like a Victorian woman recovering from a fever?”

“Because Bob,” you hissed, “has never raised his voice. Or his fist. Or hurt anyone. Unlike you, Buck-o, who storms into every room like it owes you money.”

Bucky stared at you. Fuming. Flushed. Entire body tense in a way that made the room feel ten degrees hotter.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Should I have walked in calmly after you tried to slit my throat earlier?”

“It was a conjured blade! It barely even had weight!”

“IT GLOWED!”

“So do I when I’m mad! Are you scared of me too?!”

“Yes!” Bob croaked weakly from your lap.

Ava covered her mouth to muffle a laugh. Yelena was openly filming now. Walker had pulled up popcorn from somewhere like this was Thursday night drama on live TV.

You stood up slowly, gently setting Bob back on the couch like royalty.

Then you squared up to Bucky again. Face to face. Eye to eye. Breathing hard.

“You owe him an apology.”

“I owe you a—”

“No, no. Don’t even. Apologize. To. Bob.”

Bucky looked like someone had just asked him to punch a puppy. His mouth opened. Closed. Reopened. He stared at Bob, who stared back like a kicked bunny.

“…Sorry?” Bucky grunted.

Bob gave a thumbs up. Then passed out again.

And that was it. That was your breaking point.

You inhaled sharply, stood tall, turned to Bucky—and smiled. Oh, not a nice smile. The kind of smile that came with homicidal intent, the kind you gave people right before throwing hands, flipping tables, or setting their house on fire with your mind.

Bucky looked at you like he could already hear the incoming war drum.

“Don’t,” he warned.

You didn’t even respond.

You punched him.

Hard.

Clean. Right hook. Square to the jaw.

It made a solid crack sound. That perfectly satisfying movie-punch sound. His head actually snapped to the side.

The room went feral.

“OH MY GOD—” Bob murmured mid-faint.

“YOOOOO,” yelled Yelena, who dropped her phone but was already scrambling to hit record again.

“ZAS!” Alexei shouted, absolutely delighted.

“YESSS,” Ava whispered like it was the climax of a soap opera.

Walker gasped like a southern belle at a brunch fight. “Did she just—”

“Yes, she did,” Ava muttered. “Iconic.”

Bucky slowly turned his head back toward you, blinking like he wasn’t sure if he was turned on or concussed.

And you?

You just shrugged.

“That’s for scaring Bob.”

He opened his mouth like he was gonna say something snarky—but too late.

Your hand was already glowing green. A shimmer of chaos energy wrapped around your fingers, licking at the edges of your suit as you crouched down, wrapped an arm under Bob’s knees, and hoisted him bridal-style like he weighed nothing.

“You don't deserve to breathe the same air as my baby,” you muttered.

And with that—

POOF.

Gone. Just like that.

Left behind was a puff of green light and a bunch of emotionally unstable adults who looked like they’d just witnessed the season finale of the messiest relationship in existence.

“…I’ll kill her,” Bucky said under his breath, still touching his jaw.

Yelena choked on her popcorn. “You’re gonna what now?”

Alexei pointed sternly. “You deserved that punch. Also—apologize better next time.”

“She glows when she’s mad,” Bucky muttered again, still dazed. “It’s… not fair.”

Ava glanced at Yelena. “Wanna lock them in a supply closet later?”

“God, yes.”

“HELP!” you shrieked, storming through the automatic doors of the compound’s medical wing like the gates of hell had flung open behind you. “HELP, PLEASE, MY BABY FAINTED, I THINK HE’S DYING!”

Bob Reynolds—six foot two, elite Thunderbolt operative, and literal human marshmallow—was slumped like a tragic sack of potatoes across your shoulders, one arm dangling limply down your back, the other flopping against your hip every time you jogged a step. His glasses were askew. His hair was in disarray. And you looked like a mother raccoon dragging her emotionally fragile child to the vet.

A nurse dropped her tablet. A doctor nearly tripped over a gurney. Chaos bloomed.

“Ma’am—uh—what happened?!” one of them gasped, rushing toward you.

“He fainted!” you cried. “Barnes scared the hell out of him and he fainted! Like actually lost consciousness! Like swoon style! And now he won’t wake up!”

“Is he injured—was there trauma—?”

“YES,” you said, wide-eyed. “EMOTIONAL trauma! He saw his teammates fighting and his nervous system just said no thanks and now he’s DEAD.”

“He’s… he’s breathing,” a medic said gently, placing two fingers at Bob’s neck while you crouched to let his weight slide off your back. You immediately cradled his head like he was a newborn angel who’d been smacked by sin.

“HE’S FRAGILE,” you snapped. “Don’t touch him like that, you’ll bruise his soul.”

Bob groaned softly, blinking once.

You gasped like he’d just come back from the brink.

“Bob! Oh thank god—hi! Can you hear me? Blink twice if you recognize me. Blink once if you want me to punch Bucky again.”

“...what happened?” he murmured.

“You passed out from stress, sweetheart,” you cooed, brushing his bangs back with shaking hands. “Which is totally valid. Honestly, same. But I carried you here because you are precious cargo, and now you are banned from ever hearing emotionally charged arguments again.”

A nurse stifled a laugh. One of the doctors whispered to another, “Is she okay?”

You turned to them, eyes burning.

“I am NOT okay,” you hissed. “That was Barnes’s fault. I told him not to yell. I told him Bob’s nervous system is like a fainting goat on a rollercoaster. And what did he do? Walked in like a drama queen with a vendetta and a jawline and now my cinnamon roll of a teammate is in a goddamn coma!”

“He’s awake now—”

“That’s not the point!”

Bob gave a small thumbs up, still horizontal on the cot, eyes half-closed. “She’s not wrong…”

You leaned down, pressing your forehead to his like he was your baby bird.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” you whispered dramatically. “You scared me half to death. You are my emotional support introvert and I can’t lose you. You’re the only normal one on this team.”

He blinked, dazed. “…Ava’s normal.”

“She’s phasing through walls on purpose to avoid Walker’s playlist, Bob. That’s not stable.”

Another nurse walked in. “Hey, someone said there was a—”

“He’s fine now,” the first doctor sighed. “She just needed to panic dramatically for a few minutes.”

“I’m still panicking,” you muttered, grabbing a blanket to tuck around Bob like he was freezing to death. “Bucky traumatized him. Again.”

Bob whispered, “...did you punch him?”

“Oh, honey.” You kissed his forehead like a war widow. “Of course I did.”

You don’t mean to look like someone’s mom.

Okay, that’s a lie. You absolutely mean to.

The tactical harness is half-buckled over your hoodie as you chase Bob around the room with a protein bar in one hand and a sealed serum injector in the other. He’s dodging you with the agility of someone who’s fully trained in combat scenarios but has the emotional age of a kindergartener when it comes to shots and breakfast.

“Bob,” you warn, voice tight but full of affection. “If you don’t hold still, I swear to god I will sedate you and carry your ass onto the Quinjet in a papoose.”

“I hate needles,” he groans, ducking behind the couch.

“You’ve been SHOT before!”

“I was unconscious for that!”

You huff. Dramatically. The way a tired mother might when she’s already had three cups of coffee and not a single one did the job. You mutter a spell under your breath—just a tiny one—and the serum injector floats, slamming itself gently into his upper arm.

Bob yelps. “Hey!”

You pop the protein bar into his mouth before he can whine more. “That’s for stamina. And to shut you up.”

He chews grumpily, cheeks puffed like a cartoon chipmunk. You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing down the chaos. He lets you, grumbling something unintelligible through the granola. You pretend not to hear it.

Across the room, Bucky watches with a scowl sharp enough to cut titanium.

“You gonna do that for everyone on this mission?” he asks, arms crossed.

“Nope,” you say brightly, fixing the collar on Bob’s jacket. “Just my favorite.”

Bucky scoffs under his breath, but you see it—the twitch in his jaw, the flicker of something beneath the surface. He hasn’t spoken to you since the fight. Since the dagger. Since the words you regret and the ones you don’t. And frankly, you’re not ready to rip that scab off just yet.

This morning isn’t about him.

This morning is about Bob, and Yelena, and Ava, and the rest of the team being sent off on a mission you’re not cleared for. Something dimensional. Temporal. Dangerous, probably. But Val insisted. Said they were the only ones who could do it.

You? You’re “still on cooldown,” apparently.

Read: emotionally unstable.

You kiss two fingers and tap them to Bob’s forehead. “No touching weird glowing objects. No speaking to old women with no eyes. No dramatic sacrifices unless you’re being watched by at least two cameras so I can go viral.”

He gives a crooked smile. “You’ll miss me?”

“I’ll cry exactly once if you die. Twice if you forget to bring back snacks.”

You help him strap on the last piece of gear, fingers lingering at the shoulder just a little too long. Like if you hold him together tightly enough, he won’t come back broken.

And then—he’s gone. Off to the jet. Yelena waves. Ava nods. Walker and Red Guardian are already arguing about socks or strategy or both.

The room empties.

You’re left standing in the middle of it, hands on your hips, magic curling at your fingertips like it knows something you don’t.

Beside you, Bucky speaks, low and gruff. “You really think they’ll be okay?”

You don’t look at him. You just whisper, almost to yourself—

“They better be.”

You always forget how quiet it is out here.

The trees murmur softly around you, their summer leaves catching the light in pale flickers as the wind rustles through the branches. The river moves slow, steady. It glides past the edge of the dock with lazy purpose, carving its way through the grass like it’s got nowhere to be but here. It smells like earth and water and peace.

It’s unnatural. Too soft. Too still.

You’re sitting cross-legged at the edge of the wooden dock, hands idle in your lap, chin tucked toward your chest. There’s a fishing rod resting beside you—not that you’re using it. You just like the illusion of a task. Something to explain why you’re here. Something harmless. Normal.

Like you didn’t nearly stab your teammate to death a few days ago. Like you’re not still vibrating with leftover magic under your skin, the kind that crackles too loud in silence. Like you’re not haunted.

You reach down and skim your fingers along the river’s surface. The water’s warm—sun-heated, soft—and it doesn’t flinch when you touch it. That always surprises you. For all the things you’ve broken, the chaos you carry, nature never seems to mind you.

Unlike people. Unlike Bucky. You suck in a breath and tip your head back to the sky.

The clouds are fat and slow-moving. Lazy. Blissfully unaware. The kind of sky that should be seen from a picnic blanket or a hammock or maybe a child’s drawing. You want to hate it for being beautiful. But you don’t. You’re too tired for bitterness today.

This was his house, after all. Tony’s.

You glance behind you toward the rustic, lake-view cabin. It’s still exactly how he left it. The same red roof. The same old porch swing. The same scattered junk in the shed that looks like it shouldn’t be legal or safe. Morgan’s old crayon drawings still decorate the kitchen fridge, faded but defiant. You never asked Pepper for permission to come here. You didn’t have to. She told you once—quietly, and without ceremony—that the lake house was always open for you.

He wanted you to have somewhere to come back to. You curl your knees to your chest, resting your chin there. God, you miss him.

You miss the sound of his voice when it softens for you. You miss the way he’d flick you on the forehead when you got too moody, and then immediately bribe you with fancy lab snacks. You miss the way he’d look at your magic—not with fear, not with awe, but with curiosity. Like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve, not a threat to contain.

No one else ever looked at you like that. Not even Bucky. Not even now.

You close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. It’s stupid. It’s been years. Tony’s been gone longer than he was in your life. And yet, this house feels more like home than anywhere else you’ve lived. More than the Tower. More than the SHIELD bunkers. More than your own childhood bed, which hasn’t existed for a long time now.

It’s because he believed in you.

Even when you didn’t.

You rub at your face, feeling the crusted edges of the healing bruise along your cheekbone. You haven’t done magic since you got here. Haven’t summoned a single blade. You came to this place to breathe. To remember. To not destroy anything.

You wonder if Tony would laugh at all of this. Probably. He’d say something ridiculous like “I always knew Barnes would be the reason you’d snap. Should’ve let me shoot him in the knee back in ’16.”

You smile at that. Just a little. “Miss you, old man,” you whisper.

And for a second—for a breath—you almost think you hear him. Not words. Not a ghost. Just a spark. A flicker in the air. Like the arc reactor still humming through the fabric of the world.

The mission had been simple.

In and out. Grab the relic. No fighting, no magic, no “accidental” body counts. The directive had been clear: retrieve the object, contain it, don’t touch it. So of course, the moment they got back to the Tower, all five of them stood around the thing like it was the last bottle of vodka in Siberia.

It sat dead center on the briefing room table—short, squat, and sealed with a black wax emblem none of them recognized. The bottle was glass, thick and oddly shaped, like something that belonged in a medieval apothecary or a vampire’s liquor cabinet. And inside it?

A deep red fluid. Thick. Slow-moving. Almost… alive.

"Why is it glowing?" Yelena asked flatly, propping her chin on her fist as she squinted at it. “It wasn’t glowing before.”

“It’s not glowing,” John Walker said, arms crossed. “It’s… resonating.”

“That’s worse,” Ava muttered from across the room.

“I think it’s cool,” Alexei said, looming far too close to it. “Very dramatic. Makes a statement.”

“You want to make a statement?” Ava snapped, flinging her hands in his direction. “How about ‘Don’t store interdimensional biohazards on a kitchen table’? Or maybe ‘Let’s call a sorcerer before we accidentally melt into puddles’?”

“It’s not melting anyone,” Walker scoffed. “We didn’t even open it. It’s sealed.”

“Yeah? Well maybe we shouldn’t be breathing near it either.”

“Oh my god,” Yelena groaned. “Can we not do this for once? We got the creepy demon juice, we’re back in one piece, let’s just—I don’t know—wait for Val?”

“Sure,” Ava said coolly. “Let’s all wait. And if one of us starts speaking in ancient tongues or turns into a pigeon, I’ll say ‘I told you so’ through gritted teeth.”

“Guys,” Bob piped up, timid and wide-eyed, “maybe we should move it to a containment unit?”

They all ignored him.

A beat passed. The tension simmered.

And then, like fate herself decided to screw subtlety, Ava threw her arms up in frustration—just as Walker leaned forward to say something else stupid—and someone’s elbow clipped the bottle.

It wobbled. Wobbled again. And fell. The moment it hit the floor, it didn’t shatter like glass.

It burst. A pulse shot out like a heartbeat—silent, red, heavy—and then thick, crimson smoke curled up from the remnants, slithering into the air like it had a mind of its own. The room filled with it instantly—sweet-smelling, cloying, oddly warm—and then it was everywhere.

Ava choked. “What the hell did you do?!”

“I DIDN’T TOUCH IT—”

“YES YOU DID, I SAW YOUR STUPID ARM—”

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP—”

Too late.

The smoke coiled tighter, circling them like a serpent, and then—, Val walked in. 

The automatic door hissed open just as the red cloud finished swirling and vanished into thin air like it had never existed.

Val paused. Took one step into the room. Brows furrowed. “...What the fuck?”

No one answered. Not at first.

There was just silence. Stillness. The room looked the same. The table was wet with the remains of the fluid, the bottle pieces scattered like shattered candy. There was no fire. No screaming. No alarms.

And yet. Something was… off.

Val’s heels clicked as she walked further in, eyes narrowed.

“Okay,” she said slowly, taking in their expressions—or lack thereof. “Who broke it?”

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Just wide, blank eyes staring back at her.

Bob blinked first. Then, he sneezed.

It was a very high-pitched sneeze.

You didn’t speak to each other at first.

The elevator thrummed gently beneath your boots, a soft mechanical hum that did little to settle your nerves. You stood on opposite sides of the lift, backs to the walls, arms crossed like shields. The kind of stance people take when they’re trying very hard not to punch each other again.

The silence dragged.

Bucky was the first to break it, voice low and rough. “You think she’s exaggerating?”

You raised an eyebrow without looking at him. “It’s Val.”

He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. He looked… worse for wear. Tired. Bruise healing along his jaw. A tiny scratch just beneath his ear that you didn’t want to stare at, but your eyes kept flicking to anyway.

“She sent twenty-seven texts in five minutes,” he muttered. “She doesn’t do that.”

You nodded slowly. “Which means it’s either interdimensional, magical, or something’s exploded.”

“Or all three,” Bucky said darkly.

The elevator pinged. Floor 44.

You shifted your weight, tugging your sleeves down over your wrists, trying not to fidget. You hadn’t spoken since the lake house. Since the fight. Since you’d stabbed him in a training room full of witnesses. And now you were here—reunited by shared emergency, standing side by side in uncomfortable silence like the world hadn’t tilted three inches to the left the last time you were in the same room.

Another beat passed. Bucky cleared his throat. “I, uh—was gonna text. After…”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He fell quiet again.

The elevator slowed as it reached Floor 47—restricted access, Val’s designated “oh-no-no-no” floor where emergencies were dealt with before they spilled into the public. You turned toward the doors, fingers tingling with restrained magic, muscles tensed.

Bucky watched you from the corner of his eye. “You ready?”

“Not even a little.”

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. And your breath caught in your throat.

You blinked once. Twice. There, in the middle of the hallway, was Val.

She looked like she'd been through a war. Hair disheveled, one heel missing, shirt untucked, and a stain on her blazer that looked suspiciously like applesauce. In her arms was something squirming. No—someone.

A baby.

A small, squishy, extremely furious baby with way-too-familiar dark hair and an itty-bitty SHIELD onesie.

You blinked again.

“Don’t say a word,” Val snapped, eyes bloodshot. “Just… come inside.”

You and Bucky exchanged a look.

Then, slowly—cautiously—you stepped into the madness. And chaos met you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t even crossed the threshold before your instincts started screaming. Magic—thick and wild—still clung to the air like smoke after a fire. It buzzed faintly against your skin, prickling at the fine hairs on your arms as you stepped deeper into the hallway. Bucky followed close behind, one hand near the knife strapped to his thigh, the other flexing like he was itching to punch the unknown square in the face.

The lights in the corridor flickered ominously, and you had to sidestep what appeared to be a trail of goldfish crackers leading directly into the main conference room. You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know.

Val stood just inside the doorway, her face an exhausted masterpiece of rage and disbelief. Her dark hair was pulled back into a half-undone ponytail, her mascara was smudged, and she held what looked like a baby in her arms—fat-cheeked, glaring, with a tuft of auburn hair and a scowl that, disturbingly, reminded you of John Walker.

You stopped short. Bucky nearly bumped into you. Val didn’t give either of you time to process.

“Come in,” she said, voice hoarse and tight with a fraying edge of hysteria. “Close the damn door behind you.”

Your boots clicked against the tile as you obeyed. Bucky muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch, but it sounded like a prayer. The moment the doors sealed shut behind you, a new sound filled the air—high-pitched, chaotic, overlapping.

Crying. Arguing. Giggling. Something heavy crashing to the floor. You turned the corner and froze. All logic stopped.

Five small figures occupied the room like gremlins unleashed from hell itself. One of them—Alexei, you assumed—was trying to climb the window blinds using only his teeth and a wildly ineffective pair of toddler arms. Another, unmistakably Ava, sat cross-legged under the conference table, surrounded by floating pieces of dismantled tech, tiny face screwed up in furious concentration.

Yelena was in a corner, stabbing a juice box with the savagery of someone trying to commit war crimes through a straw.

And in the center of it all, surrounded by a small pile of blankets, was Bob. Tiny. Round.

Wearing one of those ridiculous “I’m the future” shirts that someone must have dug out of a Stark Industries drawer.

He saw you and his entire face lit up like a sunrise.

“Mama!”

You blinked. Bucky swore under his breath, spinning on his heel like he was about to hit the emergency elevator button and vanish from this plane of existence. You grabbed the back of his jacket before he could escape.

Val rubbed at her temples and muttered, “I told you not to touch the bottle. But noooo, someone had to argue about proximity spells and elemental containment and—well, now we have baby assassins, congratulations.”

You stepped forward on unsteady feet, crouching slowly as Bob toddled toward you with his arms outstretched. He tripped once, recovered, and barrelled into you like a chubby missile, wrapping his tiny arms around your neck.

“Mama,” he mumbled again, this time softer, more tired. “You came.” Your throat closed.

You wrapped your arms around his tiny frame, magic flaring silently under your skin as you scanned him for injuries. Nothing broken. No magical burns. Just… small. Vulnerable. And looking at you like you were the only safe thing in the world.

Bucky crouched beside you, eyes flicking over Bob and then around the room like he was still waiting for the real threat to reveal itself. “They’re all like this?”

“All of them,” Val said, sounding like she needed a drink, a nap, and possibly a new career.

You stood up, lifting Bob easily in your arms. He curled against you instantly, one thumb in his mouth, the other hand tangled in the collar of your shirt.

“This is temporary, right?” Bucky asked warily.

Val didn’t answer right away. She just exhaled slowly, like she was bracing herself for an explosion that hadn’t happened yet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve got two sorcerers on a call, one is crying, and the other just said something about ‘age-locked soul regression’ and hung up.”

Bucky ran a hand down his face. You just stared at Val.

“So what you’re saying,” you said flatly, “is that you called me back from my grief vacation to run a daycare full of mini war criminals, and you don’t even know how long this lasts.”

Val smiled grimly. “Welcome home.”

Val checked her watch like she wasn’t surrounded by chaos. Like there weren’t juice stains soaking into Stark Tower’s designer rugs or an unconscious Red Guardian face-first on the floor after trying to body slam a beanbag chair. She smoothed her blazer, adjusted the one-heeled shoe still attached to her foot, and—while you cradled a drowsy toddler Bob on your hip and Bucky stared blankly at the wall like his soul had just left his body—said the words that would forever haunt your dreams:

“Well. I gotta go.”

You blinked. Bucky blinked.

Val clapped her hands once, as if trying to shake off crumbs. “I’ve got a crisis call with a coven in Prague, and then there’s a press situation brewing with the UN. Something about unauthorized dimension-hopping and a minor possessed goat.” She waved vaguely toward the ceiling. “Anyway. This—” she gestured broadly at the pint-sized chaos, “—is officially not my problem anymore.”

“Val,” you said slowly, adjusting Bob’s weight in your arms as he yawned and drooled on your shoulder, “you cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” she replied, already moving toward the exit. “Pepper said not to disturb her unless something was on fire or bleeding, and technically no one is bleeding right now, so.”

“Yelena bit Walker,” Bucky said flatly, arms crossed.

“Baby Yelena,” you clarified. “Bit baby Walker.”

“She also cursed in Russian,” Bucky added. “Twice.”

Val waved that off like it was paperwork. “You’ve both handled worse. I have faith in you. You're a natural leader.”

“You left a literal god in a diaper and called it leadership,” you muttered.

“Correct,” she said cheerfully, already halfway out the door. “And hey—think of it as team-building. Trauma bonding. Therapeutic domestic immersion!”

The door hissed shut behind her before you could hurl something after her.

Silence fell. Well—not silence. There was still the sound of baby Ava stacking StarkPads like building blocks, the rhythmic creaking of toddler Alexei trying to bounce off the walls again, and a very soft, very suspicious splorch noise coming from somewhere behind the couch.

You sighed. Loudly. Bucky exhaled beside you and rubbed a hand down his face, voice low and tired. “What the hell do we do now?”

You looked down at Bob, who had his thumb in his mouth and his other hand tangled in your hair. His eyes were already fluttering shut. He looked so peaceful. So innocent. So unaware of the raging dumpster fire surrounding you.

You adjusted him against your chest and said, “First? We find juice boxes. Then? We pray.”

Bucky nodded, slow and solemn. And for the first time all day, he actually looked at you. Not just a glance. Not a glare. A real look. Soft. Quiet. Maybe even… apologetic. But there wasn’t time for that now.

Because baby Yelena had disappeared. And the emergency sprinklers just turned on.

There is a kind of silence that comes right before everything explodes. A charged, fleeting moment where the universe holds its breath.

And then—

The crying starts.

It begins with Bob. Just a soft whimper, barely a sound, muffled against your chest as he stirs from his nap. He’s warm, flushed, eyes still bleary, but the instant he realizes he’s not in your arms anymore—just lying beside you on a pillow—his mouth opens in a slow, terrible wail that rises like a storm cloud and does not stop.

You reach for him instantly, but you’re too late.

He sets off Ava.

Her screech is sharper. Meaner. Like glass shattering on tile. She’s standing in the middle of the room with her fists clenched, bottom lip trembling, tears welling like twin tidal waves. One second she’s fine. The next she’s full banshee. She throws her spoon. It explodes against the wall.

Alexei joins in before he even knows why. He hears the sound, sees the distress, and promptly throws himself on the ground, legs kicking, wailing like someone just stepped on his dreams. He rolls over, bumps into a cushion, and starts yelling louder.

And Yelena—sweet, violent, unpredictable Yelena—stands up from the laundry basket she was using as a fort, looks around at the descending bedlam, and starts crying out of pure spite.

It’s deafening.

You scramble across the room on your knees, arms outstretched, magic sparking helplessly at your fingertips as you try to gather them. Bob first—his arms are already reaching for you. You scoop him up, kiss his forehead, shush him, bounce gently. He does not care. He screams louder.

“Where is Bucky?” you growl, trying to untangle yourself from Bob’s sticky grip.

“Right here!” he barks from the hallway, rushing back in, hair a mess and his shirt inside-out. Yelena is clinging to the front of him like a spider monkey, her face mashed against his collarbone, screaming directly into his soul.

He looks wild-eyed. Rattled. Afraid.

You want to laugh. You don’t. You don’t have the air to laugh.

“Help me!” you shout, trying to levitate a bottle of formula while Bob beats his tiny fists against your chest and Ava levitates a couch cushion with intent to murder.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO,” Bucky yells, trying to detach Yelena without getting bitten.

“You’ve fought HYDRA death squads, Barnes, just PUT THE BABY DOWN—”

“She’s got my hair—”

“I DON’T CARE—”

A loud thud cuts you off. You whirl around.

Alexei launched himself off the back of the couch and landed flat on his stomach, wailing like a siren. He doesn’t seem hurt. Just… upset. And wet. He’s crying with his whole body, fists pounding the ground like it personally offended him.

Bucky finally peels Yelena off his shoulder and deposits her into the playpen. She immediately tries to scale the mesh wall like she’s in baby prison.

“WE NEED A PLAN,” he pants, hands braced on his knees.

“I NEED SIX PAIRS OF ARMS AND A DAMN EXORCIST,” you snap, trying to keep Bob from kicking his bottle out of your hand.

The noise crescendos. Crying. Screaming. Something electronic explodes in the corner, sparks shooting out from under the TV. You don’t care anymore. You’re soaked. You’re sticky. You’re seconds away from crying with them.

And then—

Silence.

Just for a second. Just long enough for you and Bucky to lock eyes across the battlefield.

You’re both breathing hard. Wide-eyed. Disheveled. You with Bob on your hip and dried applesauce in your hair. Him with baby sock prints on his shirt and Yelena’s pacifier tucked behind his ear like a grenade.

“This,” you breathe, “is hell.”

He nods. Grim. “Actual hell.”

Then someone starts crying again. And the moment shatters.

You were one scream away from combusting.

The lights were flickering. The tower’s temperature regulation had failed—again—and somewhere in the hallway, a fire alarm was going off that no one could reach because it was twelve feet in the air. Ava had levitated two coffee mugs and was currently banging them together like ritual drums. Alexei was naked. You didn’t know when or how, but he’d shed every piece of clothing and was sprinting through the living room like a glittery gremlin on a sugar high. Walker was sobbing into a pile of couch cushions like the world had personally betrayed him. Yelena was sharpening crayons. Sharpening. Crayons.

And Bob, your sweet little Bob, was wrapped around your leg like a weighted anchor, wide-eyed and sniffling, clutching the hem of your shirt like it was a holy relic.

Your eye twitched. Your jaw clenched.

And then, very quietly, you snapped.

Magic flared like a shockwave from your fingertips. Not out of rage, not yet—but out of sheer, unhinged desperation. You waved one hand through the air with a sharp, sweeping motion, and with a flick of your wrist, the living room shifted.

The floor shimmered, glowed, and transformed.

The couch cushions floated gently into the air and reassembled themselves into a playpen fortress, complete with safety barriers, tiny blankets, and soft lights that pulsed like stars. A calming scent of lavender and cocoa drifted through the room. The broken coffee mugs reformed into glowing orbs that danced mid-air, swirling like baby mobiles. The fire alarm shut off. Alexei’s clothes reappeared on his body mid-run, and he skidded to a halt, confused but delighted.

Every child went still.

Ava’s mouth fell open in awe. The mugs dropped to the floor with a soft clink as her eyes tracked the lights like they were fairy spirits. Yelena—tiny, lethal Yelena—sat down cross-legged on the spot, crayons forgotten in her lap. Even Walker, snotty and red-faced, blinked up in wonder.

And Bob?

Bob was glowing.

Not literally—but in the way toddlers do when something lights up their whole world. His eyes sparkled as he stared at you, face round and amazed, mouth opening in a joyful little gasp.

“More!” he chirped, grabbing your hand. “Mama! More pretty!”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Something in your chest eased. Warmed.

With a softer motion, you conjured a gentle snowfall. It wasn’t cold—just glittering illusion, falling like sugar from the ceiling. Bob reached for the flakes with both hands, giggling in delight, and Ava squealed, chasing them across the carpet.

Alexei threw himself into a pile of conjured pillows with a triumphant yell. Yelena tried to catch a flake on her tongue and grumbled in Russian when it disappeared.

Bucky appeared in the doorway, stunned silent.

He took in the scene—five tiny Thunderbolts sitting peacefully in a glowing, enchanted wonderland, laughter echoing like music—and blinked slowly like his brain had blue-screened.

“What the hell,” he muttered.

“I snapped,” you said, breathless, still holding Bob close. “Magically. Domestically. Emotionally.”

He walked forward slowly, dodging a floating duck-shaped spark of light. “You turned this into a preschool fantasy movie.”

“I saved our lives.”

Bob giggled again, clapping tiny hands against your cheeks and leaning into your chest. “You did magic,” he whispered proudly. “You magic mama.”

You felt your heart split clean down the middle.

Bucky rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know if I’m terrified or impressed.”

“Both,” you replied, brushing a curl from Bob’s forehead. “Be both.”

You made the fatal mistake of blinking.

One moment—peace. Quiet giggles. Sparkly fake snow drifting through the air. You were a goddess among toddlers, a mother of dragons with a halo of glitter and cocoa-scented calm. Bob was nestled in your lap, playing with a soft conjured rabbit. Bucky was cautiously sipping cold coffee while keeping one eye on Ava, who had finally stopped trying to rewrite Stark protocols with finger paint.

But peace, as you were learning, was a trap.

Because the second you turned to conjure a new blanket for Walker—who was beginning to sniffle again with the kind of pout that threatened to erupt—the room descended into absolute anarchy.

It started with Alexei. Of course it was Alexei.

You didn’t see him do it, but you heard the crash. The unmistakable sound of a plastic bin full of LEGOs and emergency tools being upended onto the floor. You turned just in time to see his chubby little legs disappear into the hallway, a screwdriver in one hand, glitter still stuck to his forehead, screaming something that sounded vaguely like, “I BUILD NOW!”

And then Ava shrieked.

Not because she was scared—no, no. It was the shriek of competitive bloodlust. She took off after him like a heat-seeking missile, levitating the duck-shaped mobile and hurling it like a weapon.

“GET BACK HERE,” you shouted, scrambling to your feet, Bob tumbling against your chest like a startled kitten.

“Why is she flying?!” Bucky barked, pointing at Ava as she literally lifted off the ground for three seconds before crashing into a beanbag chair.

“I DON’T KNOW, BUCKY, MAYBE BECAUSE SHE’S MADE OF MAGIC AND SPITE.”

Yelena, meanwhile, took advantage of the chaos by climbing the bookshelf.

You didn’t know how she got up there. You didn’t want to know. One second she was scribbling ominous symbols on the wall in red crayon—yes, red, of course—and the next she was crouched like a tiny sniper on the fourth shelf, chewing on the binding of a S.H.I.E.L.D. training manual like it owed her money.

Walker had begun crying again.

Not just crying—screaming. Full-volume toddler meltdown. He crawled under the couch, sobbing “I WANT MY SHIELD” on repeat like a tiny brainwashed Winter Soldier, refusing to come out.

“Bucky,” you yelled, trying to teleport Bob’s toy out of Ava’s war path. “GET YELENA.”

“She’s got a knife!” he hissed back.

“What?!”

He ducked behind the couch, emerging moments later with Yelena wriggling under his arm, a makeshift dagger made from a broken spatula clutched in her tiny fist. She screamed something guttural and kicked him in the ribs.

“I hate this,” Bucky grunted, staggering.

“I told you we should’ve just faked our own deaths!”

Bob, still in your arms, was clapping. “Fun!”

You looked down at him, sweat on your brow, hair in your mouth, glitter somehow in your eyelid.

“Sweetheart,” you panted, “are you… enjoying this?”

He beamed, two teeth showing. “So much fun!”

You groaned and dropped back into the armchair as Yelena shrieked “FREEDOM!” and escaped Bucky’s grip like a feral badger. Walker was still sobbing under the couch. Ava was now levitating herself again. Alexei had returned and was trying to unscrew the floor vent.

Bucky leaned against the wall, disheveled and furious. “They’re going to kill us.”

“Not if I kill myself first,” you muttered.

A bottle flew past your head and exploded against the wall.

Bob clapped again. “Boom!”

It was Bucky’s idea.

You should’ve stopped him. Should’ve tackled him when he opened his mouth and said the now-infamous words: “Okay, who’s hungry?”

Because the second those words left his lips, all five children lost their collective baby minds.

“ME!!” Alexei screamed, punching the air like someone had offered him a fight instead of food.

“Ava hungee!!” Ava shrieked, arms flailing as she levitated a fork from across the room and nearly impaled a couch cushion.

“I wan’ 'ghetti!” Yelena shouted, her voice dangerously close to demonic pitch.

“I wan’ chikkie!” Walker sobbed, still under the couch but apparently motivated enough by processed meat to join the living.

And Bob—precious, sweet Bob, who had been clinging to your side like a sleepy koala—perked up with a sleepy little smile and said, “Nuggy time?”

Bucky looked at you.

You looked at him.

The kitchen door creaked open like the gates of hell.

You set Bob down in his little booster seat at the table and conjured another chair with magic for Yelena, who was already trying to climb onto the counter with one leg and no pants. Bucky was wrestling Walker out from under the couch with one arm while using the other to hold a frozen bag of peas to his forehead. Alexei kept yelling “HUNGEY HUNGEY HUNGEY” while trying to crawl into the fridge.

“Ava,” you said sharply, ducking as a spoon whizzed past your face, “you levitate one more utensil and I will enchant your applesauce to taste like toenails.”

She froze mid-levitate. The spoon dropped.

“Tha’ gross,” she muttered, pouting.

You started plating like your life depended on it—because it did. Bucky had dumped three boxes of frozen chicken nuggets onto a tray and tossed it in the oven while you used your powers to conjure fruit, toast, mini pancakes, and six bowls of mac and cheese.

Alexei was already trying to eat his with his hands.

“No hands! Use fork!” you said, guiding his chubby little fingers toward the utensil.

“Nooooo,” he whined, stuffing noodles into his mouth and onto his forehead. “Me big boy!!”

“Okay, big boy,” Bucky muttered, putting a juice box in front of him. “Try not to stab your brother with that straw.”

Yelena grabbed her plate, glared at her peas, and yeeted them over her shoulder like a war crime. “I wan’ 'ghetti!”

“I told you there’s no spaghetti!” you snapped, catching Bob’s juice before it spilled.

“I WAN’ SPAGHETTI!!” she screeched, slapping the table. Ava screamed in solidarity.

Walker had fallen asleep in his plate of chicken nuggets.

Bob, on the other hand, was being perfect. Bob ate slowly. Neatly. Like the tiny polite prince he was. He chewed each bite thoughtfully, his little feet swinging under the chair, hands slightly sticky but contained.

You wiped his mouth gently and smiled at him.

“Good boy,” you murmured.

“I eat good?” he asked.

“The best,” you whispered.

Then he knocked over his cup of juice with the most gentle swipe of his hand and looked genuinely surprised.

“Oopsie.”

“Of course,” you muttered.

Across the table, Bucky looked done. His hair was a mess. His shirt had a banana smear across the front. He was trying to convince Yelena to sit back down without losing a finger. His soul had left the building.

You handed him a fork with quiet pity.

“Welcome to the dark side,” you said, deadpan.

“I fought a Nazi assassin on a train once,” he muttered. “This is worse.”

Bucky's Side: The Boys’ Bath

Bucky Barnes had survived snipers, bombs, interdimensional threats, and the slow emotional death of Avengers press tours. But none of that—none of it—had prepared him for giving a bath to three superpowered toddlers in a room tiled like a war zone and soaked like a rainstorm.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself as he set the baby shampoo on the edge of the tub, sleeves rolled up and damp already. “We go in fast. No hesitation. No fear.”

He looked down into the tub where Bob, Alexei, and Walker sat, naked, slippery, and foaming.

Bob was the only one sitting still. Bucky could kiss him for that. The kid blinked up at him with big eyes, cheeks rosy from the warmth, clutching a rubber duck like it was sacred.

Walker was chewing on a loofah like it owed him money.

Alexei was trying to stand.

“NOPE,” Bucky barked, yanking him back down just as the kid tried to launch himself out of the tub like a glittery torpedo. “Sit. You’re wet, not aerodynamic.”

“But I fly!” Alexei squealed, giggling.

“You fly after you graduate potty training,” Bucky muttered.

Walker let out a yell and splashed so hard the shampoo bottle went flying. Bob blinked, looked down at his duck, then slowly and methodically bit its head.

Bucky was soaked from the waist down. He grabbed a cup, filled it with warm water, and tried to rinse Alexei’s hair while the kid twisted like an eel.

“You’re getting shampooed whether you like it or not, buddy.”

Alexei screeched in mock betrayal. “BUKY BAD!!!”

Bucky froze. “You—what did you just call me?”

“BUKY BAD MAN!”

Bob gasped. “No! Buky nice! Buky gib nuggies!”

“Damn right I did,” Bucky muttered, pressing a washcloth to his own soaked face. “I earned your loyalty, Bob.”

Walker dunked himself under water without warning and popped back up sputtering, spitting suds and yelling “I’M 'MURICA!!”

Bucky genuinely considered walking out and joining a monastery.

Your Side: The Girls’ Bath

In the other bathroom—smaller, quieter, but somehow more dangerous—you knelt by the edge of a clawfoot tub with Yelena and Ava seated like tiny empresses in a mountain of enchanted bubbles.

You had already reinforced the walls with a low-level barrier charm.

For safety.

For sanity.

“Okay, let’s keep hands to ourselves,” you said, gently running your fingers through Ava’s hair. “No throwing the soap this time.”

“She startit,” Ava muttered, pouting as you combed conditioner through her curls.

“I no!” Yelena snapped, slapping bubbles like she was interrogating them. “She touch me face!”

“You touched mine!” Ava shot back.

“Okay—enough,” you said firmly, placing a floating duck between them like a peace treaty. “Duck is neutral. You hurt the duck, you answer to me.”

Ava nodded solemnly. Yelena squinted like she was planning treason.

You conjured warm water and let it rinse gently over Ava’s head. She relaxed a little, eyes fluttering shut.

Yelena took the moment of distraction to summon a bubble the size of a basketball and smack it into her sister’s face.

Ava screamed. You caught her before she could retaliate with a water whip spell.

“Yelena!” you warned. “What did I just say?”

She crossed her arms. “Duck say nothing.”

You inhaled sharply. Counted to three. Didn’t hex anyone.

“You are both getting clean if I have to freeze time to do it.”

Ava hiccuped and curled closer to you. “I wan’ braid,” she whispered.

You smiled softly, brushing back her hair. “You got it, sweetheart.”

Yelena huffed. “I wan’ dagger.”

“Absolutely not.”

Back in the hallway…

Two bathroom doors opened at the same time.

You and Bucky stared at each other across the wet tile battlefield. You had Ava on your hip and Yelena wrapped in a towel like a burrito. He had Bob cradled like a baby koala and Alexei wrapped in four towels for containment. Walker was dragging a shampoo bottle by the nozzle like it was a trophy.

“Please tell me yours didn’t pee in the tub,” you said.

“I’ll tell you,” Bucky grunted, “when I find out which of them did.”

It had been your idea.

Beds—five of them—spread out in the Tower’s movie room like a makeshift camp, each one layered with thick comforters, soft pillows, and tiny stuffed animals that had magically appeared during the day when no one was looking. The overhead lights were dimmed, the air warm, and fairy lights—actual glowing enchantments—lined the ceiling, flickering like sleepy stars.

You sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, Bob curled up against your chest, his curly hair still damp from the bath and his thumb tucked halfway into his mouth. You cradled him gently, rubbing slow circles against his back.

The movie ended ten minutes ago. And yet—no one was asleep.

Alexei was bouncing from bed to bed like a caffeinated frog, yelling about monsters and bears and how he could defeat them all. Walker had declared war on the pillows, launching them across the room with toddler-like glee and zero aim. Yelena was spinning in slow circles, singing nonsense in Russian and holding a plastic spoon like a sword.

Ava sat quietly in her own bed, arms around her knees, eyes darting from one loud sibling to the next. She wasn’t scared. But she was overwhelmed. You could see it in the way she clutched her blanket tighter every time someone shouted too loud.

Bucky walked in then, holding three bottles and looking like a man on his final life.

“I bribed them,” he muttered, passing you one for Bob. “If they lay down, they get a story.”

“That’s not a bribe,” you said, adjusting Bob so he could sip. “That’s diplomacy.”

Yelena ran toward him and jumped into his arms without warning. He caught her with a grunt, her little limbs wrapping around him like a koala on caffeine.

“Story now!” she barked, thumping her tiny fist against his chest. “Bucky tell good one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bucky tells stories?”

“Only the epic kind,” he said gruffly, settling into the big beanbag chair with Yelena curled up in his lap, eyes wide and bright. “Also I’m her favorite now.”

“Bet,” you said, grinning, and kissed the top of Bob’s head.

Walker flopped onto the floor dramatically and yelled, “I wan’ da dragon story!”

“No, bear story!” Alexei shouted, diving under his blanket.

“C’n we have both?” Bob whispered against your collarbone.

Ava peeked out from her bed, voice so small it was barely a whisper. “I wan’ story, too…”

You smiled softly, opened your arms. “Wanna come here, sweetheart?”

She hesitated… then slowly crawled toward you, tucking herself against your side, her little fingers slipping into yours.

You looked across the sea of blankets and stuffed animals at Bucky.

“Ready, soldier?”

He nodded once. “Once upon a time…”

He told the first half.

A story about a brave little girl with golden hair and a mean left hook, who fought off shadow monsters with a spoon and never once cried—not even when she got lost in the woods. Yelena listened with rapt attention, eyes wide, fingers tangled in the hem of Bucky’s sleeve. Walker shouted every time the monsters showed up. Alexei demanded to know when the explosions started.

You watched him—Bucky, the grumpy, growly man who had once refused to hold a puppy on a mission—and your heart ached at the way he tucked a strand of hair behind Yelena’s ear like it was second nature.

Then it was your turn.

You told them about a little boy with curls like clouds and a laugh like thunder, who had a magic duck and a glowing compass that always pointed toward home. A boy who got scared sometimes, but always did the brave thing anyway. Bob’s eyes drifted shut halfway through, his breathing slow and warm against your chest.

Ava stayed quiet, listening. You glanced down to find her still holding your hand, her head on your arm, eyes fluttering closed.

When you finished, silence wrapped around the room like a blanket.

Alexei had passed out face-first into a stuffed tiger. Walker snored with a fist in the air like he’d fallen asleep mid-battle cry. Yelena’s grip on Bucky had loosened, her face soft and peaceful at last.

You didn’t move. Neither did Bucky.

Just a quiet glance exchanged across a battlefield that—for the first time all day—had gone still. He gave you a small smile.

“Not bad,” he murmured.

“You too,” you whispered. “Girl dad.”

His eyes softened. You reached over with your free hand, touched his arm.

“We’re gonna survive this, right?” you asked.

“…Eventually.”

Morning arrived in golden streaks across the curtains, slow and quiet, like the Tower itself was still rubbing sleep from its eyes. The fairy lights overhead had faded to a soft, amber glow. Someone’s lullaby playlist had stopped playing around 3 a.m., leaving only the gentle hum of the heater and the occasional squeak of a plush toy being rolled on in someone’s sleep.

You weren’t awake yet. Not fully.

Your mind stirred before your body did—floating somewhere between dream and waking, wrapped in heavy warmth and a surprisingly steady rhythm of breath that wasn’t your own. Your fingers twitched. Something shifted against your side.

You blinked. And then you froze.

Because your head? Was not on a pillow. It was on a shoulder.

A broad, warm, flannel-covered shoulder.

And your leg? Draped over someone else’s. There was an arm around your waist.

Your heart leapt into your throat as your gaze tilted up—slowly, hesitantly, horrifiedly—to meet the sleeping face of none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

His head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, hair tousled from sleep, stubble thick across his jaw. One hand rested loosely on your side, metal fingers curled like he’d relaxed into it hours ago.

You screamed internally.

Before you could even react, a chorus of chaotic giggles rang through the room.

“Buki an’ mama cuddlin’!!” Bob squealed from his little bed, hands on his cheeks like this was the most romantic moment of his tiny life.

Yelena howled with laughter, rolling back and forth in her blanket pile.

Walker blinked at you both, frowned, then burst into inexplicable tears.

Ava watched from the corner, covering her mouth with both hands as her shoulders shook in quiet delight.

Bucky jolted awake with a grunt, arm tightening around you instinctively before his eyes flew open.

He blinked. Looked at you. Looked at your leg over his. Looked at the chaos around the room.

“Are you—” he started.

“I am not cuddling you,” you snapped, scrambling away so fast you kicked off your own blanket and nearly face-planted into Bob’s pile of duck plushies.

Bucky sat up like he’d been electrocuted. “I don’t cuddle people!”

“Same!!”

Walker sobbed louder. Alexei sat up out of nowhere, disheveled and somehow holding a bag of dry cereal. “Why mama yellin’?”

“I’M NOT YOUR MOM—”

Bob crawled into your lap mid-scream and patted your face gently. “You ‘n Buki had sleep snugs.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Covered your face with both hands. Bucky groaned and dropped his head against the couch behind him.

“Kill me,” he mumbled.

Yelena threw a pillow at him. “Cuddlerrrr,” she sang.

You peeked at him between your fingers. “You drooled on me.”

He didn’t even deny it. “You kicked me in your sleep.”

Bob gasped. “You kick Buki?!”

“Okay, okay, enough,” you muttered, pulling Bob close, cheeks burning. “Everyone up. Let’s get breakfast before I disintegrate into the floor.”

As the kids scrambled to their feet and chaos began its daily resurrection, you caught Bucky’s eye one more time.

He looked away first. And maybe—just maybe—you missed the warmth.

Just a little.

There were two kinds of mornings in the Tower: the usual half-chaotic shuffle of grown adults trying to act like responsible heroes… and then mornings like this—where five pint-sized mayhem goblins were running on toddler fuel, sticky fingers, and leftover glitter from the bath bubbles.

But today? Today felt… soft.

Warm sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Tower kitchen, casting golden rays across the floor where Bob was sitting cross-legged in his duck pajamas, humming to himself and gently rocking a bottle of syrup like it was a baby. Ava leaned against your leg quietly, watching everything with big eyes. Walker had already knocked over a chair and was using it to climb the counter. Yelena was sharpening crayons for no reason again. And Alexei was running laps around the island chanting “PAN-KAKE! PAN-KAKE!” like it was a war cry.

At the stove stood Bucky Barnes.

Flour on his cheek. Hair tied back in a low bun. Wearing a navy-blue apron that read “Kiss the Cook” (you did not question where he found it). One hand expertly flipping pancakes in a skillet, the other steadying the stack already plated next to him. His face was scrunched in deep, world-ending focus.

You leaned on the counter, arms crossed, watching him work.

“Never thought I’d see the Winter Soldier making bunny-shaped pancakes,” you said with a smirk.

“Never thought I’d be this close to snapping over a missing spatula,” he muttered, flipping one like a pro. “We all grow.”

“You’re… good at this,” you admitted.

He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Did you just compliment me?”

“I’ll deny it the moment you bring it up again.”

Yelena skidded into the room, nearly wiping out, then slammed her fists onto the counter. “Buki!! My pancake has no eyes!!”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“His face!! No eyes!! You forget eyes!!” she said, holding up a bunny pancake like it had been personally insulted.

You stepped in before Bucky short-circuited. “Let’s get some blueberries, yeah? Pancake eyes, coming right up.”

Bob clapped gently from the floor. “Buki is pancake man…”

Bucky exhaled, set another perfect circle on the stack, then crouched to look Bob in the eye.

“I am pancake man,” he said seriously. “Fear me.”

Bob giggled so hard he fell sideways into your leg.

Ava tugged on your shirt. “Can I have butter on mine?”

You scooped her up effortlessly, resting her on your hip. “Butter, syrup, and maybe a little whipped cream if we’re feeling wild.”

Walker climbed onto a stool with absolutely zero grace and yelled, “I WAN’ TOWER PAN-KAKE!!”

Alexei crashed into him. “NO! I WAN’ TOWER PAN-KAKE!!”

“Okay, okay—one Tower Stack coming up,” you said, motioning to Bucky.

He saluted with the spatula like it was a mission. “Ten-layer pancake incoming.”

Within minutes, plates were passed, juice was poured (carefully), and the kitchen fell into that rarest of states: peaceful chewing. You sat with Bob on your lap, Ava pressed against your side, watching them eat like it was a feast fit for baby kings and queens. Walker had syrup in his eyebrows. Yelena had somehow acquired a second fork. Alexei was stacking mini pancake pieces into what looked like a tank.

Bucky sat across from you, sipping coffee like a man who’d seen war and made peace with it.

You caught his eye.

And for one long, quiet second—you smiled at each other.

Like, really smiled.

Then Alexei sneezed into the syrup and Yelena started sword-fighting with forks and Bob whispered, “I love you, pan-kake…” and the moment passed.

But it happened.

And it was enough.

The world, for once, had gone gentle.

No glitter explosions. No screaming for pancakes. No enchanted utensils flying across the room. Just the soft murmur of little voices—Ava humming to herself in the corner as she scribbled stars with a blue crayon, Alexei grunting in concentration as he stacked blocks that kept collapsing, Yelena hissing at Walker because he tried to eat her bear—and beneath it all, the quiet, steady rhythm of Bob breathing against your chest.

He was out cold.

His curls were damp from the bath, cheeks flushed a sleepy rose. One of his hands was balled into your shirt like he thought you might disappear. The other was loosely gripping the tail of his beloved duck plush, already halfway down your lap.

You didn’t dare move.

Bucky was sitting beside you on the couch, arms resting on his thighs, head tilted just enough to watch Bob sleep without looking like he meant to. His metal fingers tapped once against his knee before going still again.

The Tower had never felt this quiet. Not even when it was empty.

You shifted slightly to get comfortable and winced when Bob stirred, letting out a soft baby sigh and curling closer to your heartbeat.

“Sorry,” you whispered, brushing a hand over his hair.

Bucky’s voice was low, just above a murmur. “He’s really out, huh?”

“Long day,” you said, glancing at the chaos still moving across the carpet. “They wore each other out.”

“They wore us out.”

You smiled, leaning back slightly, careful not to wake the sleeping warmth curled against you. “I’m starting to think we’re the ones being trained.”

Bucky huffed a soft laugh. It wasn’t sarcastic this time. It wasn’t bitter. Just... tired. Soft.

You looked over at him.

His eyes were still on Bob.

“You’re good with them,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He blinked. Turned his head slowly, like the compliment confused him.

“You think?”

“I know.” You shifted your gaze back down to Bob. “You made pancakes for six people before sunrise. That’s not ‘good,’ Barnes. That’s heroic.”

He smiled. A real one. Small. Hidden in the corner of his mouth. But there.

For a while, you sat in silence.

Ava brought you a drawing. She didn’t say anything, just placed it gently on your lap before scurrying away. It was a crayon portrait—lopsided and sweet. A stick figure with curly hair holding a tiny blue duck, another with a big metal arm. Both surrounded by stars.

Bucky glanced over your shoulder at it. “Is that supposed to be you and me?”

You nodded. “Apparently.”

He leaned closer, just for a second. Just long enough that your shoulders brushed.

Then—

Bob let out a long, dramatic sigh in his sleep, and you both froze.

“Don’t you dare wake him,” you whispered.

Bucky held up both hands, eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything—”

“You thought too loud.”

“Okay, that’s not a real thing—”

Bob stirred again.

You glared.

Bucky shut his mouth.

And for the next ten minutes, you just sat like that. Side by side. Breathing. Watching. Holding the soft, heavy weight of a sleeping child and somehow, maybe for the first time in a long time, not feeling like the world was on fire.

Just tired.

Just... home.

It happened fast.

One moment, you were sitting on the couch with Bob in your arms and a blanket over your knees, sipping tea while Yelena braided Ava’s hair and Alexei tried to convince Walker that glue was edible. The next, your comm buzzed to life—emergency alert, priority red. No time to argue. No time to prep. Just a look exchanged with Bucky and a whispered, “It’s quick, I promise.”

Bob had started to whimper the second you stood up.

Ava froze halfway through her braid.

“Mama?” she asked, barely audible.

“Just one hour, baby,” you whispered, brushing her cheek. “Be good for Bucky, okay?”

But Bob was already clinging to your shirt. “Nooo gooo,” he whined, voice cracking. “Stayyy here, mamaaa…”

You kissed the top of his head and passed him gently to Bucky, who caught him like someone handling fragile glass.

“I’ll be right back.”

And then you were gone.

The door shut.

The elevator hummed.

The silence cracked.

And five seconds later, all hell broke loose.

Bob began to sob, small hiccupy gasps as he buried his face in Bucky’s chest. Ava’s eyes welled up, and she clutched Yelena’s arm like she might disappear too. Alexei stomped his feet, yelling “NO FAIR!” over and over again like it was a battle cry. Walker threw himself backward onto the carpet and began to scream—not words, just primal, chaotic sadness.

Bucky stood frozen in the middle of it all, holding one trembling, snotty, heartbroken child and looking like he’d just been dropped into battle with no weapons.

“Okay, okay, hey,” he said, trying to bounce Bob gently while his metal arm rubbed slow, awkward circles on the boy’s back. “It’s fine. She’s coming back. You heard her. Just one hour.”

“Mama gone,” Bob whispered against his neck.

“No, no—she’s not gone, she’s just… busy.”

“GONNNNEEEEE,” Alexei wailed from the corner, throwing a block with the force of a javelin.

Yelena’s bottom lip quivered. “Mama always go ‘way,” she said, her tiny voice accusing. “We no want you.”

That one hit harder than Bucky wanted to admit.

He sank down onto the floor, Bob still attached to his chest, and reached his free arm out toward the girls.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, eyes softening. “I’m not her. But I’m here. And I’m trying, okay? So… help me out, would ya?”

Ava came first—quiet, hesitant, sitting at his side but not touching. Then Yelena crawled into his lap, curling against his arm with a dramatic huff. Bob had gone quiet now, his face red and puffy, but his breathing slower.

Walker was still howling into the void.

“Kid,” Bucky called. “You good?”

A loud sniffle.

“…No.”

“Fair.”

Alexei marched over and kicked Bucky in the shin.

“OW—what was that for?!”

“You not mama.”

Bucky looked at the four of them—messy, snot-covered, half-dressed, grieving the sudden loss of the woman who had somehow become their whole world.

“I know I’m not mama,” he said softly. “But she trusted me to take care of you. So let’s just… wait together, yeah?”

Walker sniffed again, then crawled up into his lap without asking. Ava rested her cheek on his knee. Yelena reached up and patted his chin like it made her feel better.

And Bob—little Bob—looked up with tear-glassy eyes and whispered, “You stay ‘til she come back?”

Bucky blinked.

Nodded.

“Yeah, buddy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky had never been afraid of noise. Not really. Explosions, screams, the static hiss of war and metal and memory—it was all part of the rhythm he’d learned to move through like a shadow. But this kind of noise? This relentless, high-pitched, emotionally unstable cacophony? This was not battle. This was something far more dangerous.

This was five grieving toddlers, left in the temporary care of a man whose entire emotional toolkit could fit inside a shot glass.

It was only thirty minutes since you left, but it felt like years.

The living room looked like a battlefield. Yelena had overturned the toy chest and was now guarding it like a dragon with a hoard. Bob had cried so hard he’d vomited, then fallen asleep for ten minutes before waking up even more upset. Walker had locked himself in the hallway closet and was screaming about “being brave alone,” and Alexei had somehow shattered one of the tower’s unbreakable vases and was now spinning in slow, guilty circles whispering “uh-oh” like a broken record.

Ava hadn’t spoken in twenty-five minutes. She sat curled up in the corner with a blanket over her head like she was trying to disappear.

Bucky was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him as he cradled Bob again—too tightly maybe, too unsure. He was sweating. His hair clung to his temple. His vibranium hand was trembling.

He didn’t know what to do.

He wanted to fix it, but he wasn’t you.

“You not mama,” Yelena had said earlier, and that truth had landed like a knife under the ribs.

He was not you.

And he could feel that fact with every scream, every whimper, every pair of tear-streaked cheeks that looked past him like they were waiting for someone else. Someone better. Someone that made the monsters under the bed go quiet with just a smile.

“Come on, buddy,” he murmured to Bob, who was sobbing again, clutching at Bucky’s flannel shirt with his tiny fists. “I know, I know—she’ll be back soon. Just... breathe, okay?”

But Bob just cried harder. And Bucky cracked. His head dropped to the wall behind him, eyes squeezing shut. His voice was ragged. “I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t even know who he was talking to. Maybe the ceiling. Maybe the kid in his arms. Maybe you—if the universe had any mercy left in it.

Then the elevator dinged. And everything stopped.

Bob hiccuped. Alexei froze mid-spin. Even Yelena looked up from her pillow fortress like a wild animal catching the scent of home.

And then the doors slid open. You stepped out, windswept and tired, blood on your collar and soot in your hair—but whole, alive, there.

Bob screamed first. “MAMA!!”

And the floodgates burst. He scrambled out of Bucky’s arms like he’d just been released from prison and flung himself into your legs. Yelena was next, then Ava—silent tears this time, clutching your waist. Walker emerged from the closet and ran like he hadn’t been screaming betrayal five seconds ago. Alexei just collapsed in the hallway and sobbed into your ankle.

You dropped to your knees, arms wide, heart splitting in a million soft pieces.

“I’m here, babies, I’m here—I’m so sorry, I’m here.”

They piled onto you. Limbs, snot, sniffles, joy, heartbreak. Bob climbed up into your lap and tucked his face into your neck like he’d been underwater and could finally breathe again.

You held them all. Every single one. Then your eyes flicked up.

And found Bucky still on the floor, frozen in place, his chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. You stood slowly, carefully shifting Bob onto one hip and brushing Yelena’s curls back as you walked toward him.

You crouched. “Buck,” you said softly, your hand brushing his knee.

He didn’t look up. “I couldn’t calm him down. Any of them. I tried—I tried everything. And they just kept asking for you. Because I’m not you.”

His voice cracked, rough and low, choked by something that was too big to name. You took his hand—his metal one, the one that trembled—and pressed it gently into Bob’s back.

“Yeah,” you said. “You’re not me.”

His jaw clenched. “But they still love you.” He looked up then—really looked—and something in him broke.

Bob leaned forward sleepily, still sniffling, and pressed his little hand to Bucky’s cheek.

“Buki no cry,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “You ‘kay now. Mama here.”

And in that moment—cluttered, sticky, messy, real—Bucky exhaled. And maybe, just maybe, let go.

It started with a toy hammer. Of course it did.

You were in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming while cutting strawberries and pretending like your home hadn’t been taken over by an elite squad of emotionally volatile toddlers. It was unusually quiet for a few minutes—too quiet—and you should’ve known something was brewing. Something diabolical.

From the living room: a sudden shriek.

“IT’S MINE!!” Yelena bellowed, her tiny hands gripping a plastic, glittery hammer like it was Mjölnir itself.

“No it’s NOT!” Walker snapped, eyes blazing as he tugged on the other end. “You had it all day!!”

“YOU TOUCH, YOU DIE!” Yelena shrieked.

“YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!!”

Alexei appeared from behind the couch, eyes wide. “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” he chanted like a sports commentator.

Ava sat in the corner looking deeply stressed, clutching her stuffed cat to her chest. Bob was on the beanbag, crying—not because he was hurt, but because someone sat on the red one before he did, and that was apparently a federal offense in toddler law.

Bucky stood in the hallway holding a juice box, watching the chaos unfold like he was witnessing a small civil war.

And then? The hammer snapped in half. Silence.

Walker and Yelena froze, each holding a glitter-smeared piece of plastic, stunned by the consequences of their rage. Bob’s crying reached a new octave. Alexei gasped. Ava covered her eyes.

“...Uh oh,” Walker whispered.

And that’s when Bucky stepped in.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t throw the juice box.

He just walked—slow, calm, terrifying like a thundercloud rolling in—and crouched between the warring parties, looking each child dead in the eye like they were dangerous operatives.

“Do you know what I see right now?” he asked, voice low and steady.

Yelena crossed her arms, pouting. “A winner?”

Walker squinted. “A loser?”

Bob hiccuped from the beanbag. “...Daddy mad.”

Bucky raised one brow. “I see five very lucky little gremlins who are this close—” he held up two fingers, almost touching “—to spending the rest of the day in separate corners with NO pancakes tomorrow.”

Everyone gasped.

Ava let out a horrified whisper. “No pan-kakes?”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Not even one blueberry.”

Alexei collapsed in the background. “Nooo… my soul…”

Walker dropped the broken hammer like it burned him. “I—I didn’t mean to!!”

“She broke it!!” Yelena yelled, pointing with all the fury of a betrayed Spartan.

“You both broke it,” Bucky snapped. “And you both need to fix it. Not with glue. With apologies.”

The room was dead quiet.

Then Bob sniffled. “Can I have the red seat now?”

Bucky turned slowly. “Bob. Do you want the red seat, or the high ground?”

Bob blinked. “...Both?”

“Reasonable,” Bucky muttered.

You peeked in from the kitchen, hands still full of strawberries. “What happened—?”

“Communism,” Bucky replied flatly. “They all think the hammer belongs to them.”

You blinked. “So… Yelena and Walker fought?”

“No. They trained for war.”

Yelena shuffled forward, face pink. “Sorry I yelled. I guess we can… share?”

Walker nodded. “Yeah. Sorry I sat on the red chair.”

Bob perked up. “You said it. Now get up.”

“BOB—”

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s it. We’re instituting the Rotation Chart. Everyone gets the red seat for ten minutes. Timer’s on the table. Touch it before it dings, I swear to God—”

“Will we die?” Alexei whispered.

Bucky didn’t answer. Just glared.

You laughed from the kitchen. “Papa Barnes strikes again.”

And somehow, just like that, the living room began to settle. The hammer got placed in the “fix-it” bin. The red seat rotated. Pancakes were saved.

And Bucky? He finally took a seat.

One long breath in. One sip of juice box out.

The day had been long—block tower disasters, spilled juice, at least one suspicious crayon eaten. But night brought a softness to the tower. The overhead lights were dimmed to a warm golden glow, the air was cool with a hint of lavender from someone’s diffuser (Ava, probably), and every tiny toddler was wrapped in soft pajamas like miniature plush marshmallows.

“Okay, Bob,” you said as you handed him the toy DJ keyboard that lit up and made questionably high-energy noises. “You’re on aux.”

Bob’s face lit up like he’d just been handed the nuclear launch codes. He settled in the center of the living room, pressed a few random buttons, and the air was suddenly filled with electronic bubble pop sounds and a woman’s voice yelling, “LET GO LITTLE FRIENDS!”

“YESSS!” Yelena screamed, launching herself into a spin with arms wide, her pajama top flying up over her belly.

Ava did a tiny, shy shimmy in the corner, holding her stuffed cat like a dance partner. Walker was stomping in place like a Viking toddler at a rave, and Alexei? Alexei was doing the worm. Badly. Repeatedly. On the hardwood floor.

Bucky was standing frozen in the doorway.

“Are they… raving?”

“They’re expressing joy through movement,” you said, grinning as you flicked on the glow sticks you’d snuck out earlier. “Come on, Barnes. Don’t make me outdance you.”

“Challenge accepted.”

He stepped forward, took two glow sticks from your hand, cracked them open, and tucked them into his flannel pajama waistband like makeshift swords. And then—dead serious—he moonwalked.

The babies lost their minds.

“GO BUKI!!” Bob yelled, bashing buttons on his keyboard. “GOOOO!!”

“WOOOOOO!” Yelena howled, grabbing Ava and dragging her into a spinning circle of giggles.

Alexei jumped onto the couch. “I IS DJ NOW!!” he yelled and immediately fell off the other side.

You snorted so hard you nearly choked, one hand over your mouth as you joined them all on the floor, wiggling in place with Bob clinging to your back like a sloth.

Bucky twirled past you—twirled, boss—and pointed. “We need strobe lights.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re turning into a party dad.”

He didn’t deny it. Just grabbed Yelena by the hands and started hopping in a circle with her while she screamed-laughed. Ava danced near your feet, swaying her cat gently. Bob tapped your shoulder and whispered, “Mama… dance is love.”

You scooped him into your arms. “Yes it is, baby.”

Ten minutes in, Walker collapsed mid-wiggle, gasping. “I… need… juice box…”

Alexei fell asleep on the floor with a glow stick in each hand like he was guarding the gates of Baby Valhalla.

Yelena was lying on Bucky’s chest now, curled in a sleepy tangle, eyes half-lidded.

You looked around at the mess of glowing sticks, soft music still playing, and the warm weight of Bob in your arms.

Bucky caught your gaze. He smiled.

“You think they’ll remember this?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe not the details. But the feeling? Yeah. I hope so.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from Bob’s forehead as he yawned, melting against you.

“Dance is love,” you murmured.

Bucky’s voice was soft. “And so is this.”

The tower was quiet in that strange, heavy way—where the silence didn’t feel peaceful, but like the universe was holding its breath.

You were sitting on the edge of the playroom couch, a blanket draped across your lap, Bob nestled into your side. He was chewing on the tail of his stuffed duck, eyelids fluttering, but still awake. He didn’t know. None of them did. Not yet.

The letter from Val sat on the table in front of you, its contents burned into your brain: Formula ready. Reversal confirmed. Administer at 0700. Side effects minimal. Memory retention = 0%.

You’d read it three times. Bucky had read it once, muttered something like “goddammit,” and walked off to fix Bob’s broken toy spaceship in the kitchen with shaking hands.

Now he was standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest, staring out like the skyline held answers it had no right to give.

“They won’t remember us,” you said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky didn’t turn. “Yeah.”

“Not the dance parties. Not the pancakes. Not the bath times. Not…” Your voice caught, your eyes stinging. “Not the way Bob says ‘Mama’ like it means everything.”

His jaw flexed.

You glanced down at the boy curled into your side—his lashes long and fluttering, his fingers still gripped around the stuffed duck he insisted on bringing to every room. His chest rose and fell in that slow toddler rhythm, trusting the world around him to stay the same.

He’d woken up this morning and called Bucky Dada.

It hadn’t been a game. It hadn’t been a joke. He’d said it with a sleepy little smile and a stretch of his arms and then asked, “Where Mama go?”

Bucky had frozen. You had blinked. And the whole damn day had folded in on itself like a house of cards hit by wind.

“We knew it wouldn’t last,” Bucky finally said. His voice was tight. Rough. “They’re not really ours.”

“No,” you said. “But… they were. For a little while.”

He looked over his shoulder at you.

Not annoyed. Not detached. Just… broken.

And that’s what undid you.

You pressed your hand to Bob’s back, smoothing his hair. You could feel the tears coming, building behind your eyes, hot and heavy and helpless. “We have one night,” you whispered. “One more night before they forget.”

Bucky crossed the room in slow, quiet steps. He sat beside you, his arms resting on his knees, staring down at Bob like he was memorizing the curve of his cheek, the soft puff of his breath, the innocence they’d both been lucky enough to protect.

“They saved us, too,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was faraway. “Didn’t they?”

You nodded. “More than they’ll ever know.”

A beat of silence. Then a small voice piped up.

“Mama?”

You blinked, looking down as Bob blinked blearily, his tiny fingers reaching for your sleeve. You caught them in yours.

“I’m here, baby.”

He yawned. “Why you cryin’?”

You smiled through it. “I’m just… gonna miss something.”

He nodded sleepily like he understood, though you knew he couldn’t possibly. “Can I sleep wif you ‘n Dada?”

Bucky made a noise in his throat that might’ve been a laugh—or a sob—and scooped the boy gently into his arms. Bob curled against him like he always belonged there.

You stood slowly and followed them out of the playroom, down the quiet hall, past the nursery that was still strung up with glow sticks from last night’s dance party. One of them was still faintly glowing.

When you reached your room, you pulled back the covers and let Bob crawl into the middle, where he immediately sprawled out like a starfish. His duck tucked under one arm. His other hand found Bucky’s and held on tight. You climbed in beside them.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His arm wrapped around you both, pulling you in close, holding like he might break apart if he let go. You stared at the ceiling for a long, long time, wondering if tomorrow would feel like grief or just a different kind of empty.

Would they wake up scared in grown-up bodies? Would they blink and not know you? Would Bob look at Bucky and call him Mr. Barnes with that stupid sarcastic smirk again?

Would Yelena roll her eyes and call you dramatic instead of curling into your side during movies?

Would Walker complain about rules instead of juice?

Would Alexei stop begging you to help him build his block fortress?

Would Ava forget the way she tucked her tiny hand into yours, without ever saying a word?

Would they all forget how it felt to be this loved?

Would you?

You didn’t sleep much that night. But you held Bob.  And Bucky held you.  And for one last night… they were yours.

Morning came too fast.

The sunlight spilling through the windows felt wrong, like it had no right to be soft and warm when the weight in your chest was made of stone. You’d barely slept. Bucky hadn’t either. His arm was still around you when the tower lights began to flicker on. Bob was still curled between you both, his tiny fingers locked in the fabric of Bucky’s shirt like if he let go, he’d float away.

You stayed that way longer than you should have.

But eventually… it was time.

The babies were quiet during breakfast. No giggles, no complaints, no pancake-related crimes. Ava clutched her juice cup with both hands and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Yelena picked at her food with her fork upside down. Walker was practically vibrating in his seat, and Alexei had uncharacteristically asked, “Why today feel weird?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Bucky was silent beside you, eyes distant, jaw set. Then the door opened. Val.

Black suit. Tablet in hand. Gaze a little softer than usual. “Are they ready?” she asked.

No.

They weren’t. You weren’t. But this wasn’t about you. So you nodded.

The walk to the lab was slow. You carried Ava and held Bob’s hand. Bucky had Yelena on his hip and Walker clinging to his sleeve. Alexei walked between you, unusually quiet, dragging a teddy bear across the floor.

The lab was too bright. Too clean. Too final. The table was prepped. Six tiny syringes. Labeled. Ready.

“Once administered,” Val explained gently, “they’ll begin to age in accelerated time. Physically, they’ll be back to normal in under ten minutes. Mentally… it’ll be as if this week never happened.”

Bob’s grip tightened in your hand.

You crouched beside him, brushing his curls back, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. We’ll be right here the whole time.”

He blinked up at you. His bottom lip trembled. “But… but I don’t wanna be big.”

You froze. His voice was so small, so certain. You glanced at Bucky, whose whole body had gone rigid.

“I wanna stay,” Bob said, tears welling in his eyes. “I wanna stay wif you an’ Dada. We had pancakes. I like pancakes. I like dancin’. I like... cuddles.” His voice cracked. “I don’t wanna f'get…”

Oh God. You pulled him into your arms, sinking to your knees as he sobbed into your neck. “I’m sorry, baby. I know. I know…”

Bucky was beside you in an instant, kneeling, wrapping both of you in his arms.

Bob reached for him blindly, sobbing, “Don’t wanna lose you!”

And then Ava started to cry. And Yelena, from Bucky’s side, shouted, “No! We stay! We live here now!!”

“NO MORE GROWIN’,” Walker declared dramatically.

Val blinked. “Okay, I didn’t plan for this level of resistance—”

Alexei had thrown himself on the floor. “I will die like this!! In pajamas!!!”

It was chaos. Beautiful, heartbreaking chaos. And in the middle of it, you looked at Bucky.

His eyes were red. His hand was shaking as he touched Bob’s curls.

“Can’t we keep them?” he whispered, not to Val. Not even to you. Just to the world. “Just a little longer.”

You swallowed hard, brushing a tear from your cheek. “If we do… if we wait… they’ll remember this.”

He nodded slowly.

“And if we don’t…” you couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t have to.

Val sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We can delay. A few days. Maybe a week. But after that, the effects might… compound.”

You looked at your babies—all five of them. Crying, clinging, choosing love over logic.

And for now? That was enough. You kissed Bob’s forehead.

“Okay,” you whispered. “One more week.”

The van ride to the lakehouse should have been peaceful.

It was not.

Between the trail mix fight (Walker dumped raisins in Bob’s hair and called it “war”), Yelena screaming every time they passed a cow (“THAT ONE LOOKED AT ME WEIRD!”), and Alexei singing a cursed remix of Baby Shark at top volume, you and Bucky were already on the brink by the time you hit the dirt road.

Ava was the only one quiet—head pressed to the window, blinking up at the trees like they were whispering secrets just to her. You’d reached back from the passenger seat to gently rub her knee, and she’d leaned into your touch like a sleepy cat.

Bob had insisted on sitting beside Bucky, who was driving with the patience of a monk and the dead eyes of a man on his fifteenth round of “Are we there yet?”

“We live in New York,” he muttered under his breath. “Why did we think a six-hour road trip with five toddlers was a good idea again?”

You grinned, exhaustion tucked into the corners of your eyes. “Because we’re masochists who cry over bath time hugs.”

He side-eyed you. “Shut up.”

But when Bob giggled from the backseat and whispered, “Dada say bad word,” Bucky smirked and gave your hand a gentle squeeze on the console.

And then you pulled up to the lakehouse.

The second the van doors opened, chaos spilled out like confetti.

“WOAHHHH,” Alexei screamed, racing toward the dock like it personally offended him. “WE GOTS A RIVER???”

“It’s a lake,” you corrected.

He immediately tried to bellyflop into it. Bucky caught him mid-air like a linebacker.

“NO. No water until after naps,” he barked.

“But I’m aquatic!” Alexei protested.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky deadpanned. “You’re dramatic.”

Yelena ran around the yard in circles screaming “MINE MINE MINE” and refusing to explain what she was claiming. Ava curled into the porch swing, sighing like she’d lived a thousand lifetimes. Walker immediately made a sword out of a stick and challenged a tree to a duel.

And Bob? Bob tugged on your shirt and whispered, “Mama… can we live here forever?”

You crouched, brushing his curls back. “We’ve got a week, baby. We’ll make it feel like forever.”

Inside, the lakehouse was still just as Tony left it—warm wood floors, sunlight pouring through the windows, faint memories still caught in the walls. You caught your breath in the kitchen for a moment, fingers brushing over an old photograph on the fridge. Tony, grinning, sunglasses crooked. Your heart twinged.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, leaning beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, blinking fast. “Yeah. Just… feels like he should be here, y’know?”

“He’d like this,” Bucky murmured. “You. The chaos. The kids. The secondhand glitter on your face.”

You snorted, wiping a tear. “Shut up.”

He didn’t. Just leaned in, bumped your shoulder, and whispered, “Let’s give them the best week of their tiny little lives.”

And oh, Lord—you did.

The next days were pure, chaotic magic. You built pillow forts the size of small kingdoms. You baked cupcakes that looked like disaster but tasted like heaven. Ava finally spoke—not a whisper, but a full, soft sentence: “This place feels happy.” You almost cried on the spot.

Yelena learned how to skip rocks and declared herself Queen of the Shore. Walker tried to fish using only his hands. Alexei built a “campfire” out of leaves and made everyone sit around it and “share our truths.”

Bob? Bob followed you everywhere. His tiny feet slapping against the wooden floors, his voice calling “Mama!” a hundred times a day, his laughter echoing into the trees. He slept in your arms every night, curled up like a song.

And Bucky… God. Bucky was the glue. He held them when they cried. He played rough and gentle in equal measure. He let Yelena paint his face, wore a flower crown Alexei made him, and whispered stories to Bob until the boy drifted off mid-giggle.

Every night, after the kids were asleep, you and Bucky would sit on the dock—bare feet in the water, shoulders pressed together—and watch the stars.

“You ever think about…” you’d start, but never finish.

“Yeah,” he always said anyway.

The last night came too fast. Bob climbed into your lap as the sun set pink across the lake. His head tucked under your chin, his little fingers clutching your shirt.

“Tomorrow?” he whispered.

You swallowed. “Yeah, baby.”

His voice shook. “Will I still love you? When I’m big?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just hugged him tighter. Let the tears fall into his hair.

And whispered, “I think so, sweetheart. I think some love is too big to forget.” 

The sun was setting slow and syrupy, pouring golden light across the lake like it was trying to hold the day in place. Everything felt slower that evening. Softer. Like even time was taking careful steps.

You had your arms wrapped around a wriggling Alexei, trying to wrestle a jelly stain off his cheek while Yelena screamed, “I get to wear the crown! I am photogenic!”

“YOU MEAN PHOTOGENIUS,” Walker bellowed, slipping on the porch stairs because his socks were too long.

Ava was sitting cross-legged in the grass, gently placing wildflowers into Bob’s curls as he sat still and proud, whispering, “Make me pretty, like Mama.”

You pressed your lips together against the wave of emotion rising in your throat. Bucky was fiddling with the camera stand, grumbling under his breath like an old man in the body of a reluctant dad. “Where’s the damn timer button—why is this blinking red? I swear to God, if this deletes everything—”

“You good, tech support?” you teased gently, coming up beside him.

He looked up at you, squinting against the orange glow. “Do I look like Stark?”

“No. You’re taller and moodier.”

He snorted. “And apparently the father of five gremlins.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You knew what this was. You both did. One last photo. One last chance to catch the moment before it slipped through your fingers.

“Okay, munchkins!” you called out, rallying the crew. “Group picture time!”

“Group hug!” Alexei screamed.

“Group MURDER!” Yelena added, because she was feral and unstoppable.

“No one is dying in this photo!” Bucky barked.

You gathered them all onto the porch steps. Yelena on Bucky’s shoulders, Ava tucked under your arm, Bob standing between you with both your hands in his, Walker doing finger guns, and Alexei holding up a stick like it was a championship trophy.

Bucky set the timer, sprinted back, and scooped Bob up into his arms right as the camera clicked.

Snap.

The light froze all of it.

Messy curls, painted fingernails, pajama pants with little ducks on them. You. Bucky. Five little lives tucked into the safety of your arms. And behind you, the lake—still and golden—like it, too, was trying to hold on.

“WE ARE A FAMILY,” Bob declared afterward, clutching the photo print like it was sacred.

“You got jelly on it already,” Ava said quietly, but didn’t take it away.

And then came the part you hadn’t prepared for.

Bob’s tiny voice, lifting up with hope too big for his little lungs. “Mama? Papa? Can we dance now?”

You blinked. “W-what?”

“Dance!” Alexei shouted. “Like you do when you think we sleep!”

Yelena gasped. “I KNEW IT! I saw Mama spin!”

Ava whispered, “I saw Papa smile.”

“PLEASE?” Bob begged, holding your hand like it was the only anchor he had. “One more? One more dance?”

You looked at Bucky. He looked at you. And both of you—still holding hands from the photo—felt your chests squeeze with something too big to name.

But no. Not yet. Not yet.

Bucky crouched down. “How about we dance tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we be big again,” Bob whispered.

And that? That broke you.

You dropped to your knees and pulled him into your chest, hugging him like he might disappear. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Okay. One more dance. Just… not yet. We’re not ready yet.”

None of you were. So you stayed on that porch a little longer, letting the stars come out. Letting the fireflies twirl. Letting the world wait.

Because tomorrow was already breathing down your neck. But tonight? Tonight, they were still yours.

The lake was still when you woke up.

No birdsong. No wind through the trees. Just a kind of sacred quiet that came before big things—storms, endings, or in this case, goodbyes. The sun hadn’t crested over the trees yet, but the sky was beginning to glow pale and gold, the kind of light that made everything look like it was made of memory.

You were already dressed.

Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to. You’d laid awake most of the night, Bob curled against your side, his tiny breaths hitching now and then like even in dreams, he didn’t want to let go.

Now, as you stood by the kitchen sink with a chipped mug full of untouched coffee, you watched the soft shapes of the trees sway gently outside and thought, I’m not ready.

Behind you, Bucky’s footsteps creaked on the old wooden floor.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped up beside you, his hand brushing yours. You didn’t pull away.

“How long do we have?” he asked, voice quiet, like he didn’t want to scare the moment off.

“Val said to be in the lab before eight.” You didn’t look at the clock. You didn’t need to. You felt the time running out.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and nodded, jaw tight. You knew he hadn’t slept either. He’d held Yelena like she was a piece of glass all night, humming lullabies you were pretty sure he didn’t know he remembered.

“Are they still asleep?” he asked.

“For now.”

A beat of silence.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. “We don’t have to know. We just… do it anyway.”

And so you did.

You packed what little they’d brought. Pajamas. Crayons. A bag full of pinecones Alexei had declared were “important evidence.” Yelena’s crown. Ava’s music box. Bob’s duck.

The sun was higher now. The kitchen glowed like it was made of honey. And then you went upstairs.

The nursery was warm and dim, full of soft breathing and quiet dreams. Five little forms were curled up in makeshift beds, the floor covered in blankets and stuffed animals, limbs tangled together like they couldn’t sleep unless they knew the others were close.

You knelt beside Bob first.

He stirred as soon as your hand brushed his hair, eyes fluttering open. He blinked at you for a moment, then smiled sleepily and whispered, “Hi, Mama.”

Your heart shattered and rebuilt itself in the same breath.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered back. “Time to wake up.”

Downstairs was quiet chaos. Toast and juice, Ava sitting in your lap while Bucky tied Walker’s shoes and Alexei asked why everyone looked “like they cried in their pancakes.” Yelena refused to get dressed unless her crown was on straight. You and Bucky didn’t fight it. You let them win every battle today.

Because it was the last. The drive back to the lab was quiet. Too quiet.

Bucky’s knuckles were white on the wheel. Bob was dozing in your lap again, the duck clutched to his chest. You stared out the window, but you weren’t looking at anything.

The lab was waiting when you arrived. White floors. Bright lights. The same sterile calm. Val was there. She nodded gently. Didn’t speak.

The syringes were ready. Each child got their own room. Monitored. Clean. Clinical.

You and Bucky walked them in one by one. You kissed their foreheads. You held their hands.

Walker went first. Loud until the end, fist-bumping Bucky with a watery grin.

Then Yelena, who tried not to cry and failed, sobbing into Bucky’s chest and whispering, “Don’t let me go.”

Alexei gave you his pinecone, said, “So you don’t forget me.” You told him he was unforgettable.

Ava didn’t speak. Just clung to your shirt until the last possible second, then whispered, “Thank you for letting me be loved.”

And Bob… sweet Bob… looked up at you with tear-filled eyes and said, “Will it still be you… when I wake up?”

You kissed his knuckles. “Always.”

Then it happened.

The serum worked quickly. Their little bodies shimmered with a soft red glow, like time reversing itself in fast-forward. Their limbs stretched. Their faces matured. They blinked up at the bright ceiling, no longer toddlers.

Just soldiers. Adults. Confused.

They didn’t remember. They didn’t know.

And when they filed out into the hallway—grown, sharp, strong again—it was like someone had torn pages out of your book and left you with blank paper.

Bob passed you in the hall. He didn’t even glance. And that was the moment that broke you.

You stood there, back pressed to the cold lab wall, your hands trembling, heart cracked wide and raw. Bucky stood beside you, eyes fixed on the floor, jaw locked, like if he opened his mouth, something sacred might fall out.

No one spoke. No one could.

Later that evening, you returned to the lakehouse. Just the two of you. The rooms were quiet. The toys are untouched. You stepped out onto the porch, the same porch where you danced just the night before. It was empty now. No tiny footprints. No giggles. No bedtime stories.

Just you and Bucky. And silence. You sat down slowly, your hands in your lap, your heart still beating to the rhythm of laughter that was already fading.

“Do you think they’ll remember?” you asked.

He shook his head. “No. But I think… we will.”

You leaned into him. He let you.

And together, as the porch light flickered on, you watched the sun sink into the lake and said goodbye—not with words, but with the quiet ache of two people who had held something golden for just a moment…

…and would never, ever forget.

[sturnioz]

the fraternity formal is this weekend, and shy!reader is completely oblivious to what's going on until her friend breaks the news to her.

"i'm gonna be gone next weekend, kid," chris announces to you suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet stillness of the room, and you shift slightly, moving your head to get a better look at him. he's sprawled beside you, his eyes glued to his phone, thumb scrolling through his instagram feed. "s'you don't have to come here."

the blankets cling to your glistening bare skin as you turn to face him fully, curiosity sparking within you. "how come?" you ask, your tone light but filled with genuine interest.

the sharpness of his gaze meets yours, a familiar hint of annoyance that signals you're being too nosy in his life and you frown slightly.

"you brought it up... m'just curious."

chris rolls his tongue across his teeth, a habit of his when he's trying to brush off a question as he returns his focus to his phone, scrolling mindlessly. "just some stupid fuckin' frat thing."

you ponder this, pursing your lips as you consider his words. "why are you going if you think it's stupid?"

"it's mandatory, kid. the frat will have my ass if i don't go." chris' tone is almost defensive, as if he expects you to understand. you really don't, but you choose not to press the issue any further.

instead, your mind wanders to the idea of a free weekend — one without parties, and drunken and high people. the thought makes you smile to yourself, already imagining the little things you could enjoy in the comfort of your own space and time.

chris seems to sense your silence and shifts his gaze to you, his eyebrow raising as he drops his phone onto the bedside table with a soft thud. "y'gonna miss me, kid?"

the question pulls you from your thoughts, and you blink, suddenly aware of the intensity in his eyes as he pushes himself up, moving to kneel between your legs, the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

his hands find your thighs, his fingers gripping the soft flesh as a smirk slides across his lips. he leans in closer, tilting his head to the side, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin as one hand glides down between your legs, his thumb pressing down on your already sensitive clit, making you jolt.

"she gonna miss me, bun?"

"chris.." you whisper softly, feeling your stomach flutter as your pulse quickens, your mouth parting with a gasp as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit.

"yeah... she's gonna miss me."

for the next few days, thoughts of him going away next weekend slip from your mind. it makes sense, after all — it's not your business, and you're not particularly interested in anything fraternity-related.

but signs of what's to come should've started creeping in when you walked across campus one afternoon, the giggles and babbles of excitement from sorority girls echoing in the air as they boast about a wild weekend filled with parties, pretty dressed, alcohol, drugs, and sex.

the suspicion should've resurfaced again when you were out with kitty and nick, overhearing kitty mention a sleek black silk dress she wanted to buy for the weekend. (truthfully, you were just glad to be spending time with them to even think about what the weekend was about).

and before you could even question her about the reasoning why, nick was already letting out a dramatic scream, having accidentally spilled water all over his pants. he raised his sandal foot towards kitty's face that's drenched in water, showing her the disaster he created and she shrieked, shoving his foot away in horror as she exclaims about how vile feet were — making you giggle and completely forget about any lingering questions about the weekend.

you're now sitting at the kitchen table in your shared apartment, blissfully absorbed in your breakfast. the spoon clicks against the bowl as you scoop up creamy yoghurt and berries, savouring each bite without a care in the world. your friend, however, is a whirlwind of energy, darting back and forth as she huffs and puffs, searching desperately for something.

you only notice her dilemma when a loud curse escapes her lips as she trips over her own feet, stumbling slightly, and you raise your head from your bowl with a startled look, your eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"what are you doing?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity.

"i'm trying to find my dress—the silk red one with the thin straps. have you seen it?" she exclaims, her tone a mix of urgency and frustration.

you shake your head in response, watching as her shoulders drop with a heavy and defeated sigh.

"fine, alright. guess the blue will have to do. fuck..." she then turns her gaze to you. "i don't know how you're so calm about this. have you already picked out your dress?"

now that immediately catches your attention, and you stare at her, confusion washing over your face. "for what?"

"for the weekend! we're literally leaving tomorrow," she laughs, but the humour fades into awkward laughing when she sees your blank expression. "the fraternity formal," she adds, her eyes narrowing slightly as if that should clarify everything.

you feel a knot in your stomach, "what fraternity formal?"

suddenly, her laughter completely dies down, and she stares at you, disbelief etched on her features, "did... chris not tell you about it?

the weight of her question hangs in the air, and a sinking feeling settles in your chest as the reality starts to dawn on you. chris hadn't mentioned anything about a formal, but he did say he was going away for the weekend. your mind races through the past few days, replaying snippets of conversations — how he brushed off your questions about his plans, the overhead chatter of sorority girls giggling about the weekend, and kitty wanting to buy a new dress.

all those vague hints about the weekend swirl together, forming the final picture.

"no," you murmur, the word heavy on your tongue. "no, he didn't say anything about a formal."

your friend calls out your name softly, a frown settling on her lips as she watches you turn to your breakfast. your appetite has gone, but you fight the urge to let the emotions knotting in your stomach to take over as you mindlessly swirl your spoon through the yoghurt, focussing on the movement as if it would distract you from the growing unease.

"i won't go," she declares quickly, sliding into the chair beside you at the table. "fuck the formal. i'll stay here with you, and we can—"

"stop.." you cut her off gently, shaking your head. "don't do that. it's okay.. nate invited you, right?"

"i.. yeah, but—"

"then go," you insist, a sad smile breaking through as your throat tightens. "i know he would really want you there."

there's a bittersweet ache in your chest as you speak, the words feeling heavier than they should. you genuinely want her to enjoy herself, even if it means facing a weekend that suddenly feels much more complicated.

she studies your face, searching for any hint of reluctance or sadness, but you try your best to remain a steady expression despite the thought of chris, the formal—of everything left unsaid—looms in your mind.

"are you sure?" she asks, her voice softening, concern flickering in her eyes. "because i will stay.."

"yeah," you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. "yeah, i'm sure. just... go and have fun. you'll enjoy it."

authors note. i will make a part two eventually before you ask <3

© STURNIOZ

[whitecompri]

first kiss headcanons with triple S? With a human reader. How do you they go about kissing you when you don’t have a muzzle lol x3

First Time Kissing Your Hedgie

Check Out: With Green Hedgie

Pairing: Sonic x Human!Reader; Shadow x Human!Reader; Silver x Human!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Light Humor

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Kissing situations

A/N: Thanks for the request! Well, this is my first time writing headcanons in this format, so if there's something that bothers you or something that's missing, please don't forget to leave me a feedback. I hope you like it!

Sonic

Sonic never really stopped to think about it—he was always more interested in other things. Even though he constantly saw Mobians around him doing it, he never paid much attention. But the thought appeared out of nowhere, spontaneous and electric, like a lightning spark. Suddenly, on a random day, the instinct showed up. He caught himself looking at your lips, confused about why he was so interested in that specific part of you. But he could only think one thing: “Heh... kissing, huh? Must be fun.” He never planned anything, but his impulses spoke louder;

Sonic doesn't have much experience with kissing, but suddenly became absolutely convinced he'd be great at it. After all, what could go wrong with just putting mouths together? Everything involving charm, speed, and boldness—he had plenty of experience in that, so it would all go just fine. "How hard can it be? Just lean in and... boom! Instant magic.";

Zero planning. Zero rehearsal. The kiss happened right in the heat of the moment, even he didn’t expect it to happen then. But it was so sudden, so impulsive, and before he knew it, his face was getting closer to yours. "Hold up... am I actually kissing her? That’s wild.";

On the outside, he keeps a confident grin. On the inside, a tiny storm of disguised anxiety he doesn’t even notice. But even if he did, he’d never admit that flutter in his stomach completely took over the moment his face got closer. "Ughh, what is this weird feeling inside me?";

He notices the difference instantly. Your lips are soft and warm in a way he never even dreamed of. Of course, later he’d start comparing your lips to the feel of a warm chili dog bun, and maybe that’s why he liked it so much. "Whoa... so that’s what kissing a human feels like? Dang, 10/10 squish factor.";

After pulling away from the kiss, he looks at you and lets out a chuckle. That charming, teasing kind of laugh only Sonic can pull off. Then he says something like: "Not bad. I should try that again sometime... for research, of course." And if you’re not careful, his muzzle will already be a few centimeters from your lips again, almost touching, all cheeky;

You can count on it—he’s going to want more in five minutes, tops. He’ll never want your mouths apart again. If it were up to him, he’d spend the whole day making out with you. "Hey, what if we made it, like, a best-two-out-of-three kinda deal?";

The next day, he becomes the very embodiment of flirting. He’ll tease you ALL the time, try to steal more kisses, laugh, use his speed to stop right in front of you, give you a long kiss, and then vanish, leaving you confused and blushing, joking like: "Careful, princess. I might just steal your lips again." But also, be prepared—now that he’s tasted one of life’s wonders with you, he’ll be falling more and more in love... and a bit more protective too;

--*--

It had been a fun and laughter-filled day—a trip to the amusement park with your favorite hedgehog had really been an amazing idea. Besides, Sonic had made such a cute face when he asked you to come along that you couldn’t resist.

The blue hedgehog now walked calmly at your side, a wide smile spread across his muzzle. His green eyes scanned every inch of you, as well as your every expression, trying to make sure you were having as much fun as he was.

However, his eyes kept drifting to one specific point—your lips.

Even though he had never thought much about kisses or things like that, for some reason he felt strangely drawn to your lips. And today in particular, that instinct didn’t leave him alone for even a second. So, while he walked with his hands behind his head in a relaxed posture, he kept focusing on your lips, trying to understand exactly why humans had those instead of muzzles.

After a few seconds of walking, Sonic stopped suddenly.

“You must be tired from walking so much. Let’s sit here and take a break. I know it’s sometimes hard for humans to keep up with my pace.” He extended his hand toward you, keeping a small smirk on his muzzle.

Taking his hand, you two headed to the nearest bench, sitting next to each other. He continued to keep his eyes on your lips. His ears shifted slightly to the sides as he watched every movement of your lips, every smile and expression.

“Having fun?” He crossed his arms, waiting for your answer as he tried to distract those thoughts with a simple conversation.

“A lot. Thanks for inviting me.”

“No problem...” He gave a small smile, still admiring your features.

That’s when you grabbed your water bottle, opened it, and took a long sip. The sight of your lips on the bottle was his limit—he couldn’t wait another second.

“Hey... can I try something real quick?” You turned your face toward him, and before you could even ask what he was doing, there he was—just a few centimeters from your lips, his eyes half-lidded.

The contact was quick, warm, and firm, connecting his mouth with yours, moving his muzzle. His fur was soft and didn’t bother at all—in fact, it was like burying your face in kitten fluff. Adorable.

As fast as it started, it ended. Sonic pulled back slightly from you, his breathing subtly shaky as he looked at you with a huge smile on his face.

“Huh... alright, your lips are way softer than I expected. Not bad!” He stayed there for a few seconds, hypnotized, staring at your face. You kept looking at him too, not wanting to look away.

Sonic pondered about how the kiss went, then raised an eyebrow, curious.

“So, wait, how do you humans usually kiss? Just the mouth? No muzzle movement? Wild.”

“I hope it wasn’t uncomfortable for you.” You laughed quietly.

“Never. I like this... unique style.”

Shadow

Shadow thinks too much. Just feeling something for you already sends his mind into conflict. The idea of a kiss comes up as something he suppresses for a while, trying to forget it and telling himself that something like that was impossible. That is... until the feeling starts to weigh heavier and heavier. Until he can’t take it anymore. "This isn’t... just curiosity. It’s something I need to feel. To understand.";

He has NEVER kissed anyone before. Not on the mouth, not on the cheek, not even the forehead. He’s always been more reserved, and if it weren’t for Maria, he probably wouldn’t even know what a hug feels like. This level of intimacy had never even crossed his mind. So yes, he gets nervous—more than he’d like—and mentally scolds himself for it, but outwardly he pretends to stay cold. "It’s just... a kiss. But it’s not. Not with her.";

Shadow rehearses mentally. Practices on the back of his hand one day when he’s absolutely sure he’s alone, blushing beneath his fur immediately after and thinking it’s utterly ridiculous. But he felt like he had to be prepared. "Okay, tilt 30 degrees to the left... no. That looks stupid.";

When the moment comes, he becomes a mix of fear and longing. A silent storm. When his face nears yours, his breath actually stutters, he feels cold sweat running down his black fur, but he keeps his posture, focusing on the moment. "Why is my heart reacting like this...?";

The touch of your lips surprises him. The first thing he notices is the temperature—warm, comforting—the soft texture. He even finds himself exploring your lips with his tongue, trying to understand more, though he stops immediately once he realizes what he’s doing, focusing back on a simple kiss. "So soft… so warm… It’s like... peace.";

When you part from the kiss, Shadow slowly closes his eyes, touching his lips softly with his index finger, breathing deeply, then thinking deeply about what happened: "I... didn’t expect it to feel like this. I thought I’d regret it. But... I don’t." Then he turns his face away, embarrassed—but the blush on his muzzle is HUGE;

It takes him a while to want another kiss. He analyzes everything first. Ponders. But once you’re alone again, expect him to go after that comforting pressure, to taste you again—and when he decides on something, that thing becomes law. "I want it again. I want her again.";

In the following weeks, expect him to be more present by your side, more protective than usual. He touches you—especially your face—more frequently, holds your hand gently whenever he’s near. And when you least expect it, he leans in slowly and murmurs just for you to hear: "Do you mind… if I try again?";

--*--

You two were sitting next to each other on the couch, you distracted by the television, while Shadow couldn't take his eyes off you, focused, trying to remember everything he had practiced the day before.

He knew he’d be spending the day with you today, so he wanted—no, needed—to do it. He had to show you what he felt, that’s why he had trained and practiced, preparing himself for this moment, and he wasn’t going to chicken out.

"Is it… alright if I try something?" he asked quietly, making you turn your face toward him, curious to know what it was about.

"Sure, go ahead."

That’s when he started, slowly leaning toward your face, giving you time to pull away if you weren’t comfortable. When you didn’t, he felt immense relief, letting out a low grunt, finally brushing his muzzle against yours and capturing your lips.

He had been so worried if it would work, if it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you, but in the end, your mouths fit perfectly, as if they were made exactly for each other, and that filled Shadow with satisfaction.

When your lips parted, he slowly closed his eyes, gently placing his fingers on your lips.

"It's… strange. But not unpleasant." He opened his eyes again, looking at you with his red irises, a bit of affection reflecting in his gaze. "Your lips feel... softer. Warmer." he whispered.

"It was nice for me too, Shadow... I never thought it would feel like this..." you whispered back, delicately holding his hand.

He nodded, murmuring softly, feeling quite content that the kiss had been pleasant for both of you.

Silver

Silver had thought about it a long time ago, but he never had the courage to act on it, always finding excuses not to try, never allowing himself to dwell on the idea. After all, he wasn’t sure it would be appropriate, for many reasons. To him, kisses are extremely romantic gestures, and doing something like that, especially with someone he loved, became more of a distant dream each day. "Maybe one day... if she likes me enough... maybe we’ll kiss."

Silver has zero kisses in his record... and also zero confidence about it. He always feels like he’s a disaster waiting to happen, like everything could go wrong, especially considering his inexperience and nervousness. "What if I bump noses?! What if I accidentally levitate her?"

He wants to do it well, so to make up for the lack of practice, he studies, researches, watches tutorial videos online when he’s alone. And often he uses the bathroom mirror to train, trying to build up the confidence to start the gesture—but always ends up frustrated. He couldn’t understand how he was so great in battle, but a mess when it came to anything involving feelings. "Ok... parted lips, no teeth... wait, what if my fangs hurt her?"

When the moment comes, Silver is anxious, red, his heart pounding like a drum. Just thinking about what’s about to happen makes him melt, sweat nonstop, and breathe heavily. "This is it… THIS IS HAPPENING."

The first touch of your lips leaves him stunned. He didn’t expect so much softness, so much warmth. In seconds, he’s completely lost in the sensations, in the taste of your lips, in the intimacy of that act. "It’s like... her lips are made of clouds?? I’m gonna faint."

When your lips part, ending the kiss, he lets out a long sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath for 30 minutes. He regains his breath, calms his racing heart, then looks at you, mentally mumbling to himself: "That was… uh… science can’t explain this." Then he immediately turns beet red, puts his hands over his face to hide, and suddenly starts levitating, rising just high enough so you won’t see the state of his face.

He’ll last maybe half an hour before coming to you again—after asking for a second kiss right after the first one. He’ll start throwing you subtle glances, his golden eyes refusing to look at anything that’s not your lips. "I swear this is not an addiction... okay, maybe it is."

Practically the same day, you can expect some changes from him. Silver becomes extremely clingy. He’s twice as shy, but he’ll always be craving affection, holding your hand, pressing your foreheads together, seeking the warmth of your closeness. "Do you think… we could kiss again? Just a little one?" He’ll start idolizing you, as if you were some kind of goddess, and he’ll always act like it’s the first time he’s kissing you—your kisses are like ambrosia to him.

--*--

You two were in a peaceful field, sitting in the grass, just admiring the end of the afternoon. Silver was stiff, couldn’t relax even for a minute, his mind was racing, trying to remember absolutely everything he saw in the many guides and tutorials—he wanted you to have the best kissing experience with him.

Then, suddenly, he turned to you, eyes hopeful, clenching his fists, gathering courage.

"I... um... I-I was thinking maybe—only if you want to—um... k-kiss?" he asked timidly, keeping eye contact with all his strength.

"A kiss, huh? I guess it won’t hurt..." You gave him a gentle smile, starting to lean in. Silver swallowed hard, leaning in too.

When his muzzle was close to yours, his eyes scanned you meticulously, trying to make sure it would work just right.

"Wait—should I tilt more? I don’t wanna bump your nose, ahh—!" he tried to say, almost panicking, but before he could keep spiraling into worry, your lips met his with firm pressure.

Immediately he melted into that incredible sensation, his entire body softening completely, and over time, he grew more confident in the kiss, tentatively placing a hand on your cheek, letting out a soft grunt of satisfaction.

When you parted from the kiss, his fur and quills were standing on end in surprise, his eyes wide open in shock.

"That was… wow. Do humans always kiss like that? Can we try again?" He gave a gentle little smile, holding your hands—but that didn’t take away the anxiety he was feeling in that moment. "For science! I mean, romance. I-I mean… you get it!"

[the-halloween-jack]

Tether ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and scars. Hurt with comfort.

Masterlist

Notes: A couple of weeks ago, I posted a pair of headcanons, 'when he realised he loved you' and 'when he admitted he loved you'. A few people were interested in an extension of Jason's parts, and this is the result. So, if some moments sound familiar, that is why. It follows Jason as he meets, gets to know, and, eventually, falls in love with the reader.

Words: 5,992k

The air was thick with the acrid scent of oil and looming rain. The Gotham sky threatened a storm, as it always did, the kind that lurked but never quite arrived, it pressed down upon her shoulders; she huddled against it. Y/N did not intend to be outside long. It was just the rubbish, nothing more than a trip down two flights of stairs to the alley behind her apartment, a chore too mundane to warrant much forethought. But that is when she saw him.

At first, Y/N was not sure what she was looking at. Just a shadow, too still, too broken at the base of the brick wall. Then it moved, a sharp, pained shift, and the outline resolved itself into something unmistakably human. 

He was bleeding. Not in the way of scrapes and gashes; this was deeper, darker. New wounds layered atop old scars. She froze, bin bag clutched within her grasp, knuckles white. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He did not look at her. He was watching the mouth of the alley, just past the corner, breath coming fast and shallow. Voices echoed from somewhere beyond. Sharp. Searching.

‘Where the fuck did he go?’

‘Check the rooftops. Check the damn dumpsters. He couldn’t have gone far.’

His eyes flicked up, just barely, only enough to register her. His shoulders fell slack, ever so slightly. She was not a threat. Just a girl.

Jason Todd had been in more confrontations than anyone should survive. He had bled in them, broken in them, died in one. There was a pattern to this kind of moment, the hush before pain returned, the liminal space where adrenaline gave way to his collapse. He had learned to expect nothing from strangers. No mercy. No help. Just the turning away of eyes and the closure of doors. So when she stepped forward instead of flinching, when her voice did not falter or fill with fear, something within him stalled.

‘My place is just there,’ she said, nodding toward the fire escape tucked beside the alley’s edge. 

‘You can’t stay here. They’ll find you.’

He did not react, nor move; he simply watched her.

‘You need to get off the street,’ she added, lower now. ‘You won’t make it five minutes if they come back this way.’

Still, he hesitated. His whole body was coiled with his refusal. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers hovered near his belt, ready to draw, to run, to die fighting. She dropped her gaze, it fell to rest on his boots.

‘I’m not trying to trap you,’ she said, voice quieter now, nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m trying to help.’

That was the part he could not understand, would not let himself believe. Why would anyone help him? Especially like this, so suddenly, without demand, without recognition. She did not know who he was, not really. If she did, would she have still reached for him?

Another voice rang out nearby. Closer this time.

She stepped forward and reached for his arm without thinking. He flinched, not from pain, but reflex. The kind born of being mishandled too many times. But he did not pull away. She guided him to his feet, shocked by how heavily he leaned once upright, how much weight he was carrying in silence.

And he followed.

All the while, Jason could not make sense of it. A thousand voices in his head, Bruce’s warnings, Alfred’s caution, his own brutal sense of realism, all shouted at him to resist, to stay low, to get out. But this woman, this stranger, offered him nothing but quiet resolve. And something in him, something tired and long frayed, gave in.

Her apartment was small, neat, yet well-lived-in. Warm lights, blankets strewn unceremoniously over the couch, a kettle still warm upon the stove. He stood in the centre of her living room, stiff and vigilant, akin to a stray dog unsure if the hand reaching for it would offer food or a harsh blow.

He should not have come. He knew this was a mistake. He did not belong in spaces like this. Every breath of its domestic warmth grated against the sharp edges of his being, reminded him of everything he had lost and all he had ruined. And yet he stayed, frozen beneath the soft lighting, the aromatic scent of bergamot and quiet calm surrounding him like a haze.

‘You need a hospital,’ she muttered, though her tone already bore traces of defeat; she knew this sentiment would be futile.

He turned immediately, preparing to leave.

‘Or not,’ she amended quickly, voice grim, and stepped into his path. ‘You’re not going back out there like this. At least sit down.’

He halted. Only because the pain had lanced through his ribs like a warning. He hated this, the helplessness, the imbalance. But she did not look upon him as a burden, but simply as someone who needed help.

Reluctantly, he eased himself onto the edge of her worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath him. His mask remained on, armour still clinging to him; blood was now beginning to seep through the layers. He shifted his weight, conscious of ruining her chair.

She returned with a first aid kit, unassuming, but well-stocked. He did not stop her when she knelt beside him, did not flinch when she pulled back the material of his jacket and placed it aside, though his hands twitched at every passing sound beyond the apartment. When she reached for his armour, the woman hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though Jason understood and quickly pulled it back in parts, revealing only what was necessary.  

She did not ask questions. Not the ones he had expected when he followed her here. She was not probing for his name or what he had done to deserve this, what had happened for him to pursue it. She just worked, focused and calm. Her touch was gentle, but not tentative. She bore a steadiness he had not expected, not from someone who should have recoiled, who should have been scared.

Jason found himself watching her, not with suspicion, but with something near disbelief. Why? Why was she doing this? Did she think she was helping some misguided hero? Did she see something redeemable within the blood and ruin of him?

Did she not care who he was? Did she not care about what he does?

These thoughts gnawed at him more than anything else. It bothered him that this kindness may not be the fallacy of a skewed perception, but rather a simple resolve to help, despite everything he was.

When she finished, she offered him water. He took it, fingers brushing hers. It grounded him more than he cared to admit.

‘There’s a spare bed in the study,’ she said. ‘You can rest there tonight.’

He did not answer. But he followed again as she walked away, grabbing his clothes that lay discarded on her floor. Something about her voice, soft, steady and undemanding, made resistance feel pointless.

Then she opened a door. It was a small room, books lined the shelves, and a narrow bed was tucked into the corner, with clean sheets and a folded quilt.

‘There’s a lock,’ she said, gesturing to the inside of the door. ‘If you need it. You can take your mask off. I won't be able to open it from the outside.’

He looked at her then. Truly looked. Not for weakness. Not for a motive. But for the truth. And what he saw left him stunned, not simply because it was unfamiliar, but because it was real. There was no pity within her unrelenting gaze. No awe. Just, quiet offering.

He did not say thank you. He could not. Jason could feel the words billow on the edge of his tongue; he yearned for her to understand his gratitude, and though he could not utter them, she nodded as though she had heard them anyway. His relief was palpable. 

Then he stepped inside as she hovered in the doorway. For the first time, he spoke up,

‘What’s your name?’ He wanted his voice to come across as gentle, but there was a gruffness he could not quite quell. She did not seem fazed by it.

‘Y/N.’ She murmured, and when it became clear to her that this conversation would not expand beyond this simple query, she closed the door.

He remained there for a moment longer, staring where she had just been, before shifting the latch of the lock. Jason peeled back the remaining layers of his ensemble until he was left in nothing but his boxers. It was not ideal, but he could not bear the notion of crawling beneath her covers in his grimy, blood-uncrusted getup. The bed was small yet inviting, his frame hardly fit, though he could not recall the last time he had been this comfortable. He was not sure if it was the sleeping arrangement or the soft snores of the girl across the hall that acted as a reminder of someone who had been so unusually kind. Regardless of the catalyst, he fell into a quick slumber as a foreign warmth bloomed within his chest.

By morning, the door was open.

Not just unlocked, but wide and unoccupied. The bed was made, the quilt folded precisely. The only trace of him was a faint indentation left upon the pillow; if she had not known better, if she had not just thrown away his bloodied gauze, she could easily believe he was never there. 

She stood in the doorway for a prolonged moment, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. The quiet lingered around her, louder now, and she caught herself wondering if he would ever come to fill it once more.

Jason should have known better.

The notion built upon him slowly, like bruises forming beneath his skin, invisible at first, until the ache settled and colour bloomed. The morning he slipped from her apartment, he had told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting refuge. He left nothing behind. He would not burden her with the aftermath of last night’s choices. But it was not until he had cleared the block, boots light, breath even, body stitched back into shape, that the thought hit him like a bat to the ribs.

He led them to her.

Not intentionally. Never that. But reckless all the same. The alley had been a haven born of desperation, not strategy. He had not known where he was going, he only knew that he had needed to get away. And when she opened that door to him, he walked through it without so much as a second thought. Without calculating the risks.

And now the calculation was catching up with him. This kind samaritan was in danger because of him.

He returned that night. However, Jason did not allow himself to venture too close. He perched three rooftops down, crouched low in the shadows, eyes locked on the slow hum of the street outside her building. The fire escape remained still. Lights flickered softly inside.

She was fine.

But that did not soothe him.

He stayed longer than he meant to. Hours passed. Long enough that the shadows stretched and yawned, long enough that his body reminded him it had not properly healed. Still, he waited. Not for her. Not really. That is what he told himself, at the very least. He was not watching her. He would never do that. He never allowed his gaze to touch her window. He was not here for her.

He was here for them.

The ones who had chased him. The ones still searching. If they had half the sense he wielded, they would retrace his escape route. They would check for kindness. They would look for open doors and cracked windows and people foolish enough to help. He hated how plausible it was.

And so he came back again the next night.

And the one after.

It became routine, though he refused to admit that to himself. This was a stakeout. A surveillance effort. He was not lingering. He was not tethered. He certainly was not attached.

But even in the silence, even with his gaze anchored on the street, he could sense her behind that wall; he pictured her reading in that chair, sipping from the chipped mug he could envision near the sink. She did not know he was out here. She could not. He would never be that careless.

Yet, somehow, it still felt like he was trespassing, even though he had not so much as looked at her in all this time. That strange warmth she had offered him, freely, like it had cost her nothing, haunted him more than pain ever had.

He told himself he would stop. Every night, he told himself it would be the last. 

He was so very close to relenting when he laid eyes on her for the first time since that night, she was not in the hazy warmth of the apartment, but under the jarring clarity of daylight. Mid-morning. A street corner in Park Row. She had a velvet bag slung over her shoulder, a paperback in one hand and half a pastry in the other. Casual and effortless.

He nearly walked past her.

Jason knew he should have.

But the moment he registered her, truly saw her, without the fog of blood loss and alleyway silence, something happened. Something ridiculous. His stomach flipped. Not in fear, but... something worse. Something more dangerous. Something soft. A breathless kind of jolt that made his chest feel too tight.

Butterflies.

He scoffed aloud at the word.

Ridiculous. Juvenile. Weak.

But they were there, fluttering behind his bruises, beating against ribs that had withstood so much worse. And the worst part? He did not hate the sensation.

Though he certainly did not trust it.

She did not recognise him. How could she? They were meeting in a new context. She stood before a different version of him. No mask, no blood, no warning in his eyes. Just a hoodie, dark jeans, hair still mussed from too little sleep. He looked... normal. That was the trick of it. That was the danger.

He could speak to her now, and it would not be an invasion. This was not some rooftop vigil. It was not surveillance steeped in adrenaline and exhaustion. This was his chance.

A chance he should not take. Though Jason felt the butterflies once more and spoke anyway.

‘Hey,’ he uttered, too rough, the word catching against a throat unused to casual conversation.

She turned. Eyed him.

No recognition.

‘Sorry, this is probably strange,’ he added quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though that could hide the nervous itch crawling under his skin. ‘You just looked like you could use a second cup of coffee. Or company. Or both.’

She blinked. Then, a slow, small smile.

‘Is that your way of asking me out?’

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because she was direct. Unflinching. Just as she had been before. Could it really be that easy?

He laughed. A low, surprised sound that felt foreign against his tongue.

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

She studied him for a breath longer, then nodded, easy as anything.

‘Alright. But I’ll take a tea.’

He wanted to ask her name again. Wanted to tell her his.

But instead, he fell into step beside her, quiet, casual. Just another face on the street, a casual trip to a café. He felt a blush creep onto his skin, and he turned away from her, fidgeting hands buried deep in his pockets.

It was not love at first sight. Jason did not believe in things like that, not anymore.

If anything, it was suspicion at the first conversation. Interest at second. Uncertainty for the next dozen or so. She had no idea who he was, and he preferred it that way. There was a freedom in this anonymity, in being seen without history clawing at his heels. She did not look at him like she was waiting for something to fall apart. She did not glance at his hands like she expected them to be bloodied. She saw him for who he truly was, it felt like the rarest thing of all.

And so he kept showing up.

Cafés became a habit. A tether. Once a week, then twice. Never planned, always on a whim, or so they liked to pretend. They visited bookstores and late-night markets. Together, they would walk past the same food trucks where Y/N would consistently order the wrong thing as though it were a rule, never complaining. Though she would smile sheepishly when Jason offered his much more appetising selection. 

Y/N would ask him about books. Music. The kinds of questions he had not been asked in years. He did not always answer. Sometimes he just watched her talk, let the cadence of her voice steady the parts of him that threatened to fray.

She had looked different in the daylight.

Less shadowed. Still sharp, still grounded, but without the weight of the tension that had hung between them that night. She had laughed once, and the sound had startled him. It was unguarded. Open. He had not heard anything that unafraid directed at him for a long time.

He had to stop himself from reaching for it.

Jason tried to keep it casual, whatever this was. Whatever they were circling. He made sure never to cross certain lines. He would not stay too long. He would not text first. He would not touch her unless she touched him. There was an instance where she had brushed her fingers over his knuckles on the edge of a café table, he had stared down at the spot as though it had caught fire.

She did not comment. Just went back to sipping her tea, Earl Grey. He could smell the bergamot wafting from it, as he had in her apartment that first night. 

He could not define when it changed. When the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like an invitation. Maybe it was the first time she made him laugh, not a small chuckle, not one of those scoffs of disbelief, but a genuine, gut-twisting kind of laugh that left him breathless. She had just looked at him with raised brows, like she was not sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Maybe it was the night she found him again, bleeding, no more than that first time. A busted lip, bruised jaw; he had already changed into his regular clothes and considered turning around. He should not allow her to see him like this. But before he could bring himself to move, she opened the door and ushered him inside without question. 

Did not so much as blink. Just helped him again, only her touch was familiar and welcome now. Still careful, still steady.

And when she looked at him, saw past the blood and the scowl and the silence, she reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb resting at the corner of his temple. Nothing more. How could she accept him so willingly, without question? How could she not demand the catalyst of his newly mangled face and bloodied knuckles?

Jason had kissed her then. He had not planned it. It was simple instinct, or rather an impulse, or some failing of his exhausted restraint. But she did not flinch. Did not push away. She just leaned in, met him halfway, soft and certain.

After that, there was no use pretending.

It was not some grand explosion, not as books had made him believe. There were no bold declarations, no breathless confessions. Jason did not see romance the way others did. He did not show up with flowers. He did not call just to say he missed her. He barely knew how to say what he felt, let alone trust that it would not crumble in his grasp.

But she understood him in a language he had not known he was speaking. When he disappeared for three days and came back with split knuckles and a haunted look, she did not demand an explanation. Just held his gaze for a moment too long and set a cup of tea on the table beside him.

He would never deserve her. He knew that. This concept was stitched into every part of his being, the sense of ruin, of fracture, of being too far gone to love or be loved back. But she never asked him to deserve her. She just asked him to show up. And over time, he did. More than he thought he could.

Eventually, she saw through him.

Not all at once. But in pieces. The subtle way he scanned every room before they entered it. The half-second delay before he ever turned his back. The scars he never explained, the exhaustion he carried within his shoulders.

He realised he could not lose her, the very thought of it left him asphyxiated, left him gasping and sputtering for air. It terrified him more than anything ever had. It was worse than the crowbar, worse than the vestige of the green glow left shimmering behind closed eyelids. He remembers how he had met her, how she had helped him so unflinchingly, how he had been bewildered by her lack of fear. And he realised this actuality left him horror-struck. What if she helped someone in this manner once more? What if they were not so kind? 

This is how he justified his need to remain in her orbit: that his vigilance was the only way to keep her safe from all lingering dangers, but even as the words circled his mind, a deep, gnawing doubt took root. Was he truly only here to protect her? Jason knew better, a heinous selfishness had been sown, and he stayed because he could not bear the notion of parting with her. Could he ever atone for how these mistakes had already placed her in harm’s way? The weight of that guilt threatened to crush him, but he could not walk away now; he was in too deep.

It happened with a shift of fabric. A flash of his skin. A scar.

They were in her kitchen. She had been making him breakfast. Jason, barefoot and groggy, was pretending not to enjoy the way she fussed over the frying pans. He had reached for something on the top shelf, muttering under his breath about her terrible organisational choices. Y/N had laughed and leant against the counter, trying not to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

Then the hem lifted.

Just a little. A second, maybe less. But time had a strange way of stretching in moments like this, in moments that mattered.

The scar was thin and brutal, a memory carved into his flesh. Indented above the waistband of his jeans, angled on his side. She remembered it too well. The jagged line. The way this shiny white mark had gleamed underneath blood-soaked skin, beneath dour body armour…

Her breath caught.

She did not mean to gasp. It was soft. Barely audible. But it was enough.

Jason froze.

Then, akin to a fiend caught suspended within a spotlight, his hand dropped from the shelf and yanked the shirt down with quiet, desperate precision. He met her gaze.

But it was too late.

She had seen it. And more than that, she recognised it; he could discern familiarity as it flooded her perception. 

He moved toward her, slow and measured, but stopped over a metre short. He already knew what was written across her face, he had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Their eyes locked, though neither of them shifted.

Silence bloomed between them, vast, tense and electric. Though not empty. It was full of all the acts and secrets he had not disclosed to her. Visions of the alleyway, of blood and heavy breaths, the weight of him leaning against her to stay upright, and her hands pressing gauze against the cuts that circled that familiar scar.

‘You remember.’ He spoke quietly.

It was not framed as a question, it was a statement, an observation. 

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘That night,’ she whispered. ‘The one in the alley.’

He nodded once. Just once. Nothing theatrical. Nothing dramatic. But it felt like the earth beneath them had shifted.

Red Hood.

It all slotted into place, the bruises, the silence, the way he would flinch ever so slightly when she would reach for a part of him he did not want seen. She had known he carried secrets. Had made peace with the fact that some parts of him were locked behind years of pain and choices she might never fully comprehend.

But this… this was different.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she murmured, not out of anger, but the truth felt heavy against her tongue. Like it had waited too long to be spoken aloud.

Jason’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to lose this.’ He motioned around them, motioned towards her.

‘This?’ she echoed, almost hollow.

He looked upon her as though she were deserving of reverence, as though he could scarcely believe she was his to hold, yet, even now, his manner was crumpled with wretched trepidation. Jason awaited her outburst, anticipating the command to leave; he could not bear the weight of her silence.

‘You. This place. The quiet. The version of me that you know.’ He added. 

She stared at him, truly stared, and realised something terrifying: she had known. Maybe not consciously, not in the way of facts, names and alter-egos, but within her bones. In the way he moved. The way he disappeared. In the weight he bore like a shroud, constricting him with every breath.

And she had loved him anyway.

The hood, the violence, the vigilante beneath her kitchen light, none of it overwrote the man who made her tea when she could not sleep. The man who listened to her gush about books and could recall her favourite lines. Who kissed her like she was something he did not think he deserved, and treated her like she was the only real thing in a world full of spectres; Y/N was sure this was what he told himself. 

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke again.

‘You didn’t have to be someone else to be wanted, I hope you know that.’

He closed his eyes, and she watched as something in him fractured, not like breaking glass, but like old tension unravelling; she could see his apprehension flow out from beneath his skin.

‘I know,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘But I didn’t know how to be him… and still be this.’

She stepped forward. One pace. Two. Slow. Careful. As if approaching something transient.

Jason flinched, not quite pulling away, not quite reaching out. A lifetime of rejection was hardwired into his muscle memory. Though he caught himself before he could move away, standing rigid as she closed the space between them.

Her hand found his, warm and steady. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Jason could not believe that something so simple could feel so profound.

‘You’re simply you, boyfriend by day and regrettably, vigilante by night. Knowing this won’t change how I think of you,’ she affirmed. Then she tilted her head, thoughtful, and spoke once more.

‘Though… it may just heighten my anxiety levels. Knowing you’re out there.’

And for the first time since that fateful night in the alley, Jason let himself believe that maybe this could work. 

Jason felt it before he understood it, like the first rays of sun on his back after a winter that had lasted far too long. A warmth he had not asked for. Had not expected. It crept into his system uninvited, compelling and unfamiliar, thawing places he had long since numbed for survival.

It struck him suddenly, not like a realisation, but like a tempest. He thought he had not wanted it. He did not trust it. But it was there all the same, pressing against his ribs, blooming beneath his skin.

Love.

It was not loud. It was not cinematic. It was not even convenient. It arrived in the middle of a quiet evening, while she was brushing her teeth, half-asleep, one of his old shirts covering her frame, bare legs beneath the hem, humming something tuneless under her breath. A song he did not recognise.

The bathroom door was ajar. Lamp light filtered in behind her, soft and pale, painting the air gold. She was swaying gently where she stood, oblivious to the weight of his stare. And Jason, standing there in the threshold, rooted to the spot, watched her like she was something too precious for this world. As though she might flicker and vanish if he exhaled too harshly.

And in that moment, watching her in that domestic stillness, he could believe, even just for a breath, that the world was not a place of carnage. That outside the window, it was not broken. That pain was not inevitable. That this could last.

But the thought brought with it a sharp, biting panic.

It was in this moment that he knew he loved her.

His body tensed, his mind retreating into old reflexes. Not to run, not literally. He could never leave her. But something within him tried to pull away, to armour up, to prepare for the moment when this would inevitably be ripped from him.

Because that is what always happened. Moments like this, soft, perfect, undeserved, were fleeting in his world. They were the eye of the storm, not the end of it.

He did not deserve this. And even if he did, the world had a cruel way of taking beautiful things and turning them to ash.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, stilled, and turned toward him. Her eyes met his. Sleepy, soft, utterly unguarded. A small smear of toothpaste clung to the corner of her lip, and yet she looked at him like she could see through him. Not with fear or judgment, just mild concern and a gentle curiosity.

‘You okay?’ she asked, voice thick with sleep, amused by the way he loomed in the doorway like he had stumbled into a scene too fragile to touch.

It disarmed him. Utterly.

Jason swallowed hard. After everything he had seen, everything he had survived, the Lazarus Pit, the alleys, the gunfire and betrayal, he was not sure he had ever been less okay. And yet, standing there in her bathroom doorway, heart thundering like he had just survived a firefight, all he could do was step forward.

He did not speak, not at first. He just reached for her and kissed her temple, soft and fleeting, like the moment itself. It was not meant to answer her question. It was not meant to fix the chaos unravelling inside his chest. It was just the only thing he could offer that was not ruin.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Just tired.’

But it was a lie.

He was not tired, he was reeling.

That night, he did not sleep. Not because he was unable, but because he would not. He lay in her bed, curled beside her, her breath slow and even against his collarbone. One of her arms was draped across his ribs, anchoring him with a kind of warmth he did not dare disturb.

He memorised it. Every part of her.

The cadence of her breath. The shape that her hand made against his chest. The way she murmured in her sleep. He memorised her like a man convinced the morning would seize her from his grasp. Like this was all a dream and he would wake back in Gotham’s dirt-streaked alleys, alone, masked, and untouched by her grace.

But she was real.

And for now, it was enough.

Y/N was stitching him up again, hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, his skin cold under her touch. She sat cross-legged before him, knees meeting his.

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ Y/N murmured. It was not the first time she had said this, and it would certainly not be the last. Her sorrow clung to her like a second skin; he would never stop hurting himself and, by extension, hurting her. Her fingers twitched, and she forced them steady. 

Jason did not answer her. What would he tell her? Definitely, not the truth; she would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that she cared; he could not resist the temptation. It was how they had met, it was why he had allowed himself to grow close to her. Jason did not believe she could love a man like him, but when he felt her gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.  

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned her face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’  

And then, something unspooled. It was akin to a thread that had been pulled taut for too long, it snapped under the tension. Jason sighed.  

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you…’ He looked into her eyes, gaze piercing, willing her to see the truth of it.  

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. 

‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere she did not grace; the very notion made him ill.  

She stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work. He was not looking for a response, only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But she gave him one anyway.  

‘I love you, too.’ She had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching her lips, he might have missed it. His breath caught, not in fear, but in awe, as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.  

Her words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin, like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.  

He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart jolted.  

She silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing her head against his shoulder. After a short while, she shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment. He felt that same electricity once more, humming under her touch. 

Her hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message she was trying to convey, what she was trying to have him understand.  

Once again, Jason did not sleep at night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

We saw small glimpses of domestic Jason here. Why is it everything I want in life? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @aidansloth

[omnitrash]

I’m loving the self aware dmc!

I can’t help but imagine how funny it would be tho if reader modded the game. Like the characters expect things to go as usual but suddenly Dante is in a maid dress, Vergil has the plastic chair and Nero is shirtless or smth.

Like their trying to keep a straight face and act according ten script but Dante is a few moments away from breaking at seeing Vergil sitting ominously on a plastic lawn chair with the Yamato now also changed to look like an anime body pillow.

You’re so right anon. And thank you so much for the idea!! So, once again, enjoy everyone!!

—————————————————————————

Self Aware Dmc! - Mods!

‘_’ - thoughts

“_” dialogue

You’d never thought about using mods, and neither did the cast think you would. It wasn’t until you a friend of yours convinced you to and helped you install them that you managed to do so and once you did, the cast noticed a few…interesting changes. Like for example:

“…Dante…why are you in a maid dress??” Nero asked, staring at his uncle in great confusion as they met outside Urizen’s throne while ignoring Lady and Trish laughing at them. He wasn’t wearing that in the last time you started the game started, was he??

“You tell me, kid…why are you in a wedding dress? Did ‘ya leave Kyrie and the little sweetheart at the altar?” The younger son of Sparda shot back with a smirk, though he was just as confused as anyone else. Why a maid dress of all things?! And why was the shirt so fucking short?!

…though he could admit, the thigh highs suited him…maybe his little sweetheart’s sense of style wasn’t all that bad. Not that he doubted them.

“Oh shut up, old man. At least my dress looks better. You look like a stripper” Nero sneered, huffing as he fixed the sweetheart collar of his dress. He didn’t know how he’d fight in this stupid gown but he guess it wasn’t that bad. At least it wasn’t ugly…he just didn’t want to think about Nico’s reaction to this.

Meanwhile, V was struggling to deal with his familiars. Griffon specifically because the stupid bird wouldn’t stop laughing at him.

“BAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! Nice outfit, doll! HA-!!” The bird guffawed, much to the man’s embarrassment. He supposed it wasn’t bad, the outfit itself was rather elegant…in a dollish sense. Lolita, was it? The black and white dress was frilly but oddly elegant and refined. The parasol it included wasn’t so awful either…it suited his style…if he was a woman.

Of course, Lady and Trish weren’t off the hook either but their outfits weren’t as embarrassing to wear as it was for the three men. The two women were dressed in suits, with Lady having the sleeves of her dress shirt rolled up and Trish fully keeping her outfit in a more classier way. You really had a knack for playing dress up, didn’t you?

“Lo-…looking good Dante…” Lady snickered, barely calming down from her laughing fit as Trish smirked in the behind her.

“She’s right y’know? The little spark didn’t do half bad with our outfits” Trish pointed out with an amused huff, fixing her gold tie as she adjusted her collar.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Laugh it up you two” The legendary devil hunter grumbled before letting out a sigh and picking up Rebellion. “Welp, no use in thinking too much of this. We got a show to run” Dante sighed, ignoring Nero’s protests in the back as the game picked off from where you left off.

—————————————————————————

The game was almost over, and boy was Dante tired. Fighting in this maid dress was…something. The small heels didn’t help either. But at this point, he couldn’t help but wonder if his brother would be wearing something too.

‘Welp, I’m almost at the top anyway…guess I’ll find out soon enough’ He thought, walking up to the top of the demonic tree before seeing his silhouette in the distance.

“Yo Vergil! Your portal opening days are over!…Give me the Yama-“ He stopped himself as he finally registered his brother’s appearance.

First of all, Vergil was sitting on a plastic lawn chair unlike the small throne he made of his own originally, he was holding a body pillow of some anime girl instead of the Yamato and to top it all of? He was wearing a bunny suit. Bunny ears, tail, heels, fishnets stockings and all.

Before Dante could say a word -like both brothers knew he would- Vergil quickly adjusted the games code so that the current cutscene would continue like normal for you. And just in time too because as soon as he did, Dante burst out laughing.

“HA- what?! What are you wearing there, big bro?! Gonna hop on over here?! Gonna pillow fight me to death?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Dante guffawed, now completely losing any embarrassment he felt over wearing this silly maid outfit. Especially after seeing what his brother was wearing.

“Shut up. What about you, huh? Going to sweep me off with a little broom, little brother? Clean up my mess like a good little maid?” Vergil sneered, though he himself was horribly embarrassed. This stupid suit didn’t cover much of anything! Just what were you thinking with these mods?! The fact that everyone else wasn’t spared from these outfits changes like him was the only thing that helped him power through this…he much preferred the black dress he had as V. At least he was properly covered in that.

“Oh fuck off, I look amazing. You’re just jealous of me” Dante smirked, though he was a bit irked from his remarks.

“Let’s fight-“

“Let’s fight!-“

“aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-“

And after a few failed attempts of fighting and dying to Vergil -fighting him with both Dante and then Nero (who got sent a raised eyebrow from his father and in return, got a muffled guffaw from his son after seeing their respective outfits), and as the credits rolled, all they heard from you was-

“…I have nothing to say for myself. I don’t regret a single thing and I would do this again…just like I’d do them in those outfits. They’re so fine, good lord-“

….you really had no shame, did you?

But they couldn’t help but wonder how’d you look in these outfits instead…they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands to themselves, they fear-

[dramagodesss]

nine : maybank attack

playin' the players

outside your lecture hall, the air was thick with late afternoon heat and the lazy buzz of campus life slowing down. students poured out of the building like water through a sieve, conversations echoing off brick and glass.

you pushed through the crowd, backpack slung over one shoulder, when you spotted him.

jj maybank.

leaning against a bike rack like it was a throne, baseball cap backwards, white tee a little too tight, like it wanted to piss you off. his grin appeared the second your eyes met, that signature spark already dancing in his gaze.

"lookin’ studious, winslow,” he called, straightening up as you approached.

you slowed. “what are you doing here?”

“waiting for you. duh.”

you raised a brow, skeptical. “why?”

he shrugged, stepping in beside you like it was nothing. “felt like walking you to wherever you’re going. maybe I just missed the smell of developer fluid and crushed dreams.”

you snorted. “darkroom?”

“darkroom.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you know it’s not glamorous, right? it’s red lights, weird chemicals, and absolute silence. not exactly a date.”

he gave you a full grin. “still sounds like more fun than whatever topper and kelce are doing.”

you sighed, adjusting your grip on your bag. “fine. but don’t touch anything.”

jj held up his hands. “i make no promises.”

you narrowed your eyes. “maybank.”

“what?”

“i’m serious. don’t even breathe on the drying prints.”

he mock-gasped. “me? a menace to the art world? never.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him from following you into the art building, into the dim hallway that led to the red-lit sanctuary of the darkroom.

the door closed behind you with a soft thud, and everything felt a little quieter. a little closer. and jj, with his golden boy grin and restless fingers, suddenly looked very out of place among the silence and shadows.

“whoa,” he muttered, eyes adjusting to the glow. “this is kinda… spooky. hot spooky. y’know?”

you smirked, already pulling your negatives from your bag. “welcome to my world, maybank.”

he leaned on the counter beside you, watching with interest as you clipped the film into place.

“so,” he said softly, after a beat. “do i get to see the ones you took of me?”

you paused, hands stilling mid-motion.

you didn’t look at him right away. instead, you clipped the last strip of film into place, letting it hang gently as you reached for your gloves.

“depends,” you said, voice light, “you want to see how you look through my lens?”

jj leaned in a little, voice a low hum. “always wondered that, actually.”

you glanced over, finally meeting his gaze. it was softer in here, everything muted in that eerie red glow, like secrets could be whispered and swallowed by the shadows.

“they’re not perfect,” you said. “you moved too much. couldn’t stay still.”

he grinned. “i’m a wild spirit, remember?”

you gave him a look. “you’re a pain in the ass.”

“same difference.”

you exhaled a laugh, reaching past him to grab a sheet of photo paper. your arm brushed his chest as you did, barely a touch—but jj noticed. his head tilted, something flickering in his eyes.

“y’know,” he said quietly, “i like this. seeing you like this. focused. a little bossy. kinda hot.”

you raised a brow, pretending not to flinch under his stare. “you flirt like a high schooler.”

“and you like it.”

you shook your head, setting everything into place for the first exposure.

you shook your head, setting everything into place for the first exposure.

“so serious,” jj murmured, his voice closer now. too close.

you didn’t look at him. “because this is literally a part of my grade.”

“and yet,” he said, like it was some ancient secret, “you still let me in here. alone. with all your precious work.”

“don’t make me regret it.”

you bent slightly over the enlarger, focused on lining things up. but he didn’t move. didn’t even pretend to go back to leaning on the counter. you could feel the heat of him behind you, the tension crackling like static in the dark.

“do you ever stop talking?” you muttered.

“depends,” he said softly. “do you want me to?”

you turned to glare at him—but he was already right there. barely a breath between you. and before you could say anything, before the warning or comeback could make it past your lips—

he kissed you.

not some drive-by peck. not a cocky smirk pressed to your mouth and gone again.

this was slower. longer. a little surprised by itself.

his hands didn’t go anywhere, not at first. he just leaned in, head tilted, lips warm and sure against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. like he was taking his time—because he could.

and god, maybe it was the glow of the red lights, or the smell of chemicals, or just the fact that it was jj—but you kissed him back.

your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. his breath hitched when you leaned in just enough to deepen it, the kiss dragging into something lazier, a little messier. still careful, but barely.

when you finally pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded, lips parted like he hadn’t meant for it to go that far but wasn’t even close to regretting it.

you didn’t move away. not yet. the air between you buzzed like a secret.

jj grinned, breathless and boyish. “guess that’s what happens when i shut up.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to cool the heat blooming across your cheeks. “you’re impossible.”

“yeah,” he said, watching you with that same gleam. “but you like it.”

you turned back to the enlarger again, ignoring the way your heart pounded.

oh you were fucked.

rafe's phone

taglist : @beewritess @davinashifts333 @lanasangelsz @littlefreak-liz @drewstarkeyswife0 @lalaloopsieparty @ethanthequeefqueen @wtfisastiles @angelicameron @moth-feeet @drewstarkeyswife-7 @hiphopstar @cokewithcameron @cameronsbabydoll @chillgal135 @ayy1234567 @pogueprincesa @isinpfortvdmen @iheartrosalia @luvrclub @yesshewrites1 @sideboobrry11 @espressh0e @mysticbby2009 @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @hwaaholic @aves05 @thecolorpearl05 @dreamybabbyy @wintercrows @lesbiana2 @chillgal135 @verycherryblossomhideout

[smileysuh]

rogue

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Lay back,” he instructs next. “I’m going to take your panties off.” Your heart races in your chest as you realize what he’s about to do, and you fall onto your elbows on the hood of his car, breathing heavily as Wonwoo leans down and begins to press kisses up your bare legs. His fingers hook in your panties, and he drags them down, exposing your hot core to the cool evening air. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, and as Wonwoo positions your thighs over his broad shoulders, you think you might actually faint from the tension.

tw/cw. protected sex, pussy eating, blow job, deep throating, swallowing, oral (f/m receiving), exhibitionism (sex at a lover's lookout on the hood of his car), multiple sex scenes, Wonwoo's broad shoulders #confirmed, teasing through panties, hair pulling, breast worship, mutual orgasm, night terrors, mentions of a bad past, cuddling, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 15.5k I collab. 70's collab

🍭 aus. 70's au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I've been missing Wonwoo, and when his spot in the collab was open, I figured why not?

It’s an hour into the date and you already wish you’d stayed at home. A walk through the town followed by bowling had sounded like a great way to get to know the location you’ve just moved to- however, the guy showing you around is something of a wet towel.

He looks cute enough, but then again, your housemate had promised he would. His name is Carter, and he’s just over six feet tall, with blonde hair, a worn jean jacket, and a nice smile. You’ve tried to give him the benefit of doubt, you really have, but there are some guys you simply can’t force a spark with, and unfortunately, he’s one of them.

When you reach the bowling alley, Carter holds the door open for you, and you flash him a small smile, entering the space. 

“Are you excited?” your roommate, Mary, asks. She links her arm with yours, stepping away from her own date to give the boys a moment to talk by the front door while she drags you further into the establishment.

“For bowling?” You look around. “Sure.”

“Carter’s nice, isn’t he?” she presses.

You sigh. “Sure.” 

Movement catches your attention, and your gaze shifts to a man working behind the shoe counter. He’s in a dark green sweater, and his black hair shines in the light of the bowling alley. Now he is someone who interests you, and you find yourself tugging on Mary.

“Let's grab shoes,” you tell her. 

“Welcome to the bowling alley,” the worker greets you with a smile, and you find that his face is even more handsome while lit up with a friendly expression. “Have you two been here before?”

“I have,” Mary answers for you. “But she’s new to town, so this is her first time.” Your housemate nudges your shoulder and you swallow thickly, nodding.

“It can’t be much different from the bowling alleys in my last city,” you offer.

“You’re right about that,” the pretty man nods. “What size shoe can I grab you?”

You and Mary give him your sizes and he leans down, retrieving the shoes from under the counter. When he passes them over to you, your fingers briefly touch, and your gaze darts up to meet his own. 

There’s a very brief pause, a frozen moment that feels like forever, and then he’s tugging his fingers away. 

“How much do we owe you?” Mary asks. “For a game?”

“You two are on a double date, aren’t you?” the man asks.

“How could you tell?” you laugh, feeling a little dejected that being out with Carter might dissuade this pretty man in front of you from seeing you as a girl who’s on the market, which you most definitely are.

“I can always tell these sorts of things,” the worker grins. “I’ll let your dates pay when they stop talking by the door and come for shoes.”

“You’re new in town too, right?” Mary asks suddenly, eying the man behind the counter up and down.

“How could you tell?”

“I feel like I’d remember you,” Mary insists. “Besides, most of the guys in this town would have let us pay. You strike me as a good one, someone not from here.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the worker nods.

“What’s your name?” you ask suddenly, feeling the urge to know it, if even to know him better.

“Wonwoo,” he says, and suddenly coming out tonight feels like the best possible thing you could have done with your time. 

You tell him your own name, and he smiles softly at you.

“Enjoy your date,” Wonwoo muses, nodding to the two men who have now come to grab their own shoes.

It sucks to be reminded that you are, in fact, on a date with Carter even while partially drooling over Wonwoo. With a small sigh, you follow Mary to one of the free alleys. There are new mechanized automatic scorer machines, and Mary types in the nickname ‘Baby’ for herself, before nudging you to write in your own. 

“Choose something cute,” she tells you, watching over your shoulder.

You punch in the nickname ‘Angel’ and she nods, satisfied. 

“Now for Carter, put in Big Guy, and my date should be named Handsome,” Mary insists.

“Are you sure they won’t want to choose their own nicknames?” you ask.

“Who cares what they want?” she shrugs. “I think they’ll like these names.”

With a sigh, you do as you’re told. Your dates approach, and you all slip on your shoes, slotting your discarded runners under the bench you’re sitting on while Mary stands up to bowl first.

It’s a nice establishment, and there’s a Beatles record playing that gives the space a nice ambiance. However, no matter how hard you try, your attention keeps slipping back to Wonwoo.

He’s seated in his little work table station, and you catch him staring back at you a few times when you try to casually look over your shoulder at him. 

When Carter moves closer,  resting his arm around you, your gaze is quick to dart to Wonwoo, who laughs, looking down at the makeshift paper airplane he’s playing with in his hands.

You get the sense that he’s amused by your interactions with Carter, who lays on the affection more and more as the date continues. In fact, Carter even stands up to show you how to bowl properly, and despite your attempts to squash his so-called ‘help’ he still ends up flattening against your back and guiding you on how to hold your arm when you toss the ball down the lane.

You’re starting to have enough of Carter, and the temptation to go talk to the person you’re really interested in gets the better of you. “Do you guys want drinks?” you ask, addressing your foursome.

“A coke!” Mary chips. 

“Make that two,” says her date.

“How about four?” Carter asks, pulling out his wallet to hand you a bill. “Unless you want me to come with you to grab them?”

“No, it’s your turn to bowl. I’ll manage,” you assure him.

He gives you a look that tells you he doesn’t quite believe you, but you’re already running away with his money in your hand. Your eyes are fixed on Wonwoo, who straightens up as you approach.

“Did I hear something about four cokes?” he asks.

“You have good ears,” you muse, nodding. “And yeah, four cokes sounds good.”

“Coming right up,” he smiles, heading from the shoe area to the location they keep beverages. There’s another worker in that section, but he’s so busy playing crossword he doesn’t even look up when Wonwoo begins messing around and grabbing glasses.

“So…” you watch the gorgeous man work, enjoying the way he pushes up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. “Looks like we’re both new in town.”

“Looks that way,” he agrees. 

“How are you liking it?”

“You know, the Pacific Northwest is never somewhere I thought I’d end up,” he admits, looking at you while filling the cups with coke. 

“Really?” You assess him up and down. “Are you not a big fan of trees, mist, and small mountain towns?”

“Not a fan of mosquitos,” Wonwoo grins.

“Okay, now that I can understand,” you laugh. 

“How’d you end up here?”

“I’m not sure,” you say honestly. “I’d driven through this place a few times, and when I decided I needed to get away from my parents, it felt like a good intermediary location.”

“So you’re not planning on staying here forever?” Wonwoo cocks his head.

“Definitely not.”

“Does that big guy you’re on a date with realize this isn’t a forever thing?” 

You let out a small laugh, turning to look at Carter, who is glaring daggers at Wonwoo. “My date’s not even a this week thing,” you admit.

“No?” At this point, you think Wonwoo is purposefully taking his time filling the cups, and you enjoy getting to chat with him. “Why’s that?”

“He’s not my type.”

“He’s tall, blonde, buys you things, holds doors open, offers to show you how to bowl…” Wonwoo counts up Carter’s virtues. “Sounds like the kind of guy any girl in this town would die for.”

“And you’re an expert on what women want?” You cock a brow at the worker. 

“I guess not,” Wonwoo admits. “You tell me then, what’s your type?”

You think on it for a moment, then grin. “Cute guys, with dark hair, who wear soft looking sweaters, and work in bowling alleys.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Wonwoo simply stares at you. Then he swallows thickly, and you watch his adam’s apple bob with effort. “Can I take you out sometime?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’ll just need to grab your landline number-” Wonwoo begins to explain, but you’re already reaching for a napkin.

“Pen?”

“One sec,” Wonwoo turns and plucks the pencil out of his coworker’s hand, and the man looks up from his crossword in shock. “I’ll give this right back,” Wonwoo promises before handing it to you.

You scribble down your landline number. “I live in a house with two other girls, so you’ll have to ask for me by name,” you explain, signing the napkin just in case he forgets.

“You got it,” Wonwoo grins, accepting your number when you’re finished with it. 

“I work evenings,” you explain, “so call in the afternoon, okay?”

“Definitely.” He grabs two of the drinks. “Now let me help you carry these back to your friends.”

“You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” you smile, picking up the other two cups and beginning to walk back to your bowling lane while Wonwoo follows.

“Sometimes,” he muses. “I try.”

It’s been less than twenty four hours since Wonwoo met you and he’s already feeling eager to call. His shift is going slow, and as noon rolls around, he finds himself inching closer to the telephone. 

The napkin with your digits is practically burning a hole into his pocket and he pulls it out gingerly, careful not to damage it in any way.

“I’m gonna take a five minute break,” Wonwoo calls to his workmate, who simply nods while completing his crossword. Wonwoo doubts anyone will come in while he does this, but at the same time, he’s not looking to get fired from this shitty job anytime soon.

He begins to dial your number into the phone that hangs on the wall behind the till, and when he’s done, he presses the handset to his ear. His fingers begin to play with the wirey chord, and he looks down at his shoes while it rings.

“Hello?” a feminine voice answers, and Wonwoo is quick to realize it’s not you on the other end of the line.

“Uh, hi,” Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m calling for y/n?”

“One second,” the girl on the line yells your name loudly and Wonwoo nearly drops the phone from the shrill noise of it all. “Oh, and who’s calling?”

“Tell her it’s the bowling alley guy,” Wonwoo says dumbly. He’s not sure if you’ll remember his name, and he wants to make things easy for you.

“Bowling alley guy?!” The woman sounds excited. “I met you last night! I knew y/n was flirting with you- I knew it!”

“Uh… yeah?” Wonwoo’s really not sure what to say to women most days, let alone during a conversation like this one.

“Poor Carter,” the woman sighs. “He’s going to be devastated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Wonwoo lies. He thinks it feels like the right thing to say, so he says it. 

“Mary, give me the phone.” Now that is your voice, and Wonwoo perks up, holding his breath while he hears a murmured exchange. “Wonwoo?”

“Hey,” he smiles. “Uh, yeah, it’s me.”

“You work fast, don’t you.” He can hear the grin in your own voice and it makes his widen.

“I’m not the kind of guy who plays games or anything,” Wonwoo tells you honestly. “I was really happy to get your number, so I thought I’d call.”

“I’m glad you did.”

There’s a pause while Wonwoo builds up his courage.

He’s done many things in his life, things that people would say were much harder than asking a girl out, and yet, he finds himself becoming tongue tied just talking to you. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and counting to three, like they’d taught him how to do in the military before doing anything that might be considered drastic.

“Are you still interested in going out sometime?” he asks. 

“I’d love to.”

His heart skips a beat.

“What were you thinking of doing together?” you question.

He had definitely not thought that far ahead, but he can’t back down now. He scrambles for date ideas, and the first one in his head is, “How about I take you to a roller rink.”

“A roller rink, huh?” You let out a small laugh and he worries he’s suggested the wrong thing.

“We can do something else if you want,” he immediately back pedals.

“No, a roller rink is good,” you assure him. “But I can’t promise I’ll be any good at it.”

“Well… you can hold onto me if you’re afraid you’re going to fall.”

“You know what? I just might,” you giggle again and the sound makes his entire body buzz with happy energy.

He’d never thought when he moved to this stupid small town in the Pacific Northwest that he’d meet a girl like you, and he hardly even knows you yet. 

Wonwoo truly can’t explain his attraction to you- it’s simply a feeling he has. Sure, you’re gorgeous, but there’s something deeper, something he can’t put his finger on. He wants to figure you out, and he can’t wait to discover what makes you tick.

“When are you free?” Wonwoo asks.

“Well, it’s Monday now, let me just check my schedule again,” you’re silent for a moment except the sound of a paper flipping. “I generally work Friday through Tuesday, so how about we say Wednesday or Thursday?”

“Wednesday works,” Wonwoo says, pulling out a pen to write it into his own schedule book he keeps in his back pocket.

“Are you that eager to see me?” 

He can hear your smile again, and he can visualize it in his minds eye. God, you’re beautiful.

“Maybe,” he admits. “For a town that mostly gets rain, it’s nice to see a little sunshine every now and again.”

The line is quiet, and he worries again if he’s said the wrong thing. Then you let out a shaky laugh. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Not usually,” Wonwoo says seriously.

“No?” you tease. “So you don’t use your job as a place to hit on girls?��

“Never.”

“That’s good to hear.” 

“What time should we meet? Or do you want me to pick you up?” Wonwoo is simply eager to get the details solidified in his notebook, to get things written in stone so to speak.

“I live close to the roller rink, so how about we meet there? Does seven sound okay?”

“Works for me,” he nods, eyes shifting to the front door of the bowling alley where a customer has just walked in. “Look, I gotta go-”

“Me too, have a good shift Wonwoo. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

He can’t fucking wait.

You’d chosen one of your cutest outfits. Mary had even whistled when you left your room in the denim pantsuit number, her eyes skimming down to the flared pant legs. “So this is what you wear when you really like a guy,” she’d mused. 

You’d done a small twirl, showing off how great the pants make your bum look, and she’d warned you that if Wonwoo got handsy, he’d have her to deal with.

“He’ll be fine,” you’d assured her. “He’s a nice guy.”

“You don’t even know him,” she’s pointed out, and you suppose there’s truth to that. However, at the same time, you just feel like Wonwoo’s not someone who’s a threat, not to you anyways.

He seems like a nice guy, a genuinely nice guy, and excitement surges through you as you make your way to the roller rink.

Wonwoo meets you outside, and you note the way his eyes widen as he looks you up and down. He has the decency to make the motion quick, and you think it must be an automatic reaction, one he’s even ashamed of, because his cheeks flare a pretty pink colour.

He’s absolutely adorable. 

Like Carter had, Wonwoo pulls out all the stops. He holds the door open to the rink for you, and pays the small fee to enter. The two of you trade your shoes over and he even bends down to help you tie up the laces on your roller blades, checking to make sure they’re not too tight.

“Have you don’t this before?” he asks as you rise on shaky legs.

“Once,” you admit, noting the steadiness he has in his form. “Have you?”

“Never, but I’ve got good balance,” Wonwoo smiles softly at you.

“I’ll say,” you laugh, shocked at how well he’s holding himself up while you’re wobbling already. 

“Here,” he holds out his hand, and you take it, grateful at the extra stability you gain by having him next to you. The two of you make your way to the side of the roller rink and you watch couples going around in circles. 

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” you sigh, feeling overwhelmed by the speed and ease at which the other people are moving.

“You can do it,” Wonwoo assures you. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Promise?” You squeeze his hand.

“Promise.” He squeezes yours back, and then he takes a step onto the rink, looking back at you.

You take a deep breath before following him, grabbing at his arm with your free hand. The rink is much more slippery than the carpeted floors had been, and you marvel again at Wonwoo’s balance.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” you ask in shock.

“Positive,” Wonwoo grins.

“I don’t believe you,” you laugh, letting him pull you along as you get the hang of being on roller skates.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Wonwoo muses, turning so he can hold both your hands. He’s moving backward now, and you think he must be lying to you. “You just have to focus on your feet.”

“While you focus on what? You’re skating backwards!”

“I’m focusing on you,” Wonwoo says softly, flashing you a small smile. 

“You and your charming words again,” you shake your head, enjoying the way he makes you feel.

“Only for you,” Wonwoo muses, guiding you around the roller rink. “Look, now that you’re not thinking about it so hard, you’re doing better.”

“I’m doing better because I’m holding both of your hands and you’re steadying me,” you counter.

“Take your small win,” Wonwoo advises you. 

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He only laughs at your antics. “Do you think you can do it with one hand again?”

You consider letting go of his fingers, and part of you doesn’t want to, but you know he should probably be skating next to you again, watching where he’s going, so you concede. “Fine.” 

“How often do people usually skate for?” Wonwoo asks suddenly.

“Are you bored already?” you laugh. “We just got here!”

“Not bored,” he smiles. “Just thinking that it would be nice to go grab milkshakes after this.”

“That would be nice,” you admit. “How about this, I’ll tell you when my legs start to hurt and we can go then? Or if I fall, I think we should call it quits.”

“Deal,” Wonwoo laughs. “Although, I hope you know, I’d never let you fall.”

He squeezes your hand gently, and your heart thumps loudly in your chest.

Wonwoo is such a charmer, but you don’t mind one bit.

You find yourself in a diner not an hour later, and your thighs are burning from the roller skating exercise you’d not been used to. “Are you more into chocolate, or vanilla?” Wonwoo asks suddenly, his gaze fixed on the menu in front of him. 

“I like them both, what do you think we should get?” 

He looks up. “You mean… we’re going to share one?”

“Were you thinking of ordering two?”

“I mean…” his skin flushes that pretty shade of pink and he lets out a small cough. “I uh…”

“We can order our own,” you tell him, wanting to smooth the miscommunication over. 

“No, we should share one,” he insists, looking determined. “Whatever flavour you want.”

“Are you sure?” you cock a brow at him, and he gives you a curt nod, jaw set.

The waitress shows up and you order your favourite milkshake. Wonwoo fiddles with the menu that’s been left on the table and you take the opportunity to assess him.

He’s a bit of an enigma. 

He’d seemed so confident when you’d first met him at the bowling alley, but now that you’re on a date with him, he has these shy moments. He’s endearing, and you can feel yourself falling for him, which is kind of scary to admit to yourself.

The milkshake is set between you, two straws sticking out of the whipped cream topping. 

“Thank you,” Wonwoo says politely to the waitress, who simply nods and scurries away, giving you some privacy for your date.

You and Wonwoo move toward the straws at the same time, and your hands brush as you both reach for the cold glass.

“Oh,” Wonwoo immediately retracts his hand. “Sorry, you go first.”

“You’re cute,” you tell him. “Don’t you want to sip together?”

“Can we do that?”

“Of course, silly,” you laugh. “Come on, lean in.”

He eyes you as if you’re tricking him, but after a breath, he follows through. You both lean over the table, and you reach for your straw, bringing it to your lips while Wonwoo does the same.

He’s so close to you, and he’s even prettier at this short distance. His eyelashes are particularly enthralling, and his dark brown eyes look rich and warm in the diner’s light. 

Wonwoo’s gaze dips down, and you watch him try to hide a smile while you both take your first sips of the milkshake.

Then, you’re pulling away again, and Wonwoo’s reaching a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I have to admit,” he sighs, “I don’t do this often.”

“What, date?” you cock your head to the side, assessing him.

“Uh… yeah,” he nods. 

You’re a little shocked at how a guy as cute as he is can get through life without being asked on numerous dates a week. “Are you not looking for a relationship, or…?”

“It’s not that,” Wonwoo assures you, swallowing thickly. “It’s just, my last job made it sort of impossible.” 

“Yeah? And what job was that?” you ask, taking another sip of your milkshake.

Wonwoo lets out another chuckle, but this one isn’t very humorous. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Wow, a mystery boy- it wouldn’t have to do with an underground cartel working out of a bowling alley would it?” you tease.

“Definitely not,” he smiles. 

“Are you really not going to tell me?”

“Not tonight,” he shakes his head, and you realize there’s no use pressing him on this.

“But maybe another night?”

“Maybe,” he nods. 

“Then let's talk about something other than work,” you suggest. “Have you gone fishing around here? I know this town has some really good rivers and lakes in the forest around here.”

“I’m not a fisherman,” he tells you.

“Do you not have the patience for it?”

“Not the patience so much as the willingness to hurt the fish.”

“I’ve heard it doesn't hurt them.”

“Sure you have,” Wonwoo smiles to himself. “Also, I don’t eat fish, so it would be a waste.”

You like getting to know him. He’s a peculiar man, and every detail you find out only makes you more interested.

After your milkshake, Wonwoo had insisted on walking you home. “You never know what creeps are out at night,” he’d told you, wrapping his jacket around your shoulders to protect you from the September air.

You’d talked about books, schooling, hobbies and such, and Wonwoo had been the one asking you the majority of the questions as you’d slowly made your way home. He’s even more secretive than you’d initially realized, and you wonder what details you’re even going to give your friends when you debrief them on the date later.

“So this is mine,” you say when you come to a stop in front of your rental house.

“Can I walk you to your door?”

You look up at your home then back at the pretty man. “I don’t see why not.”

You notice his ears are flushed, and you get a sense that he might try to kiss you. Each step towards your door feels like an eternity, and your heart is racing in your chest. 

Coming to a stop on your doormat, you turn to look at Wonwoo. “I should give you your coat back.”

“Keep it for next time.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” You cock a brow.

“There better be,” he laughs. “Unless.. Unless you don’t want to go out again?”

“I’d love to see you again,” you assure him. Your gaze shifts down to his mouth and you find yourself licking your lip, biting it between your teeth as you wait for him to make a move.

You notice that his eyes are also shifting down, and you hold your breath.

He leans forward-

The door to your home is thrown open and Mary is standing there. 

Wonwoo practically jumps away from you, and Mary grins wickedly. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she smirks.

You sigh. “Mary this is Wonwoo, Wonwoo you’ve met Mary.”

“Right, yeah, of course,” he nods. “How’s your night been?”

“Not as good as yours it looks like,” Mary says sassily. “We’ve been waiting on our third to watch a girls movie, unless she was about to invite you in.”

“Mary,” you whisper a warning.

“Looks like you’ve had no such luck, pal,” Mark laughs. “Thanks for walking her home.” She grabs your hand and tugs you into the house. 

“I’ll call you,” Wonwoo promises. 

You push Mary into the hallway before leaning out the door, getting close to Wonwoo again. “You better,” you smile, a sudden rush of courage surging through you as you lean forward to press your lips to his cheek. “Goodnight.”

He’s smiling as you pull away, and you’re struck by how beautiful he is. “Goodnight,” he echos.

“Get home safe,” you warn.

“I always do.”

You watch him walk away, and he stops on the sidewalk, turning to give you one last wave before you close your door.

“He’s cuter than Mary said,” your third roommate, Jessica, notes from the living room as she watches him head down the street.

“He’s very cute,” you agree, tugging his jacket tighter around your form. 

“Are you two having another date?”

“Yup-” you suddenly realize you’d never gotten his number. Which means Wonwoo truly has complete control of contacting you again.

The jacket still wrapped around you is something like insurance that he will call, but you’re a touch saddened that you’ll have to wait for him to find the time to reach out.

He’s a good one, and you really don’t want to let him off the hook just yet.

“So tell us about your date!” Mary grins, jumping onto the couch. “Is Carter really out of the running?”

“Carter has nothing on Wonwoo,” you laugh. 

“I really don’t see how that’s possible-”

“Mary, if you like Carter so much, you should date him yourself,” you point out. “I don’t know, Wonwoo is just- he’s a good guy. I really enjoyed being out with him. He held me up at the roller rink and we shared a milkshake-”

“That’s original,” Mary scoffs.

“It was cute!” you insist. “I need a bit of cute in my life,” even if he does joke about having to kill you if he tells you about his last job. 

When your phone had rung at noon on Thursday, you’d jumped at the idea it might be Wonwoo, but it had only been the diner you work at, asking if you could cover a shift.

You suppose you need the money, but as you manage the small dinner rush, you find it hard to take your mind off of Wonwoo. You keep replaying the small moments in your head, how he’d held both your hands to help you rollerblade, moving effortlessly backward, or how you’d both leaned in for the milkshake, noses almost touching.

The kiss that could have been feels fresh in your mind, and you’d given Mary a royal talking to about opening the door at the moment she had.

What would he have tasted like if you had kissed him? Would his lips have been as soft as they look? Would he have grabbed your hips and tugged you close to his chest?

You’re so busy thinking about Wonwoo that you almost don’t realize he’s walking past your diner until he comes to a stop, staring at you through the window while you take a couple’s order.

You nearly drop your notepad, only to snap yourself out of it and finish scribbling two burgers with extra cheese. “Can I grab you anything else?” you ask, forcing your gaze to shift to the customers. 

“That’s it for now,” the man smiles, and you scurry off to give the cook the order.

Your back is to the front door of the diner, but when you hear the bell ring, you know what you’ll find when you turn around.

Wonwoo looks a little windswept, and he’s wearing glasses today. 

He looks so handsome you could die.

“Hi,” you smile, approaching him and fidgeting with your apron. 

“Hi,” he grins. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes, usually on Thursdays, which, now that I think of it, didn’t you say you weren’t working tonight?”

“You have a good memory,” you breathe. “I uh, picked up a shift.”

“I’m glad I walked by, I was almost going to skip coming in and get a burger from the joint down the road.”

“Andy’s Burgers?” you ask in shock. “No, no, no, you have to have one of ours. They’re much better.”

“I wasn’t planning on sitting in to eat, but what the hell, can I grab a booth?”

“Of course,” you wave at the open seating. “Anywhere you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo smiles at you, turning to slip into one of the blue and white coloured booths. 

You’re quick to go grab him a menu, and you scurry over, heart racing in your chest. “So how’s your night going?”

“Better now,” he grins. “I actually uh, called you an hour ago, and no one answered-”

“We’re all working tonight,” you muse.

“I’m glad I caught you.” There’s a sincerity in his words and it makes your skin heat. “I probably shouldn’t be asking you about this while you’re at work-”

“Ask anyways.”

“How do you feel about going for a drive on our next date? I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.”

There have been a string of unsolved murders lately, and you’d be lying if you said they weren’t concerning you, but at the same time, the missing women are half a country away, in New York. 

You cock your head, assessing Wonwoo. “Are you sure about that, mister ‘if I told you about my last job I’d have to kill you’?”

“You know what, fair, out of context, that sounds very ominous-”

“I trust you,” you insist. “A drive would be great.”

“How do you feel about Sunday?”

“Sunday works, I get off at eight.”

“Perfect.” Wonwoo plays with the menu in front of him. “Should I pick you up here or at your place?”

“Let’s say eight thirty at my place, I want to get dressed up for you.”

Wonwoo grins, gaze shifting down at the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose, then he eyes you again. “I think you always look pretty.”

“Really? Is this a nice apron?” You tug at the material wrapped around your waist and Wonwoo’s grin widens.

“The nicest apron I’ve ever seen.” 

“I’ll send my manager your regards,” you tease. “What can I get you for dinner?”

“A bacon cheeseburger, please.”

God, you love a man with manners.

“Any drink?”

“Just water, thanks.”

“The burger comes with fries, is ketchup okay?”

“It’s perfect.”

“I’ll be back with your order shortly,” you smile, finishing up on your notepad.

“Take your time,” Wonwoo assures you.

As you move away to the kitchen to put the order in the window, you get the suspicion that Wonwoo’s watching your ass. Hell, you hope he’s checking you out. 

With so few people in the restaurant, and burgers being a fairly fast food menu item, you find yourself serving the couple their dinner in no time. It’s almost torture to not look over at Wonwoo, to know he’s watching you work.

You bring him his water and you take the opportunity to chat with him again. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“I usually wear contacts,” he tells you.

“Right, I heard about that new brand that came out. Are they any good?”

“I could see you pretty well last night with them in,” Wonwoo smiles.

“Good. That outfit was meant to be seen.”

“It sure was.” 

Flattery will get him everywhere- but before you can say anything else, the kitchen bell dings, signifying an order is up. When you turn your head, you see Wonwoo’s burger sitting in the window. “I’ll be right back with your food,” you assure him, scurrying off.

As you’re bringing Wonwoo his plate, a family enters the diner. Your attention is effectively transferred to them, no matter how much you wish you could just watch Wonwoo devour his burger and thirst for him.

The two adults and their three kids are very rowdy, and you bring over some colouring sheets with crayons, as well as a tray of water in plastic cups. Your focus shifts between Wonwoo and the family while they look over the menus, and when they put them down, you head over again, notepad in hand.

By the time you’re done taking their very complicated and long order, Wonwoo’s finishing up his meal, licking his fingers clean in a way that makes you salivate as you run to the kitchen to quickly give the chef the new list of food.

“Can I leave the money on the table?” Wonwoo calls, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“I’ll be right there-”

“I’ve got somewhere to be,” he says, casually tossing a few bills onto the counter. “Thanks, y/n.”

“Bye, Wonwoo.” You hate watching him leave, but as you approach his table, you find he’s left you a very generous tip.

When you head back to the kitchen window, the chef leans through. “You know that guy?” he asks.

“Yeah. I hear he’s a bit of a regular here?”

“Started coming in two months ago,” the chef nods. “He’s a little weird.”

“Weird?” you cock your head to the side, watching the chef flip burgers. “How so?”

“He only ever comes in alone, usually just orders a black coffee, and watches other customers. I don’t know how you talked him into getting a burger today, but… yeah, a little off.”

You assess the chef. While he seems like a good guy, you wonder if there are any other biased reasons he might be rubbed the wrong way by Wonwoo. 

“I think Wonwoo’s just…” you search for the word to defend him, “unique. He’s really nice, when you start to get to know him.”

“I hope you’re right about that,” the chef sighs. “If things don’t work out and you need someone to tell him, or any man, to back off, just let me know.”

“Thanks, chef,” you smile. “I’ll let you know if I need your help.”

You think maybe the chef is simply worried about you as a young woman entering the town’s dating pool with very little experience. 

However, when it comes to Wonwoo, you’re pretty sure you have nothing to worry about.

You’ve decided to wear an orange floral boho style dress for your second date with Wonwoo. It reaches your mid thigh, and when you do a twirl for your roommates, Mary starts to scream about how beautiful you are.

“You’re going to give that boy a heart attack,” Jessica grins.

“Or a boner,” Mary agrees.

“Lets try for both,” you tease, gaze shifting out the front window just in time to see a car pull up. “I think that’s him!”

Your roomates jump up to get a look outside, and Jessica frowns. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t picture him as a 1966 Chrystler Imperial kind of guy.”

“Yeah, for some reason I thought he’d have a nicer muscle car.”

“Don’t be rude,” you remind Jessica. “And to be fair, he did just move here, muscle cars have limited room- I bet he has a car like this for the space.”

“Because you know him so well after only one date,” Mary rolls her eyes.

“You know what?” You grab your keys and head to the door, throwing Wonwoo’s jacket around your shoulders. “I do!”

Without another word to your roommates, you head outside, practically jumping down the steps. Wonwoo’s exited his car by now, and he’s come around to lean against the passenger’s side door, which he opens for you upon approach.

“Hi,” he grins.

“Hi!” you echo, throwing your arms around his shoulders to pull him into a hug.

His hands are hesitant, but they settle on your hips, holding you tighter. You take a deep breath, enjoying the embrace, and his woodsy scent washes over you. 

“So where are we driving to?” you ask when you pull away.

“One of my coworkers said there’s this nice spot, I thought I’d take you there,” Wonwoo suggests. It’s so very vague, and so very Wonwoo. 

“Works for me,” you grin, allowing him to take your hand and help you into the car.

As you close your door, you notice Wonwoo waving at your roommates who are staring from the living room window. Jessica immediately ducks down and you laugh to yourself.

“The girls you live with seem nice,” Wonwoo notes as he enters the driver’s seat.

“They’re alright,” you smile. “Do you have any roommates?”

“No, I live alone.”

“That must be nice.”

“It’s quiet.”

“Are you the kind of guy that likes the quiet?”

Wonwoo considers your question for a moment. “I used to be. But some days, it can be lonely.”

It’s the first time he’s really gotten deep with you. He’s being vulnerable, and your breath catches in your throat.

You reach out and rest your hand on top of his on the gear shift, giving him a gentle squeeze. “If you ever need company, you know where to find me.”

“I might take you up on that,” Wonwoo flashes a small smile, but you can tell it’s an aversion tactic. You don’t mind dropping the topic, and you take your hand away, looking at the road.

Wonwoo’s pulled off the main street and is heading up one of the dirt roads that leads into the forest. It’s a path you know well, and your heart thumps when you realize where Wonwoo must be taking you.

“Are we going to Hellyhill Lookout?” you ask softly.

“Uh huh, have you been?” Wonwoo sneaks a glance at you.

“Not personally, no, but I’ve heard it’s nice.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Good.”

“Do you…” you lick your lip. “Did your coworker tell you what kind of lookout it is?”

“What do you mean?”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, and you enjoy the switchbacks of the road, the way the tall trees fly past. “It’s a lover’s lookout.”

“A lover’s lookout,” Wonwoo repeats.

“You know, a place that teens drive to so they can make out in their cars?”

Wonwoo practically chokes on air, and his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t know-”

“Don’t be sorry,” you try to assure him, but he’s already beginning to blush.

“We can go somewhere else-”

“Really,” you reach for his hand again, “Wonwoo, it’s fine.”

“I can’t believe my coworker would suggest this-”

You can tell that your words aren’t helping his anxiety, so you lean over the bench seat, pressing your lips to his cheek. He freezes under the motion. “Wonwoo,” you whisper again, “I want to go to a lover’s lookout with you. Stop panicking, please.” 

He takes a shuddery breath. “Okay.”

You look out at the road again. “Pull over at the next stop,” you instruct. “The lookout is just through the trees.”

Wonwoo does as you say, and pretty soon you’re entering a small, empty parkinglot. You suppose it’s a school night, and you’ve heard this spot is busiest on Fridays and Saturdays.

The privacy is welcome, and Wonwoo slowly pulls to a stop. The view is breathtaking as the sun sets behind a mountain. Even from inside his car you can see the whole small town down below, twinkling and nestled amongst the Pacific Northwest geography. 

“Wow, Wonwoo-” you turn to say something, but suddenly he’s cupping your face and pressing his lips to yours.

The shy man you’ve been getting to know is gone, and you melt into the kiss, closing your eyes while your thoughts disappear. His touch is gentle on your cheek, but his fingers slip around to cup the back of your head, and when his tongue glides across your lower lip, you open your mouth for him, granting him access.

You stifle a groan, reaching out to grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer while also sliding across the bench seat, your knees pressing against his thigh. 

Already, you want to be closer. You wish he’d grab your hips and pull you on top of him, but he doesn’t, he simply kisses you. You can feel your panties beginning to stick to your core, and when his lips move to your throat, you stifle a moan, fingers flexing against his shirt.

“Wonwoo, I need more-”

“I didn’t bring condoms,” he says against your neck.

“I don’t care-”

“I’m not about to get you pregnant on our second date.”

“How… responsible of you,” you laugh, feeling a little disappointed. “You could always just… I don’t know, pull out?”

Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to chuckle, and he shakes his head. “Here, I have an idea.” He pulls away from you, and you’re left frowning. “Come outside with me.”

“But-”

He cups your face. “Do you trust me?”

You sigh. “Fine.” Maybe the cold air will calm you down, maybe you can convince him to bring condoms next time.

You exit the car, coming around the front to join Wonwoo. “Here,” he says, reaching for your hand and gently tugging you so you’re standing with your back to his chest while he leans against the hood of the vehicle. 

He wraps you tightly in his arms, and you release a sigh when he begins to kiss your neck again.

“Are you trying to torture me?” you ask.

“Angel, if I was trying to torture you, you’d know it.” 

“Yeah?” you can feel his cock through his jeans, and you begin to grind back against him. “And how would I know it?”

“Well for starters,” his hand snakes down the front of your dress, and he grabs at the fabric by your thighs, dragging it up, “I wouldn’t be doing this.” His lips return to your throat. “Can I touch you properly?”

“I’d be angry if you didn’t,” you confess, resting your head back against his shoulder. 

Wonwoo’s hand slips under your dress, and he cups your pussy, two fingers begining to rub you through your panties. A whimper slips past your lips, and you wiggle your hips, wanting more pressure, which Wonwoo gives you.

“Feels good?” he asks, breath hot against your throat.

“So good,” you nod. “For a guy who doesn’t do this sort of thing often, you definitely know how to handle women.”

Wonwoo simply laughs, but doesn’t respond more than that, continuing to tease you through your panties until you’re wriggling against his hand and cock. Then his free arm moves around to stop your hips, keeping you pinned to his chest. “Stop moving,” he says lowly, breath hot against your neck.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper, your pussy throbbing with need. 

“Are you close, Angel?” He smiles against your throat and a shiver runs up your spine. 

You nod, not able to find the words to admit to him that a little teasing through your panties has already taken you to the edge.

Wonwoo pulls away from your neck, and you feel him look around. You’re still the only two people in the dark parkinglot. 

“I’m gonna put you on the hood of my car now,” Wonwoo tells you.

You don’t really know what he’s thinking of doing to you, but there’s no way you’re going to question him now. You’re as compliant as ever, letting him adjust you and lift you onto his vehicle.

“Lay back,” he instructs next. “I’m going to take your panties off.”

Your heart races in your chest as you realize what he’s about to do, and you fall onto your elbows on the hood of his car, breathing heavily as Wonwoo leans down and begins to press kisses up your bare legs. 

His fingers hook in your panties, and he drags them down, exposing your hot core to the cool evening air. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, and as Wonwoo positions your thighs over his broad shoulders, you think you might actually faint from the tension.

His breath is warm against your entrance and your thighs quiver with anticipation. There’s nothing for you to grab onto while on the hood of his car, so you bundle your hands in your dress, pulling the fabric higher so Wonwoo has easier access to your core. 

His own palms flatten along your thighs, fingers digging against your skin while he kisses closer and closer to where you need him most, his lips light like feathers. 

“God,” you groan. “Please!” 

The bastard smiles, and you realize how much he’s enjoying teasing you. How did your shy bowling alley boy turn into a demon like this? 

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and the sensation has you gasping loudly. Most men who’ve eaten you out have started rough and ended rough, but it’s clear to you already that Wonwoo is not like other men. It’s absolutely insane how good the feather light touches can feel, and when he kitten licks your folds your stomach clenches.

“Please, I need more-” you beg, pushing your pussy closer to his face. 

“Why won’t you let me enjoy you slowly?”

“Because-” your breath catches, “I need to cum!”

“Already?”

“Wonwoo, I swear to God-” You don’t even get to finish your sentence because he gives in, pressing his mouth against your core and pushing his tongue into your tight hole. Your hips push up involuntarily, and your clit brushes by Wonwoo’s nose, which sends shivers of pleasure down your legs.

He must notice the way you react from clit stimulation because he wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, flicking at it with his tongue.

Your whole body tenses. You’re so close to your orgasm you could die-

Wonwoo groans against your pussy and that’s all you need to topple over the edge, pussy throbbing as you come undone for him. 

Your eyes are clenched shut and your back arches off the hood of his car. Pleasure surges through your entire body, radiating out from between your legs. Wonwoo doesn’t let up on you though, he keeps licking your pussy, working you through your orgasm until you’re a complete quivering mess, shaking and moaning like you’ve never shaken and moaned before.

You’re breathless, body tingling with afterwaves of your orgasm when Wonwoo finally pulls away from your pussy. You watch under hooded lids as he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, licking his lips.

With the limited light, it’s hard to see details, but you can tell his pupils are blown. 

Honestly, condoms be damned, you need this man to fuck you, and you need it now.

“Wonwoo-”

There’s a flash of light and his gaze shifts past you. You hear the familiar crunch of tires on graveled dirt, and you realize another car is pulling down the path to the lookout.

“Shit,” Wonwoo cusses, standing up and fixing your dress over your thighs. He reaches out for your hand. “Come on.”

“What about you?” you ask, knowing he’s probably aching in his jeans.

“I’m not about to make you blow me in my car.”

“What if I want to, though?” you question.

Wonwoo takes a deep breath, pulling you to your feet and holding you close. “Another time,” he assures you.

You tug on the front of his shirt, letting your lips ghost past his own. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “I wanted tonight to be about you.”

“Blowing you can still be about me.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Next time.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise,” he confirms.

“You know… I like a man with self control.”

He simply shakes his head at you, letting you go so you can both get back in his car. “Let’s go for a drive,” he suggests, “because if we don’t, my self control might just snap.”

Your whole week is spent with you on edge, but your third date with Wonwoo finally arrives on your next Wednesday off. He’s suggested a movie date, and you’re not exactly sure how you’re going to get touchy with him in a car surrounded by other couples- but as the date approaches, you realize that you probably won’t be the only duo getting a little frisky while watching the new James Bond movie, Live or Let Die.

You’re waiting outside when Wonwoo picks you up, and you enter his vehicle, leaning over the bench seat to press your lips to the corner of his mouth. “Hi,” you grin. “I missed you.”

“I uh…” he swallows thickly, “I missed you too.”

“What time is the movie again?” you ask.

“Uh,” Wonwoo checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Then we should get going.” You settle in your seat while he takes you to the drive in movie. He pays for your tickets, and rolls into the parking lot, finding a spot. Your windows are already down, and there’s a speaker set up outside your doors so you can both hear the sound.

“Do you want popcorn or anything?” Wonwoo asks.

“Not right now, maybe later,” you grin, sliding closer to him. 

Wonwoo adjusts, resting his arm behind you and allowing you to tuck against his shoulder. “I’m happy to be here with you.”

“I’m happy you came,” Wonwoo admits. “I’ve been wanting to see this movie.”

“Yeah? You like spies?”

“I think the way Hollywood portrays them is… interesting.”

“Right, because you’re an expert on spies, huh?”

Wonwoo grins. “Something like that.”

He begins to play with your hair, stroking it gently, and you rest one of your hands on his thigh, enjoying the muscles and denim. God, it’s so hard to be near Wonwoo and not get horny, almost impossible you would say.

The film begins, and you do your best to focus on it, to no avail. 

Wonwoo’s still stroking you, and each drag of his fingers by your hair makes your panties wetter. You’re determined to repay the favour he’d done for you last time, and finally you’ve had enough.

“Wonwoo.”

“Hmm?” He sneaks a glance from the movie to look at you.

“I need something to suck on.”

“I can go grab you something from the concession-”

“No,” you shake your head. “I need you to suck on.”

“You need…” he coughs. “You need me.” It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe it.

“Uh huh,” you nod. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

“I-” his words cut off into a groan when you cup him through his jeans, and you realize he’s already half hard. 

“Looks like you need me too,” you smile, leaning forward to press your lips to the side of his throat. He jolts a little at the contact, angling his head back to give you more space to begin to suck on his skin. 

“Fuck,” he groans, and the sound goes straight to your core.

Why’s he so sexy. Like. How is this legal.

You’ve decided Wonwoo is illegal. No one should be this hot. It’s a panty dropping hazard, as you’re beginning to see for yourself. 

“Will you let me suck you off?” you ask. “Please?”

He swallows thickly. “Yeah.” 

“Good,” you grin, pressing one last kiss to his cheek before you begin to undo his jeans. You’ve never undressed someone so fast in your life, and a few moments later he’s lifting his hips to allow you to tug his pants down, his cock springing free.

You lick your lips, already salivating at the sight of him.

He’s somehow perfect everywhere. From his handsome face and gorgeous hands all the way down to his pretty cock, which is probably around seven or eight inches. It’s a good thickness, with a vein running along the underside that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Just, make sure no one sees,” you whisper, as you dip your head down, hoping the car doors will hide your body from view of other movie goers.

“Angel,” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath, “I’m pretty sure the guy in the car next to us is doing the same thing with his girlfriend.”

That makes you feel a little better, as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and bring its head to your lips, kitten licking and earning a groan from Wonwoo. His hand finds your hair again, stroking you as you take more of him into your mouth.

You haven’t blown a guy in a while, and it feels empowering to be pleasuring someone again. Wonwoo’s small moans are already making this more than worth it, and his constant touch through your hair is extra encouragement.

You sink yourself onto his cock, taking as much of him as you can. You’re trying to be gentle, but you get more daring as you go, sucking harder, which makes Wonwoo’s hips jolt below you. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat and you gag slightly. His grip tightens in your hair, and he curses, breathing heavily.

You want to make this man cum like you’ve never wanted to make any man cum in your entire life, so you go harder on him, pushing through the discomfort in the back of your throat. You focus on your tongue movements, the pressure of your sucking motions and the way you’re bobbing your head.

“Shit,” Wonwoo groans. “Slow down-”

You refuse. This is personal. You want to see how fast you can make him come undone. You want Wonwoo to be mouth whipped for you, if he’s not already obsessed after having a taste of your pussy last time.

It might be a little insecure of you, but you’re not one hundred percent sure Wonwoo wants you the way you want him. You need to be sure. You need to know he’s not going to leave you, like most people in your life have. 

“Angel,” Wonwoo’s voice lacks conviction, and you think he can tell you’re not intent on letting up anytime soon. When you release a moan around his cock, Wonwoo matches the sound. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck him even harder and Wonwoo pants above you, fingers flexing in your hair. He lets out a strangled sound as he reaches his high, and he shoots his load down your throat. You do your best to swallow like a good girl, continuing to bob yourself on his cock, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth-

“Shit, angel,” Wonwoo’s voice is breathless, almost whimpery, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. The last rope of cum goes down your throat and you finally let up, swallowing and pulling off his cock You take a deep breath, wiping your hand against the back of your mouth.

Wonwoo looks beautiful. His skin is flushed, his lips parted, and he’s looking at you in a way that no man has ever looked at you before. You want to kiss him so badly, but you’re very aware of his salty taste still in your mouth.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” you tell him.

“What?” He blinks. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” you nod, already reaching for the door handle. If you stay in this car with him any longer, you will jump his bones. You need the cool air and a breather, a way to slow your racing heart, and more importantly, you need your damned pussy to stop throbbing because you’re not getting laid tonight.

As you weave through the cars, you notice a group of men standing at the concession. They watch as you approach, and you do your best to downcast your eyes, feeling your skin heat. There’s no lineup for ordering and you’re quick to ask for two cokes, hoping that you’ll be able to head back to Wonwoo faster than people waiting for popcorn.

“Hey pretty girl,” one of the men calls, and it only takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you. 

You don’t respond.

“I said,” he steps closer, “hey pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here alone?” the man questions.

“I’m not alone.”

“I don’t see a boyfriend.”

“He’s in the car,” you insist.

“He must not care about you that much if he sent you out for drinks all by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Wonwoo’s voice makes you turn, and you let out a shaky breath at his sudden appearance. 

“And who are you?” The man hitting on you puffs up his chest.

“The boyfriend who you don’t think cares,” Wonwoo says steadily. “I do care,” he turns to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and lowering his voice to address you. “You ran away pretty quick, are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” you nod. “Just thirsty.”

“Two cokes!” the concession girl announces right on schedule, and you reach up to retrieve them, taking a sip of one and letting out a soft sigh while Wonwoo tosses a bill onto the counter.

“Come on, is this guy really your boyfriend?” It looks like the man harassing you doesn’t want to quit. 

“I am,” Wonwoo confirms, for the second time, and it makes your heart race in your chest.

The man takes a step forward. “I want to hear the girl say it. I don’t believe you.”

“I think you better back off.” Wonwoo’s voice has lowered an octave, and you’ve never seen him behave this way.

“Or what?” The catcaller has about two inches on Wonwoo, and he’s built like a bull, puffing his chest out again as he looks down at the man you met in a bowling alley of all places.

“Maybe you should try me and find out?” Wonwoo suggests.

The big guy laughs, and then in one motion, he takes a swing at Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo dodges the man’s fist easily, grabbing his forearm and adding to the forward momentum. Before you know what’s really happening, Wonwoo’s manuevered the man onto the ground, twisting his arm behind his back and pressing a knee just below that.

“I think you should say sorry for harassing my girlfriend,” Wonwoo says coldly.

“What?!” The man wiggles on the ground, but to no avail. Wonwoo’s thigh muscle bulges in his blue jeans and you think your mouth is watering again. 

“Say you’re sorry.” Wonwoo twists the man’s arm behind his back and the man lets out a grunt of pain.

“I’m sorry,” he groans. 

“For?” Wonwoo presses.

The man meets your gaze. “For harassing you, I’m sorry!”

Wonwoo lets up, standing and joining you again. “Lets go,” he says, grabbing one of the drinks from you before lacing your fingers. You allow him to guide you away from the man laying on the ground with a look of shock on his face.  

You’re still quite stunned yourself, and you let Wonwoo pull you back through the cars toward his own. He opens your door for you and you get inside, taking a deep breath while you watch him go around the front to enter his own seat.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“Where the fuck did a guy who works in a bowling alley learn to pull a move like that on someone so much bigger than him?” 

“Well-”

“Let me guess,” you hold up your hand, “If you told me you’d have to kill me.”

“Something like that,” he laughs.

You simply blink at him. “Who are you? Like really? Are you James Bond?”

“Definitely not,” Wonwoo grins. “Speaking of… should we continue watching the movie?”

All you can do is nod, but your mind is reeling, and you can’t focus the rest of the film. There’s so much about Wonwoo you still don’t know, and it’s making you insane. 

When the movie finishes, Wonwoo pulls out of the drive in theater. “I can tell you’re still shaken up about what happened,” he muses, “and I want to make it up to you.”

“Really? How are you thinking of doing that?”

“I was wondering if you’d let me cook you dinner sometime soon.”

“At your house?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you nod… maybe his house will provide a few clues to help you figure him out.

“Does tomorrow work for you?”

“Works great.”

Wonwoo looks over at you, and he reaches out a hand, lacing your fingers and giving you a gentle squeeze. It’s meant as reassurance, but he doesn’t say anything else as he drives you home. 

“Can I walk you to your door?” Wonwoo asks softly when you arrive.

“Of course,” you nod, exiting the car and waiting for Wonwoo to come join you so you can head up the walkway together. 

“I had a really good time tonight,” he muses, “and not just because you sucked me off.”

The statement makes you laugh, shaking your head at him. “No? Bet you also enjoyed throwing that guy on the ground.”

“I enjoyed watching a movie with you,” Wonwoo insists. 

“Sure you did,” you grin, turning to face him on your doorstep.

You know it’s probably just a matter of time before one of your roommates ruins the moment, and you think Wonwoo knows it too, because there’s no hesitation in his actions tonight. He grabs your hips, tugging you close so he can lean down and press his mouth to your own. 

He’s confident, lips parting so his tongue can glide against your own. One of his hands releases your hips to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek while he kisses you.

Your stomach is in knots just from this, and you’re acutely aware that you haven’t actually fucked him yet, aware that tomorrow, you’ll be in his home, alone. 

Your front door opens and Wonwoo breaks away from you. “Hi Mary,” he addresses your roommate.

“Hi love birds,” Mary grins.

You shake your head at the way she’s ruined the moment. Your panties are sticking uncomfortably to your core and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.

“I’ll uh… see you tomorrow?” you say softly, looking into Wonwoo’s pretty, dark eyes.

He nods. “I’ll come pick you up at seven.”

Wonwoo is a shockingly good cook. He’d made a baked chicken and pasta dish that he’d simply taken out of the oven after picking you up, plating the food while you looked around his little home. 

Your first bite of food had made you almost groan, looking at him while he laughed. “Bet you thought I couldn’t cook,” he’d mused.

You’d admitted your expectations had been low, and the two of you had eaten dinner together, chatting about everything from his house being rented furnished, to a few towns he’d been in before coming here.

Wonwoo had given nomadic vibes, but as you listen to him speak, you realize how deep that constant need for movement runs. It strikes something like fear inside of you… when is he going to decide to leave this town? To leave you? Is there even a future for you both?

Wonwoo doesn’t seem to notice your distress, as you’re good at hiding it, and after you’re done eating, he suggests moving to the couch to watch a sitcom. 

He sits down first, and after a moment of deliberation, you tuck close to his side. His arm wraps around you immediately and you lean against his shoulder, letting out a deep sigh while he turns on the tv. “Do you want to watch anything in specific?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I’m okay with whatever.”

A generic sitcom begins to play and you relax even more, enjoying the feeling of his arm around you. You could get used to nights like this… if Wonwoo wasn’t such a nomadic, unpredictable man. 

Wonwoo’s hand begins to stroke up and down your arm, and you find it hard to even concentrate on the show while he’s doing this. You simply enjoy existing with him, and you haven’t experienced this type of peace with a man possibly ever. 

An hour passes in this easy way, and Wonwoo begins to yawn, stretching his arms over his head. You wonder how he manages to remain so pretty even while yawning- sometimes you hate how attractive this man is. If he wasn’t so god damned sexy, maybe he wouldn’t have you wrapped around his finger the way he does.

“I’m getting tired,” he notes. “Maybe… maybe I should drive you home.”

“You could do that… or, you could let me cuddle you, and you could have a nap,” you suggest.

Wonwoo considers it, and he bites at his lip, looking deep in thought. “I’ve never uh… never napped with someone before.”

“Really?” Your brows raise in shock. “Well… don’t you want to give it a try?”

“Sometimes I have bad dreams,” he tells you quietly. 

“Wouldn’t it be nicer for you to wake up with someone there to comfort you?” you ask.

Wonwoo blinks. “Would you really do that?”

“Of course!” you assure him, reaching out to gently squeeze his thigh. “Come on, if you get nightmares, I’ll even let you be the little spoon.”

“You’ll let me be the little spoon,” he repeats, not looking convinced.

“Trust me, it will help,” you assure him. 

He still looks like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he allows you to maneuver him down onto the couch, with you removing the back pillows so the two of you can lay comfortably. You curl around his back, tucking a hand around him, placing your palm over his heart. A moment later, he threads his fingers through your own, locking you into a position that feels secure and warm and very loving.

He’s tense, but when you let out a deep breath, he mirrors you, and you feel him relaxing in your embrace.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he tells you.

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust myself.”

“Well, I can trust you for the both of us,” you say softly, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his neck. “Have a nap. I’ll be here for you, no matter what happens.”

Wonwoo sighs, but he cuddles a little closer to you, and you can’t help but smile at the motion. You listen to him breathe while the sitcom chatters away in the background, and you’re pretty sure it only takes a minute or two for him to fall asleep.

The poor man, he must have been really tired for him to knock out so fast.

You enjoy holding him, and you get comfortable wrapped around his back. His broad shoulders obscure part of the tv screen from your view but you don’t mind, it’s not like you’re really watching anyways. 

Focusing on your breaths, you allow yourself to fall in a state of deep relaxation. You’re not particularly sleepy, it just feels nice to be close to Wonwoo like this… even when he begins to twitch. You can tell he’s dreaming now, and you note the way the muscles in his arms feather- you wonder what dream Wonwoo is up to.

He settles down a little, and you’re glad that maybe he’s not going to wake up, maybe having someone cuddling him does help. 

Your hope that your presence makes a difference is dashed not five minutes later when Wonwoo begins twitching again, but this time, there’s more force in it. 

“No-” he mumbles in his sleep. “No-” he says again, but now he’s louder.

At this point, you’re not sure this counts as a nightmare, it’s pretty clear to you that Wonwoo’s having a night terror, and when he begins to shake, you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, clinging to his back. “Shh,” you whisper softly, reaching up a hand to stroke his hair. “It’s okay, it’s just a dream-”

Wonwoo jolts in your embrace, and then he’s sitting up abruptly, eyes snapping open, lips parting in gasps-

“It was just a dream,” you tell him again, louder now that he’s awake. You sit up and attach to his back again, running your hands up and down his arms. “You’re safe. You’re safe with me now.”

He’s still breathing heavily, shoulders moving with each sharp inhale of breath.

You hold him through it, knowing now is not the best time to ask any questions. You just want to support him, so that’s what you do. 

After a while, Wonwoo starts to take more even breaths, and he rests a hand over yours, leaning back against you. He’s quiet, and he lets you simply hold him. You’re sure now that you’re providing comfort, and when you lean in to press a soft kiss to his neck, he lets out a deep sigh. 

“I need to tell you something.” 

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you assure him.

“I do,” he insists. “Especially after what happened at the drive in.”

He must be referring to his ability to take down a man and pin him to the sidewalk, and to be fair, you have been wondering about that. You give Wonwoo the space to elaborate. 

“I’m not even sure how to explain this,” Wonwoo sighs after a moment.

“Take your time.”

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says softly, and you can tell he’s working up the courage to get out what’s on his mind. “There’s no other way to describe it, so I might as well just say it. You’ve probably been wondering about the job I had before I started at the bowling alley.”

He pauses to allow you to confirm, and you give a small nod, leaning against his shoulder. He’s not looking at you, and you assess his side profile. It’s clear that this is going to be a turning point in your relationship with him, and you give him your complete attention for it.

“The government…” Wonwoo licks his lips, “well, they’d call me a rogue military asset.” 

You take in his words, not quite sure how to react-

“I can’t go into details with you, I won’t, but… I can tell you that I never agreed with what the government wanted to use me for.” 

The night terrors make sense now. 

“They put a lot of time training me to be who I am, so… let's just say they wouldn’t let me leave without a fight. Technically, I’m court marshalled, but it’s worse than that- I’m on the run, moving from town to town- I can’t  stay anywhere too long- it’s never been a problem for me, but then-” he swallows thickly. “Then I met you. It’s funny,” Wonwoo lets out a sad chuckle, “I’m trained to assess probability, but nowhere in my future sight did I anticipate meeting a girl I actually liked, someone I could confide in, someone who I could rest next to, who wouldn’t judge me for my dreams.” 

“Wonwoo-” you whisper his name, and he turns in your arms, facing you.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” he states. “Being with a guy like me, it doesn’t give you a future.”

“You wouldn’t be ruining it,” you insist, “and your wrong. It would give me a future, a future with you.” 

“It’s not enough.”

“Let me be the judge of that, please.” You cup his face, and Wonwoo leans into your touch, his eyes meeting yours. You can’t help but lean forward, pressing your lips to his own. It’s a soft kiss at first, and you hope he can feel the emotion you’re pouring into it.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, adjusting so you can climb into his lap, straddling him on the couch while his tongue slides over your own. 

His hands find your hips, and he applies a bit of pressure, helping you grind down on him. You can feel his cock in the denim of his jeans, and you’re a little surprised that he’s turned on so soon after a night terror, but at the same time, you’re not complaining.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, breaking the kiss while his lips move to your throat. “I think… I think I should stay over tonight, in case you have any more night terrors.”

You feel him smile against your skin. “Is that the only reason?” he asks.

You grind your clothed core along his cock, shaking your head. “No.” 

“Let me take you to bed,” Wonwoo says, grabbing at your ass and lifting you up easily. “I’m not about to have you on the couch.”

“You’re about to have me?” you grin.

“Unless you don’t want it.”

“I want it,” you confirm, lips moving to his neck while he carries you through his small house. “I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Me too,” he says softly, fingers digging into your ass.

When you get to his bedroom, he lays you onto his bed softly before standing over you, looking down at your form. “You’re so pretty,” Wonwoo whispers, reaching down to trail a finger over your denim covered knee.

“Prettier with my pants off,” you smirk.

“Yeah?” He lets out a small laugh. 

“You should see for yourself.” You reach down to undo your jeans and as you pull down the zipper, Wonwoo grabs at the leg, tugging. Soon, your legs are bare, and you feel the cool air of the room against your hot, panty covered core. “Now's the time I tell you I’m also cuter with no underwear.”

“I remember,” Wonwoo nods. 

His words make a hot lick of pleasure tease up your pussy, and you grab at the bottom of your shirt, tugging that off next so all you’re left in is a bra and panties. 

Wonwoo begins to get onto his knees but you shake your head. “We’ve had enough foreplay. Enough teasing. I want you inside of me.”

“Are you sure?” Wonwoo kisses your inner thigh, and the feeling makes you close your eyes, leaning your head back to let out a sigh.

“I’m sure,” you confirm. No matter how good his tongue might feel, you’re aching to get to his cock.

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” he asks, breath hot as it fans up your legs.

“Because I’m impatient,” you can’t help but laugh, writhing in his sheets. “Because I need to know what you feel like.”

Wonwoo lets out something of a hum, and he presses a kiss to your thigh before moving up your body. His lips drag over your stomach and up to the swell of your breasts while he climbs on top of you, hands pressing against the mattress on either side of your head. His nose nuzzles by your throat as he kisses there too, and when you tug on his soft hair, he finally makes it to your mouth.

You groan against his lips immediately, wrapping your legs around his hips while tugging at his shirt. He allows you to tear it off of him, breaking the kiss for only a moment before you’re dragging him back to you.

His tongue glides across your lip and you open your mouth for him, allowing him to trace your teeth. You like the feeling of him, like what he does with his tongue. 

His hand slips under your back and you arch yourself for him, making it easier to take off your bra. He pushes at your straps next, and you lose your patience, pulling the fabric from your chest and exposing your boobs to the man who makes you hornier than you’ve ever been in your entire life. 

Wonwoo dips his head down, pressing kisses over your breasts until he reaches your nipple. His free hand begins to gently massage your other boob while his tongue begins to trace your pebbled bud. It feels like magic, and you thread your fingers in his hair, releasing a groan.

He sucks gently on your nipple, taking his time. 

You’d said no foreplay, but you’re okay with this. You can feel yourself beginning to soak through your panties, and when Wonwoo switches from one breast to the other, you practically throb at how well he’s taking care of you. 

Sounds of pleasure are slipping past your lips now, and you get lost in the feeling of his mouth on your chest, his hands groping what his tongue isn’t playing with. 

You wonder how long it’s been since he had his face in a nice set of boobs, and you allow him to enjoy it. He’s clearly having the time of his life, and you can feel him beginning to grind down against the mattress between your legs. 

“Wonwoo,” you whisper tugging at his hair. 

He murmurs against your breasts, but doesn’t let up.

“Need you inside, please,” you beg. “You can keep sucking on my boobs, but, I need you inside of me right now.” 

“Let me grab a condom,” Wonwoo says, pulling off your chest to reach into his bedside table where he takes out a square foil.

He sits back onto his knees between your legs, tearing open the package while you work on his jeans, getting his belt undone and his zipper down. 

You can tell by his movements that he’s starting to get impatient too, and when he looks down at your panty covered core and smirks, you have a feeling you know whats coming next.

“How much do you like these?” he asks, hooking a finger in the fabric.

“Just ruin them,” you laugh, not wanting to wait another moment. 

“You got it, angel,” Wonwoo grabs your panties with both hands. He tears one side, freeing a thigh, before repeating the motion on the other side, then he tugs the ruined clothing item off your body and tosses it onto the floor.

“Don’t even bother with your pants,” you say, pushing them down his thighs, “just fuck me with them at your knees.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you needed me.”

“I’d never kid about that,” you giggle, watching him roll the condom onto his thick cock. The moment he’s done, you’re grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him down on top of you so you can crash your lips to his own. 

He ruts his hips, cock grazing through your pussy folds, teasing your clit.

“Please,” you groan, feeling absolutely insatiable. He’s so close, he just needs to put it in-

Wonwoo reaches a hand between your bodies, adjusting his cock to your wet hole. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Instead of answering, you wrap your legs around his hips, applying pressure to force him inside of you. He lets out a groan as his length sinks into your wet heat, his mouth moving hot against yours again while you get his body flush to your own.

You both moan loudly when he’s inside of you fully, your greedy pussy taking him all after the build ups you’ve had in numerous dates. 

“Do you like is fast or slow?” Wonwoo asks, lips moving to your throat.

“Slow, then fast,” you respond, tracing his broad shoulders while you relax into the feeling of him.

“You got it, angel,” Wonwoo says, starting to move his hips. He rocks slowly, the tip of his cock dragging by your sweet spot as he begins to make love to you. 

It feels like heaven, and you get lost in him, moans slipping out of you with each thrust.

True to his word, Wonwoo’s pace gradually quickens, his fingers digging into your hips to pin you to the bed. He’s so big and sexy and- everything you’ve ever wanted in a man.

You hold him like you never want to let him go, and the way he kisses you makes you think he feels the same.

There’s no dirty talk, and you don’t mind it. You’re just two souls quietly enjoying each other. The only sounds are primal noises of pleasure and the soft slapping of skin on skin. 

As his pace builds, so does the feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. Wonwoo’s moans don’t help your situation, and each groan has your pussy practically throbbing with need. 

His shoulders are your anchor, your broad, lovely, wonderful, sexy anchor, and you hold onto them tightly, eyes shut while you enjoy him. 

When Wonwoo’s thrusts become almost piston like in nature, you cry out, and Wonwoo breaks your kiss to bury his face against your throat. “You close?”

“Yes, fuck, Wonwoo-” you whimper, so close to your high you can almost taste it.

“Want me to cum with you, angel?”

“Yes, God, please-” you nod quickly, digging your nails into his shoulders. 

Wonwoo groans deeply. “I’m almost there-”

“I can’t hold it,” you’re nearly crying now, overwhelmed by how good this feels.

“Then cum,” Wonwoo states, voice husky as he reaches a hand between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit. “Cum with me, angel.”

This is the last straw, and your pussy clenches tightly around his cock, orgasm slamming into you while you hold onto Wonwoo as your life line. You gasp loudly in his ear, waves of pleasure washing over you. In fact, you see stars, vision clouding behind your lids as you’re overtaken by Wonwoo and everything he does for you.

He’s still groaning in your ear, and his thrusts are harder now. You can tell he’s cumming too, and the thought only makes your orgasm last longer, pussy milking him for all he’s worth.

You’re not sure when exactly he begins to slow down, but soon he’s coming to a stop on top of you, gasping loudly. His heart is thundering in his chest, and you can feel it through your breast where you’re pressed together.

You reach up to stroke a hand through his hair, also working on your ragged breathing. 

He holds you for a while, but finally he’s forced to pull away. “Let me get rid of the condom, then we can sleep,” he says softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before heading to the bathroom just down the hall.

You stare at his ceiling, still overwhelmed with everything that’s happened.

Wonwoo might not know what his future holds, but you’re certain that as long as you find a way to be part of it, you might be happy forever.

Waking up next to Wonwoo had been wonderful. There hadn’t been any more night terrors, and Wonwoo even mentions it as you make breakfast together. “I haven’t slept that well in years,” he muses, holding you close and kissing your neck.

“Then you might have to keep me as a safety blanket,” you tease, although… you do mean it. 

The comment is enough to make him groan and he turns off the stove, neglecting breakfast in favour of throwing you on the table and eating you as his first course.

He buries his tongue inside your core, making you cum three times before the day has even really started. Then he sits you down and plates your meal, sitting across from you and watching you with dark eyes exaggerated by circular spectacles that set off the handsome features of his face.

“When can I see you again?” he asks when you clean up from breakfast.

“Working tonight,” you sigh.

“I could pop by, if you wanted me to.”

“As long as you don’t drink coffee at my eight pm shift,” you giggle, remembering what your chef had said about Wonwoo’s obscure proclivities. 

“I promise,” Wonwoo smiles. “I’ll get a burger again.”

“Then you can come see me at work,” you grin, stepping closer to Wonwoo while he wraps his arms around your form, tugging you to his chest.

You’re getting way too used to him, but you can’t stop yourself, all you can do is watch while you fall deeper and deeper into the world of Wonwoo.

You’re downright giddy when Wonwoo shows up in the middle of your shift. He’s always cute, but today, with his circular glasses, he takes your breath away.

He waves as he enters the diner, and you call for him to take any table. He takes the same booth as last time and you’re quick to get him some water, scurrying over with a smile.

“Hi,” you greet him.

“Hi,” he repeats. “How’s your shift going?”

“Better now that you’re here,” you say honestly. “You still want that burger?”

“Can you give me a couple minutes?” he asks. “I think I want to watch you run around for a bit. The sooner I order, the sooner I have to get out of here.”

“Are you going to stare at my ass, Wonwoo?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“Stare away.” You wink, turning on your heel and heading to check in on a different table.

It’s interesting to have his eyes on you like this, to know he’s happy just watching you while you work. He’s such a softie, and you adore him.

You’re grabbing food from the kitchen for a couple when the diner bell rings, and you look up to see four cops coming in. It’s not that often that police come to the diner for an aftershift meal, but tonight seems to be one of those nights.

They’re regulars, all things considered, and with a short wave to you, they take their favourite table, two down from Wonwoo.

Your gaze shifts to the man who’s just told you he’s on the run from the government. He’s playing with his cup of water, but that’s the only indication that he’s nervous. His body language is otherwise relaxed, and you think maybe he’s simply a good actor.

You grab four menus for the cops, and a tray of water, casually walking over them to pick up a conversation about how their night is going.

As you serve them, you notice one of the cops peering over at Wonwoo, and you can feel anxiety building in your stomach. “Can I grab you anything?” you ask, trying to take the man’s attention off of Wonwoo. “Tea, beer-”

“A beer would be nice,” he nods.

You give him a list of what you have in bottles, and he chooses, but as soon as you’re done with him, his eyes move to Wonwoo again. 

You head to the main counter, where you put through the drink orders. 

The bell to the diner rings, and when you turn to greet the new guests, you don’t see anyone standing at the door. You do, however, find Wonwoo’s booth empty, and your heart drops in your chest.

You’re walking home from your shift when a car pulls up next to you. For a moment, you feel your heart begin to race, but then Wonwoo’s rolling down his window and calling out to you, “Hey, angel.”

“Oh my gosh, Wonwoo-” you stop in your tracks to look at him.

“Can I give you a ride home?”

“Of course,” you respond immediately, heading around his car to get in.

“I’m sorry I left so abruptly,” he apologizes when you enter, closing the door behind yourself.

“I understand why you did it,” you sigh. “You were probably worried one of those cops would recougnize you.”

“Exactly,” he nods. “This is why…” he swallows thickly. “This is why I never stay in one place for too long.”

His words hurt.

They really hurt. 

“Look…” you choose what you say next very carefully, “if you do decide to leave town, please don’t do it without coming to talk to me first.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wonwoo says softly.

The rest of the short ride is quiet, and when he stops in front of your house, he leans over and cups your face, pressing his lips to your own.

When he pulls away, you stay staring at him. “Call me anytime, okay?”

He nods. “You got it, angel.” 

It’s been two days since you last heard from Wonwoo, and you’re hanging out at home before a shift when the phone rings. Something inside of you makes you jump from the couch, running to answer the call before either of your roommates can.

“Hello?”

“Hi, angel.” 

“Wonwoo-” you let out a deep breath. “How are you?”

The line is quiet for a moment, and you hear him sigh. “I’ve been better.”

“Did something happen?”

“Not yet, but… I expect it might soon.”

You try to figure out what he’s saying. “Does that mean…”

“I’m leaving,” he says, as assertive as you’ve ever heard him. “I have to go.”

Your skin heats and you feel hot pricks in your eyes. You hold back tears, taking a deep breath and squeezing the phone in your hand. “Let me come with you.”

“I told you, this isn’t a life for you-”

“And I told you I don’t care!” You can’t contain yourself anymore, and you feel bad the moment the loud words are out of your mouth. Jessica looks at you from the other room and you turn your back to her, lowering your voice. “It’s not a life for you either, Wonwoo. You can’t live alone forever. You can’t.” 

“Some days I think I was built to be alone.”

You can’t help the tears now, and you choke a little on the sob that works its way up your throat. “Wonwoo, please-”

“I don’t want to do this to you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now!” you insist. “Wonwoo you can’t leave, not right when-” you cut yourself off, closing your eyes and leaning your shoulder against the wall. “Not right when I’m falling in love with you.”

The line is dead silent, and each second is like an hour. You’re shaking now, anxiety flooding your system. “Wonwoo? Are you still there?”

“I have to leave soon,” he says finally. “We wouldn’t have room for furniture, or-”

“I don’t care about furniture,” you insist. “All I need is a bag and you.” 

“This is crazy,” Wonwoo sighs.

“People do crazier things for love…” you bite at your lip. “You do love me too, right, Wonwoo? That’s why you’re open to this?”

This time, there’s no moment of contemplation, he simply answers, “Of course I love you, angel. How could I not?”

This time, when you let out a small cry, it’s not sadness. It’s a release of pent up emotion, emotion you’ve been holding in for who knows how long. You’re not sure how Wonwoo came into your life and flipped it upside down, but you are sure about him. More sure than you’ve been about anything in your life. 

“Your roommates aren’t going to be mad about you abruptly leaving?” Wonwoo asks.

You turn to look at Jessica. “My roommates will get over it,” you state. “When are you picking me up?”

“Can you be ready in an hour?”

“I’ll be waiting outside with my bag.”

“See you then… and angel?”

“Yes, Wonwoo?”

“I do love you.” 

“I love you too.”

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🔮 preview. “We could always practice making babies,” you suggest. Wonwoo lets out a loud laugh, the kind of laugh that lights up his face in the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. “Practice, huh?” He releases a deep breath, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer to his bare chest. “I hid your condoms,” you say. It sounds like you’re teasing him, but you are, in fact, being completely serious. “Come on…” you plead, leaning forward to ghost your lips over his throat, “have some fun with me.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected/raw sex, sex, fairly vanilla sex, Wonwoo is a park ranger so he’s built, hand grabbing, heavy panting/breathing, Wonwoo is pleasure vocal, talk about making babies, oral (f receiving), Wonwoo loves eating pussy, fingering, multiple orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

The first few months being nomadic with Wonwoo had been bitter sweet. Every time you were getting used to a town, something would happen that would cause you to run. Eventually, however, you found a fit.

Wonwoo had stumbled upon a job opening as a park ranger, and it came with a log cabin a half an hour drive from the closest town, the small house nestled discreetly between the trees Wonwoo would be hired to take care of.

It had helped that one drive through the area had proven to Wonwoo that the cops were lazy, more interested in their donut runs than doing their jobs.

You’ve been living with your park ranger boyfriend for over a year now, and the cabin feels like home. 

Wonwoo wakes up with the sun, and sets off to do a run through of the trails. You take your time waking and cook breakfast, or you head in to town in your second hand beat up truck for supplies. There’s a library that hired you and the scheduling is relaxed-

You have everything you could ever want… well, almost everything.

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[skyahri]

And Suddenly |JJK Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo Satoru, and Geto Suguru

Summary: They proposition you for a baby.

Warnings: Cult Leader!Geto, Heian Era!Sukuna, Canon Gojo. A little smutty, but nothing specific.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna swears he doesn't play favorites.

He always gives the same response when prompted by Uraume- that he hated everyone equally and that if anything, they were the only person he could tolerate. That specific line of questioning always riled him up, oftentimes making him irrationally angry and defensive.

Despite what he says, everyone on the estate knows he's full of shit. No one else is dumb enough to call him on it out of fear of being brutally murdered, but it's clear he does have a favorite. That fact is only further cemented when he approaches you in the middle of the garden and publicly demands that you give him a child.

"... what?"

"Are you deaf? I need an heir and you're going to give me one. Let's go."

Just like that, you're being slung over his shoulder and carried off. You only manage a peak at Uraume before the door closes, but even they seem surprised by the sudden declaration.

When you finally reach his chambers, he sets you down on his bed and drops his robes to the floor. When you don't move to do the same, he shoots you an impatient look, but you only offer him a confused one back.

"My Lord, I apologize if this is out of line, but what brought this on?"

"I want an heir."

"Yes, but why now? And why me?"

"Are you denying me, woman?"

"No, of course not, My Lord, I'm just- this is all very sudden."

After the initial spark of anger that flashes through him, he does genuinely think about it for a moment. Requesting a baby was quite the ask, and it would be in his best interest to keep you happy. Perhaps he could at the very least answer your questions...

"You are fertile."

"Is that really the only requirement you look for when considering the potential mother of your children?"

"Of course not."

He hates that little look you give him. It's pointed in a way that makes his nerves flair. It's not direct enough for him to ever call you on, but it screams defiance nonetheless.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. You should feel honored to have been chosen. Be grateful, brat."

Your face doesn't change. You only cross your arms and wait for his little tantrum to pass in hopes that he'll be a more willing participant in the conversation.

"What do you want from me?"

"Honesty, My Lord. That's all."

He bares his teeth at you. It's an empty threat- that much you learned long ago. You're well aware of his soft spot for you, and while you typically don't use that against him, you really did just want answers.

In the three years you'd served him, he had never once mentioned wanting children. He'd go as far as to kill any concubine who fell pregnant or even brought the topic up. Something was most definitely amiss, and you weren't one to cave into his ridiculous demands so easily.

After a momentary standoff, he sighs and stands a bit straighter in front of you.

"You are well aware why I have chosen you."

"Am I?"

Oh, if looks could kill you'd be six feet under already. He seems almost... embarrassed? It's not something you've ever seen on him, the red tint to his cheeks and ears are undeniably different from when he's angry. His lower right hand twitches ever so slightly and you can nearly hear his teeth grinding together.

"It is possible, that I may not entirely hate you."

"Careful, My Lord, that almost sounds like a confession."

"If that is what it takes for you to agree, then so be it."

You won't get anything more out of him, at least, not today. You'd been fully expecting him to choose an easy way out, something about biology or hierarchy or whatever, but this? No, this was a thousand times better than anything you could've imagined.

"Now, as to why, My Lord?"

"Is it really so surprising to want a child with you?"

You... don't know how to answer that. His response both does and does not answer your question. You were initially looking for something more, concrete? Something like him needing a successor or maybe needing to prove himself in some way.

Whether he intended to or not, he had given you a very intimate response that you were not in the last bit prepared for.

You were very aware that he treated you differently, not just from the other concubines, but from everyone in general. You had certain privileges that others did not, like joining him for dinners and baths or sleeping in his chambers. He indulges you with little acts of affection, things like kissing and brief touches. You spoke out of turn without consequence and could get away with doing things without his explicit permission.

But all of that was a whole Hell of a lot different than wanting a family. The man would sooner die than admit to liking you, but here he was admitting to wanting children with you. Not wanting an heir, not allowing you the privilege, no- wanting children with you.

"I accept."

"You say that as if you had a choice."

"We're alone, My Lord, there's no need for the tough guy facade."

"It's not a facade. Don't forget I can kill you, woman."

"Mhm, if you say so, My Lord."

Satoru Gojo

"You know,"

He slowly slides his hands up your sides, slipping them underneath the hem of your shirt.

"With the kids being so busy nowadays, I can't help but feel like our nest is a little empty."

He moves his head from its resting position on your head to trail kisses down your face. He pauses at your lips for a moment before continuing down your neck.

"Lucky for us, I know just the thing to fix such a problem."

You're only half paying mind to the attention he's giving you, the majority of your thoughts running over his recent behavior, trying to piece together anything that could've prepared you for the current situation.

He was a little upset when Tsumiki had gone full swing into high school last year. She had lots of friends, joined a few extracurriculars, and took her classes seriously. It didn't leave her much free time for family. You understood, and so did Satoru (albeit reluctantly), but that didn't make it any less bittersweet.

With the new school year starting, Megumi had begun drifting as well, and it didn't help that he was living on campus now. Of course, Satoru was one of his mentors, but that only meant their time together was spent working.

Both kids had always been independent, most likely a side effect of their shitty unconventional upbringing, but it seemed time was only making that fact more apparent.

You'd noticed he'd been a little deflated lately, but you'd chalked it up to extra stress from the council. You never thought it would be over something like this- not that you doubted how much he loved his pseudo-family or anything, he's just never shown any particular interest in expanding at all.

Even now, aside from a few stray comments about missing the kids and prioritizing family dinners, nothing he did really popped out.

"Satoru-"

He pulled away and took your hands in his, bending down a bit to make the height difference less obvious.

"Just hear me out,"

He swallowed hard and squeezed your hands a bit tighter.

"I know it's not something we've really talked about, but I can't stop thinking about it. I love raising kids with you and I don't want it to end."

"Babies and toddlers are a lot different than kids, Satoru."

"I know."

"It's a lot of work. We'd be starting over just as they've become self sufficient."

"I know."

"There's also significant risk associated with having Satoru Gojo's biological baby."

"All the reason to work harder."

Usually, when he wants something, he gives you this sappy, wide eyed, puppy dog stare and tries to bargain wit you. This, however, is starkly different. His gaze is intense, like he's peering straight into your soul, but it's also desperate, like he wants you to say yes but for once in his life, he's not going to pressure you.

Not that he'd have to, honestly.

He's right. You have enjoyed raising kids with him. He's dorky and definitely on the irresponsible side, but he cares for Tsumiki and Megs more than anything else in the world. He'd take them to the park, engage in whatever board games they wanted to play, and always did his best to make it to school events. He's a good dad, and you aren't eager to see the end of the peak quite yet.

The house is also very quiet as of late. There's no bickering, no loud music, and no one pestering you to make snacks. There's no more homework to help out with and no more rides to give. It's rather lonely.

So you put on your best poker face, just to spook him a bit, and focus your gaze on his pretty blue eyes. He looks hopeful. He knows you well enough by now to know you're going to say yes, but that little bit of fear overshadows any certainty he has.

"I think, maybe, possibly, that our family doesn't quite feel complete just yet, and might have room for one more."

That's all the confirmation he needs before he's scooping you up, pressing sloppy kisses against any surface of your skin he can reach, and taking you straight into your shared bedroom.

Suguru Geto

He had truly never thought about the prospect of having kids before. He was seventeen when he took in the twins and life had been pretty hectic since then, not leaving much room for additional personal affairs.

But he couldn't get the girls' words out of his head.

They'd come home from school last week and told him about one of their classmates who had just received a baby brother. He wasn't sure if they knew the scope of what they were asking when they started begging for a little sibling, but it did get him thinking. So he told them he'd consider the idea and sent them off to do their homework.

He wasn't... completely against the idea. He's at a point where he has the means to provide for one more. He loves Nanako and Mimiko more than anything and he's sure he can love another kid all the same, but that wasn't the issue.

It was having another kid that was difficult. He'd essentially kidnapped the twins, and while the deed was justified, he wasn't eager to do it again. Anything formal was off the table, being a mass murderer slash cult leader, and all.

That's when you entered his field of vision. Like an answer to his prayers, you walked past him with a bright smile on your face and a quick 'Good morning Geto-sama' before running off to wherever the girls currently were.

The answer seemed a bit too obvious. You'd joined not too long after he'd taken over, offering support in any way you could. At the time, he was having a hard time adjusting to everything. Raising children was a lot harder than he'd anticipated, mostly due to the trauma they'd endured. You took some of the load off of him. You watched them while he was in meetings, cooked them meals, and made sure they got to and from school when he couldn't.

You're around his age, smart and pretty, and essentially already a mother to his kids. You loved them as much as he did, so surely, you'd be more than happy to help him out with this, right?

"You... want me to give you a baby?"

He wasn't sure what to make of that response. It was ambiguous, and your blank expression didn't lean any one way the other.

"Yes. Nanako and Mimiko would like a sibling, and I've decided to indulge them. Would you be so kind as to help me?"

"I'm not pregnant, Geto-sama."

"I'd hope not."

Your confusion only grew. There was no precursor to this conversation. Just yesterday you were discussing the week's itinerary and what all was expected of you. He hadn't looked at you any differently, hadn't dropped any hints, or asked any strange questions. This was truly out of the blue.

You must've taken too long to continue the conversation because there's suddenly a hand grabbing yours. It's warm and rough, and despite the newness of it, it's grounding.

"Please don't feel pressured to say yes. I'd like an honest answer. This will only work if both parties are consenting."

You hesitate for a moment. It's not like you haven't thought about it before. Not this specifically, but being more of a permanent fixture in Geto household. It's usually a fleeting feeling, a fantasy of sorts. You'd never allowed yourself to mull over it, assuming that it was a lost cause.

"Why me?"

A perfectly reasonable question.

"You're already a mother to my children, what's one more, hm?"

"And this baby..."

"Would be ours, if you're willing if course."

Suguru is actually pleased by your hesitation. A fair number of his followers would jump at the invitation without much thought. He finds it rather pathetic that some would follow him so blindly, so your reluctance only further cements his confidence in his decision.

"And what would all of this mean for me?"

"I suppose you'd be a wife of sorts. 'Nanny' seems a little degrading for someone bearing my child."

He laughs and it immediately cuts through any tension in the air.

While the offer is certainly jarring, denying it had yet to cross your mind. Geto is a harsh leader, sure, but he's incredibly kind to those close to him, and that extends to you. He's a great dad and loves his children, and you're sure any baby of yours would meet the same fate.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good. Why don't you meet me in my quarters after you put the girls to bed."