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saintsanddevils · 3 days ago

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Void & Omen

Bob Reynolds/Void x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you meet Bob, that deadly power inside of you stirs, recognizing something just as equally dark and powerful in him. After all, like calls to like.

Warnings/Tags: Thunderbolts movie spoilers, no use of Y/N, blood & gore, dark thoughts, soulmates, canon typical violence & swearing (series will contain eventual smut)

Author’s Note: Reader’s powers are inspired by “The Bonds That Tie” book series by J Bree.

Word Count: 5K

Also posted on AO3

Masterlist • Part Two

————

A Few Weeks Ago…

There is something wrong with me. There always has been. Something that sleeps beneath my skin, waiting, watching. It slithers and coils around me, settling in my ribs as I breathe. It raises its head when it senses the rising tension around me, ready to strike. But I can’t let it.

If I do, we’re all dead.

That’s why I’m here, strapped to a hospital bed in the middle of Malaysia, as far from home as I can get. The bindings around my wrists and ankles are tight enough to hurt, but it helps to keep the cloying fear at bay. The pain grounds me, reminding me why I’m here. Why I chose to be here.

The doctors and scientists run around me with clipboards and beeping monitors. They observe and report. They whisper and nod. I’m just something living and breathing before them, something expendable.

Maybe I always was.

You’re a murderer. You deserve worse.

I flinch, my wrists twisting against the bindings. These thoughts… They’ve been growing steadily darker and louder ever since…

I swallow. Breathing in and out, slowly, remembering what my shitty therapist from childhood used to instruct me to do when panic surged through me like a tidal wave I was drowning in.

I can’t let that happen, not here. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not when they’re going to help me.

A familiar doctor catches my attention as she approaches my bed. Her smile and cadence reassuring. “It seems the results on your charts align with what we’re looking for. Everything is good to go. Are you ready to proceed?”

Nerves rumble in my gut through my veins, but I shove it far from my expression as I try to give her as much of a confident smile as I can. “Yes.”

She must see something in my face that has her smile wavering. She casts a quick look at the other doctors before stepping forward, leaning down to my eye level. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s completely voluntary. You can opt out whenever you want, but after this, you won’t be able to say no. It’s no longer a trial period. This is the real thing. Something you can’t escape.”

Escape.

The word echoes in my mind like a familiar tune I’ve grown accustomed to all my life. Something I’ve heard, like a lullaby that reverberates through my skin and settles in my bones. I’ve been running for so long, escaping is all I know how to do.

But for once, I don’t want to escape.

I give her a firm nod, determination settling my nerves. “I’m sure. Trust me.”

She stares a moment longer before nodding, squeezing my hand before turning to the other doctors and speaking with them.

While they surround me, poking and prodding my skin with various needles, hooking me to machines, I’m reminded of lab rats. How they’re used for experiments to see if drugs would be harmful or helpful for the human body. I feel like a lab rat with the attention and cold distance they put between me and their research.

The poster I saw on the street last week for this trial was ominous and off-putting, but it didn’t stop hope from budding like a small seed growing in my sternum. It bloomed the moment I stepped into the building, volunteering for this medical research study on the human body.

After speaking with many different doctors, it seemed they could… help me. Fix me. Make me whole again.

For years, I’ve felt this hole in my chest where blood, muscle, and tissue should be. Instead, it’s something rotten and coiling, full of regret, devastation, and grief. It’s planted there ever since my sister died touching my skin after pulling my hair and calling me names. It grew and grew, poisoning me when fear controlled those around me. It was palpable, tasting bitter on the tongue. My parents feared me the most. Maybe that’s why their deaths sent me fleeing in the night, afraid and lost. Hoping to escape what I’ve become.

The doctors say whatever is inside of me can be cured. That this curse will no longer plague me.

As the anesthesia hits and my consciousness fades, that hope rings through me with a song so unfamiliar and poetic, I fall into the dark with open arms.

————

The In-Between…

The dark welcomes me, enveloping me as if we were old friends. I drift and dream.

And with dreams, come nightmares.

“What have you done?!” The words echo from a woman who looks so familiar, I can’t quite grasp exactly who she is.

A small body lies broken and lifeless before me, their eyes vacant and hollow, dripping black as if their tears are made of ink. Their skin glassy, as if they were a broken doll.

The woman continues to scream at me and when I stare back, she pales, stepping away from me. “What are you…”

I try to comfort her, stop her, help her, but she shoves away from me.

“This is your fault! You’re a monster!”

The dream morphs and fades, but the echo of the word “monster” rings through the dark. It’s only when the dream leaves that I realize the woman is my dead mother.

A new dream surfaces, this one just as suffocating. I’m trapped in a glass box. Sharp, needle-thin knives poking into my skin with every movement I make. Blood coats every inch of me, dripping from my skin. My eyes sting and my breaths come sharp and ragged. Voices echo outside of the box. I can barely make out the shapes of doctors and scientists and strange familiar faces all staring down at me.

“She deserves this.” One says, loud enough that it makes me flinch.

“Witch,” another spits.

“Murderer.”

“Monster.”

The term is so familiar, it doesn’t hurt as it should, but the knives ensure it does. They move, slowly, deliberately, sinking further into my skin. I scream and scream, but each word, every curse they hurl at me, it makes the blades cut deeper.

“She’d be better off dead.”

Tears fall fast down my cheeks, but it doesn’t stop the blinding pain from the sharp knives shredding me apart. Blood flowing down my limbs and pooling at my feet. Outside the box, they laugh and mock.

Please, I plead into the void. Please end this.

Please.

Something shifts. The hairs on my arms raise and there’s a strange sense of awareness. Like there’s something… other here.

Like I’m not alone.

“STOP.”

The dream-induced voices still at the command. When I look up from the puddle of blood at my feet, they’re gone. Shadows and dust in their wake.

When the pain disappears, so does the glass box and the blinding white room. Instead, raging wind caresses the stinging of my limbs. And when I glance down, the blood is gone. My arms and legs don’t sting or hurt. It’s all… gone.

In this new dream, I’m standing atop a cliff overlooking a restless sea.

This… This feels far more real than any dream before. Even before the blinding pain, this feels more solid. As if I’m actually here. The cold wind, sharp and unrelenting against my exposed skin. The clouds hanging heavily above with the smell of fresh rain in the air. It feels very real.

Too real.

“There you are.” A voice, deep and ominous, catches on the breeze.

I turn to find the dark silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. I can’t see any of his features, but it doesn’t matter. Something deep in my being tells me I know him. It pulls at my center, between my ribs, and I follow this feeling until I’m standing before him, staring up into a face dark and encased entirely in shadow. But his eyes… like living embers, they pierce into me. As if he, too, knows me. Feels as I do.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

I feel myself smile at the stranger’s words. As if his presence brings comfort where I was lost in chaos only moments before.

“You feel so…” I trail off, lost in the piercing ember of his gaze.

“Familiar?” If he could smile, I hear it in his voice.

I nod.

He steps closer, his hand raising to smooth back a strand of hair from my face. The touch is startlingly cold. But what’s frightening is how real it feels. Skin on skin. Fingertip to cheekbone.

This isn’t a dream. Or, at least, not a normal dream.

As if reading my thoughts or the emotions flitting across my features, he cups my cheek boldly. The touch feels so natural, I lean into it. His skin settling whatever rages deep within my chest.

“We are bound, you and I,” his words are whispered, soft and claiming. “Two souls meant to be intertwined for eternity. You were never meant to be alone. You will never be alone. Not while I exist.”

I close my eyes. Tears burning up my throat, threatening to fall. All I’ve ever been is alone. Entirely alone. I’m so sick of it.

“This isn’t real,” I whisper back.

His other hand is there, firm against my other cheek. He holds me, caresses me, like something precious. Like something whole. Like something worthy of affection.

“It’s not real, you’re right,” he says. “But soon enough, it will be.”

I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

His fingers reach to smooth the skin.

“I will find you, outside of this dream, this… in-between. And when I do,” he steps closer, forehead touching mine. “I will never let you go.”

The promise settles in my bones with a certainty I hope to hold on to.

“You’ll find me?” The hope is clear and whisper thin in my voice.

He nods against me, lips close to mine. “In every life, in every universe. Always.”

————

Present Day…

I wake in a panic. Lungs bursting as my eyes open to find I’m locked inside something that resembles a casket with a glass lid. It’s too dark to see clearly as my fingers flatten against the plexiglass, stifling anxiety clawing at my skin. Beads of sweat coat me like oil as I push and push at the glass.

Get out get out get out—

With one last shove, the lid is thrown open and crisp air hits me. I breathe deep as I crawl out of the strange crate, falling to the hard floor. Nausea rips through me and I’m hurling everything in my gut onto the floor.

There’s noise and voices around me, farther away, but I don’t care. My entire body is slumped and aching on the concrete floor. When I finally gain my senses and feel more present, I scan my surroundings. Various crates and boxes pile high around the strange casket I was lying in. The outline of my body is still there and monitors beep and sound as I try to stand. My legs are shaky, breaths coming rapidly, but I’m here. I’m… alive.

Why is that such a shock?

I stare down at the casket, trying to recall how I got there. The last thing I remember…

I remember lying on a table, talking to scientists and doctors about my condition. About the trial they would put me through. I remember strange dreams… but as I reach for them, they fade from my grasp. Typical.

“I-I-I’m Bob,” a voice sounds from farther in the room, but it’s so familiar, I still. “I told you, I’m, uh… Yeah, Bob.”

“Jesus Christ, stop saying Bob.” Another voice huffs in annoyance.

On shaking legs and bare feet, I creep around a stack of crates to find a group of strange-looking people. Three of them are dress heavily in gear and armor, guns pointed at a man in hospital garb, similar to my own. His dark wavy hair hangs in his face, framing pale features as he holds his hands up in surrender. His hands shake and his voice trembles as he stands there, watching as the three others bicker.

Something is frighteningly familiar about this man. Maybe that’s why I step forward without thought. When my feet move a gun shell on the floor, it alerts the others to my presence.

Guns whip around and are pointing at me within seconds.

“What the hell?” A tall man with a shield and mask shakes his head. “How many of these guys are in here?”

The short blonde woman near him points her gun at my head. “Who are you?”

I furrow my brows, raising my hands in surrender like the other guy. “Who are you? I just woke up in this place and I barely understand what’s going on.”

She slightly lowers her gun, most likely sensing I’m not truly a threat. Before she can answer, the other woman, this one with dark hair, strides forward. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but you’re all exhausting, and my job is done.”

She tries to move away towards the large doors, but the blonde raises her gun at her. “Well, see my job is to keep an eye on you. So no, you’re not going to go anywhere, anymore.”

While they bicker and threaten, I lower my hands and glance over at the other guy— Bob, if I heard him correctly earlier. He’s staring at me with furrowed brows and pinched lips. When our eyes meet, something inside of me, that thing that coils beneath my skin, stirs.

How do I know him?

“Okay,” the blonde’s voice catches my attention as she points her gun away, raising her hands. “It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”

Who the hell is Valentina?

I look back at Bob and he’s still staring at me, lost and confused. When I catch his eye, he looks swiftly away, fingers twitching as he shifts from foot to foot. Something in me wants to step forward and smooth the confusion from his face, reassuring him. That scares me more than the guns and weapons still being pointed in this room.

“Yeah, so?” The masked guy speaks up with obvious annoyance.

“So, all of this stuff is O.X.E.’s secrets. But, so are we.”

I look around at the crates. Secrets… O.X.E. was the name of the company I trialed with. I didn’t think much of it at the time, just hopeful that someone could help me. Maybe even save me.

I catch sight of another open casket not far from the doors, but this one isn’t mine. My eyes flit to Bob again, to the matching patient clothes I also wear. He looks just as disoriented and cautious as I do. Did he do the trial as well? What did he want? To become something more?

He’s no longer looking at me, but I can sense he’s still very much aware of me. Every breath I take. Just as I am of him. Instead, he watches the armed group come to a steady realization.

The dark haired woman nods her head. “Which makes us liabilities that no one would miss.”

“Well, speak for yourself.” The masked man, who’s really starting to annoy me, scoffs.

“Don’t you see? We are the evidence and this is the shredder,” the blonde emphasizes. “She wants us gone.”

They continue to argue, but it seems they won’t kill each other anymore. At least, for now.

As they talk and bicker, something inside of me shifts. The air begins to smell of sulfur, the temperature slowly rising. It’s subtle enough that normal human senses can’t tell the difference, but it’s enough to make me still, assessing. I glance around, noticing the large vats in the ceiling above us. They’re big enough to take up the entire roof.

Just as I realize what we’re standing in, it dawns on me. That thing inside of me, the thing I’ve felt beneath my skin, in my ribs, in my head— it’s still there.

They… I swallow, panic creeping up my spine at an alarming rate. They didn’t cure me.

The blood drains from my face as I step back, bumping into a crate. The group stills at the sound, whirling to me with various alert expressions.

“What’s going on with her?” The dark haired woman questions.

And suddenly, that thing in my chest, in my head, in my skin, it talks to me.

Her name is Ava Starr.

I almost fall backwards at the sound. I stare wide eyed at the woman. At Ava.

“Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out.”

My head swivels to the masked man and the voice is back. John Walker, former Captain America.

My chest begins to vibrate with heaving breaths. The room feels entirely too small and an incessant pounding continues in my ears. I grip at my chest, wondering if I rip at my skin and muscle, tearing at the bone, I can finally take whatever is inside of me, out.

“Breathe.”

The word echoes in my head, but it’s not my own. Not the same voice that was speaking before. No, this one is deeper, masculine.

My eyes catch on Bob again. Only this time, he’s staring at me with a level, sure gaze. Something steady and sure. Something grounding.

That thing inside me stills. It breathes at the command. It releases the tension in my muscles, the shaking in my limbs. It steadies me.

Whatever beast or monster hidden beneath my skin is tamed by that voice. And it’s curious and awake, vibrating in my chest like a living thing.

I ignore the feeling, hoping it goes away as I tear my gaze from him. Hoping this strange feeling of wanting to be closer to him will dissipate.

The blonde with the heavy accent raises a brow at me. “You alright?”

Yelena Belova, former Red Room assassin.

“We need to get out of here,” I whisper, but it’s loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The masked guy, John, shakes his head. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No,” I shake my head. “Can’t you feel it? The temperature is rising. It’s getting hotter in here.”

The group looks around before seeing the open vats above us.

“I think we’re in an incinerator,” Ava confirms.

“They’re going to burn us,” Yelena nods. “Destroy the evidence.”

“How would you know?” John calls out, clearly annoyed.

She gives him a bland look. “Why else would she send us here to kill each other? We’re obviously everything Valentina doesn’t want tied to her. We’re expendable.”

Dread pools in my stomach at the notion. Burning alive is not how I envisioned how I would die.

“Well,” Ava sighs. “I’m not sticking around to burn.”

In seconds, Ava is gone. Disappearing entirely as if she were a ghost.

Suddenly, blaring alarms ring through the room. I curl into myself, holding my hands over my ears. The sound rattles whatever is in me and the veins in my arms catch my attention. They shift from their normal blue to a deep navy to black before shifting back to normal again. It’s constant as the alarm rings and pulses against my skin.

I stare in horror. What the hell?

When the alarm finally stops, I glance up to find Bob is closer to me. His dark eyes are on me, on my arms, and I notice a strange gleam in his eyes that flashes before sputtering out like a dying fire.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

I stare a moment longer, wondering if I imagined the flaring ring of light in his eyes. I slowly nod. “I’m fine.”

He stays assessing me, as if… as if he’s ensuring I really am alright. As if he truly cares.

Ava is now shaking and holding her own ears in front of the still-sealed door. She pants before turning to the rest of us.

“Thanks for that,” John huffs. “Looks like none of us are leaving.”

Just as he says that, the lights flicker and new light casts the room in dark crimson. The air begins to fill with the smell of sulfur and ash. A clock begins to tick in the room. Red numbers next to one of the doors starts to count down. And it’s going incredibly fast.

John sighs. “Okay, fine, it’s an incinerator.”

“Oh boy,” Bob huffs, staring up at the ceiling. “That is no way to go.”

“How would you like to die today, Bob?”

Yelena shakes her head. “We’ll need to find a way out. Look around, we have to find some sort of panel or something to open the doors.”

Bob holds a hand out to me, gesturing to help me up from my crouched position.

“Thanks,” I murmur as I reach to take his hand.

The second our skin touches, my eyes dilate and the hair on my arms raise, goosebumps spreading up my limbs. A spark of vibrating energy pulses between us. Something living and tangible. It stirs whatever lies dormant inside of me.

Like calls to like, it whispers.

Bob searches my eyes, his are just as dilated and wide. His lips part, an exhale escaping him as he stares.

“Why do I feel like I know you?” He whispers.

I hesitate, but the confession slips from me like water through fingers. “You feel it too?”

He nods, his hand tightening around mine. “It’s strange. I don’t think we’ve ever met, but,” his eyes scan my face and it feels as if he were softly touching every part he’s looking at. “I feel like I’ve known you for a very long time.”

My breath catches.

And then, he smiles, nervous and small, a huff of laughter escaping him.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s funny, every part of me tells me I know you, but I don’t even know your name.”

A small smile spreads on my lips. I whisper my name and the sound must resonate something in him cause he whispers it back, tentative and gentle. Almost reverent.

“And you’re Bob,” I smile wider. I nod to the clothes he’s wearing. “Looks like we both were looking for something more in our lives and didn’t expect this to happen instead.”

His smile freezes, eyes hardening before he swallows. “What makes you think that?”

I hesitate again, but this time, I willingly let him see that vulnerability. “I was looking for something more, too.”

He stares at me, questions flitting across his gaze.

“I found something!”

We both turn, our hands drifting apart and the live-wire energy dissipating as we find Yelena and Ava trying to open a panel on the side of one of the doors. When we make our way over, John punches the wires with his shield and Ava disappears again, shifting through the metal door.

The seconds begin to count down and the heat rises in the room. Fire and smoke start to sputter from the vats above. Unconsciously, I back into something solid behind me. Bob. His shoulder bumps into mine and his sturdy presence at my back is reassuring, calming the rising panic of being trapped in a room waiting to burn us all alive.

The clock flares in our peripheral, counting down, down, down, and the door still hasn’t opened.

“She’s coming back, right?” John’s question is full of broken hope.

My hands start to tremble, fear coursing through my veins. I can’t die here. I don’t want to die.

The thought must’ve been said aloud because Bob’s hand is sliding into mine, squeezing.

“You’re not going to die.” That voice, his voice, says in my mind. “I won’t let you.”

That pulsing energy between our skin continues at the touch. It’s comforting in this moment, even as the ticking of the countdown echoes through the room.

00:05

Bob steps closer, his torso encasing my back as the fire begins to burn brighter in the vats above.

00:04

I feel him tense, readying himself. His hand tightening in mine.

00:03

When I turn my face to look up at him, his eyes are already on me.

At least I won’t be alone.

00:02

The door screeches open, startling all of us. Ava stands before the control panel, gesturing for us to run.

Bob grips my hand tighter in his as we bolt. He pulls me with him while we run through the doorway, following after the others. I grip him tighter, ensuring we never let go.

When the incinerator fully ignites, torching everything in its wake, the pressure and velocity of the raging fire throws us all off our feet, flying forward. Rocks and stone crash above as my body slams into a wall harshly, bones and neck cracking against stone before I slump to the ground. Consciousness fades in and out, my head and body pounding with sharp bolts of pain. Just as the dark claims me, the last thing I feel is Bob’s calloused hand still cradling my own.

————

The In-Between…

I wake to the sound of screaming. The room is blinding white, fluorescent lights flickering above. It smells of antiseptic and something metallic. When the light dissipates, I see someone lying on a table, their small body convulsing. Their hair whips around as their restrained limbs and skin pulse with creeping black veins.

Realization dawns on me as I step closer.

It’s… it’s me. But I’m… much younger.

I remember this. I was nine when my power came into being. When it consumed me like a poison and sprang out of me like a disease.

Tears flow down her small cheeks as she struggles, a piece of cloth tied in her mouth to try and keep her screams quiet. I try to run forward, to help her, free her, but I’m frozen in place, my feet stuck to the floor. Something is keeping me from her.

In the corner of the room, a shadow bleeds from the white walls. It’s darkness dripping like ink as it spreads along the floor and tile. It stretches, like a hand, across the floor until it reaches younger me. She stills for a moment, before her eyes roll back into her head, veins bulging. I stare in horror as those veins begin to darken before black pulses along her skin to the beat of her heart.

I try to step away, to leave, but my legs won’t let me. I’m stuck in place, forced to watch.

From the shadows, something bleeds into the room, rising from it as if it were a doorway. They’re covered in the darkness, but it’s thick like ink or oil, dripping from their hair and skin. When the figure moves, I’m struck with the familiarity of their movement.

When their eyes meet mine, I shrink back. Their eyes are glowing chips of onyx, a black void as they stare back at me. But it’s not their eyes or features dripping in the black liquid, it’s the familiarity of their face and body. I’d know them anywhere.

Because it’s me.

I stare at myself with abject horror as they cock their head to the side, assessing me as if I were prey.

When my younger self convulses again on the table, it catches the creature’s attention— my attention. That thing that is-me-but-isn’t-me slithers forward, hovering over younger us. And that’s when I see it. The fading light emanating from the little girl’s chest. It’s faint, but brilliant. I see my other self hone in on that light.

“Stop!” I shout.

The other me stills, it’s slimy gaze meeting mine. “You cannot stop what is inevitable.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t real.”

It smiles and it’s something I’ve never seen on my own face. Something feral and hungry. “What makes you think it’s not?”

Younger me’s skin is ashen now, her dark veins bulging.

“What are you doing to her?” I try to step forward, but I’m held back, again.

The other me shrugs. “What you were born to become.”

The smell of rot and decay fill the air as the creature’s fingers trail a path up her small arm. Wherever it touches, the skin dies, withering. Nausea rises in my gut as younger me tries to twist away from her, but it’s no use. The light in her chest sputters. And when her eyes meet mine from across the room, I watch as a tear falls to the floor, her mouth gasping through uneven breaths.

“Stop!” I scream. “Stop you’re hurting her!”

The other me, the creature, tsks. “Always trying to be the hero.” It looks at me again and this time, it’s something final and knowing, like an omen. “You’ll never be the hero. You’re the one they all fear. What they’ll always fear. All you can do is embrace it.”

Her hand punches through the little girl’s chest and blood sprays the table and wall. Her scream reverberates off the walls as the monstrous version of me tears the light from her chest.

When its hand rises from the bone and muscle, blood drips down the pale skin, mixing with the strange dark liquid already coating its limbs. And in the creature’s hand, something shines bright and brilliant, like a diamond. It glitters and the light it casts feels almost sacred.

And the little girl is still. Eerily still.

“No,” I choke out, hands shaking. “No, this is wrong. This isn’t how any of this happened.”

Those pitless eyes stare into the brilliant light with awe and raw hunger. “It does not matter. It’s what you are made for. Just like him.”

I still. “Who?”

It turns their head to me, those depthless eyes void of any emotion. “Like calls to like.”

Something emerges from the darkness behind the other me. It’s form tall and imposing, a silhouette of a man. His eyes glow with a strange ember, the only light in his body made of shadow.

This time, when I step back, my feet are freed from whatever force that kept me prisoner. I’m able to back away slowly as the shadowed man tilts his head to the side, watching me.

“There you are.”

That voice…

The walls start to fracture and shake, groans echoing as the room begins to stir. The lights flicker above and everything starts to vibrate beneath my feet. The brilliant light still cradled in the hands of the dark version of me begins to sputter until it’s dim and fading. The other me takes one last look at me, scrambling against the wall, before opening her mouth and swallowing the light whole.

I tear my gaze away, only to immediately find Bob standing there, eyes wide and terrified as he stares back. I open my mouth to question him, but the room continues to crack and shake violently. The floor heaves and gives and a fissure opens beneath me, hurtling me into a swirling dark void below.

The last thing I hear is Bob screaming my name before the darkness swallows me whole.

Part Two (coming soon)

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 16 hours ago

Text

in every universe

── bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

according to every website i’ve checked, there’s no exact date that bucky fell off the train, they only say sometime in january of 1945. but i need a specific date for this so we’re pretending that it’s january 26.

* yes the pic on the right is from tfatws but thats not necessarily when this takes place. before thunderbolts* though, hence why it’s still avenger!reader. steve didn’t go back to be with peggy, nat and tony are alive because i said so hahdbzjsrjxh. its not super important for this but they do make appearances.

* no use of y/n but i do use she/her. no descriptors other than reader being shorter than bucky. according to google, sebastian is somewhere between 5’11” and 6’0” so do with that what you will.

* readers powers are similar to wanda maximoff, but the energy is a dark blue, hence the hero name dark surge. this isn’t related to my other thunderbolts*!bucky piece, i’m just using the same name. reader can also time travel and travel the multiverse. i know i know too many powers, but shhh you’ll see.

In the entire time you’ve known Bucky, you’d say he has always hated you. Steve would, and does, disagree. He says that Bucky doesn’t hate you, he’s just reserved around everyone. And Bucky, well, you don’t know what Bucky would say. You’ve given up on trying to form any sort of genuine friendship, and have just accepted the fact that he wants nothing to do with you.

But you don’t see it. The longing glances when you’re talking to someone else. And you don’t understand. If he hates you, why do the 2 of you keep being paired up for missions? You don’t see that on said missions, his first priority is to find you so that he can see for himself that you’re safe.

One day, he overhears that you’re being sent back in time to collect some very important information. Your tasks? Find Colonel Phillips work tent, photograph papers from a specific folder, and come back to the present.

It’s a simple enough mission. But when he hears the chosen date is January 26, 1945, Bucky swears his heart stops. It’ll be fine, though. It’s the day he fell off the train, but it won’t affect you… right? If that’s the case, though, why is it now hours past the time you were supposed to return, but no one on the team can get ahold of you??

now that the writing gears are finally turning again (thank you thunderbolts*), i’m finally posting this preview. if you’d like to be notified when this is posted, which’ll be sometime this weekend, let me know!

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jungkoode · 16 hours ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #17 死

† bedroom confessions †

“His real name is the most dangerous thing he’s ever given you.”

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7.5k

rating: explicit (18+)

content: first time in jeon’s bedroom, real name revelation, sexual tension finally exploding, dirty talk that’ll make you blush, spanking kink discovery, emotional walls starting to crack, post-sex vulnerability, and lines being crossed that can never be uncrossed.

Kiki Nation’s discussion thread for this chapter.

☠ author's note ☠

Y’ALL I’M DECEASED. Just casually writing 7.5k of filth like it’s nothing. Who even am I at this point? My laptop is judging me, my FBI agent is traumatized, and I haven’t made eye contact with my roommate in three days.

So… that happened. Jungkook finally shared his real name AND his bed, and honestly? The power that man holds when he’s being all dominant and teasing is absolutely CRIMINAL. I had to take several water breaks while writing this chapter because WHEW. Is it hot in here or is it just me? (¬‿¬)

The fact that Jungkook’s idea of aftercare is literally “wanna stay connected all night?” has me HOLLERING. Sir, that is NOT how this works—but also it’s so perfectly HIM. Our emotionally stunted sniper boy doesn’t know how to process feelings unless they’re shooting through a rifle scope.

And Y/N with the attitude even DURING sex? A queen behavior. Standing ovation for not becoming a complete puddle the second he touched her (though let’s be real, it was close).

Let’s also talk about how they can’t stop BANTERING even post-orgasm. These two idiots calling it “charity work” when they’re both equally obsessed with each other? THE DELUSION. I love them so much it physically hurts my face.

I know I promised slow burn but uh… Listen. LISTEN. It’s an EMOTIONALLLL slow burn. The fuck buddies tag is there for a reason. Sometimes characters just take over and you have to let them bang it out, you know? It’s for their mental health or whatever.

Don’t get too comfortable though! We all know what happens in this universe when people get too happy… the universe (aka me, their cruel god) decides to throw a wrench in everything. ⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ

Next chapter will give us a little morning-after situation and maybe even some actual plot development if I can stop writing smut for five seconds!

Love ya, trauma vultures! Keep those comments coming, they fuel my sleep-deprived writing sessions!

xoxo 💋

P.S. Also, for the hate comment I deleted 5 seconds after it was posted (you tried though)… here's an even longer author's note, since yk, like you said, nobody reads them… More for me to yap without consequences, I guess.

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

You're in Jeon's room.

Jeon's fucking room.

When he'd texted you to come to the shooting range earlier, you'd figured it was just another one of his typical late-night training sessions.

But now? Now you're here, on his bed , with him standing over you like he’s already decided you’re his next target.

Like you’re already dead and just haven’t figured it out yet.

Okay, maybe a tiny part of you had hoped for this. (Shut up , horny brain.)

But you'd only agreed to be fuck buddies like, what, some hours ago?

And here you are already, sprawled across his sheets, heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape.

Talk about moving fast.

Except it isn't simple. Not when you're already spread out across his bed like you fucking live here. Not when your heart's kicking like a scared rabbit in your chest.

Your fingers curl into his sheets on reflex. Satin. Dark. Smells like pine and something sharper��pine. Him. God, that should not do things to you but it does.

You fight the dumb grin twitching at the corner of your mouth.

Because here's the thing.

He's just as gone for it.

Jeon's staring down at you like he hasn't eaten in days. Dark eyes locked on you like you're dinner and dessert and every guilty pleasure combined. There's no hesitation. No second-guessing. No going slow. Just that razor-focused, dangerous glint he always gets before pulling the trigger on a mark.

And Jesus Christ, you're the mark.

Your breath catches.

That stormy energy of his? It's fucking alive. Wrapping around you. Crawling over your skin. You feel it. You taste it. Static in the air—sharp, biting, almost buzzing in your goddamn teeth.

His fingers graze your thigh and oh.

That's nice. Really nice.

But before you can really enjoy it, he pulls his hand away. Plants it on the mattress by your head, making the bed creak under his weight.

You snap your head up in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Your voice cracks. Great. Love that for you.

But then his other hand comes up—slides along your jaw like he owns you. Fingers rough. Callused. Deadly. And all you can do is stare like a fucking idiot as his thumb presses against your bottom lip. Tugging. Testing.

You go pliant before you even process it. Lips parting on instinct.

His mouth opens just a little—like he's picturing it. Like he wants to taste you. Swallow you whole.

And goddamn it, you want that too.

So bad it hurts.

Is he imagining what it'd be like to kiss you? 'Cause you sure as hell are.

"You sure you can handle the kind of tension relief I'm talking about?" he asks, voice low and gravelly.

You almost laugh. As if you haven't been thinking about this exact scenario for weeks.

"Guess you'll have to show me so I can decide, huh?"

That does it.

He moves. Fast.

You barely register it before he's already there—mouth crashing into yours like he's starving. Teeth. Tongue. Fucking warzone.

There's no slow build-up. No teasing. Just pure, raw take.

Your breath punches out of you as you grab for him. Instinct. Desperation. Your fingers slip into his hair—damp, messy, soft as hell. You tug. Hard.

He groans into your mouth. Loud. Deep. Way too fucking hot. It rips down your spine like lightning.

You bite his lip just to feel him suck in air through his teeth. God, that sound—that sound—shoots straight to your core. Your legs twitch under him, thighs pressing together, trying to ease the ache.

It doesn't work. Makes it worse.

Jeon doesn't let you off easy either. He dives back in. Deeper this time. Tongue claiming, swallowing every shaky breath you give him like he owns them now.

His body shifts—presses down harder—pinning you to the mattress without saying a single word. Your back arches up like a fucking reflex. Can't help it.

And then, just as fast, he pulls back.

Forehead against yours. Breath ragged. Lips slick and swollen.

His chest rises and falls like he just ran a mile.

You're no better. Gasping. Throat dry. Pulse wrecked.

"We doing this?" he asks.

Not really a question. He knows. You both know. Still—he waits.

And maybe it's stupid how much that makes your throat go tight.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. "Yes."

One word. That's all it takes for Jeon's eyes to darken further.

His mouth finds yours again, but only for a moment. Then he's moving—trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to your neck. When his teeth graze below your ear, a small gasp leaves your throat.

Fuck.

The sound does something to him. You can tell by the way his fingers dig into your hip, how his breath comes out just a bit harsher against your skin.

His other hand slides down your stomach, fingers spread wide like he's trying to touch as much of you as possible. The shirt bunches up with the movement.

More skin exposed to the cool air of his room. More of you for him to explore.

You can barely breathe right. Every inhale is shallow, desperate. A whine builds in your throat, needy and embarrassing, but you're too far gone to care. You want more. More of his hands on you, more of his mouth, more of the way he's practically caging you in with his body.

He makes this sound—low and satisfied, almost like a growl—that has heat pooling between your legs.

"Jeon," you breathe out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.

"Jungkook," he corrects, voice rough with want. "My real name is Jungkook. Say it like that again."

Your breath catches. Using real names in Kkangpae isn't something you take lightly. It's intimate. Personal. A sign of trust that goes beyond the physical.

"Jungkook," you say again, louder this time. Testing how it feels on your tongue.

The way his eyes darken tells you everything you need to know about how it sounds to him.

He growls—actually growls, okay paw patrol?—at that, like your voice saying his name is doing things to him. Like he can't get enough of it.

God. The way he's looking at you right now.

"Turn over for me," he murmurs like a command, but there's something patient in his voice. "I need to see that ass."

Your whole body feels like jelly as you move. The mattress dips beneath you, and fuck—you realize how exposed you are right now, laid out for him like this. How vulnerable.

How wanted.

"Ass up, sunshine," he says, voice raspy.

You push yourself up on your elbows, lifting your hips. The position makes you feel s̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ bold, but it also feels slightly intoxicating, being on display like this, knowing exactly what it's doing to him.

The sharp intake of his breath is worth it.

His hands hover over you for a moment—those same hands that can take a life from a mile away with a sniper rifle now ghosting across your skin. The anticipation has your stomach in knots, has you fighting the urge to push back against him.

When he finally touches you, it's almost reverent. Like he's mapping out territory he plans to claim.

"Fuck," he breathes out; and the way he says it—like a prayer, like worship—makes your face burn. "You have no idea what your ass does to me."

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, kneading with the kind of expertise that makes you wonder h̶o̶w̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ if he's thought about this before.

You have to press your face into the pillow to muffle the sounds trying to escape your throat.

Because if you start, you're not sure you'll be able to stop.

He takes his time, methodical in a way that's driving you insane. His thumbs spread you open, then let you fall back together. His hands work their way, massaging and squeezing. The heat under your skin builds until you feel like you might combust. Like you might actually catch fire right here in his bed.

"Such a perfect ass," he groans, and then—oh—his lips are pressing against one cheek, then the other. Soft kisses that feel somehow filthier than anything else he's done. "Fucking beautiful."

The praise hits different when it's coming from him. When it's Jungkook—cold, distant, perfectionist Jungkook—telling you how perfect you are.

When he pulls back, the loss of contact hits different. Like someone just yanked a warm blanket off you.

"I want to try something," he says, and okay, when his voice sounds like that you'd say yes to almost anything he'd say.

"Yeah?" Your voice is breathy, but at this point you're too curious (too turned on) to give a single fuck.

His hand traces up your spine, gentle in a way that doesn't match how intensely he's staring at you. The contrast makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"I want to spank that gorgeous ass of yours."

It comes out like a confession, like he's been thinking about this for a while. There's a question mark hanging at the end of it though, waiting for your permission.

Oh.

Something hot and electric zips through you at the suggestion. Your brain staggers for a second, but your body's already made up its mind. You're nodding before you can even process what this means.

"Let's do it," you say, maybe too eagerly, but the thought of his hand coming down on your ass has lit something up inside you that you didn't even know was there.

"Remember our safe word?"

Even in the middle of this is, he's making sure you're both on the same page.

"Black tape," you confirm immediately.

Having that word there, knowing you can use it anytime—it's like a safety net. Makes everything else feel okay.

"Good."

He positions himself behind you again, and the anticipation is k̶i̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ driving you crazy. His hand hovers over your skin, making you feel every inch of exposed flesh.

Then, the first spank lands.

It's almost gentle—like he's testing the waters, seeing how you'll react.

The sound it makes in the quiet room has your face burning.

Sharp. Clean. Loud.

Your skin blooms with heat where his palm connected, and fuck—it's not exactly painful, but it sends this electric feeling through your whole body that has you gasping. The sting melts into something warmer, spreading under your skin until you feel like you're floating.

Your face burns.

And... It's not from pain.

Obviously, he's watching you like a hawk, trying to read your reaction. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense.

"How was that?" His voice comes out rough, like he's the one who just got spanked.

You have to take a second to remember how words work.

"Good," you manage to get out, barely above a whisper. "Really good."

He gives you time to process, to just feel it. Then his palm is back on your ass, but this time he's not spanking. He's just... touching. Soothing the heated skin with gentle strokes that somehow feel more intimate than the spank itself.

It's messing with your head—how he can switch from rough to gentle so fast. One second he's spanking you, the next he's treating you like you're made of glass.

The air feels exactly like right before a storm hits.

Jungkook's presence behind you is overwhelming in the best way, and when his hand moves away, you actually have to bite back a whine.

Every second he makes you wait feels like torture. You arch your back a little, trying to be s̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ subtle about asking for more. You can't see his face, but you know he's smirking.

You've seen that look enough times to picture it perfectly—that cocky little quirk of his lips, the way his eyes get all dark and intense.

"Ready for another?" he asks, voice gone all gravelly; and it shouldn't be hot, but it is.

Your heart's going crazy in your chest when you nod. "Yes."

Waiting has has your skin tingling, has you holding your breath without even meaning to.

You can feel him shifting behind you, the mattress dipping as he draws his arm back.

When his palm connects this time, it's not a question—it's a statement.

The smack echoes off the walls, louder than before, and holy shit.

"Fuck," you gasp out.

It stings more this time, sharp and intense, but in a way that makes everything feel unfairly good.

"How does that feel?" His words drip with arousal, but there's still that undercurrent of concern.

Always checking, always making sure.

"Nice," you hear yourself say, and you're surprised by how eager you sound. Like you can't get enough. "Keep going."

There's a pause, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"As you wish," he finally says, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smirking.

He pulls back again, and like the asshole he is, he makes you wait a little bit.

Not for long though, because clearly, the fucker is enjoying this too.

When the third spank lands, it's like a lightning bolt straight to your core. It's stronger, more controlled, and the pleasure that rips through you is so intense it steals your breath.

You cry out—not from pain, but from how good it feels.

How it makes your whole body sing.

This time, his hand stays put. You can feel the heat of his palm against your stinging skin, and it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

"Beautiful," he breathes out, like you're some kind of work of art.

You hadn't pegged Jungkook as the type to be into this kind of thing. But the way his breath catches, the slight tremor in his hand as it rests on your ass—it's like he's discovering something about himself right along with you.

Maybe it's a spanking thing. Or maybe it's just a you thing.

Or your ass thing.

Either way, the realization that you're affecting him this much?

Heady. Bargaining material.

His fingers start tracing patterns on your heated skin, soothing the sting. Again with the contrast, from the spanking to this. Like he's not quite sure himself where he stands.

"You okay?"

You nod into the pillow, not trusting your voice right now.

Because how do you tell someone that you're more than okay? That you're floating on some kind of pleasure high you didn't even know existed?

And honestly, this whole situation is simply making it hard to think straight.

But then, Jungkook moves, slowly, creates some distance and—oh?

A soft thud. His towel hitting the floor.

He steps closer once more, bare skin against yours, and it's hot. He's hot. His skin is hot.

His body is all hard lines pressed up against your softer curves, and when his cock presses against your panties, you actually have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

You push back against him without thinking.

S̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ Needy.

"You're driving me fucking crazy," he makes this sound you can't quite classify.

The raw want in his voice does things to you. But before you can even think of responding, his hand comes down on your ass again.

Hard.

The sound echoes through his room, and you can't help the moan that slips out.

(Anyone walking past his door would definitely hear that one.)

"Tell me you felt that," he demands.

"I felt it," you manage to get out between breaths. "I felt all of it."

Then his free hand wraps around your waist, fingers spreading wide like he's trying to conquer as much of your body as possible. He pulls you closer, and god—you can feel every inch of his cock pressed against you through the thin fabric of your panties.

The contrast between his rough skin and the smooth material is driving you insane.

"You want more?"

He's trying to sound teasing, but you can hear how affected he is. His voice is multiple octaves deeper than his usual 'whatever' tone.

"Yeah." Your voice comes out wrecked. "Don't stop."

He laughs—this low, dangerous sound that makes your toes curl. "God, I love how eager you are."

His hand comes down hard—harder than before—and the sound echoes through his room like a gunshot. You can't help the groan that rips from your throat. It's embarrassingly loud, but who cares at this point?

The sting burns hot across your skin, sharp and biting, sinking deeper until it melts into that aching pulse you can’t get enough of. You can feel exactly where his palm landed, the heat of it sinking deep into your flesh.

"Christ, you take it so well," he says, and his fingers dig into the spot he just spanked, pressure making you bite your lip. "I can see the shape of my hand on your ass, turning red. It's fucking sexy."

You're breathing like you just ran a marathon, each exhale coming out kind of whiny and desperate. Your brain’s mush. All you can register is his hands and the heat of him grinding against you.

"Jungkook, please." The way you say his name is straight-up pathetic, way too needy.

You push back against him, wanting to feel him without these stupid panties in the way.

His fingers trail down your spine, so slow it’s infuriating. They dance over the curve of your ass before playing with the edge of your underwear. When his fingers finally hook into the fabric, you freeze, chest tightening as he pulls the fabric aside.

Your face is pressed into his mattress, ass up in the air like some kind of offering. You should feel exposed, but something about it just feels right.

"You're already so wet for me..." You can hear the smirk in his voice. What an asshole. "How can I resist?"

But he does resist, the bastard.

His touch goes all gentle, fingers just barely exploring your folds like he's got all the time in the world. Like he's trying to memorize every little detail—how wet you are, how warm, the way you can't help but tremble.

He then makes this approving sound deep in his throat and you've had enough.

"Jungkook," you whine, dragging out his name like some kind of desperate prayer. "Stop teasing."

"But I want to watch you squirm," he says, and fuck—you can tell he means it.

He wants to see you fall apart, wants to watch you beg.

What a bitch.

His sadistic little game only gets worse when you complain. You can feel his finger right there, barely touching where you need him most, just collecting evidence of how embarrassingly wet you are. The anticipation is k̶i̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ driving you insane as he slides that finger up and down, parting you without actually giving you what you want. Using your own arousal to make the glide easier.

You try to push back against him, to get his finger inside you—anything. But his other hand is pressed firm against your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"Jesus Christ, just fuck me already," you can't help but groan, frustrated.

But Jungkook—because he's a bastard—just keeps playing his little game.

"I'll fuck you when you're ready to break from wanting it so bad," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

He loves it.

His finger circles your entrance, the touch so light it's actually torture. Every time he passes over that spot, you clench around nothing, desperate to feel him inside you.

When he finally pushes just the tip of his finger in, you actually sigh out loud—half relief, half frustration. Your whole body's shaking with how bad you need more, but he keeps holding back. Adding pressure so slowly it should be illegal, pushing in just to pull back out again.

He's drawing this out just because he can, the power-tripping dickhead.

The pressure builds just a tiny bit as he shows you the smallest amount of mercy, sliding that one finger in entirely so slow you think you might actually lose your mind.

It's not enough—nowhere near enough—and he knows it.

You want him to stop being so careful, to just take what you're offering.

Despite how frustrated you are (or maybe because of it), you can't help but smirk.

"What, you got no condoms this time either?"

The words come out all breathy between your gritted teeth—and honestly? Not your brightest idea, bringing up that particular memory from the tent.

The response is immediate—his hand comes down hard on your ass, sting spreading across your skin like wildfire.

"Aw, what the fuck—?"

You yelp, caught between the sharp pain and how embarrassingly turned on it makes you feel—like your body can't decide if it wants to flinch away or push back for more.

"You should know better than to sass me right now."

Then his hand is smoothing over the spot he just spanked, gentle in a way that feels almost worse than the hit itself.

"You're such an asshole," you tell him, but there's no real bite to it.

You both know you don't mean it, not when you're bent over his bed with his finger inside you.

"Mhm, but you fucking love it, don't you?"

He says it like it's just a fact. Like the sky is blue, water is wet, and you get off on him being a dick.

(The worst part is he's not wrong.)

You can't help but grown more impatient when you feel his ring finger press up against your entrance, right next to where his middle finger is already buried inside you. He pauses there, just letting you feel the pressure.

"For fuck's sake, just do it." Your voice cracks embarrassingly, giving away just how bad you want it.

He laughs, low and rough. "Patience, I want you to feel every single inch."

Can he die? Genuinely.

Then the pressure builds as he starts working his ring finger in alongside the other one. He's being so fucking methodical about it, pushing deeper into you at a pace that's making you lose your mind.

Every inch feels like it takes forever.

"You feel so fucking tight, you sure you can handle both?"

The teasing note in his voice makes you want to bite him. He already knows the answer, the smug bastard.

"I can take more than you can give," you get out between breaths, because fuck him.

And it's meant to be cocky, but it comes out sounding more desperate than anything.

"We'll see about that."

His fingers stop moving for a second—just long enough to make you whine—before he starts pushing in even slower. Like he's trying to make you feel every single movement, every stretch, every slide.

And at this point your body's on fucking fire. But can you be to blame, when he's been nothing but an infuriating tease?

Little pleading sounds keep escaping your throat without permission. You're practically chanting 'please's as you try to push back against his hand. But he's got you pinned, keeping that torturously slow pace.

"Fucking... jerk," you mutter—because he absolutely is.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I am."

When both his fingers finally—finally—bottom out inside you, you actually gasp. Your body clenches around them greedily, trying to get any kind of movement, and the grunt he lets out sounds s̶e̶x̶y̶ pleased.

"Tell me how much you want it."

It's not a request. His voice has that edge to it that makes it very clear.

"I want it more than my next breath." The words tumble out raw and honest.

"Good girl," he says, and even though it's rough around the edges, the praise makes you stutter.

His fingers curl inside you, making you moan embarrassingly loud. Then the bastard just... stops. Stays completely still, letting you feel exactly how deep his fingers are, how they're stretching you open.

You're actually going to lose your mind if he doesn't start moving soon. But you refuse to beg—you won't give him the satisfaction.

"I think listening to you beg is my new favorite sound," he says, like he can read your thoughts.

"Fuck off—" The words die in your throat when his fingers pull back just a tiny bit before pushing deep again, and yup, the sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up pathetic.

"You're driving me insane," you tell him, trying to sound angry.

"That's the idea." He says, but it's all dark and pleased. "I want you out of your mind with need, so when I finally give you what you're begging for, you'll remember who put you there."

Fuck.

His fingers are still buried deep inside you, not moving, and you can feel every single knuckle. It's like a preview of what's coming later—a promise that this is just the start, and he's planning to take his sweet time getting there.

The seconds drag by like hours. You're stuck in this weird space between pleasure and frustration, where his fingers feel so good but it's n̶o̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ not nearly enough. The heat of his body against yours isn't helping either. Having him this close but not getting what you want is actually torture.

"Are you planning on moving anytime this century?"

And yeah. It sounds bitchy.

Exactly how you want it.

"In due time."

You can barely breathe right, desperation clawing at your throat. Then—oh—his finger brushes against your clit, so light you almost think you imagined it. Your hips jerk without permission, chasing that barely-there touch.

"Jungkook," you warn, half-growl, half-whine.

He chuckles. "No patience at all, huh?"

"Just fucking touch me already." The snark in your voice is falling apart, giving way to pure need.

"Ahh, I love it when you get all feisty."

You open your mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove that smugness, but then his finger is back on your clit.

Just ghosting over it, barely any pressure at all.

But your whole body lights up anyway, every nerve ending suddenly wide awake.

"This is torture," you accuse, though the breathiness in your voice kind of ruins the effect.

"Not torture. Appreciation." He hums. "I'm just enjoying all those pretty sounds you make. The way you shake. How desperate you get."

Bastard.

His finger starts moving in slow circles around your clit, adding just a tiny bit more pressure. It's enough to make your back arch, trying to get more friction, but it's n̶o̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ not nearly enough.

"Please," you whine, past caring how needy you sound. "Just—a little harder, please, Jungkook."

He gives you what you asked for—barely.

Just a fraction more pressure, but combined with his fingers still buried inside you, it's enough to make your body clench around him.

He's got you trapped between pleasure and frustration, keeping you right on that edge.

"This what you want?" he asks, mocking. "This pace good for you, hmm?"

You know exactly what he's doing—getting off on your impatience, on how desperate he can make you with just his fingers and that stubborn w̶i̶l̶l̶p̶o̶w̶e̶r̶ control of his.

The pressure on your clit keeps changing, going from barely-there touches that make you want to scream to just enough to have you chasing more.

"Jungkook, I fucking swear—"

The words die in your throat when his finger suddenly presses harder.

"What?" His voice drops even lower, hitting that dangerous note that usually means he's about to stop playing nice. "What exactly are you swearing?"

"That I'll rip your fucking hair out if you don't stop messing around." You have to grit your teeth to get the words out, trying to sound threatening even though you're literally shaking with need.

He laughs—this deep, dark sound that vibrates through you—and rewards your threat with a firm stroke that has heat coiling in your stomach.

"That's not very nice," he says, but he sounds more amused than anything. Like your empty threats are entertaining him.

His finger goes back to those slow, torturous circles around your clit. Each pass builds the pressure a little more, but it's never quite enough to get you there.

The most f̶u̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ messed up part? You're kind of into it.

This whole power play thing you've got going—how you push and he pulls, how you threaten and he teases.

It's addictive.

Because in truth, there is something powerful about knowing you can make Jeon Jungkook, Kkangpae's perfect soldier, want to hear you say his name.

Suddenly his whole rhythm changes.

No more of that torturously slow pace—his fingers start moving with actual purpose, curling inside you in a way that has your toes curling. Like he's finally done playing around and just wants to make you genuinely cum.

Hallelujah.

The sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up filthy. You have to press your face into the mattress to muffle it, which only makes you more aware of how heavily you're breathing, each gasp basically fucking advertising how good his fingers feel.

"Come on, sunshine," he teases. "You don't have to be quiet. These walls are soundproof."

But you just press your face harder into the mattress.

It's become a matter of pride now—you refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing exactly what he's doing to you.

You're right there, so close you can taste it—

And then the fucker stops.

A pathetic whimper leaves your throat as you squirm beneath him, feeling weirdly empty. The loss of sensation has you actually wanting to cry.

When you turn your head to glare at him, he's got this insufferably satisfied look on his face.

He reaches over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer like he's got all the time in the world. The foil packet he holds up catches the light, and the victorious look he gives you makes you want to bite him.

"See, I do have condoms this time, you smart mouth." The smirk on his face should be illegal.

"Oh wow, look who's being a semi-functional adult for once." You narrow your eyes at him."Want a fucking gold star or something?"

He laughs whilst tearing the foil packet and for some reason, it is weirdly hot—how focused he looks while rolling the condom on.

"Maybe after this you'll want to give me one," he says, still sounding way too amused.

He settles back on his knees, raising an eyebrow at you like he's waiting for something. You huff, pretending to be all put out even though you're literally dying from how bad you want him. When you press your cheek against his cool sheets again, you make sure to arch your back just right.

You know exactly what that view does to him.

Feeling extra b̶r̶a̶t̶t̶y̶ bold, you wiggle your hips a little. Just a tiny movement, but it's basically saying 'come and get it' without words.

And bingo.

His hand comes down on your ass hard—but despite that, you feel weirdly victorious.

Then he's right there, lining himself up.

His tip brushes against your entrance, teasing to the point of madness, because at this point you just want him inside already.

You bite down on the sheets, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg again. But your body's giving you away anyway—the way you're trembling, how desperately you're trying to push back against him.

He takes his sweet time, just watching you. His eyes trail down your spine to where his handprints are probably turning your ass red.

After what feels like forever, he finally pushes in, one smooth stroke that rips the air from your lungs.

And it's impossible to muffle yourself; even with your face squashed against the mattress, when he bottoms out completely.

You feel every single inch of him, filling you up so completely it's genuinely insane. And he just stays there, buried deep inside you.

"So fucking tight," he growls, sound vibrating through you, making your toes curl.

Your body moves on its own, pushing back against him, desperate for more. You need him to move, need that relentless pace you know he can give you. But the bastard just holds you there, completely still, making you feel every single detail of how he's splitting you open.

His fingers dig into your hips—not hard enough to leave marks (yet), but firm enough to keep you exactly where he wants you. And the slight bite of pain just adds to the pleasure, kind of welcome honestly.

When he finally pulls back, you almost whine at the loss—but then he slams back in, hard and deep, and your brain melts. Everything gets kind of blurry after that.

Your skin feels like it's on fire everywhere he touches. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes through his room (thank god these walls are actually soundproof), getting louder with each thrust. His pace is brutal, punishing, but it's exactly what you've been dying for.

"That's it, take all of it."

And there's just this thing in how he says it—that has you pushing back against him like you're desperate for it.

(Maybe you are.)

Every thrust feels like getting hit by a natural disaster; like a fucking hurricane. It's hard to breathe, hard to think about anything except how he's driving you into the mattress.

He's fucking you like he's got something to prove, hips snapping forward so hard it's just obscene, has you clutching at his sheets like they're the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then his hand slides underneath you, looking for your clit. Like he knows exactly what you need without you voicing it out.

The second he finds it and starts rubbing circles against it, electricity zips through your whole body. It's almost too much, the dual sensation of his cock stretching you open and his fingers working your clit.

"Fuck, Jungkook," you moan, and you barely recognize your own voice. "Don't stop."

He lets out this grunt that gets lost in the sound of him pounding into you.

But he listens, thank god, keeping up that relentless pace with both his cock and his fingers.

It's not gentle. He's fucking you like he wants to break you, like he wants to hear every embarrassing sound he can wring out of your throat.

"Just like that, sunshine," he pants. "Fucking take it."

Each thrust builds something wild inside you, like being caught in the eye of a hurricane. The pressure coils tighter and tighter until you think you might actually lose your mind. Everything feels too much and not enough all at once.

Your senses go into overdrive—the obscene sound of skin hitting skin, the heavy scent of sex filling his room, the salt of sweat on your tongue. You're drowning in pleasure, and Jungkook's the one holding you under with his relentless pace.

Then it hits.

The orgasm crashes through you in waves, drawing these embarrassingly loud sounds from your throat—whimpers, growls, straight-up begging. Your body clamps down around his cock like it's trying to keep him there forever, fingers still working your clit through it all. Pleasure zips through every nerve ending until you can barely breathe.

"Jungkook—" His name rips from your throat when you come, sounding absolutely wrecked.

The pleasure is so intense it almost hurts.

He falters for just a second before picking the pace back up, fucking you through your orgasm until you're seeing stars. Each stroke sets off these little aftershocks that have you questioning your sanity. His groans get louder, deeper, mixing with the sounds you can't help but make.

Every thrust hits exactly where you need it, precise and commanding in that way only he can manage.

You can feel how tense he is, how close he is to losing it.

His breathing comes out all rough and uneven, matching the brutal pace of his thrusts. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave marks, using the grip to pull you back onto his cock like he can't get deep enough.

It's feral, is what it is— how he's moving now—like he's completely lost in it, chasing his own pleasure.

"Shit, I'm close," he groans against your neck, chest pressed tight against your back, skin burning everywhere you touch.

Then he goes rigid as it hits him.

You can feel every twitch of his cock, every pulse as he fills the condom.

He makes this plethora of sounds—deep, rough groans combined with some high pitched ones; all stripped away until he's just raw need and pleasure.

"Ah— fuck—"

Every curse that falls from his lips sounds snatched from him, desperate.

His hips stutter against yours, losing his rhythm as he rides it all out. His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, holding you still while he falls apart. Each thrust gets slower, like he's trying to make it last.

When he starts coming down from it, his hands go gentle where they were rough before.

He's still panting hard against your neck, little aftershocks making his cock twitch inside you. His heart's hammering so hard you can feel it against your back.

Jungkook collapses against your back, his legs apparently giving out after how hard he just came. His chest is slick with sweat where it presses against you, and his breath fans hot across your neck. He's still buried inside you, cock softening but still making you feel so full.

The sound he makes—this low, satisfied groan—is almost cute. Like a big cat after a good meal.

The afterglow starts to settle, leaving this heavy kind of quiet between you. Your breathing starts evening out, going from desperate gasping to something more normal.

You both just... stay there for a minute, too worn out to move.

Then he just... drops his full weight on you. Like his arms finally give out or something.

The heat of his body wraps around you completely, and maybe it'd be nice if he wasn't crushing your lungs.

His whole body is radiating exhaustion, and yeah—you get it. That was intense.

"Jeon, move... you're heavy," you grunt into his pillow.

Your voice comes out all rough from how loud you were being earlier.

"Give me a second," he mumbles against your skin, sounding just as wrecked as you feel. "You can't expect me to move after fucking you like that."

He sounds half-joking, half-serious, nuzzling into your neck like he's planning to just stay there forever.

You can't help but laugh at that. Something about seeing Kkangpae's perfect soldier brought down by an orgasm is kind of hilarious.

You shove at his side, trying to get him to budge.

He doesn't move an inch, the bastard.

Instead, he has the audacity to suggest something so wild it's weirdly very him.

"How 'bout we fall asleep just like this, me still inside you?" His voice comes out all lazy and satisfied.

You can tell he's half-joking, but there's this note in his voice that says he's actually considering it.

You reach back to smack him, caught between being annoyed and kind of endeared by how shameless he is.

"Fat chance, thundercloud," you tell him, but there's no real bite to it.

He laughs—this deep, warm sound that tells you he's smiling even though you can't see his face.

But you really can't breathe with him crushing you, so you push at him again, harder this time. "Seriously, off. You're heavy as fuck."

He makes this exaggerated groan like you're asking him to run a marathon or something, but finally rolls off you and onto his side.

His cock slips out (and fuck, that's a weird feeling), and then he sprawls out next to you, throwing one arm over his face as he catches his breath.

The sight of him like this—all tatted up and muscled, skin still kind of shiny with sweat—is doing things to your brain that you really don't want to examine too closely.

After a few more deep breaths, he sits up with this little sigh like moving is the worst thing ever. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he deals with the condom.

There's something almost gentle about how he handles it, which is kind of funny considering how rough he w being just a minute ago. He ties it off and tosses it in the trash with this practiced little flick that says he's definitely done this before.

"So, you wanna cuddle?" The teasing in his voice is obvious.

It's a callback to your conversation earlier, when you were both pretending this was just going to be sleeping.

"Seems like I'm not the one wanting to cuddle after all," you shoot back, matching his tone.

Jungkook gives you that smug little grin.

"Just doing some charity work," he says, voice all teasing and challenging, daring you to argue.

You can't help but scoff. The audacity of this man.

"Charity work? Please. If anyone's being charitable here, it's me."

He laughs—this deep, satisfied sound that fills his room. "Ha. Don't act like you didn't enjoy that just as much as I did."

Well. He's got you there, but you're not about to admit it out loud. Not when he's being this smug about it.

You tilt your head, feeling a crooked smile tug at your lips. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Guess we'll never know."

He shifts closer to you, and fuck—even after everything you just did, your body still reacts to his proximity.

"Maybe I need to fuck you again to find out," he says, voice dropping low enough to make heat pool in your stomach.

"Oh? You sure you can handle another round, tough guy?"

The smirk he gives you is absolutely criminal.

"Sunshine, I've got stamina for days." He says it like he's joking, but something tells you he's not exaggerating.

"For days, huh?" You raise an eyebrow. "Someone's confident."

"Because I know you," he says softly, words ghosting across your skin.

That makes you pause.

Know you?

He doesn't know you any more than you know him.

Sure, your bodies seem to speak the same language—the way you fit together, how you respond to each other's touch.

But that's all this is.

All it can be.

Nothing more complicated than pure physical attraction.

But you don't feel like getting into that right now. Not when you're both still riding the high of what just happened.

"Tempting," you say instead, drawing the word out. "But we've got a long night ahead, and I'd rather spend it actually sleeping."

He narrows his eyes at you, looking way too pleased with himself.

"My bed seems to be the only place you're actually honest," he says, and how does he always have a comeback ready?

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Was that supposed to be a compliment, Jeon? Getting soft on me already?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, putting on this fake serious face. "Can't have you thinking I actually enjoy your company or something."

"Oh, please. Soft is literally the last word I'd use to describe you." You can't help but smirk at the double meaning.

A yawn catches you off guard—not because you're tired (okay, maybe a little), but because you're actually kind of... comfortable?

Weird.

"Anyway, time for sleep. That's what we said we'd do, remember?

He literally snorts. "Sleep? After what we just did? You're fucking with me."

"Not anymore, I'm not," you shoot back, and the look on his face is actually priceless.

"Come on," he tries again. "Round two? I promise it'll be worth staying up for."

But you're already settling into his stupidly comfortable bed. "Nope. Some of us need actual sleep, thundercloud."

"Fine," he sighs, all dramatic about it. "But just so we're clear—this isn't me giving up. It's a tactical retreat."

You actually snort at that. "A tactical retreat? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Yeah, well." He pulls the covers up, finally accepting defeat. "Pushy ain't sexy."

You both settle comfortably in the quietness of his room.

And you can't help but ponder.

It's weird how easy this feels—being here with him, joking around after what you just did.

Like you're not just teammates or gang members or even fuck buddies.

That thought's definitely more scary than it should be.

goal: 480 notes (also lil reminder to go vote fmu 21 and 22 on wattpad after the mass unvoting to restore them, if you enjoy that story as well! (●’◡’●)ﾉ)

if you’ve enjoyed this chapter please consider buying me a coffee!! ☕️ ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

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uceyliyahh · 1 day ago

Text

GUARDED

summary: Genesis has been protecting her heart ever since she filed for divorce and didn’t want to be in another relationship until he came around and changed her mind.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings contain: emotional abuse, divorce, depression, fighting, mention of blood, disposal of bodies, slight injuries, mention of a gun, drugs, unprotected sex, mention of baby fever.

word count: 7.2k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Genesis

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title 🫶🏽

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @mjonthetrack

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @celesteheartsjey @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @bookuce @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @luvrsluxe

𝑺𝒊𝝌𝝉𝜺𝜺𝜼

𝜣𝒎𝜼𝒊𝒔𝝇𝒊𝜺𝜼𝝉

jonathanfatu, uceyjucey, biancabelairwwe, and others liked your post.

gigispovv: He Knows How To Make A Girl Happy 💗

jonathanfatu: sure do c’mere mamas looking all sexy and shi 😩🥴

gigispovv: @ jonathanfatu no you come here if you want it this sexy thang 😘

uceyjucey: aight we don’t need to see yall flirting in the comments 😀😀

biancabelairwwe: Jon loves you so much it’s crazy

jadecargill: BESTIE LOOKING EATABLE RN

jonathanfatu: @ jadecargill ikr 😉

americannightmarecody: THE OUTFIT IS EATINNN GIGI

rikishi: my beautiful daughter in law ❤️

gigispovv: @ rikishi 🫶🏽🫶🏽

MontezFordWWE: can’t believe Jimmy bagged this dawg

trinity_fatu: stupid bitch 🙄

gigispovv: @ trinity_fatu girl fuck you, your just mad because he belongs to me now and not you 😭😭

Read all comments.

gigispovv, romanreigns, yaonlylivonce, and others liked your post.

jonathanfatu: best tag team in the game 🫴🏽

gigispovv: so sexyyyy like omg this my future husband? 😩😩

jonathanfatu: @ gigispovv damn right I’m yo’ future husband baby I’m all yours❤️

uceyjucey: yeeet nobody can’t stop us twin

jonathanfatu: @ uceyjucey fasho twin

MontezFordWWE: aye me and Angelo will snatch those off of yall 😭😭

trinity_fatu: unblock me Jonathan 🙄🙄

yaonlylivonce: JON WHERE'S GIGI

jonathanfatu: @ yaonlylivonce I’m literally with her in the gym rn liv RELAX DAWG 😭😭

samizayn: my brothers ❤️

read all comments.

San Diego, California - 2:30PM

Genesis and Jimmy were at the gym, where Jimmy assisted Genesis with her form. His hand rested on her waist, drawing her closer as they exchanged glances in the mirror.

His gaze in the mirror sent her stomach into knots, making her so anxious that she intentionally made mistakes just to provoke a response from him.

His deep-set eyes glimmered in a way that he was aware captivated her.

“You messing up on purpose mamas?” Jimmy asked.

“No, it’s hard to focus when I have a handsome man like yourself looking at me like you wanna devour me in this gym right now.” Genesis responded.

Her reply made him laugh, his thumbs gently gliding along the curve of her waist, even though the tension between them was palpable, like a quiet mouse, as they struggled to resist the urge to touch each other.

He positioned himself behind her, maintaining a comfortable distance while still being close enough to assist with her squat technique.

“A’ight.” He spoke softly, "Position your feet shoulder-width apart. Maintain an upright chest, engage your core, and keep your gaze forward. Also, avoid locking your knees."

Genesis carefully followed his guidance, adjusting her position. "Is this how it's done?"

He observed intently from behind her, saying, "Almost there, let me give you a hand."

She sensed one of his hands resting on her waist while the other gently adjusted her thighs from the outside, a blend of caution and assurance in his touch.

"Just like this, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice softly caressing her ear. "Now tilt a bit more, just like mama does."

A wave of anxiety washed over her as her breath hitched in her throat, causing her skin to tingle at his soft caress. Nevertheless, she successfully complied with his guidance and lowered herself into a shallow squat.

“Doing good mamas.” He said.

She nodded and deliberately repeated it slowly, allowing her lips to move slightly more to emphasize her point.

Jimmy’s hand froze.

“Gigi.”

“Yes?” She answered with a soft tone.

“You tryna get us thrown out this gym?”

She turned to him with her wide, innocent eyes and said, 'Bo, I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm simply following your guidance.'

His gaze lingered on her silhouette, his jaw clenching momentarily, “this yo’ second time doing this on purpose.”

She leaned down once more, this time more slowly and with greater depth. “I’m just doing my squats Bo, you’re being dramatic.”

“Yeah, aight. keep doing squats like that and imma squat something else Gigi.”

She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile and stood tall. “what? you gonna bend me over or something?”

He moved in even closer, his chest almost touching her back. His hands encircled her waist, holding her more firmly.

“I could, but I won’t because we gotta work in a bit so imma let this one slide.” He muttered quietly.

This made her laugh at him; she was always so daring in his presence, pushing his limits to see if he would take any risks, no matter the consequences.

She turned her head slightly, “you so nasty Bo.”

He moved closer, his lips nearly touching her ear. "You always understand me like this, Gigi," he whispered, pressing his firm body against her so she could sense his excitement. "You have a way of getting me all worked up in this gym."

She glanced around the gym to check if anyone was watching, but no one seemed to notice. This prompted her to take hold of his rigid member, stroking it, which led him to grasp her throat, pulling her closer to him.

“You’d fucked me right here in this gym?” She inquired, casting another look around to ensure they weren't being observed.

“Mhm, if I had it my way. I’ll take you over to one of restrooms and bend that ass over, fucking you until those legs are trembling.” He gestured. “Make you cum all over my dick.”

A sly grin played on her lips as she withdrew her hand from his rigid arousal. With each passing moment, she felt her panties growing wetter, prompting her to squeeze her thighs together in an effort to maintain her composure in the gym.

As he gently brushed aside the strands of her braids from her neck, she felt his warm, wet kisses send shivers down her spine, causing her to melt into him at once. "Daddy," she murmured softly.

“What? Just say the word and I’ll take you over there right now mamas.” He whispered against her skin.

She paused briefly, taking in the scene around her, where people were either immersed in their music or working out. "Take me," she said, and that was all he needed to hear. He stepped up behind her and pulled her toward one of the restrooms, ready to turn her world upside down.

—

Pechanga Arena - 7:00PM

Genesis recently wrapped up her interview with The Street Profits, discussing their aspirations to become the top contenders for the tag team titles tonight. Just then, she took a sip of water and noticed her best friend Jade approaching her.

Before setting her water bottle down, she smiled and embraced her. As they pulled apart, Jade noticed the same radiant glow that had been present for the past four months since Jimmy and her best friend became a couple.

However, that wasn't the reason she was approaching her.

“Girl, first off you’re glowing and secondly have you been checking your messages lately?” Jade said.

She raised an eyebrow at her with a confused expression on her face, “no? Why did something happen?”

Jade took out her phone and opened her messages, showing Genesis several texts from Quincy reaching out to her.

Q💔: Yo Jade tell Gigi to text me back Q💔: tell her I miss you and want her home please Q💔: I want to break up with that Samoan ass nigga he don’t know how to deal with her like I can Q💔: you gotta believe me Jade Please

Genesis's expression twisted in revulsion as she read the messages he had sent to Jade, prompting her to check her own messages and discover multiple notifications from him.

She sighed and rolled her eyes at his latest message, suggesting they meet up tomorrow to sort out their issues.

“He wants me to meet up with him tomorrow, and I’m not doing that. Why can’t he see that I’m cool where I’m at?” She said.

“That’s what I literally told him and he was complaining and talking shit about Jonathan knowing Jonathan would put a bullet to his brain.”

“I feel like this is a tactic from Zilla, because Quincy don’t be this sympathetic about what he did.” Jade nodded her head in agreement. “Especially with that court date coming up.”

Fuck She completely overlooked her upcoming court date, and it felt as if she was reliving the pain of her divorce. Sitting in that courtroom, away from Quincy, she found herself facing the ordeal once more, but this time it was with Zilla, as she pursued charges against him for nearly assaulting and harassing her during his suspension.

“Thanks for reminding me, I hope He goes to jail. So I can move on from all this if I’m being honest I want to have a baby.” Genesis said as she had seen her best friend's eyes wide open.

“Excuse me? Did my best friend just say she’s having baby fever right now? Oh girl Jon got you hooked.”

Genesis elbowed her playfully, rolling her eyes—she had been contemplating the idea of starting a family with Jimmy for a while now, but she was also anxious about moving too quickly since they had only been dating for four months, which made her feel apprehensive.

“Yes, I’m having baby fever right now. It just a phase though. I’ll get over it.”

Jade rolled her eyes, “girl nah, you want that baby with Jon I can feel it especially the way he has been holding you down for four months into the relationship girl that’s a man and husband right there.”

“Don’t you think that’s moving too fast Jade? I mean we’ve only been together for four months, not even a year ion wanna rush into anything.” Jade empathized with her best friend's longing for motherhood, especially since Jimmy was capable of fulfilling that dream, yet she sensed Genesis's uncertainty about the whole baby situation.

She draped her arm over her shoulders while Genesis gazed up at her. "Just take a moment to reflect before rushing into a decision, and have a chat with Jonathan about it. I know he cares for you immensely, Gigi, and would do anything to support you."

Genesis smiled and nodded at her best friend, feeling grateful that she could share anything with her without fear of judgment.

“Well imma go, gotta do a segment for the show but remember what I said Gigi.” Jade said.

“Okay I’ll see you later bestie!” Genesis exclaimed as she pulled her phone out to text Jimmy.

Gigi🤍: Bo?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: what’s up baby?

Gigi🤍: can we have our little mini walk together? If you aren’t busy ofc

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: is something wrong mamas?

She realized he might think something was amiss, but all she wanted was to have an open and meaningful discussion with him about her thoughts on the baby fever issue that's been on her mind.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: do I have to catch another body for you mamas bc I’ll do it

Gigi🤍: No 😭😭 I’m okay I just want to talk to you about something Bo

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: aight I was finna say girl, but I’ll be outside waiting on you when I’m done with the segment for the show aight?

Gigi🤍: okay Bo

With everything being pre-recorded for tonight's Smackdown show, it was likely going to take him a while to wrap up. So, she took the initiative, grabbing her hoodie from the equipment box and her phone before heading out to the front.

As she scrolled through her phone, catching glimpses of her family's posts from home that she longed for, she wished for a day or two off to book a flight back. Lost in thought, she accidentally collided with someone, only to realize it was Trinity of all people.

She sighed in exasperation when her friend remained silent until she finally called out her name, grabbing her attention.

“Whore? How the fuck am I the whore? When he wanted me first?” Genesis clapped back, placing her phone in her pocket.

“You ruined everything me and him had going on!” Trinity hollered as she pointed her finger at her.

“I didn’t ruin anything, it just seems like he made up his mind and didn’t want you anymore.” She responded while shrugging her shoulders.

At that moment, Trinity reached her breaking point with Genesis's sarcastic comments. She charged at Genesis, attempting to grab her braids, but Genesis skillfully dodged, delivering a brutal punch to Trinity's face. The impact sent Trinity reeling backward, clutching her nose as warm blood began to trickle down.

“You want a round two bitch? C’mon.” Genesis removed her hoodie, tossing it aside as onlookers observed the entire scene unfold before their eyes.

At that moment, Trinity seized Genesis by her braids, attempting to land a few punches, but they missed as Genesis countered with a powerful body slam, sending Trinity crashing to the ground with a resounding thud that drew everyone's gaze.

Genesis relentlessly pounded Trinity's head against the pavement, delivering another brutal punch to her face. Despite Trinity's attempts to shield herself with her arms, she was no match for the fury of Genesis's blows. Genesis then yanked her up by the hair, treating her like a rag doll, and slammed her body against the metal pipe at the end of the table, eliciting a painful groan from Trinity.

She repeated the action relentlessly until she felt a sense of fulfillment—snatching a nearby chair, she slammed it onto the ground, startling Trinity and everyone else around her; her madness surpassed even that of Jimmy.

“Get up bitch! You wanted this shit right?! Get the fuck up!”

Trinity struggled to rise, gripping her side and limping slightly as she attempted to gain momentum. Meanwhile, Genesis spun around, swinging the chair on her back, which elicited a cry of pain that infuriated Trinity. In a fit of rage, she snatched the chair from Genesis, poised to retaliate, when a booming voice echoed from behind them.

“Swing that fucking chair at her and I’ll fuck you up Trin I swear to god.” Jimmy's voice thundered behind them as Jey followed closely.

Jimmy approached Genesis, wrapping his arms around her waist, while casting a fierce look at Trinity, who was visibly angry and frustrated after Jey had removed her chair.

“You’re making threats at me?! You fucking bitch!”

“I am, and I meant that shit Trin. Why are you starting shit with her for?”

“Because this stupid whore bumped into me!”

“And this is why yo’ ass got fucked up because you kept calling me a whore!” Genesis was poised to spring at her, but Jimmy grasped her firmly, his face conveying a warning that made her exhale heavily.

“You better fucking respect her whether you like it or not she my girlfriend so imma need you move the fuck around aight?” Jimmy said as Trinity huffed while stomping away.

Genesis felt the weight of Jimmy's gaze, her nerves preventing her from meeting his eyes, fully aware that a reprimand awaited her in private. Meanwhile, Jimmy signaled to Jey that he would join him later, as he needed to address the situation with her.

He took her hand and led her outside, away from prying eyes, so they could have a private conversation. Once they reached the quiet outdoors, with a gentle breeze blowing, Jimmy stood before her, arms crossed.

Genesis was anxious to speak, hoping he would break the silence first.

He begins to say, “What did I tell you Gigi?”

“Jimmy I promise you I didn’t start anything with her I was just minding my business and accidentally bumped into her trying to wait on you out front and she just started tripping.” Genesis explained.

“Okay, but that’s not what I told you last time Gigi.” With a deep sigh and an eye roll, she realized this was the last topic she wanted to discuss at the moment.

Genesis started giving him a disapproving look with her arms crossed, and Jimmy noticed her playful attitude, which made him laugh.

“Fix yo’ fucking face before I do.” She stood firm, shaking her head as he approached, his hand gripping her throat to assert his dominance.

His voice resonated with a rich, deep timbre.

And his head was tilted a bit gazing into her eyes. “What I say Gigi?” Looking at her lips then back into her eyes.

Now she was pouting like a puppy before whining like a baby. “Dadddy.”

He kissed her lips, “What?”

“I’m sorry for having an attitude with you…” avoiding eye contact with him.

He had a crooked smile on his face while placing a few more kisses on her pouty lips, “you sorry mamas? You know ion play that shit.” Jimmy’s hand slid down to cup both of her ass cheeks.

“Yess I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry. But I do need to talk to you about something that’s been heavy on my mind.” Genesis said softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Talk to me baby, I’m right here.” Jimmy responded while rubbing circles around her ass cheeks.

She began to share her recent thoughts and feelings about wanting to stop using birth control, expressing her desire for his support, even though she was still uncertain about making that decision.

Jimmy listened intently, his gaze fixed on her as he gently pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She looked up at him with innocent eyes, continuing to share her feelings about the baby fever that had been consuming her for weeks. She expressed her concerns about their relationship's pace and how long they had been together.

“Baby, I told you I’ll support you in anything mamas. Even if you want to have my kids.” Jimmy reassured her.

“I know, but I’m scared we are moving too fast.” Genesis responded.

“We can take things slow mamas, we don't have to have a child right away let’s just keep focusing on us aight?” She nodded her head as she smiled at him.

Genesis revealed to him that she had some news, and his expression shifted as she pulled out her phone, displaying the messages Quincy had sent her for him to read.

As Jimmy cracked his neck, he handed her phone back, his jaw tightening slightly while she looked up at him.

“Look, imma take you to see him tomorrow but just know I’m going to be right there behind you because I feel like this is a tactic from my cousin.” He said.

“I thought the same way about this too.” She added.

“Either way, imma give you something.” Jimmy raised his hoodie, drew his Glock from his waistband, and handed it to her, causing her eyes to widen in surprise. “Take it for protection for yourself just in case he be on some bullshit aight?”

She nodded, recalling the countless occasions when her stepfather would show her how to handle a gun or shotgun after returning from the gun shop—this was all too familiar to her.

“But what about you?” Genesis asked.

“I got another one in my duffel bag mamas you know I come strapped regardless.” Jimmy responded.

She examined the Glock, noting that it was set to safety mode while she aimed it forward. It was a sleek firearm, though she wished it were pink rather than black.

“But you serious about this baby fever you’ve been feeling?”

She looked at him, “yeah, I’m serious about it but my main concern is us only being together for four months makes me wanna wait.”

Genesis placed the glock inside of her waistband while pulling down her shirt, “we can wait princess we don’t need to rush.” She smiled at him while wrapping her arms around his neck and his hands were on her hips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

—

Once the show wrapped up for the evening, Genesis began to gather her belongings into her purse, including the Glock that Jimmy had handed her earlier. It was at that moment she felt her phone buzz with a message from Quincy.

She clicked on the message and read through it.

Q💔: Can I come see you? So we can talk?

Didn’t he just say he wanted to talk tomorrow? Why does he want to talk right now?

Without responding, she tucked her phone into her purse, wrapped her hoodie around her waist, and slung her purse over her shoulder as she stepped out the door.

As she stepped outside, she noticed someone approaching her, calling her name. Turning her head, she caught their attention and recognized a familiar face emerging from the shadows.

It was Quincy.

The most recent time she had laid eyes on him was during their visit to Jimmy's mother's house, where he was busy capturing moments of her with his camera, just after he had been discharged from the hospital.

She drew her Glock and aimed it straight at him, prompting him to raise his hands in a defensive gesture.

“The fuck are you doing here?” She questioned him.

“I just want to talk Gigi, that’s all. Can we please talk?” He said getting closer to her.

“Well I don’t wanna talk to you! You said we would speak to each other tomorrow! So back the fuck up!” Genesis shouted loudly in the open air, steadfastly aiming her Glock at him as she held her position firmly.

She scanned her environment, ensuring it was only him present and not Zilla, as the silence from Zilla had unsettled her, filling her with fear that she might be taken by him.

“Genesis baby, c’mon now. You can put the gun down.”

“Take another fucking step and I’ll shoot you dead Quincy.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me Gigi, you know you love me still instead of that Samoan nigga you with.” Once again, he was revealing his true nature, reminding her exactly why she had chosen to divorce him in the first place. She recognized all his manipulative strategies aimed at convincing her that her feelings for him had not faded.

“I don’t fucking love you! You fucking ruined me! And now that I’m in a better place you wanna come back and ruin shit for me!” As she fought to hold back the tears welling in her eyes, she sensed her emotions beginning to fade, slipping through her grasp like sand.

Quincy felt a sense of satisfaction as he noticed the way his teasing was slowly getting to her, a smirk creeping onto his face as he realized his strategy was effective. “C’mon baby girl, come back home to me. I’m sorry we can start over.”

As she felt the familiar weight of an impending anxiety attack, her breath quickened and her hands trembled, but everything changed when she witnessed someone land a punch on Quincy, sending him crashing to the ground.

Overwhelmed by her emotions, she sank to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to regain her composure, allowing her feelings to wash over her as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Suddenly, she sensed a hand on her, triggering her instinct to defend herself; she reacted by striking out and yelling in alarm.

“Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t fuc—“ Suddenly, she sensed a hand on her, triggering her instinct to defend herself; she reacted by striking out and yelling in alarm.

As she surrendered to the moment, tears streamed down her cheeks while they shared an intense kiss, her body melting into his embrace. His tongue danced within her mouth, and with a firm grip on her thighs, he lifted her effortlessly, ensuring to take her purse and the Glock he had gifted her along for the ride.

He pulled away for a second before looking at Jey saying something.

“Take his ass to one of the empty warehouses, we will deal with him tomorrow. Imma take Gigi back to the hotel.” Jimmy said.

“A’ight then I’ll catch up with you guys later.” Jey started wrapping Quincy’s arms and legs with duct tape, blindfolding him in the process, before lifting him and heading towards his car.

Jimmy opened the passenger door for Genesis, assisting her as she settled in and fastened her seatbelt. He tossed her purse into the backseat before closing the door gently. Afterward, he made his way to the driver's side, climbed into the car, and shut his door with a soft click.

As he pressed the button to start his car, he fastened his seatbelt, casting a worried glance at Genesis, who lay unconscious from her anxiety attack. Anger surged within him at the thought of Quincy, the source of their troubles, and he felt a strong urge to confront him today. However, he knew he had to set that aside for now; his priority was to be there for Genesis in her time of need.

As he shifted the car into reverse to exit the parking lot in front of the arena, he then switched to drive and made his way toward the hotel where they were staying.

As Jimmy cruised down the road with the windows rolled down, he let the smooth sounds of R&B from his playlist fill the car, enjoying the refreshing breeze. With one hand on the wheel, he reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a blunt, and lit it up, savoring the moment as he drove.

After taking a few deep puffs, he exhaled into the air, feeling the effects of the weed rush through him. He sighed deeply, casting a proud glance at Genesis for her resilience, even as she began to falter. He was eager to confront Quincy and eliminate his cousin, determined to free her from the burdens she faced.

With Zilla's court date approaching, he realized he needed to be patient. He was aware that Genesis would be testifying against Zilla, so he was determined to do everything possible to keep her composed and prevent her from having an anxiety attack.

An hour later, Jimmy arrived at the hotel, turning off the car and tossing a small piece of the blunt out the window. He pocketed his keys and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door to unbuckle Genesis's seatbelt. He lifted her into his arms in a bridal carry, grabbed her purse, and gently closed the door behind them.

As he entered the building, he made his way to the elevators, pressing the button and patiently waiting for one of the doors to slide open. With Genesis cradled in his arms, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, prompting him to retrieve it while still holding onto her.

As Jimmy read through his messages, he noticed one from his twin brother that caught his attention.

Twin⚡️: aye you want me to handle him or leave him here for the night?

Just as he was about to reply to his brother's message, he heard the elevator ding and the doors slide open. He stepped inside just as they closed behind him, quickly pressing the button for the third floor while typing out his response.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: Leave him there for tonight until tomorrow I gotta take care of Gigi, we’ll deal with his ass tomorrow

At this moment, his priority was Genesis rather than confronting Quincy, so he decided to postpone that encounter until tomorrow. As the elevator reached the third floor and the doors slid open, Jimmy stepped out and made his way toward their hotel room.

As he reached their hotel room, he used the key card to unlock the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him with his foot. He quickly kicked off his shoes and made his way to the bed, where he gently laid Genesis down.

Jimmy removed her shoes and set them aside with her clothes, leaving her in just her underwear. As he stuffed her dirty garments into the duffle bag she had brought along, he made his way to the bathroom to fill the tub with water for their bath.

After taking off his jeans and boxers, he noticed his soft member as he approached the bathtub to test the water temperature. Satisfied with the warmth, he stepped out of the bathroom and made his way towards Genesis, who was now completely naked after removing her underwear. The sight of her in this state left him momentarily breathless.

As he gently lifted her towards the bathroom, his gaze roamed over her figure. He carefully set her down in the tub before positioning himself behind her, his powerful arms encircling her waist, assisting her in washing away the day's cares.

Jimmy gently placed a tender kiss on her neck while he carefully wiped her body with a warm cloth, holding her close as he cleaned her. At the same time, Genesis began to stir, her eyes fluttering open as she surveyed her environment, feeling the solid surface beneath her that made her flinch in surprise.

Until she felt him.

Jimmy her one and only Her protector Her future husband Her ride or die And the future father of their children

As she sank into the warm, bubbly water of the tub, her body melted against his, and she felt the gentle caress of his lips on her neck. He tenderly lifted her chin with his fingers, guiding her gaze to meet his eyes.

For a brief moment, they locked eyes, and then he leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a fervent kiss, their bodies entwined as he felt his arousal pressing against her.

As their lips intertwined, his tongue danced within her mouth, while his hands tenderly cradled her breast, teasing her nipples and eliciting soft gasps from her. His fingers then glided through the water, moving down to her clit, where he began to rub in gentle, circular motions.

“J-Jimmy.” She murmured between his lips.

“What baby?” He murmured back.

The way his fingers danced around her clit left her utterly speechless, her thoughts consumed by waves of pleasure that made it impossible to articulate her desires.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto her deep chocolate brown ones, captivated by her beauty. “lemme’ take care of you tonight mamas.”

—

With Genesis positioned on the edge of the bed, her back arched and her stomach pressed down, her legs wrapped around Jimmy's thighs, she found herself in a Chibi pose. As he delivered deep, slow strokes, her moans filled the air, calling out his name in pleasure.

With a firm grasp on her hips, he thrust deeper, his head tilting back in ecstasy as he observed her body enveloping him completely.

“Dadddy, oh fuck.” Genesis moaned.

“What mamas? Huh? This dick good or what?” Jimmy grunted as he slapped her left ass cheek causing her to whine.

“Yes daddy yes, this is the best dick I ever had!” She exclaimed.

A lopsided grin spread across his face as the rhythmic sound of his hips meeting her backside reverberated throughout the room, mingling with their shared moans and groans, while he gazed down at her form, her body bouncing against him like a thunderous clap.

He grasped her braids firmly, pulling her body back as she let out a sharp gasp, feeling him penetrate her more deeply within her slick warmth. The creamy essence from her body enveloped him perfectly, allowing him to slide in and out with greater ease.

“Pussy so fucking good Gigi, so fucking good.”

She didn’t respond to him letting him talk his shit while he was in it making her legs trembling and shaking as she could feel his dick kissing her cervix so good it had her seeing stars at this point.

As she tightened and relaxed around him, he couldn't help but groan, punctuating the moment with playful smacks on her backside. “This my pussy baby?”

“Yes daddy, it’s yours all yours.”

“You mine forever huh? You my ride or die baby?”

His movements grew increasingly urgent and unyielding, causing Genesis to lose herself in the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. The sound of her own arousal filled the air, serving as a vivid reminder of the deep passion they shared.

As he settled into her embrace, a wave of euphoria washed over him. He leaned closer, planting gentle, lingering kisses along her back, before subtly increasing the pace of his affection.

“I’m yours forever Bo, forever.” She managed to breathe out between the thrust.

“Damn right you mine forever mamas, fuck baby.” He groaned out in the air rolling his eyes in the back of his head.

He gripped her throat tightly, moving in a fervent rhythm alongside her as her moans intensified. “This my fucking shit right here, gimmie yo’ body baby.”

“Fuckkk! Bo!”

“Yeah? You like this shit? Huh baby? Cum for me baby.” Genesis bit her lower lip and nodded, but he wished she would articulate it—he craved for her to convey just how incredible it truly feels.

She gently adjusted her hold around the front of her throat, being mindful to avoid inflicting any discomfort.

He smiled at her, his eyes locked onto her form as it moved against him, delighting in the way he was breaking her apart—he loosened his hold on her neck as she collapsed onto the cool sheets, giving him the freedom to embrace her with unrestrained passion.

As she tightened and loosened her grip around him, a deep groan escaped his lips, accompanied by her soft whimpers that floated beneath the sheets. Jimmy spread her legs wider, using his foot to elevate the angle of their connection, which made her gasp and instinctively try to push him away.

“J-Jimmy! F-fuck!”

Jimmy grabbed her arm placing it behind her back and fucked her senselessly.

“Un-Un, don’t fucking run from me Gigi. Take this dick like a big girl fo’ daddy.” As Jimmy plunged into the depths, it felt as though he was lost in her sea, swaying his hips in a mesmerizing rhythm that hit all the right notes, sending waves of pleasure through her, making her eyes flutter back in bliss.

He desired for her to fully feel every bit of him that he was offering, as he struck a new angle that pressed against her inner walls, the rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall adding to the intensity of the moment.

“Fuckfuckfuck! Bo!” Genesis complained softly, glancing back at him and admiring his handsome features.

“Mhm, keep looking back at me with yo’ cute ass.” Jimmy grunted. “I’ll kill for you mamas. That’s how much I love you.”

“You’ll do that for me d-daddy?” She whimpered softly, earning a slap on her ass.

The sensation of him repeatedly pressing against her cervix was overwhelming, each thrust sending her spiraling into ecstasy as she clutched the bedsheets tightly, lost in the moment.

With a longing gaze, she extended her tongue, craving his passionate kiss as she gave in to her deepest desires. He cradled the back of her neck, their bodies locked in a fervent embrace, while he delved into her mouth with his tongue, igniting the moment with intensity.

Their tongues danced and intertwined in a fervent embrace, sharing their essence in a heated exchange of passion. “I’ll kill for you every day if I have to mamas.” He murmured between her lips.

“I love you.” Genesis softly whispered in response, his free hand firmly grasping her curves.

“I love you more baby.” They remained locked in a passionate embrace, his arousal playfully exploring her depths over and over, stoking the flames of her desire.

He was eagerly anticipating the moment he could confront Quincy once more. This time, he intended to make a statement to Zilla, clearly indicating that he had indeed found the right target, and that target was him.

Jimmy fervently hoped that Zilla would be found guilty in court, leading to his arrest and imprisonment for the harm he caused Genesis. He was aware of some inmates he had befriended who could assist him in carrying out his plans while behind bars.

His movements grew more unpredictable with each passing moment, becoming less stable as he pulled away from her lips, locking his gaze onto her eyes—watching her lose control beneath him, once again consumed by that familiar flutter in her stomach.

“g-gonna, c-cum…” She found herself struggling to articulate her thoughts as he delivered powerful thrusts that left her breathless.

He gently grasped her throat, leaning in to whisper tender words into her ear, urging her to let go and surrender to the moment, expressing his desire for her to bear his children and saying all the things that would ignite her passion.

“Cum for me baby, lemme have that shit. lemme have it.” His voice resonated with a deep, rich timbre that sent chills racing down her spine, leaving her with no choice but to respond with a soft moan. “Cum for daddy mami.”

“I-it’s coming….fuck..it’s coming daddy.”

“It’s coming huh? It’s coming baby? make a mess on daddy.” His voice dripped with mockery as he thrust deeper into her, intensifying the moment with each movement.

In that moment, she completely lost control; a deep moan escaped her lips as her body shook and her toes curled from sheer fatigue. Warm liquid streamed down her legs, and Jimmy looked down, taken aback by the turmoil she had created around him.

The room was filled solely with the damp, squelching sounds that accompanied her body as it sank back onto the bed, leading him to administer a quick, stinging slap to her right cheek.

“Put that pussy on me baby, throw that shit back fo’ me mama.” Despite the ache in her back, she focused on him as he urged her on, swaying her hips in a circular motion against him.

With a joyful tilt of his head, Jimmy watched in awe as Genesis gracefully arched her back towards him, a moment filled with pure delight. “can’t wait to have my kids buried deep inside of you mami fuck.”

“F-fuck…daddy, I can’t…” she mumbled against the sheets.

““Keep fucking me Gigi, use me mamas.” Overwhelmed by the battle, she opted for quietude, her hips gently moving around the head of his arousal, sensing its pulsating essence inside her, while the well-known phrases flowed from his lips. “fa'aaoga pea a'u pepe”

He found himself entranced by the silky smoothness of her skin that surrounded him, leading him to trace his thumb around her other entrance before carefully easing it in, allowing him to take charge as she sighed with delight.

Their bodies swayed together in perfect harmony, his hips driving forward with a steady rhythm as he chased his climax, the sound of their union resonating in the intensity of the moment.

He released a gentle hiss, completely consumed by the warmth surrounding him as he pushed further into her, bringing her closer to the edge of ecstasy until she started to see stars, her thoughts enveloped in pure bliss.

“Jimmy! Shit!” Genesis cried out.

“Gimmie yo’ body baby, give it to daddy.” Jimmy growled.

With a firm grip on her head, he pressed it down onto the bed, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he felt the rising tension within him, his thighs tightening as he embraced her with passionate intensity.

As he made love to her with an intensity unmatched by any other, she felt the warmth of drool escaping from the corner of her mouth, slowly cascading down her cheeks.

Genesis felt a fresh surge of ecstasy rising within her as she skillfully moved around his shaft, the head of his manhood gently pressing against her cervix once more. "Fuckkk!” She inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering back in sheer bliss.

As he looked down at the alluring sight in front of him, he experienced a familiar thrill; the captivating view of Genesis's backside moving enticingly against him, his hand instinctively reaching out to grasp her curves and playfully giving it a light slap.

“I’m finna make a mess Jimmy, fuck I’m finna cum.”

“Oh shit…do it mami make a mess on me I’m right behind you. Fuck I’m finna cum all in this pussy.”

She found herself longing for a baby, feeling a strong desire to start a family with him, but the fact that she was on birth control made her wish for a different situation; the idea of potentially losing a child filled her with fear.

“Gimme your kids daddy, I want them. Breed me.”

“Breed you baby?”

“Yes! Fucking breed me!”

In a climactic moment, Jimmy pressed against her, merging his being with her inviting warmth, both of them letting out a profound, blissful sigh as his heat enveloped her. As he pulled back, he tenderly opened her legs, observing the way his essence flowed from her, a vivid reminder of their mutual pleasure.

Genesis fell onto the bed, struggling to keep her eyes open, but soon succumbed to sleep. Meanwhile, Jimmy, feeling both tired and amused, watched her with a gentle chuckle as he placed a loving kiss on her back.

He softly twirled her, holding her securely as he lavished her with affectionate kisses all over her body, calming her quivering figure. As he leaned in closer, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, delicately moving her braids aside to uncover her beautiful face.

"Are you truly interested in having my children, darling?" Jimmy inquired, his gaze fixed on her chest as it rose and fell with each breath.

“I do, I really do. But I’m scared.” Genesis responded.

His gaze softened as he realized the pain she endured from the miscarriage caused by Quincy’s actions. Understanding the toll it took on her, he gently positioned her on top of him, allowing her head to rest against his chest while his hands soothingly traced circles on her back.

“You don’t have to be scared mamas, you know imma be there for you and our child I’m not him, I will kill as many people who stand in our way of what we have baby.”

Even though they had only been together for four months, she was determined to have his children and envisioned him as her future husband, seeing a life together filled with promise and love.

She looked at him innocently, “you’ll do that for us?”

“Yes Gigi, I told you this. I’ll do anything for you mamas. I love you.” With a heavy sigh, she realized it was time to remove the object from her arm, but she found comfort in the fact that Jimmy would be by her side throughout the process.

She gently placed a soft kiss on his lips, mirroring his affection as she felt his hand cradle her ass, moving in soothing circles.

“I love you too, but so much more.”

He smiled at her before pressing a soft kiss on her forehead, “I know you do baby.”

GUARDED

a/n: wellll Quincy is in for a rude awakening when he wakes up in the empty warehouse all tied up and now Gigi is having baby fever lawddd ngl I love Jimmy’s character development so far this man done did a whole 360 fr fr.

But I hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below.

STAY UCEY.

chapter seventeen

previous chapter

#black fanfic writer #black oc #black writers #wwelove #wwe fanfiction #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmyuso #jimmy x black oc #jimmy uso smut #jimmy uso fanfic #big jim #guarded🤍

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lyrakanefanaticwriting · 1 day ago

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a temporary job, or something more?

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pairings: lyra kane x grayson hawthorne tags: assistant x boss au authors note: okay i have never done an au before, BUT i really wanna try one!! basically the events of the brothers hawthorne still occured (the phone calls), but the grandest game doesn’t exist in this universe. also the whole “lyras father” thing is going to be REALLY played down because i dont want it to be a big problem in this universe. anywaysss thanks this is going to be a multiple part series and i hope u guys enjoy it 💖💖

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GRAYSON:

“C’mon, Gray,” Nash drawled. “You’ve been overworking yourself for weeks. Just think about it.” Grayson sighed. He had been overworking himself for weeks.

His assistant, Sheila, was a kind, 42 year old woman. She had been working as Grayson’s assistant for 2 years, before quitting. Apparently she had gotten a job offering in Connecticut, closer to where her parents lived, and took it to be near them, and to help out her sick father. Grayson had been overrun with work, and simple tasks that Sheila used to take care of for him was weighing him down. And now there was finally time to open up the assistant job.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Grayson tried to ignore his 3 brother’s stares across from him. Their breakfast plates were empty, and yet they made no move to put them away. They simply stared, waiting for an answer. Grayson sighed.

“Fine.” he obliged, biting out that one word answer. Xander and Jameson both high-fived, glad that they had finally worn him down, while Nash just smiled at him.

“Good job, Gray. I’m glad you decided to finally get someone to help you out.” Nash said, his voice honest. Grayson gave him a slight smile.

“Honestly, I’m glad too.”

LYRA:

Lyra rubbed her temples, having gone over so many bank statements and tuition expenses that her head was starting to hurt. Not to mention it was currently way past midnight, and she had already drank 2 cups of coffee. She can’t stay at her out of state college if her brother wants a college fund, or if she wants to keep Mile’s End. And yet her father would kill her if she took a leave from school.

Lyra sighed, going over all her options one last time. The only reason she had continued to go to her out of state college was because she was already enrolled there. Otherwise, she would have dropped out and switched to a closer school. She didn’t have anything to run from anymore, anyway.

She remembered the day all too well. 1 year ago, Lyra was packing her bags for college. She didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, she was arguing with her mother. And things got worse. Lyra was screaming, uncaring of what she was saying, when the words came out: “and it’s not like you care whether I go to an out of state college or not, or whether I quit ballet or not, because you never even bothered to ask me why!” She remembered pausing immediately, going silent, and her mother begging Lyra to tell her why. And she did.

Lyra told her mother every memory she had of that night, from beginning to end, and by the time she was done, she and her mother were kneeling on the floor. Lyra was crying, and her mother was rocking her in her arms.

That was when her mom decided she wasn’t going to continue to stand by and watch Lyra’s life continue to derail. She enrolled Lyra for therapy lessons at her college, and with a weekly outside of college therapist. Slowly but surely, Lyra began to work through her trauma, eventually getting better and better at controlling the narrative in her own life instead of her past doing that for her.

And the one thing that her mother did that really settled with Lyra was a year ago. Lyra’s mother sat her down, and showed her articles, older websites, anything she could find that showed that her father wasn’t the only person the Hawthorne’s screwed over. So many other patent owners experienced the same thing, losing everything typically at the hands of Tobias Hawthorne.

“Don’t get angry Lyra,” she told her in a kind voice. “But you have to accept this. Rich people do bad things. And your father is just another person Tobias Hawthorne screwed over. But you have to remember that Tobias is dead. That terrible generation of the Hawthorne family is gone. And that new heiress, she won’t do the things Tobias Hawthorne did. It’s not much consolation, and it’s not the justice I know you want. But knowing that nobody is going to go through what your father may have gone through by Tobias Hawthorne… that’s enough consolation for me.”

Her words resonated with Lyra. She can still feel the anger, the frustration when she thinks about what happened to her father. But now, instead of letting her anger and grief take control of her, Lyra remembers that both her father and Tobias are gone. And the only way for her to move forward in life is to accept that.

Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, her brain transporting her back to the present.

A job, her brain reminded her, you’re looking for a job. Lyra breathed in and out, the action something she was used to and calming, and continued to look through job applications. She didn’t need to look for ones close to her college, as she finally decided she was going back home on her leave. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, she thought. Besides, once she made more money she could rent an apartment, and that would help her make her own choices with her life, ones that helped her keep Mile’s End while also helping her parents get a trust fund started for her brother.

Finally, after 20 more minutes of scrolling through possible job opportunities, her eyes landed on one job in particular that stood out to her the most: an assistant opening for the Hannah the Same Backward as Forward Foundation. Lyra’s eyes widened. That was Avery Grambs’ foundation, she thought, having to fight back memories of her father, the one she created to donate 98% of her money. Then she clicked the read more section, saw who she would be working under in this assistant position, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

Grayson Hawthorne. The man she had called a mere 2 years ago, asking about her father. The man who told her to “stop calling”. Frustration rose in her chest, remembering how quickly she’d been tossed out by him.

She didn’t need his help anymore. She was finally accepting her past. But then? Him abandoning her, him giving her hope and then taking it away, him telling her to “stop calling”? That broke her.

Lyra didn’t know what she was doing then; it felt as if a spirit had taken over her body, because in seconds she had submitted her resume and had applied for the job.

She stared at her laptop with shock at her own actions, and wondered then if she could reverse them. But then she remembered her brother’s college fund, and Mile’s End, and realized that no matter her past with Grayson Hawthorne, she needed this job. It must be high paying, considering there weren’t many positions in the foundation. And besides, Lyra was sure that he wouldn’t even remember her. Each call had been placed by a burner phone, all only a few minutes in length. Those calls wouldn’t deny her this job.

Shutting her laptop, Lyra placed it on her nightstand, and finally went to sleep.

Lyra didn’t know how to feel when she got the message that she had been accepted for the job. Her mind was stuck in a loop of worries, but somehow the idea that she would be working for Grayson Hawthorne didn’t quite hit her until she was standing outside of the foundation, her laptop bag in hand. Then she began to wonder about the state she was in when she applied for this job. They requested that she wear a “Hi, my name is” sticker on her blouse with her name scrawled on, so Lyra did exactly that, feeling wildly ridiculous.

After about 3 minutes of staring at the building, Lyra took a deep breath, and stepped in. She wasn’t quite sure where to go, so she walked up to the woman in the front desk, who looked just as elegant as that entire marble-coated building. Lyra’s heels clicked as she walked up towards her, and the woman looked up.

“Hello.” Lyra said, slightly awkward. The woman payed no mind to her hesitations, and smiled at Lyra with honesty and kindness in her expression.

“Hi there! What brings you to the Hannah the Same Backward as Forward Foundation building?” She chirped, surveying the sticker on her blouse with unfamiliarity in her eyes. Lyra couldn’t help but give her the slightest smile, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m a new assistant. For Grayson Hawthorne?” Lyra said, trying to sound as unaffected as possible when she said his name. The woman looked surprised.

“I wasn’t aware that he had opened up the position. I mean, I knew that Mr. Hawthorne’s past assistant had quit, but he seemed pretty adamant on not needing a new one—“ the woman didn’t get to finish her sentence before somebody interrupted her.

“And yet here she is, a shining new assistant, all thanks to me!” Exploded a male voice. Immediately Lyra turned to give whoever interrupted this kind lady a mean look, when she realized who she was glaring at: Xander Hawthorne. Lyra didn’t have time to be shocked when she surveyed the two men behind Xander: Nash Hawthorne, and Jameson Hawthorne.

Lyra realized then that her glare from before was still sitting as clear as day on her face, and it looked as if she was judging all of them pretty fiercely.

Fixing her face, Lyra gave them a polite—and utterly fake—smile. “Do you think you could lead me to his office?”

They all shared the quickest look, before Jameson Hawthorne stepped forward. “Sure thing. Follow our lead…” he trailed off, reading the sticker on her shirt. “Lyra Catalina Kane.”

The walk there was mainly silent, as well as the elevator ride, but Xander Hawthorne still found a way to talk through it all, even when there weren’t any real conversations happening.

Finally they reached his office. The first thing she saw was an empty desk area in front of it, clearly meant for Lyra. The second thing she saw was the inscription on Grayson’s office door—Office 301 - G. D. Hawthorne.

Lyra swallowed, nervousness closing up her throat.

“Here it is,” Nash Hawthorne spoke abruptly, his Texan accent thick. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll be great at the job, I’m sure of it.” Lyra was surprised, her gaze flashing to Nash’s. She hadn’t expected him to be so kind.

“Thanks.” she said, politely yet surprisedly. Then she stepped forward, and opened up the door. There, sitting at the desk, was Grayson Hawthorne. She stepped forward, glancing behind her to see if the other 3 Hawthorne brothers were still there, but they were all starting for the elevator. Lyra turned back around, and saw that Grayson Hawthorne’s gaze was now on her. She opened her mouth to speak—and was immediately interrupted.

“You’re the new assistant?” he asked, his gaze formal yet calculating as he swept his eyes over her. Lyra nodded, slightly aggravated but not letting it take ahold of her, and opened her mouth to speak.

And wouldn’t you know what happened, yet again.

He interrupted.

“Good. I was just finishing up some paperwork. I have some more leftover documents, but I can look through those. Though I would appreciate you getting me a coffee.” he said, standing as he rearranged some papers. Lyra’s jaw went slack. First he interrupts her, twice, and now he assumes she can’t look over basic documents?

Asshole.

Lyra stayed silent, stewing in her anger, and Grayson Asshole Hawthorne looked up at her.

“Did you not hear me?” The question was entirely rude, but said with such formality that you would think you were going crazy for thinking it was. Lyra’s jaw tightened.

“I heard you perfectly fine. I just assumed that I’m supposed to be given leave to speak, considering I haven’t been able to get a word out up until now.” she gritted out, immediately regretting her words as soon as she said them. Great way to get fired 2 minutes into the job, Lyra thought.

But Grayson’s expression wasn’t annoyed, as she expected. No, he was utterly taken aback.

Lyra was beginning to feel scared, when Grayson spoke.

“What?” he breathed. Lyra made a face.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—“

“No, not that.” Grayson cut her off again, waving a hand. He still looked shocked, staring at Lyra like she had grown a pair of horns mid conversation.

And then he spoke, and Lyra realized why he was so shocked.

“I know you.” he breathed. Lyra froze. The phone calls.

Each phone call was placed by a burner phone, all less than a few minutes in length and around 2 years ago. He shouldn’t have been able to recognize her voice. That was the one thing that soothed her nerves, knowing Grayson wouldn’t recognize her.

So much for that.

“2 years ago,” Grayson spoke, walking around his desk to come closer to her. “you called me, asking about your father. The one who killed himself, saying “a Hawthorne did this”.” Grayson was significantly closer now, his body only a few inches from hers.

“Am I correct?” Grayson asked, his pupils wide. Lyra gave him a look. He knew he was.

“Does it matter? It was 2 years ago. Those phone calls have nothing to do with this job.” she retorted, not being able to pry her gaze away from his. “I’m not here for some revenge plot. I need this job.” He came closer.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice cold—yet quiet, like he was grappling with himself. Lyra was about to defend herself, her eyes flashing, when the door to Grayson’s office suddenly opened.

“Mr. Hawthorne—“ Lyra heard a familiar voice behind her. She immediately stepped away from Grayson, turning around to see the same front desk lady who had greeted her a mere 5 minutes ago at the door. She seemed incredibly awkward after catching the two of them standing a mere few inches away.

“Ms. Grambs wanted me to drop these off. But now that Ms. Kane is here, she will be able to go through those for you, if it’s too much of a hassle.” she said, quickly shuffling into the room and dropping a small stack of papers onto Grayson’s desk, an air of hesitations around her.

“Thank you.” Grayson’s voice was deeper than previously, the rich and low sound of his voice distracting Lyra more than it should have.

More than it could have, now. Besides the fact that he was a Hawthorne, he was her boss.

Lyra went for the papers before he could.

“I can fill these out.” she said briskly, needing any excuse to turn and walk out the door. And she was about to when Grayson interrupted.

“Our conversation isn’t over, Lyra.” Lyra froze. Lie-ra.

“It’s Lyra.” Lee-ra. Her palms were getting sweatier as she had to fight back memories of her father.

“My apologies, Lyra.” he said, pronouncing her name right that time. Exactly right. He seemed like he was going to say something else, but Lyra didn’t give him the opportunity to. She turned and walked out the door before he could speak, closing it behind her and giving Grayson Hawthorne a taste of his own arrogant medicine.

GRAYSON:

Lyra Catalina Kane. Her voice immediately sent him back to two years ago, to phone calls and riddles, to that damn opal ring.

“What begins a bet? Not that”.

It became increasingly hard to focus on work when all Grayson could do was stare out the glass pane of his office, watching Lyra at her desk. His mind was occupied with questions, about why she needed the job, about her father, about what her being here meant for his family.

And for him.

He couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about her after he had told her to stop calling. But he didn’t think he could pester he about the phone calls any longer, especially when she’d said that the job had nothing to do with them.

Still, to be safe, he sent out a text to Avery.

“Did you perform a background check on Lyra Catalina Kane?”, he texted, pressing send. There was a pause, before the text bubbles showed up indicating that Avery was texting back, and she finally wrote her reply.

“Yes, there was nothing concerning about her. Why?”, read the text. Grayson paused, before his fingers continued texting.

“Just curious.”, he sent back. Then he placed his phone down, his mind going back to the mystery girl who he had been thinking about for the past 2 years. The one who was now his assistant.

Then a brief knock sounded at the door, pulling Grayson from his thoughts.

“Come in,” Grayson spoke. Lyra Kane walked in, holding a document.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” she spoke, sounding as if she were talking to him for the first time, like their past phone calls were nothing. “I need you to sign your name on one of these papers.”

Grayson stared at her, watching her as she came closer. She put the paper on the desk neatly in front of him. Grayson stared at her for only a moment longer, before turning his attention to the document.

Grayson signed his name quickly and efficiently on two different spots, before handing the paper to Lyra. She turned around and was about to walk out, when Grayson spoke.

“Ms. Kane,” he called out. Lyra turned around. He stared at her, unsure of what to say, before improvising.

“Call me Grayson.” he said. Grayson was a bit surprised; after all, Sheila had always called him Mr. Hawthorne, but Lyra and Sheila were different on a multitude of fronts. She paused, before a look came on her face.

“Only if you call me Lyra.” she retorted. Grayson was surprised, not used to anyone talking back as much as the spark in front of him did.

In a moment, Grayson realized that Lyra wasn’t just a spark. She was a wildfire—fatal, stubborn, and more than a little dangerous. He smiled then.

“If you wish, Lyra.” he said. Lyra looked at him a moment longer, before giving him a slight nod and stepping out of his office. Grayson watched her walked away, intrigue clear in his face.

Who really are you, Lyra Catalina Kane?

And despite what he thought, the idea of finding that out was a mystery that Grayson considered his to solve.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

hi guys!!! so that was the first part to my first au fanfic, i hope u guys enjoyed it and if u have any constructive criticism/recommendations for what you might want to see moving forward in the fanfic please lmk!!! <33

#fanfiction #alternate universe #lyra x grayson fic #grayson hawthorne #lyra catalina kane #lyra kane #lyra and grayson #lyrason #nash hawthorne #the grandest game #the inheritance games #avery kylie grambs #jameson hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #xander hawthorne #lyra x grayson #libby grambs #maxine liu

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bullet-prooflove · 12 hours ago

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A Southern Man: Harry Wilson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @buckysteveloki-me @hagarsays @misskrose @rainmg

Companion piece to:

Sugar - You're Harry's first stop when he makes it back to New Orleans.

Bourbon (NSFW) - The things you and Harry get up to with a 10k bottle of bourbon... it's sinful.

Court Days - Court days are your favourite days.

The Corkscrew - You realise Harry isn't the person you thought he is when you see him on a date with another man.

Harry’s a gentleman, a Southern man raised with honest to God Southern manners. That’s why he takes off his jacket when he notices a chill in the air, why he drapes it across your shoulders as he walks you home along the pathway that leads from the stables to your house.

You haven’t said much since he revealed his true nature. You’d listened diligently while you untacked Midnight, checking on the other horses before locking up the stables. He’d helped the best he could, filling the silence with stories of his adventures, explanations. He doesn’t know if that’s helping or hindering, if the deeper he gets into the lies, the further away he pushes you.

“I feel sorry for you.” You say finally and he swallows hard against the ache in his chest because that hope inside him, it’s dying. He’d prayed that you’d be able to see past the deception, that you’d understand it but truly how could anyone expect you to. “I have no idea how hard it must have been to keep everything so balanced, knowing that one slip up could just bring everything tumbling down.”

“Lying to you…” He struggles to find the words. “I hated it. I tried to keep everything as close to the truth as possible, when I said I was going out of town it was for business…”

“It just wasn’t the type of business you allowed me to think it was.” You summarise considering your past conversations. “You never actually said you were doing lawyer things, I just assumed and that’s part of it isn’t it? Letting people assume. It’s very clever, allowing people’s brains to fill in the blanks from their expectations. It’s like you’ve learned how to hack people.”

He's silent then because he realises there is no way on this earth he can take back what he did, the year he’s spent lying to you. The year that’s also been the best of his life.

“It must have felt very lonely being you.” You say as you reach the steps of the house. “Holding onto all of that, knowing that you couldn’t share that part of yourself with me.”

“No.” He says softly, shaking his head as you remove the jacket from your body. “When I’m with you I feel complete, like you see the real me, the person I am even without all the cons and the heists. You just see Harry.”

“I do see you Harry and that’s the problem.” You tell him, handing him back the garment. His eyes sting as he pulls it on over his broad shoulders. “If anyone else had lied to me like this I’d be kicking them off my land so fast their head would spin but I’ve seen the good you do, I’ve been a recipient of it. I know your heart is in the right place, that you’re trying to make amends, to redeem yourself after the whole evil lawyer thing.”

“But…” He can sense the word hanging in the air between the two of you.

“But…” You drawl as your fingertips trail along the lapels of his jacket adjusting them. “I need full disclosure from here on out. If we’re going to make this work, I need the truth at all times-”

“There are going to be some things that I can’t tell you.” He says his forehead coming to rest on yours. “Things that could endanger other people.”

“I understand that.” You respond, your nose grazing his as you look into his eyes. “I know the nature of the job, I get the need for secrecy, just no more lying alright? My heart can’t take that.”

“No more lyng.” He promises, his voice barely more than a whisper as his gaze lowers to your lips. “Only the truth from here on out.”

Love Harry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#leverage redemption #noah wyle #leverage #harry wilson x reader #harry wilson #leverage redemption spoilers #harry wilson leverage

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seellove · 6 hours ago

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Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 5 // (8.5k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 5 | << Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

2 Years 8 Months

Tuna Kuna,

I feel like I’m finally starting to get settled in my new place. It’s interesting exploring downtown after being gone all these years. A lot of the old rundown warehouses are high end condos now and a lot more restaurants and bars have opened up.

I’m loving my place so far. It’s just a block from the riverfront park and trails. Great view of the mountains too. My parents thought I was crazy at first but you know how it is when someone has lived in the same area forever, they truly believe it’s armed and dangerous haha.

There are a lot more young people around here too it seems. Since the university has grown in size, so has the young professional population. If I still live here when you get out, you’ll have to come sit on the balcony with me. It’s fun watching the trains go by, dogs running around in the park, and people watching to your hearts content. Maybe you can even grill us up some food, I’ve been cooking for myself for almost three years at this point, it’s your turn to come carry the load :P.

It’s about time Gojo started seeing his daughter! I understand not wanting her to come when she was a tiny baby, but the girl deserves to know and meet her dad. Just because he’s in jail doesn’t make him a horrible person.

This might be random, but I met your cousin and his wife. She works at the university hospital with me and long story short, found out her husband is Choso! Small world…well more like small town problems ha!

Speaking of, I’m loving the job so far. Being a physician's assistant in a rural area is definitely hard work, but it’s also rewarding considering there is such a shortage here.

My parents also say hello. I ended up telling them about us. Well, not everything…but about how we got to know each other while I was here house sitting and now we write to each other and talk on the phone every now and then. They were surprisingly cool about it all.

What have I eaten good this month? I’ve eaten my weight in barbecue since coming back home, drank my weight in sweet tea, and the cantaloupes are in season so I seem to perpetually have one cut up in the fridge. I feel bad talking about food to you but if it gives you good daydreams and thoughts, I’ll do it for you.

Well, I guess that’s it for now, I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon!

Your dearest girl of the tomatoes,

PS how long are we going to keep this up? Been going on almost three years of this nickname, I promise I like other fruits and vegetables ha ha.

Sukuna snickers, shaking his head as he reads the last line. He knows you don’t even like tomatoes that much, but it’s a cute nickname he doesn’t think he’ll ever let go anytime soon.

“Giggling over there huh?” Gojo drawls, laying on his side on his metal frame of a bed, biting his cuticles, white hair pushed out of his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna hisses, reading through the letter for a second time. He tries to read them multiple times with the hope that each time he’ll get something different out of it.

He loves reading about food. Prison food isn’t entirely awful, but it’s definitely not as good as shit on the outside.

“So what’s new in your girl's life?” Gojo asks, getting up and stretching before approaching Sukuna in his bed.

“She moved back to our hometown. Got a job at the university hospital,” Sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off of the paper in his hand, eyes tracing the handwriting he’s become familiar with. It’s comforting in a way, noticing the unique way you draw certain letters, your little quirks evident in such a simple way.

The juxtaposition of his heart is always surprising to him. While it feels so full continuing to hear from you, it also feels incredibly empty knowing he’s stuck in here unable to be with you during the various seasons of life. He knows he’ll be left behind when it comes to the outside world, but he hopes you’ll be patient with him when he gets out someday and show him the ropes of the modern world.

“It’s time cellmate,” Gojo stares down at him, mouth curling into a small smirk.

Sukuna flicks his eyes up at him, his own lips returning a grin.

“Alright, get ready to lose again,” he sits up, following Gojo to the steel table and chairs against the wall.

Both men shed their shirts revealing their muscular forms. Since being in jail, Sukuna had put on more weight in the form of pure muscle. There wasn’t much else to do in here.

Taking their places on opposite sides, Gojo claspes Sukuna’s hand in his as they get into an arm wrestling position.

“Elbows stay on the table,” Gojo mutters, blue eyes piercing Sukuna’s crimson gaze as they size each other up.

“One.”

“Two”

“Three!”

They both start flexing, testing the other’s strength, trying to find a weak point. Going back and forth, their fingers dig into each other’s hands, elbows pressing down into the cold metal.

“Looking nervous over there,” Sukuna chuckles, tongue sticking out in concentration.

“I’d never be nervous over your dumb ass,” Gojo scoffs, doubling down to counter Sukuna’s advances.

Eventually Sukuna slams Gojo’s hand down, claiming victory.

“Weak ass, I’m still the strongest,” Sukuna jumps up, punching the air. His pink hair is a mess, a few strands sticking to his forehead from breaking a sweat.

Gojo just laughs in response, leaning back in the chair, watching Sukuna take his victory lap.

Sukuna remembers the letter on his bed, retrieving it to store on the shared shelf against the wall with the other letters. He saves every one, filing it by date with the others. He reads them almost every day, like a book he never gets tired of and knows by heart.

The letters are his most valuable possession by far. They keep him semi sane and bring him more comfort than anything else ever could.

A clang at the cell door startles him, he’d been so focused on carefully putting the new letter away he hadn’t noticed the guard unlocking the door.

“Sukuna, get over here,” the guard barks.

Sukuna sighs out loud, wondering what they could want. It wasn’t his allotted computer time for school, and he wasn’t expecting visitors.

He turns around, the practiced routine of getting cuffed like muscle memory at this point.

“You’re getting transferred, I’m taking you to processing.”

“Holy shit what?” Sukuna says in surprise. This was certainly a twist.

“Prison system is too crowded, we need to move folks around to make space,” the guard says shortly, tugging him out into the hallway.

Sukuna’s eyes lock onto his shelf of letters.

“My things, can I take them? I need those letters-“

“No, everything’s gonna be trashed. Can’t take shit out of here,” the gruff response has him reeling.

Panic shoots through him, causing him to lunge back without thinking.

“Inmate what the fuck you think you’re doing,” the guard yanks him back, throwing him to the ground, bare stomach pressed into the cold tile floor.

“Those are special to me, please, I’ll do anything…” he trails off, feeling tears start to well up. He can’t lose the only evidence of your connection he has. Never did he expect a bunch of paper would hold so much meaning to him. He didn’t even know your new address, and you wouldn’t know his either.

Panic begins to set in, throat feeling tighter and tighter as chills trickle down his spine.

“Nothing I can do about it,” the guard drags him back up, not bothering to look at him as he shoves Sukuna forward.

For the third time, he feels like he’s losing you all over again.

***

Normally you’d expect to hear something from Sukuna after about a month, but eight weeks later you were still letter-less.

He hadn’t called either, which while calls from him were rare, one normally seemed to roll in once a month or so.

Today was not that day though, so you finished drinking your morning coffee on the balcony of your apartment, soaking in the summer rays and feeling the humidity starting to burn out of the early morning air.

Your phone buzzed on the table next to you, seeing it was your group chat blowing up. Some of you were planning to meet up downtown to hang out in the park, so you were just going to walk from your place.

In typical small town fashion, everyone was more connected than you’d realized. Yuki, who was married to Choso, Sukuna’s cousin, was also childhood friends with Utahime, Gojo’s baby mama / girlfriend. Your old friend, Shoko, was also off this weekend so she would be joining you as well.

Yuki was saying that Choso was likely also coming with his younger brother Yuji, so you were mentally preparing to interact with a crowd of people in a little while. You’d met Choso in the grocery when you and Sukuna had gone together, but he’d dipped from the drug business shortly after Sukuna’s arrest. He’d initially done it for some side money, so not as involved as Sukuna.

You didn’t mind the boys coming, you enjoyed hearing the stories of young Sukuna and it felt good to be connected to at least some of his family during this time. Even though you had no relationship with his parents, the cousins were incredibly kind and welcomed you with open arms.

Little Yuji was just a ray of sunshine while Choso was more quiet and reserved. Sukuna existed somewhere in between, his goofy but intense personality a happy medium.

You sit in silence, distracted by a dog chasing a frisbee across the park, catching it after a graceful jump and trotting back to its owner. The owner rubs the dog's sides and praises it before tossing the disc across the grass again.

Cute, you think to yourself, impressed with the way the dog always drops the toy at the man’s feet. After a few more rounds, you retreat back inside, cleaning up the counter before hopping in the shower.

The hot water washes over you, relishing in the sting it brings. Your mind wanders to Sukuna again, racing as it turns over every stone, unearthing unfavorable scenarios as to why he isn’t responding.

Did he get hurt?

Did he get tired of doing this with you?

Was there someone else this whole time?

The possibilities just get more and more ridiculous as you let the water pour down your face.

He seems so invested in this. Literally three years have passed at this point, why would he still be talking to you all this time if there were others? He didn’t seem like that type considering he was head over heels for you.

He was a drug dealer though, surely that type had girls fawning all over them.

Especially Sukuna. He’s so good looking and just exudes an air of confidence that would draw in women like a moth to light.

You shake your head, attempting to rid your mind of the intrusive thoughts. He’s given you no reason to think this way, why was your brain self sabotaging you at this point?

Try to give yourself some grace, you remember that line one of your friends had dropped on you on a particularly tough night.

Nothing about any of this is normal, you’re waiting for a man who would go to the ends of the earth for you. Prematurely ripped away from you when you both were wide eyed and hopeful about the world you were about to mold.

Now that scene you’d begun to paint looks nothing like it initially was intended, but the same two subjects were still within the frame, just on opposite ends of the parchment.

Holding onto that same hope that started it all.

You haven’t cried in a while, but right now a moment of weakness seems to have overpowered you. There’s no point in fighting it, clearly your body is trying to release some of the tension that inevitably builds up over time as this isn’t your first rodeo breaking down in the shower.

What if you both get out and you are different people? People who no longer are interested in the other. All this time wasted like the water swirling down your drain.

You’re putting so much faith in promises that will have been made ten years ago when it’s all said and done. The world can look entirely different by then.

But the underlying makeup should remain the same. The sun will still rise and set, the ground below your feet will still be solid, down to the atomic level everything will be made up of these little balls of protons, neutrons, and electrons, and gravity will still anchor you to the earth.

Surely if the foundation of the earth is constant, you could relearn anything because you’d have a firm jumping point.

Your bond can hopefully do the same. It’s all you can have faith in at this point; trusting in the plans and pacts you and Sukuna forged after becoming one together.

That alone brings you hope, and for now, it’s enough.

***

“There she is!” you hear Yuji call out from behind you. The sounds of thumping footsteps only confirms his arrival as he appears at your side, diving onto the outdoor blanket you are sitting on.

“What’s up buddy?” you laugh as he rolls into a chaotic crash landing at your feet. The boy is only about 8 years old and has the accompanying energy to match.

“School is almost over for summer, I can't wait!” he announces, rolling onto his back to look at you upside down.

“Yuji don’t dive onto people!” Choso’s delayed command sounds as he appears in your peripheral with Yuki in tow.

“Oh my gosh can you believe how lame that potluck was at work yesterday?” she giggles as she joins you on the blanket.

“This is why potlucks are so stupid. Workplace is too cheap to just get us food, we still need to do the work ourselves,” you roll your eyes, remembering how there were essentially seven separate packages of grocery store cookies and hardly any real food.

A dessert spread more than a team lunch.

“Did you talk to Uncle Kuna?” Yuji rolls onto his stomach, pink hair wild and unruly after thrashing about on the ground.

The breath catches in your throat as you are reminded of the situation.

“I haven’t sweetie,” you respond, trying to hide the rawness in your voice.

“Why not?”

You feel your face sag slightly, unsure of what to say.

“I’m not sure, maybe he’s just busy,” you shrug.

“He might not want to talk to you!”

“Yuji!!” Choso snaps, grabbing him by the arm to pull him up. “That’s not nice to say to people. Apologize.”

He gives you an apologetic look while Yuji mutters a sorry before dashing off to the playground adjacent to your group.

You just chuckle, “it’s really alright, he doesn’t understand.”

“Yeah well still, it’s not okay,” Yuki scoffs, shaking her head as he bounds away. “Can’t believe that brat is technically my brother in law. No filter on him.”

All three of you laugh, it was pretty wild having a brother in law almost twenty years younger than you.

“So you really haven’t heard from him?” Choso probes, laying out their own blanket next to you.

“Yeah, it’s been almost two months at this point. I don’t want to worry, but I’m worrying,” you give an awkward giggle.

“I mean yeah that’s not like him,” Yuki agrees, pulling the cooler over. “Beer?” she opens the lid.

“Sure,” you reach in and grab one, cracking open the can and letting the cold liquid trickle down your throat.

“I hope he’s okay. Hopefully didn’t get in a fight and fuck himself up or something…or fuck up someone else and get in trouble,” Choso adds, taking a long sip of his drink.

“Hey sorry I’m late!” Utahime appears, dropping the rowdy snow haired toddler in her arms into your lap while she unfolds her chair.

“Nooooo!” the little girl squirms, attempting to launch herself from your arms while you hold her hostage.

“Hey. Enough,” her mother says sternly as you release her onto the blanket in front of you. Bold blue eyes just stare back at everyone before she becomes preoccupied with the toys Utahime drops out of the diaper bag.

“Hey mommy, hanging in there?” Yuki asks an exhausted looking Utahime.

“As best I can, she sighs. Being a single mom is not what I ever wanted. Your daddy really picked a good time to go get locked up!” she says to the toddler with a smirk, but you know there’s at least a little truth to it.

“We were just talking about how she hasn’t heard from Sukuna in over two months,” Yuki says as she rolls a ball for little Akari to play with.

“Oh, hmm, Gojo actually got transferred a few weeks ago, I wonder if the same thing happened to Sukuna? It took a little while for me to find out about Gojo, but not this long of course.”

“I’m calling it, he got in a fight,” Choso says again.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Yuki argues back. “He hasn’t had any issues this entire time.”

“Yeah he’s never said anything about not getting along with the other inmates,” you follow up, repositioning yourself to better face everyone.

“If he got transferred though, that’s a whole new group of people. You didn’t know him before, but he was a literal demon when he was younger. Always scuffling with people, drunk fights in college, and always getting into it when he was a street dealer. Once he became the top dog, it kinda stopped,” Choso explained to your surprise. This part of him had never really come up until now.

“Wow seriously?” you respond, taken aback at his words.

“Yeah. He never like, seriously hurt someone, and he’s seemed to largely grow out of it, but still. Scary guy when we were younger,” Choso leans back on his hands, looking up at you.

“He just was so charming and goofy when we hung out, I can’t imagine it,” you smile, imagining Sukuna with a black eye or two strutting around like hot shit.

“Oh yeah, he’s a great guy at the end of the day. He’d do anything for the people he cares about,” Yuki adds. “In high school Choso got into some shit and since he couldn’t get out of it on his own, Sukuna took out like three other guys on his own. Scared them so bad they never fucked with him again. Most of his fights were justified in my eyes.”

“Unless it was Gojo,” Utahime laughs. “Those two fought all the fucking time. I don’t even think they knew why once they got older. Some kind of childhood rivalry that carried on and probably still does in jail. Could beat each other up and then the next day be best friends. Even in rival drug rings, there was some weird mutual respect between them. Honestly poetic they ended up cell mates.”

This is what you loved about this group of friends. Everyone went so far back and had an entertaining history with each other. Plus hearing cringey Sukuna stories gave you teasing ammunition for when he got out.

“Hun I’m sure he’s okay, he’s not an idiot. He knows he needs to behave to get out. I don’t think he’d intentionally jeopardize his future with you like that,” Utahime pats your shoulder in support, giving you an understanding smile.

“I hope so,” you answer, feeling a little better about everything.

“I’m sure of it. Gojo says he rambles on about you all the time. He’s got your letters all securely stored and sorted. Said he reads them all every day.”

You can’t tell if your heart wants to break or swell in response. It’s so sweet that he’s like that, but also makes you feel very sad for him. It must be so lonely in there, you just want to hug and comfort him.

If only he’d let you visit! Stubborn bastard.

The rest of the afternoon is a blast. Shoko eventually joins too after her shift. You are thankful for this support system you happened to find yourself in. It makes everything just a little easier.

***

3 Years

“Fuck, I’m so glad you picked up!” Sukuna’s voice on the other line makes you drop your phone in surprise.

Four months. Four fucking months since you heard anything from him.

“Sukuna!! Where have you been? I was so worried!” you sob into the phone once you get it out from under the kitchen table as it took an unlucky bounce. Thank god it didn’t hang up!

“Oh god, it’s a long story. I got transferred, and it took fucking forever to get processed out and into the new place. No phone time and I couldn’t remember your new address of course. Well then I get in there and immediately get jumped by some other inmates. Guess there is some serious hierarchy in this place and they like to intimate the newbies.

“Unfortunately for them, I kinda laid them out. You see sweets, I can throw a punch or two.”

“So I heard from your cousin,” you snicker, Choso was right all along.

“Ugh, that dick. I’m not like that anymore. Well, except for now, fuck! Not what I meant… let me finish the story!” you can imagine him shaking his head in annoyance.

“Well they fucked me up too. I don’t look too hot unless you’re into that. So I got put into a solitary area more so for mine and their own protection. So once again, no phone or letter time,” he finishes with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh Sukuna, I'm sorry that happened to you. I’m so glad you’re okay though. I was worried sick!”

“Aw you were worried about me tomato girl?” he says in a playful tone.

“Course I was you idiot! I’m always worried about you. Can you just make sure to come back home in one piece?” you huff at him while sporting a huge smile. You don’t even care, just over the moon that he's okay.

“I’ll try, baby. Anything for you,” his velvety voice serenades your ears. You’d missed it so much, hearing it again has parts of your brain firing up that you swear have been dormant the last few months.

“Good.”

It’s all you can say, tears threatening to burst from your eyes from happiness.

“Are you crying?”

“Sh-shut up Sukuna!” you stutter, sniffling into the phone as you feel the screen get damp against your cheek.

His playful laugh sounds from the other side.

“It’s okay baby. It really is. I promise-“

“I'm just so happy to hear your voice, you have no idea,” you force out, trying to regain your composure. You don’t want to waste these precious minutes crying.

“Me too sweets. My knees practically buckled when you answered. God I miss you so much. It’s okay now though. There shouldn’t be any more fights or shit. They know I’m not gonna fuck with them as long as they leave me be.”

“I’m glad.”

“How’s the move and new job been?” he changes the subject.

“It’s been going great actually. Pretty much settled at the new job and my new place feels just like home. I missed the slower pace of life here. And the kind people. I’m right where I need to be. Just waiting on you,” you answer him.

“I know. A third of the way there. Think you can wait the rest of it out?”

“I do. My friends and family have been a godsend. Your family and Utahime as well. It feels less like I’m going through it alone.”

“Tch, you hanging out with Gojo’s girl is so fitting. She’s a good woman though sticking by him through all this. Honestly he is too. You’ll have to meet him when we get out.”

“I heard you all have quite the history,” you giggle.

“With that bastard? Absolutely. It’s all mutual though. I’m better though, in all ways,” he grumbles.

You both sit in silence, daring the other to speak first. Finally you cave, some of the insecurities from earlier rearing their ugly heads.

“Hey Sukuna?”

“Hmm?”

“What if you get out and we’re completely different people and it’s…not the same?” you tremble as you finish your question.

“Then I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over again,” he answers as if it’s the most obvious and simple response.

“But what if it’s you who doesn’t want me?”

“Tch, impossible.”

“Sukuna! Be serious!” you whine.

“Sweetheart, I am being serious, it would take an act of god for me to stop loving you. Think about it, we only knew each other for a short time and I fell so hard so fast. I don’t fall in love. Never have, thought I never would. But I did, and I don’t regret it for a second.

“Over the past three years, I’ve only fallen more and more. It might seem weird to you considering I’m in jail, but with how you go out of your way to stay in touch and talk to me, how you stay by my side through the bad…so much bad, it means more than anything to me. I can’t wait to spoil you rotten and try to make it all up to you, to show you how you mean everything to me. I don’t think I could ever compare to the devotion you’ve exhibited over the years, but I’m gonna fuckin’ try.”

You have to sit down as the butterflies explode in your gut. Why you? Why was it you he allowed into his life and decided to love so fiercely? One day you’ll ask, but for now you’ll just have to trust him and believe in him, just like he’s believed in you all these years.

“I’ve gotta go in a minute,” Sukuna says after a pause. “I promise to be more in touch now. Still good to talk on Saturday mornings?”

“Yes, one hundred percent. I was worried I’d need to call a different inmate when I stopped hearing from you.”

He gives an amused huff in response.

“You better not!” he whines, “only allowed to talk to me.”

“You’re the only one I want to talk to anyways you goof,” you laugh.

“Good. I love you tomato girl. Always.”

“I love you too Sukuna.”

***

3 Years 3 Months

Sukuna is surprised he isn’t more animated as Hiromi opens the car door for him. Maybe everything still just doesn’t seem real yet, the shock from the morning yet to wear off after being told he was being let out on parole. After mentally preparing himself to be locked up for ten years, having the rug pulled out from under him in the best possible way had rocked him to his core.

He recalls how he was immediately processed and escorted to his lawyer who thankfully guided him into the parking lot as he was trapped in a state of disbelief.

Everything is overwhelming. The sounds of traffic and cars on the highway was foreign at this point and the wide open expanses of the rolling hills and farmland felt too exposed compared to being locked away in a low ceiling cell with one source of natural light and only one person to talk to all day.

As they got closer to town, all the changes that happened while locked away were becoming too much to process. A new president, new buildings appearing all over, gas prices that made his eyes pop out of his head.

Everything was so different, but he prayed that your love for him had remained unchanged. All these other things he could figure out, but you no longer wanted him, nothing else mattered.

“Can you take me downtown? Jefferson street along the river,” he blurts out to Hiromi.

“Of course. Is that where she is now?”

“Yeah,” Sukuna replies simply, heart starting to race at the thought of seeing you.

The closer they got, the more he truly believed he’d have to ask his lawyer to pull the car over to puke all over the side of the road. Being forced into a life without you for ten years had been scary, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer terror that would follow as he prepares to show up unannounced to the woman he needs more than life itself, not knowing if she’d take him back.

“Want me to wait?” Hiromi jars him from his thoughts, now parked next to an old brick warehouse fixed up into condos.

Is the damn lawyer thinking the same thing? That there’s a very real possibility of the life he’d built in his mind crumbling before his eyes?

“Nah, I got it,” Sukuna shoots Hiromi his trademark smirk before turning around and heading towards the lobby door.

***

It’s a paperwork day so that means working from home. You appreciate these times so you can get some chores done while you’re at it. Usually you can swing one day a week remote and it really has improved your quality of life.

Moving some clothes from the washer to the dryer, you glance up at the time.

2 PM.

Just about two more hours and you’ll be done for the day. You start the dryer, leaving the laundry basket next to the machine so you can collect everything and fold them later.

Trudging back to the office, you sit down and stare out the window. At least it’s Friday, and with only two more charts to complete, you very much intend to drag out the day until the weekend.

Just as you begin to start the next chart, your doorbell rings.

Weird, it’s not too common to have anyone coming to your door considering you live in a condo that opens to an interior building hallway.

Sighing in annoyance, you leave the office and cross the living room, cracking the door to peer out into the hallway.

If you weren’t leaning against the brick wall next to you, you probably would have blacked out and fainted as your eyes reveal what is before you.

Messy pink hair. Tired crimson eyes. Tattoos wrapped around his wrists and painting his face and sharp jawline.

“What the fuck!?!” you shriek as you fling the door open the rest of the way, hearing it slam the wall.

You stand, frozen in the doorway, feeling about five different emotions at once as you try to process what stands before you. Your brain would just have to catch up later though because your legs propel you towards him as you launch yourself into his arms, hugging him as tight as you can. Even though he smells like some cheap, sterile shampoo, to you, it’s the best thing your nose has ever inhaled as you press your face into his toned chest.

It means he’s here. With you. In the flesh. Why? You haven’t a clue.

Sukuna’s arms hover behind you as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Trying to make sure this is real. Everything he’d dreamed of right here in front of him. He’d walked up to your place, stomach in knots as he tried to prepare himself to face you for the first time in over three years. Would you actually want to see him? Was there the possibility of you living some double life he didn’t know about?

None of that seems to be the case though, and he finally cages you against him, arms wrapped around your back making you feel more secure and safe than you ever have.

All the emotion begins to well up into the form of tears on his shirt as the somatic response leaves your body. Sobbing against him, you twist your fingers into the back of his shirt as your knees become shaky. Sukuna must notice because he hauls you up off your feet and carries you through the doorway, kicking it shut behind him. Once inside, he leans back against the door, supporting your body while you just unleash all the pain from three years.

“H-h-how? Why? What the fuck is going on?” you choke out, finally starting up into the crimson eyes you only saw in your dreams.

“Why don’t we sit down before you hurt yourself,” Sukuna chuckles and that almost makes your legs feel like jello all over again. His laugh. Hearing it in person. It dislodges another piece of the grief inside and has you crying all over again.

“Sweetheart I hope these are tears of joy or happiness,” he lifts you into his arms once he realizes you can’t walk again.

“Of course they are you idiot,” you rasp out as he lowers you both to your couch, cradling you against his chest before setting you gently next to him.

“I got released on parole this morning. I’m not a hundred percent in the clear, but I don’t need to go back to jail. I have to check in with a parole officer and have some conditions I need to live by for the rest of the sentence, but other than that, I’m out. I can start living my life again,” his smile only grows as he explains, as if finally believing it himself.

You just stare at him in disbelief, all your prayers answered and the evidence is sitting right in front of you.

“I just can’t believe it. You’re here. We’re together again. Do you still want me? Like want to do this with me? Life together?” you start rambling out the thoughts as they come into your head.

“Course I do. That’s why I came to you first tomato girl,” he melts your heart with the boyish grin you never forgot about.

“I’m your first stop?”

“Mhmm. And my last.”

You launch yourself into his arms again, straddling his lap and studying his face closer as he wraps you up in his arms again. His thumb reaches up to swipe the tears off your cheeks, red eyes boring into your soul, briefly flicking down to your lips before darting back to meet your gaze.

Leaning in slowly, your noses brush, lips trembling as they brush against his. Your fingers run up through his hair, twisting into the fluffy pink locks, blinking in disbelief that he’s really here.

Soft, chaste kisses are shared between you both as you start to re-acquaint yourselves with each other. You feel incredibly nervous, like it's your first kiss all over again, so you pull back briefly so you can catch your breath since apparently you forgot to breathe through all of that.

His lidded eyes meet yours, grinning at you while you feel your face heat up.

“You okay?” he asks softly, tracing small circles on your back where his hands are resting.

“Yeah, I’m just so nervous for some reason,” you chuckle, noticing a slight blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I am too, but it’s okay. You don’t need to impress me. I’m the happiest man alive right now even though it's clumsy and out of sync. It’s with you, and that alone makes this the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again Sukuna,” you force out. He’s being so sweet, but he’s right. Who the fuck cares, you’ll both figure it out together. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you.

“Well let’s practice again hmm?” Sukuna purrs, hand moving to cup your cheek and pull you in again. This time his tongue swipes along your bottom lip, making you gasp in surprise. You can feel the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as your tongue meets his, moving together in a clumsy dance as you re-familiarize yourself with how he tastes.

You giggle as your teeth accidentally clash with his, but that seems to loosen you up a little and you quickly forget about it, running your tongue along his gums and chasing his around his mouth. Finally finding a decent rhythm, your movements become more and more desperate, Sukuna’s grasp on your chin tightening as he deepens the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip.

Your hands start to wander, slipping under his shirt and grazing your fingertips over his rigid abs and chest, feeling every dip and ridge of his muscles as you feel him up. Sukuna groans into your mouth and you feel something hard twitch beneath you, instinctively grinding yourself against him. The pressure on your clothed clit makes you moan against his lips, feeling his hands moving to grip your hips to push you against his erection again, harder this time.

“Su-Sukunaaa,” you gasp, pulling back to glance down, his thick bulge prominent against his pants, you situated right on top of it. Your heart is pounding so fast you think it might burst, feeling the heat rush to your core.

“Hmm?” Sukuna leans back to look up at you, lidded eyes full of lust, “we can stop if you want baby.”

“Can we just…go somewhere else more comfortable? Not my living room,” you mutter, “I’m just not used to any of this. Feel like I’m going through my first time all over again,” you chuckle.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a grin, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

“Of course, your bedroom?”

You nod and he carries you down the hall, setting you down on your bed as he kicks his shoes off before joining you. Laying down your head on the pillows, you pull him back on top of you to kiss you again, hands trailing down to his waist and pulling his shirt up to his shoulders.

“Shirt off?” Sukuna asks, face hovering just above yours.

“Mhmm.”

Sukuna sits back on his heels, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor.

His body takes your breath away. He’s even more muscular than you remember, tattoos snaking down his torso to disappear into the waistband of his pants, the top of his boxers bunched up on his hips.

You can’t help yourself, sitting up to run your hands all over him, shamelessly feeling him up and tracing each trail of ink down his body, not yet brave enough to follow them lower.

“You’re so jacked holy shit,” you whine as you start to focus on his abs.

“Heh, not much to do in there besides endless pushups tomato girl,” he chuckles, eyes watching your hands, clearly enjoying your exploration.

“I wanna take my clothes off, but you’re just so fucking shredded I feel like I’m gonna look like a joke compared to you,” you smirk at him, fiddling nervously with your shirt.

“Baaaaby you’re the most beautiful woman to me. Look, I want you to be comfortable, but fuck I wanna see you. I promise I’m gonna love it,” Sukuna starts to get more of a feral look in his eye, voice a little whiny in anticipation.

“Okay, just like, don’t look okay?” you laugh, not even sure why that is going to help anything, he’s going to see the end result anyways. Standing up, you peel off your outer layers, leaving your bra and panties on.

Sukuna is behaving, looking away from you like you asked. It warms your heart, and that gives you the final push to just take off everything. It’ll be a nice surprise for him.

“You can look now,” you giggle, laying back down.

Sukuna turns around and disbelief hits his face as soon as he sees you.

“Oh my godddd, so fuckin’ sexy,” his eyes immediately focus on your tits. You reach for his hand and place it on your breast, watching the way his jaw tenses up as his eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Fuckkkkk baby. First woman I’ve seen naked in 3 fuckin’ years. Last one too. God I need to get my pants off or I think I might seriously bust all over myself. Well, still might, but all this pressure is killing me.”

You burst out laughing, sitting up to unbutton his pants while he gropes all over your tits, squeezing the plush flesh between his fingers and brushing his fingertips across your nipples.

Sukuna lets go of you momentarily to shimmy off his pants and boxers, finally freeing his cock from its confines, hanging heavy in front of you. You can’t help but swallow hard, no way you can take all that! Sure you have before, but that was when you weren’t coming off a 3 and a half year dry spell.

“Sukuna fuck! You’re so big!” you reach out to fondle his balls before wrapping your hand around his shaft, making his whole body jerk in response. “I fuckin’ want it though, but god you’re gonna kill me with that thing.”

Sukuna inhales sharply as you stroke his length, teeth digging into his lip as he watches your hand work him.

“Oh my fuckin’ god, shit baby, feels so gooooood,” Sukuna groans, thrusting up into your hand one time before gasping, ripping your hand away.

“Shit I’m gonna cum so fast whatever we do, I’m not gonna even be able to fuck you properly, I apologize in advance,” a deep flush spreads to his neck and chest as you notice his tip leaking with so much pre-cum, his whole cock is glistening and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Just finger me real quick Kuna, please, I need something at this point,” you moan, your cunt starting clench around nothing, desperate for some kind of relief.

He moves quickly, pushing you back down into the pillows as his hand caresses your inner thigh, inching closer to your needy pussy.

“So fucking beautiful, all for me,” he groans, brushing his knuckles against your soaking cunt.

“Baaaaby soooo wet already goddamn,” his husky voice says as he drags some of your slick up to your clit, rubbing tight circles against your bundle of nerves.

“Oh my godddd, Sukuna!” you squeal, everything so sensitive but experiencing pleasure like you haven’t in years. Your vibrators were good, but he was better.

Your eyes slam shut, writhing as he stimulates your clit. It’s pure bliss, finally able to be intimate with the man you love, touching you in the way you’ve craved. Then you feel it, a push at your entrance as his thick finger starts stretching out your walls, working you open with shallow thrusts.

“Ah, fuck!” you grimace at the brief moment of pain that quickly gives way to pleasure as his knuckles drag along your velvety walls.

“You okay?” he asks, thrusting slowly in and out, the clicking sounds indicating how wet you are each time he pushes back in.

“Yeah, just hurt at first. Do another,” you force out, the pleasure intensifying as you get used to the feeling.

Sukuna briefly pulls out, the loss of fullness making you needy. He’s quick to refill you though, the burning stretch returning as he pushes two fingers inside, making you grip his arm in pain.

“Breathe, relax, you’re clenching me so hard, which I’d normally love, but it's hurting you,” Sukuna says gently, not going any deeper, watching you carefully.

You focus on your breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply a few times, trying to slacken the muscles in your pelvis.

“That’s better, keep doing that,” he purrs, talking you through it as he starts to thrust deeper, the pain soon subsiding. Every thrust of his fingers hits a new angle inside of you, probing for your sweet spot. Eventually, one spot has you moaning, arching your chest into his where he settled next to you.

“Hmm baby, right there? Like this?” he hums as he crooks his fingers up into your sweet spot, fingerfucking you at such a grueling pace that all you can do is whine and turn into a writhing mess beneath him. Your vision is seeing stars at this point as he pushes you towards your release.

Sukuna leans down to pull a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud while his thumb pad presses against your clit.

“Sukuna! Ohh-oh my god, please, don’t stop, just like that! Fuck Sukuna!” you start babbling nonsense as the pool of desire deep within your cunt begins to ignite, causing you to shatter as the orgasm tears through your body. Your fingers rip through his hair as you arch into his face, cunt gushing onto his hand while clenching so hard, sucking his fingers in deeper.

“Oh fuckkkkk, yesss like that baby, god cum all over me. Fuckin’ perfect girl,” Sukuna’s deep voice just makes it all better as he makes sure you are stimulated through every second of your climax. Finally your body stills, feeling his fingers slip out, coated in your juices.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” Sukuna says with a pop as he pulls them out of his mouth, glancing down at your ruined state before leaning down to pepper your chest and neck with kisses, making you giggle as he finally finds your lips again.

“Mmm want you to fuck me Kuna,” you whine.

“Yeah? God baby I wanna fuck you too, been dreaming of the next time I could feel you clenching around me. How do you wanna do this? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not gonna last. Like I’m thinking bad bad, thirty seconds tops,” he gives you a boyish grin.

“Sukuna seriously?” you laugh, not sure if he’s just being dramatic or not.

“I’m dead serious sweetheart, thought i was going to when you were in my lap earlier. Probably even worse than my first time, I’m fighting love this time around too,” he laughs, kissing you on the nose.

“Aww, well I don’t care either way, just wanna feel close to you,” you smile back at him. “We have forever for you to work your stamina up again. Lots of practice in our future.”

“Damn right. How do you wanna do this?”

“Something with lots of skin on skin contact and intimacy,” you respond.

“Alright, missionary it is. Spread’em tomato girl,” Sukuna nudges your legs apart, “got a condom or anything?”

“Uhhhh no, I have not slept with anyone since you, so I never bought any more” you chuckle.

“Hmph, good. I can pull out-”

“You and I both know you aren’t doing that, and quite frankly I don’t want you to. Fuckin’ fill me up and we can go get a plan b later,” you tease him.

“Girlllll you are….so right though, no way am I gonna fuck you for the first time in years and cum anywhere other than that perfect pussy,” Sukuna growls, lining himself up. He glances up at you one last time and after an approving nod, he pushes his thick cock inside of you.

“Ohhhh my god,” Sukuna collapses on top of you, trembling and shaking as he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you close while resting the other next to your head.

The stretch is intense but quickly subsides as his cock gets slicked up by your arousal. Your heart is so full of love for Sukuna, tears threatening to spill over.

“Look at me,” you pull his chin down, knowing he’s trying to screw his eyes shut to last. When you meet the reds of his eyes, they are full of the same adoration and love you know are in yours, eyes watering as his face contorts to fight back the tears.

Neither of you move, Sukuna bottomed out inside of you while you desperately try to keep yourself from clenching around him.

“I love you,” you whisper, his forehead pressed against yours, every inch of his skin pressed hot against you. It's the most intimate moment you’ve ever had where neither person is moving, but it isn’t needed. All the commitment and hard work you’ve both put in over the years at making this work, being there for each other, and pushing each other to be the best version of yourselves all while physically apart has culminated into this moment of working together one last time to prolong this feeling.

“I love you too. Can’t believe I-ah, I got so lucky to find you in this life. You waited for me, never gave up on me, fuck,” he groans, unable to finish sentence as you clench around him making him thrust once in response.

“Fuuuuuck, I can’t… I’m sorry, I’m-shit, fuck- gonna cum” he starts thrusting his cock into you, his thick tip dragging along your walls as he starts to throb inside of you. Slow and deep, his whole body is shaking as he whimpers just before feeling him spill his hot seed into your cunt.

“Ahhh - shit, I love you,” he moans your name as he pushes himself as deep as he can, cock pulsing as he pumps everything into you, filling you so much that you feel some trickling out down your thigh.

He collapses onto your chest, face buried in the crook of your neck as his breaths are hot on your skin. You run your fingers down his back, a loving caress as you trace the ink snaking down his muscles.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but eventually Sukuna sits up, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling out of you and moving to your side, pulling you up against his bare chest.

“I didn’t get to finish what I was saying when my dick rudely interrupted me,” he chuckles, “but thank you for not giving up on me. I promise I’m done with that life and I’m devoted to building this new one with you. I swear to god I’ll take care of you, you’ll be my equal, my partner, and my best friend and I’ll always put you first. You’ll never be alone again.

“I love you so much Sukuna. I was ready to wait longer, but I’m never going to complain that you came back early, this is easily one of the best days of my life. I’ll never take for granted the special moments we share together.”

“I love you too. Let’s sleep, I’m so fucking happy that from now on I’ll be waking up to you for the rest of my life,” Sukuna says, positioning himself to spoon you, finally letting his tears silently fall into your hair.

One more Chapter and it will be a happy fluffy epilogue!

<< Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514 @sukubusss @scorpiosugar @kiixonmm @xlilycoco @nina-from-317

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jjk #jjk fanfic #sukuna fanfic #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna jjk #jujutsu kaisen sukuna

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justwinginglife · 3 days ago

Text

The New Normal

Once again, my adhd is not allowing me the motivation to finish getting through my request box so here- have an original fic because this is the best my brain can do at the current moment. Also, how ironic is it that I'm a Hoshina girlie but I swear my longest fics have been Narumi fics and I DON'T know why. Anyway, hope yall like this- it's been awhile since I've written Narumi but I've had this prompt in the back of my head for awhile. @ryzheling please come take your man back, why's he in my head?

Synopsis: You and Narumi meet again after having been broken up for years. And not only do you meet, you're now working together. Shit's gonna be awkward either way so you have the (not so) brilliant idea to fuck each other out of your systems and then go back to being professional. Approx Word Count: 7200 Tags: Angst w/ happy ending, smut, fingering, p in v, handcuffs make an appearance, dacryphilia Warning: NSFW

“Alright, come on. Might as well get it out of the way now. Let’s fuck.”

Gen Narumi sat at his desk (because standing wasn’t an option at the moment) with his knees weak, hands trembling, and jaw clenched, the minute you strode through his office doors, blunt as always.

He’d seen your request to transfer to his Division, he’d denied it at least three times, and yet here you were, lively as ever. He knew the higher up’s favored you, he knew they wanted you in the First Division, and he knew they’d do almost anything to have you, but he didn’t know that his say as the Captain of the First Division was so insignificant. He was the strongest member of the JADKF and yet he couldn’t even deny a transfer request from his ex-girlfriend. How pathetic was that? And now he’d have to see you every single day, because you were his new Vice Captain. What a cruel twist of fate.

He wasn’t even sure why you’d accepted the job in the first place. Weren’t you worried it’d be awkward? Weren’t you worried he’d hold a grudge and retaliate, make your life miserable? Or even worse, weren’t you worried he might still harbor romantic feelings for you? Weren’t you worried you might sink back into old patterns, fall in love again, and end disastrously again? Or was he so undesirable that you weren’t concerned you’d fall in love with him in the slightest?

“Did you hear me? I said we should fuck.”

“W-why?” He sputtered, half aggravated and half tormented.

“Because you’re looking at me with a face that says you’re worried we’ll end up hooking up -like I knew you would- so I figure we may as well get it out of our systems now. And then, with all distractions out of the way, you can let me do my job, I’ll let you do yours, and the First Division can properly make its mark on the history books. Deal?” You stuck your hand out for him to shake, like participating in the most intimate of acts together was nothing more than a contract between business partners. Like he hadn’t been dreaming of the day when he could touch you and kiss you again. Like it was nothing more than a basic, primal instinct. And he couldn’t tell if he was more pissed off or more heartbroken.

He slapped your hand away. “You’re a dumbass, you’ve always been a dumbass, and you always will be a dumbass. Get out of my Division if you’re going to keep spouting bullshit.”

“Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. Unless you’d like to argue with every single one of our superiors who approved my transfer.”

He grit his teeth. “And why did you transfer here anyway? To make me miserable?”

“Contrary to popular belief, my world does not revolve around you Gen Narumi. I’m going to change the world, and for that, I need to be at the very top. Your Division just so happens to be the best, and I need the best. That is all.”

Some small part of him knew you weren’t here for him. He knew you’d always been ambitious. He’d always loved your ambition. But it just killed him that you were treating him as nothing more than a stepping stone for that ambition. He was just some rung on a ladder that you needed to climb over. Someone you once cared for and couldn’t spare the time to care for ever again. So now, he had a choice: to be seething or to be sorrowful, and he chose seething.

“Well too bad for you, Ms. ‘High and Mighty’. I’m still the Captain of this Division and what I say goes. If I say you don’t participate in the next mission, then you don’t participate. If I say you sit your ass down and shut up, then you sit your ass down and shut up. Matter of fact, if I say you don’t step one foot outside of this office, you don’t see the light of day ever again. So you can tell your career plans they’re on hold until I decide to have mercy on you.”

You smiled and it killed him. “I missed you too, Gen. Offer still stands. I’m setting up my office next door, thinking of introducing myself to the officers afterwards. Feel free to stop by when you want.” You blew him a kiss and strode off.

He scowled at your back. What the fuck just happened??

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shinonome, right? Can I just call you Rin? I have a feeling we’re going to be such good friends.”

Narumi’s brow twitched as he watched you giddily befriend every single one of his officers like they were all under your command and not his. And they all seem to love having a commander who was as cheerful as you were. Cheerful. What a lie that was. You were anything but cheerful when you ripped his heart out and left him. He didn’t dare to recall the way he’d also ripped your heart out too. It was easier when you were the bad guy.

“I say, beers on me tonight. Whoever is off duty tonight can join in and whoever is on duty tonight can have a beer on me tomorrow. Who’s in?”

Everyone responded to your proposal with a rousing cheer.

Narumi hated it. Regardless, somehow, he found himself trailing behind the crowd like he was a lost puppy. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to join, but it seemed his feet weren’t going to provide him with any answers anytime soon.

You’d noticed his presence but did your best to ignore it, to allow him his peace and his dignity. You made your rounds, chatting up every officer, asking what they needed from you as their Vice Captain, asking what could be better.

Narumi was sure you couldn’t care for him less, until a server handed him a cider instead of a beer and he questioned it, saying it must’ve been a mistake as you’d ordered beers for the whole lot. She whispered in his ear, “The Vice Captain said you hated beer but loved cider. Even said to put it in a beer mug so your particular preferences don’t draw attention.” He was shocked you’d remembered. He’d been prepared to swallow his pride along with the stupid drink, but you’d saved him from a whole night of pretending not to gag. Just what was going on in your mind? Would he ever know?

When you saw him receive his drink, you lifted your glass to him from across the room. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat. And then that moment ended when you gulped down your drink and turned back to your conversation with some eager officers.

That was the only interaction you had with him all night and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Were you mocking his tastes? But then, if you were, you would’ve made sure everyone knew he was a picky drinker. You would’ve had them deliver it to him in a different cup and you would’ve pointed out the difference to everyone. Did you…care for him? But you didn’t talk to him one bit the entire night. So it couldn’t be that. Was this what it was like being platonic coworkers? Was this the new normal? If so, he hated it more than when you weren’t in his life at all. When you were here, you were both too close for comfort and not close enough. When you were here, he regretted all the times you weren’t. When you were here, he wanted you to stay. And when he wanted you to stay, it killed him.

Maybe that idea of fucking you out of his system wasn’t half bad, but he’d never admit it to you.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And that, ladies and gentleman, is what not to do in a fight.” You laughed as you pulled yourself off the ground.

Since you’d started working in the First Division, you’d been making so many changes left and right -all for the benefit of the team- that it almost gave Narumi whiplash, and your most recent “brilliant idea” was to spar with him in front of the rookies, both to give them a learning opportunity and to see how you stacked up against him. As it turned out, after all these years, you still couldn’t beat him. But you came pretty close and, if anything, your loss boosted the team’s confidence in their Captain, so you felt it was a win either way.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is why you don’t challenge the Captain to a duel.” He snorted, mocking your previous tone.

“Would it make me a rather bad influence if I declared a rematch then?” You grinned, dust and grime smeared across your brow.

He was always amazed how undaunted you appeared, even in the face of a humiliating loss. If he’d lost like that, in front of all these impressionable rookies, he’d sulk in his room for at least a week. But you, you simply wiped the dirt from your cheeks and hoisted yourself back onto your feet, ready for round two. If he wasn’t actively trying to dislike you, he might love you.

“No, but it does make you a bad influence that you’ve been keeping all these rookies from their lunch. Everyone- go eat now, or you’re benched on the next mission.” He waved them away and began to trudge off. He hated that he could hear you following behind him.

You stayed silent the whole walk, and he could almost believe that maybe you were just going in the same direction as him, and maybe it had nothing to do with him. But when he turned into his office, you turned right behind him.

“What do you want?” He snapped, turning to face you.

“You do realize that when you said everyone has to eat, that includes you, right?”

He scowled. “I’m going to eat.”

You raised a skeptical brow at him. Then you peered over at his desk where bags of potato chips and gummy worms were strewn across its surface. “Junk food does not count.”

He snorted. “And what about you? I don’t see you eating.”

You gave him a wide grin. “As a matter of fact, I just so happen to have two bento boxes. I was thinking you’d like one.” You pulled open your bag and procured two boxes for his viewing pleasure.

“I don’t want your stupid bento box, now get out of my office before I make you.” He grumbled, arms crossed.

“Mmm. Even if it has…sausages?”

He shifted his weight. “Okay, but did you-”

“Cut them up like octopuses? Yeah. I did.”

“I’m not a child, you know. I don’t like them because they look like octopuses.”

“I know. You like them because it makes the-”

“-Makes the flavor taste better!”

You bit back a laugh when he interrupted. You knew he’d never forgive you if you laughed. But ever since you’d started dating, you’d notice he’d only eat sausages if they were cut in a particular way, and every time you asked, he always insisted that somehow it made the flavor taste better. You didn’t understand it, but you never cooked sausages again without cutting them the way he liked. And even after you broke up, it was a force of habit. Sometimes you’d catch yourself cutting them and think of him, think of the old normal. Smile a little before the tears came. Sometimes you wouldn’t even realize you’d done it until the very next day when you’d open up your lunch and see them sitting pretty on top of your rice. And then you’d cry again. Eventually, you stopped buying sausage.

Of course, when you started working with him again, you’d invested in a whole pack of sausages because you figured you’d need to bribe him someday. Apparently today was that day. You just didn’t think you’d be bribing him to eat.

You munched on your lunch quietly as you watched him. Part of you just wanted to make sure he was actually eating, but part of you couldn’t help but be curious if he still liked your cooking after all this time. When he didn’t say anything, you started to sulk. “Soooo…how’s the food?”

“Fine.” He continued to chew.

You inched closer. “But like…how’s it taste?”

“Again, fine.” More chewing.

“Damnit, Narumi. Is it good or is it not?”

The edge of his lip twitched and, for a minute, you swore you saw a hint of a smile before it vanished, like it never appeared. “It’s not good, it’s not bad, like I said- it’s fine.”

“Oh, okay. So if it’s not good, maybe I should take my sausages back then.” You reached for his bento but he quickly turned away from you, holding it out of reach.

“Hey! What kinda shitty manners is it to offer someone a lunch and then try and take it back from them? Barbarian, I swear.” He grumbled, munching more quickly on his food now.

You burst into laughter. “So you do like it, you little asshole.”

“Hey, I’m not a-”

“I’ll bring more tomorrow then.”

“Okay.”

You sat in silence again, but this time it was different. This time you weren’t his ex or his Vice Captain. This time, you were just a girl who brought him lunch. And he liked it. And for now, it was enough for the both of you. But ‘now’ doesn’t last forever.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, I’ve been thinking, maybe we should fuck after all.”

You almost fell out of your chair. “What? Why the change in heart?”

He shrugged as though it were simple, but didn’t dare to meet your eyes. “The team likes you. Much as I hate to admit it, you do good work. You’re not a half bad Vice Captain. So maybe we should fuck and get it over with. Do what you said. Get it out of our system. And then just be coworkers.”

Your heart sank when he said that. You knew it was your idea and you knew it was somewhat logical albeit unconventional, but you didn’t expect him to agree to it. You expected him to be the same old Gen that he always was. You expected him to be the man that didn’t have sex unless the sex meant something. But maybe that version of him died when the relationship did. Maybe this was all of him that you had left. Maybe you had to get him out of your system too.

So you agreed.

He kissed you first, but it was so hesitant that you could barely call it a kiss.

You sighed loudly. “Gen, can you maybe kiss me like I’m not your ex girlfriend? How are we supposed to fuck if you’re acting like a virgin?”

He glared at you before wrapping his hands around your waist and yanking you towards him, slamming his lips down on yours again.

Now you were getting somewhere.

Your fingers tangled in his hair and you gave his locks a tug, smirking against his lips when he let out a slight whine. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and he accepted your invasion, flicking his own tongue out hungrily to greet you. He backed you into a wall as he continued his pursuit of you, swallowing down every noise of pleasure that escaped your lips.

“You…do…realize-” You panted as he began to grind his hips against yours, head arching back, “Fuuuck…that you literally…have a…couch and a desk…in your office. And we’re…fucking against…the wall.”

He smirked against your lips. “Mmm couch fucking is for girlfriends. You’re just some slut that wants her fill, yeah?”

“Asshole.” You bit down on his lip hard. “If anyone’s the slut here, it’s you. Who’s the one that begged me to fuck him?”

He scoffed. “And who’s the one who proposed it in the first place?”

He tore your shirt open, palm coming up to cup your breast. He touched you greedily, squeezing your plushness in his hands as he flicked his tongue rapidly against your hardened nipple. He’d never been like this before. No, when you’d had sex in the past, he’d taken his time to caress every inch of you so softly and sweetly. He’d tease you so incessantly that you had to beg for even just his tip. And he’d make you feel loved like you’d never known love before. But not today. Today, you were just some stranger trying to get off, same as him.

“If you’re going to be so impatient, why don’t you just put it in already?” You complained.

He laughed darkly. “If you insist.”

You didn’t even have time to whine about how this was your favorite pair of pants before he yanked them off of you, buttons flying to who knows where. You made a mental note to order a new uniform and put it on his tab, but before you could sulk further, he hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and positioned himself at your entrance.

Shit, wait, you weren’t sure you were ready yet-

“Ah, f-fuck! G-Gen!” You cried out as he speared his way through your slick folds. It had been so long since you’d last had sex that you were feeling completely overwhelmed by the way he slammed into your cervix with no remorse. “Shit, why are you so tight?” He groaned. “Don’t you want it?”

“I want it, I want it, I just…fuuuuck, maybe slower?”

He rolled his eyes but decreased his speed slightly. “If you can’t take the heat-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up and kiss me.”

He buried himself in your lips like he was chasing a high that only your taste could give him. And he tried to forget how familiar this all was. Tried to forget the days when he got lost in the taste of you. Tried to forget the quick pecks you’d exchange before heading off to work in the mornings, tried to forget the long, drawn out kisses when he’d returned home, lips finding yours ever so eagerly. Because he missed you. Because he loved you.

But the years came and went, and your lips still slotted against his perfectly, and you still made his favorite sounds, and you still remembered what he liked as much as he remembered what you liked, and it was like no time had passed at all.

“Gen,” You sighed against his lips like you had a thousand times before.

He wanted to treat you like a one night stand, like some stranger on the street. He desperately wanted to use you like you were using him right now and forget he’d ever loved you. But it wasn’t some stranger sighing his name the way he’d dreamed about on repeat; it was you. And no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he missed this all too much. He missed the old normal. He missed the way you fit in his arms, the way you used to never leave his arms. So he decided that, just for today (as he would never -and could never- let it happen again), he’d give in and imagine you were his again. He’d imagine that you were simply returning home from work, ready to show him how much you wanted him, how much you needed him, how much you’d thought about him all day. You didn’t have to ever know that he was thinking these thoughts. For all you knew, he was just doing as you’d proposed and fucking you out of his system. But he knew that he was secretly holding onto every moment of intimacy that he was allowed because, in the end, he’d have only these memories to keep him warm at night.

So he kissed you deeper, kissed you harder, kissed you longer. His hands wandered the expanse of your breathtaking body until he was sure the feeling would engrave itself into his skin, into his soul. He lavished his attention on every sweet spot that made you squeal and squirm for him, the way he’d always loved. And his pace began to slow, as if he were begging time to simply stop. He hoped you wouldn’t notice that he was drawing this moment out but you did.

“Stamina run out or something?” You teased.

His heart rate quickened as he frantically began to rack his brain for some way to explain this to you. That’s when he realized that he could make use of the situation. “Just thinking that I’ve been doing all the work and you should pull your weight.” He played it off like he was just making some witty remark, but inside, he was praying you’d take his bait.

You did. You snorted, “And how am I supposed to pull my weight?”

“Ride me.” He said the words a little too quickly and he was hoping you wouldn’t notice that he was simply using this opportunity to live out a fantasy he’d been dreaming about ever since you broke up.

“Well I can’t very well ride you when I’m hung up on a wall, now can I?” You tried to sound inconvenienced, but you couldn’t help the familiar fluttering in your chest when you heard his request. It was just like old times. It couldn’t be considered your fault for reliving the past if he was the one who brought it up, now could it? “Well? Are you going to sit down for me then?”

He took his sweet time sauntering over to his office chair to counter the hasty manner in which he’d proposed this endeavor in the first place. He couldn’t appear too eager, after all.

But how he wanted to appear did not matter in the slightest once you’d straddled him and sunk down on his length. Because now, now he was a pussy drunk idiot who couldn’t help the moans that tumbled from his lips when he felt you clenching around his cock as you thrust down on him mercilessly. Now, he couldn’t help the way he cried out your name like he was simultaneously pleading for you to go easy on him and yet also begging you not to stop for anything. Even if the world ended right at this very minute, he hoped he could stay sheathed within your velvety depths until his last breath.

You were just so perfect, the way you bounced up and down on his cock, the way you took every inch of him, the way you played with your breasts as they swayed, the way you gasped and groaned with each overstimulating sensation. And, finally, the way you fell apart on his cock, squirting and squirming, orgasm ripping through you the way it only did when you were with him.

Of course, it was that perfect image of you, on full display for him, that sent him barreling over the edge as well, and soon, his cum was sloshing up against yours as he filled you to the brim, biting down on his lip the whole way, to avoid sounding as pathetic as he felt.

And he felt even more pathetic when you pulled away from him shortly after, reminding him that he’d only ever be chasing the aftertaste of you.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had thought that fucking each other out of your systems would make it easier to work together. You thought wrong.

Now, Narumi barely wanted to be around you at all. If he spotted you coming towards him, he’d change directions. If he needed something, he’d ask a Platoon Leader or he’d figure it out himself.

As hurt as you were (and you hadn’t realized just how overwhelmingly painful it would actually be), you kept up with your chipper self because you didn’t dare to damage troop morale just because you had a dumb idea and ran with it like an idiot. Of course, you being your usual happy self only made things worse with Narumi.

He knew that it was his own conscious choice to imagine your little affair as something more, as something precious, but even with him keeping his own feelings close to his heart, he didn’t think you were cold enough to simply flip the switch and go back to the way things were with such ease. He had expected even some semblance of hesitancy from you, some desire to continue to pursue him, instead of dooming yourselves to return to your previously grim lives, and he was severely disappointed when you proved him wrong.

You thought he’d just go on ignoring you forever, and you did your best to respect his space and privacy, but that all changed when a Daikaiju infiltrated the nearby town.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Take it off.”

Narumi’s eyes narrowed at you. “We are not doing this now.”

“Yes, we are, take it off.”

He yanked you into his office. “You do not get to tell me what to do-”

“Gen Narumi, I said take it off!”

He slammed his hand down on his desk. “Damnit! Why do you have to be such a stubborn pain in my ass???”

“Oh, I’m the stubborn one? Who’s the one refusing to take off his suit, ready to head into battle, even though his suit is malfunctioning? You take off the goddamn suit or I will rip it off of you myself. It is my job as your Vice Captain to make sure you don’t get killed.” Your hands sat firmly on your hips as you blocked the only exit in his office. He could hate you for this, but at least he’d be alive to hate you.

“Oh, it’s your job, is it? It’s always your fucking job. It’s never just because you care about me.” He snapped, eyes wild and rageful.

You sighed, exasperated. “Of course, I care about you, stupid. Now would you please sit down?”

“No, dammit. I’m the Captain of the First Division. What I say goes. If I say I’m clear for battle then I am.” He snarled.

“Narumi.” You hesitated. “Gen. If you intend on going out there with a broken suit, then I will just have to stay here and make sure you never leave, and then the First Division will be short a Captain and a Vice Captain. Do you really want that? Do you want your soldiers to be without backup?” You spoke firmly but your words were gentler than they’d ever been before. You took a cautious step forward before finally setting your hands on his shoulders. “Please. Stay here. You can hole up in the command center, give orders, boss me around, yell into my comms so loud it shatters my eardrums, do whatever you want, just please. Stay here. I’m begging you.”

His fists clenched and unclenched.

“Gen, please. I do care about you. Please. I don’t want to bury you.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and punched the wall. “FUCK, fine! But I’m in control. I give the orders. No one breathes without my say so.”

“Thank you. I promise, I’ll get everyone home safe.”

That includes you. He thought it, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t want to think about how self sacrificing you were. How it frustrated him to no end to not be on the battlefield, and how it frustrated him even more to not be by your side to make sure you didn’t do something stupid and selfless, like you always did. He didn’t want to think about how he could lose you for good this time. He didn’t want to think about it so he didn’t.

He sat at command and barked out orders left and right. He sent supplies where supplies were needed and made sure the team never ran out. He did yell into your comms and you did have to mute him at one point. He even made a mental note to bitch at you later for it. But things were going well, so he just didn’t allow himself to think about anything else besides how well it was going. It wasn’t until you murmured so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it, “I’m sorry, Gen,” before shooting down the drone that was following you that he felt his heart drop. What the hell were you doing? And why wasn’t he by your side? Why did he let you convince him to stay behind? Why did you think he wasn’t good enough without a suit to fight with you? Why was he never good enough for you? Why did you feel like you had to change the world alone? To take on the world alone? Why had he let you be alone? Why? Why? Why?

He threw on his jacket. “On route to site, be there in five.”

He could hear his Platoon Leaders protesting over the comms -probably on orders from you- but he didn’t care anymore. He only cared about you. Maybe this was what he’d been the most afraid of all along. Not that you’d find it awkward working with him, not that you’d hate him or that he’d hate you, not that you might fall in love again or hurt each other again, but that he’d have to watch you die. Or worse, not be there when you died. Not see your smile one more time. Not hear your laugh one more time. Not hear the way you whined his name when you were lecturing him. Not hear the way you whined his name when you were intimate with him.

Please. Please be alive. He’d never prayed in his entire life, never relied on anyone but himself, but now he found himself praying to a God he wasn’t even sure existed, all because he was terrified of what he’d see when he arrived.

When he landed -he’d commandeered a copter because a car wasn’t fast enough- the battle had already come to its conclusion. Everyone seemed to be accounted for, with all their limbs and lives intact. Everyone, except you. Where the hell were you? He hoped to God it wasn’t under the rubble. Why was there so much damn rubble?

A noise cut through the heavy air and it was the most beautiful noise he’d ever heard in his entire life. It was your laugh. Or half of it, at least. You’d coughed up blood at the end of it.

“This is nothing, soldiers. Think of it like a papercut.” You laughed through the pain as you began to stitch up your own abdomen, trying to reassure your concerned cohort. “Just remember, we don’t-”

“-We don’t tell the Captain about this.” They repeated back to you.

“Well, well, well. That’s some papercut, Vice Captain. I’m not sure the Captain is dumb enough to miss it even if you don’t tell him.”

Narumi’s voice boomed across the battlefield as he stomped his way towards you and the soldiers that had been surrounding you tensed up immediately.

You sighed. “Gen-”

“Don’t ‘Gen’ me.” He snapped. Then he turned to face the soldiers who’d been standing nervously nearby. “The Vice Captain and I need to have a little chat; everyone has ten seconds to leave.”

The crowd dispersed in an instant.

“Gen-” You started to sit up straight.

“I said- don’t call me that. You only get to call me that when you haven’t been a huge jackass.”

You winced. “Sorry. I knew you’d be mad. It’s not…it’s not that bad. I’m still breathing.” You offered up a weak argument, knowing full well it wouldn’t satisfy him.

“Still breathing?? You think that’s what I want to hear after I literally stole a helicopter to rush here?? You think THIS-” He gestured emphatically to your wounds, “-is what I want to see when I arrive??”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry’s not enough. What if I lost you?”

“You’ve already done it once before, you can do it aga-”

“No. No, I can’t.” His voice was firm, but perhaps you were the only one who could discern the slight hitch in his breath, the slight crack in his tone.

“But I…I thought you were still upset at me… about the…” You didn’t have to say it. He immediately knew you meant that night in his office.

“I am still upset. But I…I’m not heartless. I don’t…I don’t want to lose you. I still-” He swallowed as if the words physically pained him, “I still care about you.”

And it was in that moment that you realized that he was still yours. He’d always been yours. And you were his. And before you knew it, you were kissing him.

He was shocked, at first, but then he was kissing you back, desperately, longingly.

“I’m sorry,” You murmured in between kisses, “I shouldn’t,” You kissed him harder, “Have made you worry.”

His arms hooked around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Damn right, you shouldn’t have.” And then he was burying his lips into yours again and again.

The two of you might’ve continued on like this forever, grasping onto each other tightly, vying for each other’s air, consuming one another, if Shinonome didn’t clear her throat.

“So, are we clear to roll out, Vice Captain, Captain?”

You pulled apart awkwardly, cheeks burning bright. “Right. Yes. Carry on.” Somehow, you’d completely forgotten that you were still in the middle of a battlefield and that you were injured. But after she’d called your attention back to the present, you realized that you were, in fact, in a lot of pain. Like, a lot.

Your legs caved beneath you.

Narumi scooped you up in one smooth motion. “Easy. I’ve got you. Told you not to go overboard, didn’t I? You never listen.”

“Um, actually, you didn’t tell me anything. Someone was busy ignoring me.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but you were grateful to him for catching you.

He snorted. “Well, someone was busy pretending like that moment we shared never existed.”

“I- that’s… that’s because it meant something to me. I just didn’t…didn’t know if it’d mean something to you. So I brushed it off. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You reached out to weakly stroke his cheek.

He said nothing for a moment, he just leaned into your touch. Then he finally spoke, “It meant more than you could know.”

“I know, Gen. Trust me, I know. It meant a lot to me too. I…I really missed you. I still do.”

He sucked in a breath, but kept marching forward with you in his arms.

“Please say something. Anything. Do you miss me too?”

He rolled his eyes. “What are you, dense? Of course I miss you. I… I love you.”

You smiled at him and it was like the clouds parted, the sun shining through. “I love you too.”

He said nothing in response, but you could tell his eyes were lighter, brighter.

Maybe everything would be okay now. Maybe you still had a chance to patch things up, pick up where you left off.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took you several months to fully heal, but Gen checked up on you everyday, and it made the recovery process somewhat less agonizing.

You officially got back together, after having a minor spat about who was supposed to ask who out (Gen thought that he’d already done enough by confessing his love and you were the one who had scared him half to death and therefore owed him this; you thought Gen was the one who had already gotten the ball rolling with his little love confession and he should’ve just sealed the deal and officially asked you to be his again), but eventually all was as it should be once again.

You made him the same bento boxes, he made the same butterflies appear in your stomach. You snuggled him to sleep, he hogged the blankets, but he never let go of you ever again. You fell into your familiar routine like you’d never left in the first place.

And when you were all healed up, Gen cuffed you to the bed.

“Doctor said,” Gen’s fingers began to trail teasing paths up your thighs, “That since you’re all better,” He pressed a hot kiss against your neck, his feather-light touch running across the rim of your slicked entrance, “You can go back to your…regular activities. So why don’t we make this the regular?”

You’d barely squeaked out, “Yes,” before his fingers were parting your folds and delving into your welcoming depths. He swirled his fingers around inside you, collecting your every drop of arousal. You whimpered as he ignited every bundle of nerves within your shuddering walls, attempting to reacquaint himself with every inch of you that he’d been missing these last few years. Every inch of you that squirmed for him, every inch of you that yearned for his touch, every inch was his for the taking and he intended to collect.

His lips crashed into yours, drawing your attention to the sudden, heavy barrage of kisses he’d begun to rain down upon you. Your tongues intertwined themselves, exchanging saliva and salvation with every passionate collision, and he thought to himself that he could’ve kept kissing you forever. Could’ve kept losing himself in the taste of you. And maybe he would’ve… if he wasn’t so tremendously and egregiously rock-hard at the moment.

As if it would sate his unyielding thirst for you, his fingers jolted forward, burying themselves as deep as they could possibly go. When you cried out for him, voice dipped in ecstasy and slight surprise, he felt his pants tighten to a painful degree. He began to rock his hips forward, reveling in the delicious friction that your thigh provided him while he continued to pleasure you. Of course, humping your leg was only satisfying until the tears began to roll down your cheeks. He accidentally caught a taste of your tears while he’d been devouring your lips and suddenly his previously sizeable appetite turned ravenous before he knew it. Unable to stop himself, he dared to lick a stripe up your cheek. The salt simmered on his tongue and boiled the blood in his veins.

Hissing under his breath, he ripped his belt off, impatient to free his aching cock from its restrictive confines. If curling his fingers was all it took to get tears skipping down your cheeks, he wondered just how much you’d cry for him when he split you open on his dick.

He yanked his fingers out of you, resulting in a whine on your part.

“Shh, shh. ‘Mm gonna make ya feel real good, kay, baby?” His thumb ran across your lower lip soothingly. “Just be good for me, yeah?”

You nodded your obedience.

The bed shifted beneath you as he adjusted himself on top of you, lining up his cock to your entrance. “My beautiful, perfect girl. Want you to say my name for me. Can you do that?”

He hadn’t even given you the time to nod again. He was already buried balls deep by the time you’d even exhaled.

Your cuffs clanged pathetically against the bed frame as your body surged forward to meet his every (increasingly) persistent thrust. “Gen!” Euphoria flooded through you, every wave of pleasure increasing as he buried himself deeper and deeper. Every sharp plunge of his cock made more tears spill down your cheeks and he lapped up every single one, eyes glazed over with lust.

“C’mon, love. Think you can do better than that. Give me more.” He growled, nipping at your flesh here and there.

“G-Gen…t-too…too much! G-gonna…”

“Gonna what? Tell me, baby.”

“C-come for you!” You gasped out.

He kissed you harshly. “So come for me then.”

When your orgasm came, it crashed into you, full force. You arched against him, body stuttering, lips quivering, ecstasy all-consuming. Every sweet, seductive inch of you became unraveled beneath him, and it sent sparks soaring through him.

With a slight, satisfied smirk, he buried himself deep into your cervix and allowed himself release at last. His hot, milky cum flooded past your clenching walls, spilling evidence of his satisfaction out of your entrance.

Once the initial euphoria wore off, he uncuffed you, and you collapsed into his arms. He welcomed you, pulling you tightly against him.

“You know,” He began to trail a hand up and down your back, “I thought I knew everything there was to know about you.” He murmured.

Your brows furrowed and you tilted your chin up to look at him. “Don’t you?”

“Didn’t know you looked so pretty when you cry.”

You pinched his cheeks and he laughed.

“Hey, hey! It was a compliment! And I didn’t know what it was gonna do to me, seeing you like that. My sweet, oversensitized lil baby,” He cooed, teasing in his tone.

You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. “So is this the new normal now? You torture me and then get off on torturing me?”

He nipped your ear playfully. “If I recall, you were having just as good of a time. After all…who was the one straining against their cuffs just to get a piece of this dick?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Don’t have to put it so crudely.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “I’m just sayin- I think I like the new normal. Could get used to it.”

“Well…I seem to remember someone saying in the past that he didn’t wanna try handcuffs because he was too scared he’d lose the key. So I guess, even after all those years together, there’s still new things for us to try.”

He huffed, withdrawing his arms from you so he could cross them in a show of indignation. “I never said I was scared!”

This time, you couldn’t help the laughter from bubbling up. “I think we’re remembering things differently, Gen,” You teased. “But I just meant that, I think I like the new normal too. I wanna make more memories with you. Better ones. Ones that are so unbelievably amazing that we forget we ever broke up.”

He cocked a brow at you. “That’s quite the declaration.”

You shrugged. “I think we can do it. After all, we’re the Captain and Vice Captain of the strongest division in Japan. I don’t think there’s much we can’t do.”

Sighing contentedly for the first time in years, he wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you close. “I’m in agreement.”

And so you settled into your familiar place by his side, under the familiar roof you once shared, the familiar beat of his heart keeping time to yours, and together drifted off into dreams of brighter days to come, both holding tight to a silent vow to never again let the new normal become a thing of the past.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

#kaiju no. 8 #narumi gen x you #gen narumi x reader #narumi gen x reader #narumi gen #gen narumi #kn8 fanfic #kn8 #kaiju number 8 #kn8 smut #gen narumi smut #narumi gen smut #kaiju no 8 smut #kaiju no 8 fanfic #han's library

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lynnsartsworld · 3 days ago

Text

Hello, my fellow witches and wizards! How are we doing today? This might be a long and probably isn’t gonna make any sense because I never did this before so sorry, rambly post—just bear with me! And I’ll go in specifics of how I started my page and April if anybody’s interested I’ll put it in a separate post later on anyway let’s get back to

First off, thank you so much for mentioning me!@espressoristretto-patronum I really appreciate it. I’m definitely one of those people who ships Poppy with the female MC—specifically, my MC April (as anyone who follows me on Tumblr probably knows!). I used to draw them all the time, and while I’ve taken a bit of a break, I really want to get back into it. It’s just taking me a little while because I’ve been dealing with some personal stuff lately. Nothing too serious, just some internal struggles, you know?

Anyway, I wanted to hop on and thank the person who tagged me and also shout out a few others who ship Poppy with their MCs. I’ve seen so many amazing pairings like Imelda x Poppy, Ominis x Poppy, Sebastian x Poppy, and more. And the fanfics—oh my god, the creativity is incredible. I honestly wish I had the courage to post my own fanfiction on here, but after someone called me out for using AI, I’ve been a bit too nervous. You guys are seriously smart at figuring things out!

I just want to keep spreading love for this ship because I truly adore it. Evelyn x Poppy (@celestial--sapphic), Tori x Poppy (@espressoristretto-patronum)—those two are so sweet—and even Sylvan x Poppy (@rene-hl-trashcan), from someone who hasn’t posted in a while but created such amazing content.

Honestly, I just want to give credit to everyone who’s keeping this ship alive with so much love and creativity. You’re all incredible, and it means the world to see this much heart poured into something we all care about. 💛✨

It's almost time!

Hogwarts Legacy Pride Week is barely a month away, can you believe it? I wanted to do something fun in the meantime so let's do a tag game shall we?

Tell us your favorite LGBT Hogwarts Legacy character or couple, tag their creator (if applicable) and tag 5 friends that may want to participate. Feel free to tell us why they're your favorite (and even mention more than one)!

This is pretty tough because I've met so many wonderful LGBT characters but I might have to say my roleplay ship Garreth & Ombeod Black. I already headcannon that Garreth is either bisexual or pansexual. @ombeodblack and I have created such an in depth story with them that I'm biased. But I also adore Sebinis and Garrinis (could you tell?).

No pressure tags: @celestial--sapphic @espressoristretto-patronum @gideonstrix @cuffmeinblack @leaswhum @eternalremorse @raenegade-accio @rypnami

Follow @hogwartslegacyprideweek for more info and for questions!

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #poppy sweeting x mc #hogwarts legacy oc #poppy sweeting #hufflepuff #slytherin #gryffindor #ravenclaw

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strawberryblondebutch · 3 days ago

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Oh lord here we go again. It’s too early for this shit. Check pwhl tag for context (assuming they keep the post up)

I can’t do this again!!

I’m going to say this as a Charge fan — you (and this is the general you, not you the anon) do not know what your organization does behind closed doors. No team had Curl on a do-not-draft list. Kendall is not a singular criminal mastermind. Kelly Babstock is antiblack!

A few months ago, someone fairly popular in the DIY community responded to sex assault allegations against a popular musician by saying, “Well, I know MY favorite band isn’t like that, because they’ve been nice to me at meet and greets!” Which is insanely ignorant. Yeah, no shit this public figure will be nice and respectful at an event that requires it.

You do not know what is going on behind closed doors.

Moreover, throwing every player in an organization under the bus is just… ignorant of how sports work? You don’t get to pick where you’re drafted. Even a free agent signing (1) can have the circumstances of their signing change on them, or (2) be put in a position where they need to take a job. I’m not going to blame, say, Leo Carlsson for being a Duck. He didn’t go to the front office and say, “Please please please hire the guy who covered up sex abuse!” He doesn’t have that kind of leverage. So why are we blaming someone like Liz Schepers for playing for Klee?

Also, as to the point on attendance — it’s worth mentioning that the Timberwolves were at home for their own clinching game. Target Center sold out almost immediately because the Wolves are another exciting young team. It’s very likely that some people who would have gone to the Frost game already had Wolves tickets.

#answered #pwhl #minnesota frost

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godmadeaterribleerror · 8 hours ago

Text

Chapter 12 - You Can Take All the Pain

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: The girl with anxiety and trauma to woman with a praise kink pipeline is very real I fear.

Chapter Title from The Sharpest Lives by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 14.1k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The bond frays fast, and Bucky goes back to therapy.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

Read on A03!

“Why are you dodging my phone calls?”

Happy sighs through the speaker. “I’m not-“

“Liar.” You glare at the ceiling, drumming your fingers on the side of your laptop. “I even had Grace try your office, and she said she got voicemail. That’s pretty fucking rude, man.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

“Work.”

You roll your eyes. “How vague and non-specific.”

“Is there something you want?” Happy says your name, and now there’s a hot, prickling shame curling over your skin.

Maybe he had been busy. It’s not like he doesn’t have a lot to do, plus all the Hydra shit going on, and helping Pepper, and if he wasn’t trying to ignore you, you’re just being a bitch-

Not a bitch.

Bucky’s said you weren’t a bitch. He’s called you annoying, but he’s also started to say it with a gentle, dancing light over his features.

And he doesn’t tell you to shut up unless it’s an emergency. But nobody but Miles ever tells you to shut up, because you’re their boss, or the delicate baby bird, or too loud and fast to catch and muzzle.

Miles only manages because he’s got you on a leash.

Bucky’s allowed to, because it’s never a muzzle, it’s a sedation. Making sure you don’t fly out of your own head and skin, your mind moving faster than your brain and body can keep up with. And Bucky can read every dry, sardonic bit of your tone. Can tell when you’re being serious or joking. Understand when you are joking because you don’t know how not to, and looking at you like he can see all the vile, spiked discomfort in your body.

Like the building, burning pain is physically visible, when you’ve trained so hard to hide it.

That because it probably is. To Bucky, everything about you is visible. And you may have been able to fight down the vomiting and remembered how to walk evenly on weak knees, but that doesn’t mean Bucky can’t see it. How, even though Miles has only been gone a week, you’re sick. The bond is fraying, far quicker than it should. And although Bucky can’t see or know that—as far as he knows, it’s just an unspecified chronic sickness—he knows something’s wrong. You know he knows, because he’s been getting you tea and silently placing pain meds on your desk, driving slower than usual and keeping ice packs in his bag.

“What are these for?” You’d asked, and he’d frowned at you from his chair.

“Why are you looking in my bag.”

“I needed band-aids. What-“

You’d cut yourself off with a yelp when Bucky materialized at your side, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around with a scowl.

“Bucky-“

“What the hell did you do to yourself that you need a band-aid.” He’s snapped, his eyes flitting up and down your body.

Assessing for damage. He’d been scanning over you, checking for where you’d hurt yourself, and nothing more.

It didn’t stop the pounding of the wings in your chest.

“I’m gonna need to fuckin’ bubble wrap you-“

“You- It’s a fucking paper cut.” You’d held up your finger, giving him a flat, amused look. “And it’s a band-aid, not a tourniquet. Deep breaths, James.”

Two blinks, clenched jaw. That Look is harder than the other ones, but you’d worked it out.

Care. A little softer, with more light and heaviness, but care. It was in his touch too, as he grabbed your finger and examined the small cut, and in his gaze when he gave a sharp nod for you to sit.

“How’d you get a paper cut.” He’d grumbled, reaching past you to find his band-aids in half a second, and you’d bit down your smile.

“Paper.”

He’d rolled his eyes. “Smart mouth, Butterfly.”

“Smooth words, James.” You’d hummed, glancing back to the backpack. “You never answered my question.”

“What question.”

“Why do you have ice packs in your bag?”

He’d paused, still holding your finger in the flesh, warmer hand. Examining your open features with drawn brows.

You hadn’t been sure why he was thinking so deeply about it. They were just ice packs, and you were just nosy. Bucky knew you were nosy, and he knew that if he’d said don’t worry about it, Butterfly, you would’ve pushed a little, but he still would’ve gotten away with it. Instead he’d taken a long, slow breath, and answered.

“They’re for you.” He’d muttered, focusing onto your cut and the band-aid. “You lie on the floor and chew ice when you’re stressed. Thought they’d help.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed. “Thanks.”

Bucky had grunted, and there had been nothing else to say.

He wouldn’t have done that if you were a bitch.

But maybe you weren’t a bitch to him, because of your crush. Maybe you were a bitch to Happy because you didn’t want him in a deep, unmoving, hungry way that was made of mismatched hands pulling and rubbing your skin, and a Mist flying over your skin and burning you in the dead of night, and pink lips and scruff marking you wherever they wanted-

Happy snapped your name, and the guilt moved to fester in your stomach. You were a horrible fucking friend, to Bucky and Happy. He didn’t ask to deal with you and all your problems. He’d just been saddled with you after Tony died, and he probably had been busy.

This isn’t that important anyway. Happy shouldn’t be harassed just because you were drowning a dizzying, needy, hopeless crush-

“You still there?”

You swallow, and pull your voice together. “Yeah. Sorry, if you’re really busy-“

“I’m not.” Happy grumbles, and you freeze. “I have been dodging your calls. But it’s not cause of you, it’s cause of Barnes.”

“Bucky?” You frown. “Why are you ignoring me because of Bucky?”

“God, why are you calling him Bucky-“

“He’s my friend, Happy.” You sit up, your eyes narrowing at the air. “And I see him every day. I can’t call him Barnes. That would be weird.”

“Well, that’s the problem-“

“That I’m calling Bucky his name?”

“That you see him every day.” Happy sighs. “I’ve been worried I’d pick up, and it would just be Barnes trying to corner me about security again. Can you tell him that, no matter what he thinks, I am actually good at my job? Tony doesn’t just hire anyone-“

“Happy.” You keep your voice flat, shoving down the beat of the wings, moving to a time of Bucky cares. He cares enough to call Happy about your security. He cares, he cares, he cares. “Tony did just hire anyone. I am walking proof of that.”

“No, he doesn’t. He just had a secret, insane criteria based purely on his impressions of people. Look, I’m sorry for avoiding you, but I’m not joking. Tell Barnes to back off.”

You chew on your lower lip, taking a long, slow breath. It’s such a stupid question, and Happy’s going to be so pissed, but you’re not getting a better segue than that. And you’ve done a lot stupider. And Happy’s been a lot angrier.

Fuck it.

“I’ll tell him if you do me favor.”

Happy grunts. “What kind of favor.”

“A licensing favor? I think?”

“I-“

“I want full access to the Slappy.”

“The- You mean that learning program? Why-“ Happy pauses, and then there’s a groan. “It’s not for Barnes, is it. Because Tony would be rolling in his grave-“

“Tony’s always rolling in his grave.” You mutter. “I made a friend, Happy. Get over it.”

“You know, SLAPI was supposed to be for low-income students-“

“I know, I was to one who pitched it to Tony. Technically, I should already have access to it. Tony gave me copyright as long as he got to name it.”

“Then file a ticket with legal-“

“Do you want Bucky to stop calling you or not?”

There’s a long, tense pause, and you know Happy’s weighing his options. He doesn’t like Bucky. You know he doesn’t like Bucky, if only because he’ll be loyal to Tony until they’re both buried in the ground. But he likes you more. And, more importantly, Tony liked you more.

Plus, you think he knows that—if he doesn’t give you your program—you will go to legal. Or worse, Pepper.

“Fine.” Happy mutters. “I’ll have it emailed to you. But if I get one more spam text from Barnes about vetting my guys-“

You cough. “He’s been texting you?”

“Yeah, Wilson made us start a group chat. I don’t know why I agreed to it, whole thing is fucking useless. Barnes texts like an insane person, and if you ask Wilson for anything you don’t get an answer until he shows up on your roof.”

You’d know that last bit about Sam. Once you’d asked him if he wanted coffee, and he’d crashed onto the roof just to tell you no.

But Bucky never texts. You get brief updates about him being in the garage, but that’s it.

Maybe it’s because you’re together all the time, and there’s no need for texting.

Or he just doesn’t want to text you.

You should keep that to yourself. Turn it over in your head until it means nothing, or pick it apart until you unroot the rotten core. It’s probably nothing, and you’d gotten what you wanted—the program was in your inbox only an hour later—but now you wish you’d never gotten through to Happy, because why doesn’t Bucky text you-

“What’s wrong with you.”

You blink at Bucky over the desk a few hours later, and his gaze is piercing right into you. “What?”

“You’ve been staring at your computer for twenty minutes. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You scowl at him. “Maybe I’m reading something-“

“No, you’re not.”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes, I do.” Bucky narrows his eyes. “Talk, Butterfly.”

You let out a long breath, shaking your head. “It’s not important-“

Bucky grunts your name in the commanding voice, and something in your will snaps in a second.

“Why don’t you text me?”

He freezes, his brow furrowing, blinking three time. Confusion. “Why don’t I text you?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, forcing your gaze to stay on his. “I- You text Happy.”

“Happy-“

“Hogan.”

“I know who Happy is, kid, why do you know I text him-“

“Because I’m supposed to tell you to stop.”

“You’re-“ Bucky sighs, running a hand over his face. “What the fuck are you talking about-“

“I was talking to Happy, and he says you’ve been texting him about security stuff. In your group chat.” You can’t sound bitter about this. It doesn’t stop the sour feeling on your tongue. “And I’m promised to tell you to stop.”

“I-“ Bucky shakes his head, his tongue flicking out slightly, and you it’s impossible to keep looking at him. “Why?”

“It was a trade.” You frown down at your hands. “He gives me the Slappy, and I tell you how much you’ve been annoying him.”

“I’ve been doing my goddamn job- What the hell is the slappy?”

“Stark’s Learning Access Program Initiative. S, L, A, P, I. Slappy.”

“That’s not making things any clearer, sweetheart-“

“It was for you.” You mumble. “To replace your college courses. I know those are expensive, and I doubt you’re getting federal aid.”

Bucky’s not saying anything. For too long the room is dead silent, and you’re not actually sure he’s still here—he’s unreasonably stealthy, and you’re almost positive he could out of the room without a sound—but you can’t bring yourself to look up and check.

Too much. You were too much. That was too much, and it crossed whatever unspoken boundaries you’d outlined with this new game, and now you were alone-

“Thanks.” Bucky’s voice is low, almost hoarse, and it startles you enough to blink up at him.

He’s still staring at you. All the confusion is gone, and replaced with one blink and an impossibly neutral expression. That’s the Look you still don’t understand. The one that seems to mean more than any of the others, but that you just simply can’t fucking work out.

You know it’s not uncomfortable. That when Bucky looks at you like that, it makes your heart hum and your skin buzz, the wings pounding on your ribs, and the Mist-

It’s washing over more than your spine, lately. It seems to be covering all your bones, and you can’t tell if it’s easing their aching pain, or making it worse. Either way it’s strong, and only growing every day.

And it blooms under Bucky’s attention. Leaves a turning feeling like life in your vital organs.

It would be nice if you could figure out what that meant.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper. “I can show you how to use it later?”

Bucky nods, still watching you so carefully. “Do I need to stop messaging Hogan?”

“I didn’t say I’d make you stop.” You give him a small smile. “Just that I’d tell you to.”

He hums. “Should I?”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Okay.” Bucky pauses, and you wish he would look away. Whenever he stares at you like this—like he’s trying to hit somehow deeper into you, when you know his touch won’t hurt—it feels like you’re being tangled into him, and you don’t know how to stop. How to unwrap your thoughts from their circle of Bucky, looking at you and there, and you’re not alone because Bucky can see you and he’s not going to let anything in the dark get you-

You need to get grip. The Mist is rushing, and you’re still tethered to Miles, and nothing useful is going come of this.

But it still feels good.

Being near Bucky, being the thing he’s looking at, feels so good.

“I don’t text you because I don’t know how.”

You sit up a little taller, frowning at Bucky’s sudden words. “But Happy said-“

“I text him the same way we did coms in the war.” Bucky grunts, glaring at you. It’s not a glare for you. All the roughness in his voice is turned into himself. “And I usually call Sam. Don’t know how texting works at all, with… Friends.”

“Oh. I- Um,” you swallow, leaning a little forward because you can’t fucking help it. “I could help? You know, if you wanted-“

“I’d like that.”

“Oh- okay.” You nod, giving him a soft smile. “Weekend project. I can set you loose in the city and you’ll have to text me to get directions.”

Bucky snorts at that. “No offense, sweetheart, but you’re the last person I trust for directions.”

“How am I not supposed to take offense to that-“

“Because it’s not a bad thing. You’ve got me anyway. But I’m not relying on you for navigation, training or not.”

You’ve got Bucky.

You need to get back to work, and you don’t have Bucky as less than a teammate—and it’s more like he’s got you—but you’re still clinging to it.

All day, you’re clinging to it. When you do your video call meetings, your gaze keeps flitting over the computer to watch Bucky on his laptop. He’s glowering at the screen like it’s done something extremely personal to him, and grumbling low words that you can’t really make out, but sound like swears and curses. He’s been trying to work out Slappy all day.

It doesn’t seem to be going in his favor.

And you finally take pity on him when you notice the vibranium fist clenching and unclenching, filled with a promise of frustrated violence you don’t think the computer will survive.

“Gimme.” You say, dropping down on the couch at his side, and Bucky shakes his head.

“I’ve got it, Butterfly, I just need- God fucking damnit-“

“James.”

“I said I’ve got it-“

“You haven’t open the file.” You give him an amused look. “Aren’t you supposed to be good with computers?”

“I am good with computers.” He snaps, scowling at the screen. “It keeps trying to ask me for my admin override password, and I fucking- I’ve typed it in, but it keeps sayin’ it’s wrong-“

You lean closer as Bucky keeps rambling, scanning over the keyboard carefully, then letting out a soft giggle when you see it.

He shoots you a glare. “My pain isn’t funny-“

“It’s a little funny.” You shrug, reaching over and tapping the keyboard. “Caps lock is on.”

“No, it’s- Fuck.”

“It’s a common mistake, a lot of old men make it-“

“Shut up.”

“Smooth, James.”

“I’m not- You’re so fucking-“ Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

You frown at him, and you don’t want that to be never mind. You want to know what he’s talking about, what you are. You need to know how he’s seeing you, and if it’s as ugly and scraping and vile as you’ve always known-

The Mist is rising again. Twisting up your spine, and pushing under your skin with an aching, throbbing pain that clouds your vision.

“I- Is it working now?” You ask, desperate to hear anything but a ringing in your ears. “The program?”

“Yeah. It’s- Thank you. Again.”

“No problem.” You shrug. The movement hurts. “I guess the aquarium was pointless.”

Bucky tenses at your side, his voice suddenly a clipped. “Why’s that.”

“Well, you’re going to do this instead of the college courses, right? And we didn’t find anything that made you feel smaller-“

“I don’t care about that.” Bucky grunts, although his shoulders have slumped once more. You’re not sure what just happened. “Was a stupid exercise anyway.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it court-ordered-“

“I’ve gotten a work around. Sam’s covering me while I do this.”

“Do…” You pause, scanning over Bucky carefully. He’s tense again, but it’s different. He won’t meet your eyes. “Bucky.”

“Butterfl-“

“You’re still doing therapy.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “No. And before you get pissed-“ He gives you a firm look, and you close your mouth. “You’ve said a lot of it was stupid, and I’m skippin’ so you don’t get kidnapped.”

“But- You could still go at night-“

“I don’t care enough to push it to night,” Bucky drawls your name, his tone flat. “Raynor’s annoying. And it hasn’t not been helping.”

You shake your head. “I’m annoying-“

“You’re loud.” Bucky gives you a firm, commanding look, and you almost melt into him. “And opinionated. She’s-“

He cuts himself off, glaring at the air, and that’s fine. You don’t need to push it.

You just want to keep talking. Everything feels a least a little better when you’re talking to Bucky.

“Opinionated.” You give him a small grin, trying to ignore how the Mist seems to be ripping at your muscles. “Your age is showing, Buck-“

“It’s not bad.” He grumbles, and you giggle.

“Alright-“

“And you’re not annoying.” His voice is a little louder than yours, and you blink at him. “I- I mean you are- But that’s not annoying.”

“I- Okay.” You understand what he means. You don’t know how, but you do.

And it’s flinging the Mist around in your body, searing right into the center of your chest.

“I still think you should have a day off,” you mumble. Turns out Bucky talking about you isn’t actually a good idea. Not when he does it like this. You’ll crawl into him, and it’ll get you both hurt. “It’s illegal not to, you know.”

He shrugs. “Then Sunday and Monday can be a day where we’re hanging out as friends.” He pauses, frowning at the air, and you feel a little dizzy again. “And if Miles gives you shit-“

“He’s not here.” You mumble. There’s something venomous in Bucky’s voice when he says Miles. Dwelling on that won’t help. “He left. For business.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches. You haven’t seen that Look before. “When’s he getting back.”

“Don’t know. Can we please go back to you getting a day off-“

“No.”

“But-“

“I told you, unless you want some random assholes stomping around your apartment, this is how it’s stayin’.”

You scowl, raising your chin. “You’re a random asshole.”

Bucky only snorts. “No, I’m not. This is how it is. I’m fine with it, kid, so don’t get angry for me.”

“I- I’m not-“ You sigh. “You deserve rest, Bucky. Time to yourself. And I’m not worth-“

“Yes, you are.” Bucky dismisses you with a flat look, and heat blooms everywhere.

He said that like it was obvious.

You want to be worth something. To Bucky. You can’t be, but that doesn’t stop the hunger, and maybe you could be worth enough for him to save you-

You have to stop thinking about that. You’re not going to tell him about Miles, or the bond. There’s no benefit to telling him. You’ll only be aiding yourself, and that’s selfish and demanding and cruel. So cruel, to make Bucky do more than he’s already doing. Protecting you and sticking around is already an impossible order. You can’t ask him to save you from your self-dug grave as well.

If he tried to save you, by himself, you’d never fight him about it. But Bucky’s never even looked at the cameras, and if he has without telling you—which you don’t think he’d do—he’s somehow missed any sign of what Miles does.

And he’s still talking. Your heart is pounding in your ears, and the Mist is bursting over your nerves and trying to split them apart or seal them together, but Bucky’s still-

“Hey.” Bucky grunts your name, and you freeze. You don’t know how you thought you’d get away with it. “You’re thinkin’ too hard, Butterfly-“

“I- I’m just-“ He can see you. He’ll know if you lie, and if he pushes, you’re becoming less and less certain you’ll be able to cover the bruises littering your insides. “I’m serious about you resting, Bucky-“

“I’m serious about not needing it.” He grunts. “I- I’ve had enough rest for a while. And I get time to myself at night.”

At night.

There’s a quick, sudden, flashing image over your head that’s almost as vivid at the dreams.

Bucky’s snoring beside you, and his arm is glinting in low light of the city, leaking through your windows. It’s thrown over your body, pinning you to his chest, and his nose is only inches from yours. He’s warm, there’s satisfaction between your thighs, and Bucky’s legs have tangled with yours. You’re just staring at him. Watching him sleep so peacefully, your own eyes heavy, but with no desire to do anything but this. Your fingers are playing with his dog tags as you smile at him in the dark. He’d put them on, after you finished. Unless you explicitly tell him to keep them on during sex, he always takes them off.

You blink, a sudden pain stabbing through the back of your skull, and Bucky’s frowning at you. You’d been silent too long.

But that’s never happened during the day before.

And you don’t even know if Bucky wears dog tags.

“Can we negotiate?” You ask, your voice softer than you want, and Bucky nods.

He’s watching you so carefully. Maybe he can see it. See the Mist moving to the tips of your fingers and wanting to push out, see how you feel so fucking alive, just because he’s there.

“I-“ You clear your throat. You might not be able to use the Show with Bucky, but you can’t just unravel for him. No matter how much you want to. “How about if you take one day. Just one day.”

Bucky sighs your name. “I’ve told you-“

“I’d stay home too!” Your words are quick. Rushed. Desperate in a way you can painfully feel. “It can be any day you want! All my meetings are online now anyway, and we- We can work on the texting thing. If I don’t respond fast enough, you can check the cameras.”

He frowns at you, and you take a long breath. You should say more. You can’t think of more that’s not too pathetic. Too much. Bucky needs a day because he deserves rest. Because he’s working so hard and putting up with so much, and if he gets sick of you it’s going to hurt.

If Bucky can see you and like you now, but then he stays just a little too long and all of a sudden, the rot and horror of your head becomes evident, and he leaves, you don’t know what you’ll do.

Adapt. You’ll have to adapt. You’ve gotten through worse than rejection. Than your crush not liking you back.

But you want him to like you back. Even if he doesn’t like you enough to save you, it would be so nice to keep Bucky longer than you deserve. But if he gets sick of you, if he finally gets that you’re too much-

“Fine.” Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “One day. We’ll trial run it this weekend, but if it goes to shit-“

“I won’t ask again.” You give him a wide, full smile. “Thank you.”

He grunts. “Whatever you want, Butterfly.”

Whatever you want.

Those words follow you all the way home.

A lot of Bucky has been following you all the way home.

You’re going to have leftover Chinese tonight, because it was Bucky’s day to order, and when you were too sick to finish—although you just told him you were full, and you don’t think he bought it at all—he told you that you’d either take it home, or he’d take it and bring it back for you tomorrow.

And you have to hide your hands in your jacket as you leave your office, because you’d started painting on Bucky’s arm again while he on the phone with Sam, and the Show would be completely thrown by the colors splattered over your palms and finger.

Bucky drops you off at your apartment with a grumbled promise of doing the day at home on Saturday, and you spend the whole elevator ride thinking about if you could get him to take the bike again.

You want him back around you, like when you went to the aquarium. Holding you and talking until your brain was more focused on his words than any sort of twisting fear or pain. You want him in your apartment too, because you’re good at being lonely, but lately it’s been harder.

Bucky really is like a drug.

He starts talking to you, and now you’re almost always wondering if he’ll be annoyed if you keep trying to talk to him. He’s still laughing with you and smiling from his eyes, and you don’t ever want that to stop. Every single story he’s told you about his life makes you want to hear more. He’s gone with you to one aquarium, and now you’re trying to measures out if now is too soon to bring up the Coney Island thing again.

As friends.

You’d have to do it as friends.

And that will be fine. It’s good to have friends that don’t have obligations or histories. There’s an odd, comfortable faith that comes with Bucky, because he doesn’t have to be here. You’re not tricking him. He knows what you are—most of it, at least, and you’re trying to pretend that last hidden piece doesn’t exist for as long as you can manage—and he didn’t like you at first, but you didn’t like him either.

You’ve grown on each other. You’ve weeded and tangled over Bucky like an invasive species, and he’s blossomed and flourished over you like a garden. He’s made no move to pull you out, though, so as long as you can manage, you’re going to keep around him. Near him. With him.

Your crush fades further and further everyday. But not like it’s being washed off, and leaving.

It’s fading the way fog in the morning fades. Like it’s been clouding over the horizon, and suddenly the sun is flooding the sky. Like you’d been living so long in the dark the fog had seemed like something new and better, but you hadn’t had a fucking clue.

And you hadn’t.

You’d had no fucking idea.

And whatever this is, whatever Bucky’s doing to you, it’s devouring and insatiable and feral.

You’re worried that whatever gas that Hydra guy had been released in the air had lingered, long enough to make some of your neurons stop firing.

Bucky’s simply unaffected because of the serum.

But you’ve lost your whole fucking mind.

“Why did you call me earlier?” You spin in your office chair, phone in hand, and Bucky chuckles through the speaker.

“Am I not allowed to just call you, Butterfly? You makin’ me do appointments now?”

“How else do you know if I’m free, James? Maybe I’m super duper busy right now.”

“Too busy for me?”

“Maybe.” You grin at the air. “Do you think you can make it worth my time?”

Another laugh. It really is a beautiful sound. “I always do, baby girl.”

“Hm.” You’re not doing a great job keeping your breathy joy out of your face. “I dunno. I’m a working woman, Sargent-“

“You’re not working right now.”

“You don’t know that-“

“I checked your calendar, sweetheart.”

You let out a loud, dramatic mock-gasp. “That’s an invasion of privacy!”

“Well, just wait until you hear about the other thing I did.”

You frown, glancing at the door and half expecting a shirtless Bucky to burst through it. Today was supposed to be his day off, and when he’d said he had plans, you’d just assumed they were with Sam. “Bucky-“

Your computer dings, and it’s Grace, alerting you that your next appointment is here. You didn’t know you had an appointment.

Shit.

You really had been ready to let Bucky bother you until the workday ended, and you could talk him into carrying you home.

“I gotta go, Buck, I love you, don’t do anything crazy for dinner, I love you, bye.”

Your words are rushed, but you don’t know who the fuck you’re meeting with, and no matter what, you want to get it over with.

But when you swing the door, ready to apologize and ask if they can wait ten minutes so you could deal with something—namely begging Grace to tell you what’s going on—you’re not met with a suit.

It’s Bucky. Grinning at you as he shoves his phone into his pants.

“You said I love you twice.” He drawls your name, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I think you might really, really like me.”

“I- You didn’t say I love you at all-“

“You hung up before I could.”

“But- I didn’t- What are you doing?“

“I’ve got an appointment with the Boss Lady.” Bucky shrugs, starting to almost herd you back into your office. “Grace?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes?” She sounds too pleased about this. Looks it, too. They must have been cahooting against you.

“If anyone asks, she’s in a very important meeting.”

The door slams closed, and Bucky’s barely turned the lock before you’re on him. Slamming into him hard enough to pull a little grunt from his chest, climbing him like a fucking tree, and never once worrying about falling. Bucky would never let you fall. He’s already holding you by your ass and flipping to press you against the door, kissing you like he’d gone back to war and hadn’t seen you in years.

“Hey, sweet girl. Missed you.” He moves to kiss all over your face, and you let out a breathy sigh. “Everythin’ is so boring without you, Sam was tryin’ to make me go to museum-“

“You love museums.” You mumble, dropping your brows to his shoulder, and Bucky shakes his head.

“Wrong. I love you.”

“But-“

“I like doin’ things with you, Butterfly. Would you let Sam take apart your computer like I do?”

“No. But-“ You lean back to scowl at him. “You think you’re so smooth-“

“I know I am,” Bucky smirks, squeezing your ass once. “How I got you, isn’t it? Smooth words and a pretty face.”

You roll your eyes, but lean forward to pull him into another, softer kiss. “Among other things.” You whisper against his lips, and Bucky chuckles.

“Among other things.” He mutters in agreement. “C’mon babydoll. Brought you dinner. And it’s nothing craz-“

You’re ripped from sleep by the sound of a phone ringing. You’d passed out with your computer in your lap, the notes on the final refinements for the upcoming fundraiser gala still open. It takes a second to dig your phone out from the couch cushions, and when you see the name on the screen, you almost vomit.

You can’t not take the call. You’re not allowed to not take the call.

But it’s almost impossible to drag the Show together before you answer.

Steady breaths. Soft, sweet, docile voice. You can do this.

“Hi, babe, what’s-“

“How long is your lease on that place?” Miles snaps, and you blink into the dark. “My apartment?”

“Yeah. What the fuck else would I be talking about.”

“I- I don’t know-“

“Well, I fucking told you-“

“No, the apartment. I don’t know about the apartment. Happy set it up for me.”

“Alright. Ask him and let me know. Or, you know what- Give me his number and I’ll call him.”

You swallow. “Miles, I’m not supposed to give out that number-“

“Yeah, to normal people. I’m your boyfriend, and I’ll be better for Hap to talk to anyway.”

“Hap?”

“Happy. It’s a nickname. We’ll be buddies, honey, don’t worry about it.”

You don’t think that’s true. Happy hates Miles. “Oh- Okay. Miles?”

“What.”

“Why are you asking about the-“

“I don’t like your place.” He snaps over you, and you can almost see the crude twisting of his face. “View is shit, and I didn’t like the feeling last time. Thinking about moving.”

“M- Moving-“

“Just out of that shithole. Maybe you can come with me. I’ll figure it out, Honey. Send me Hogan’s number.”

There’s so much you want to protest. Your apartment isn’t a shithole, it’s unreasonable fancy and perfect, and the only mold growing on the walls is you. You don’t want to go anywhere with Miles. You’d have to quit your job, and he’d keep you away from your sibling, and Sam and Sarah, and Bucky-

Bucky.

Miles hangs up the phone without another word, and there’s a text from Bucky.

barnes

Got the meeting up. Next week. Doing it in the office. - Bucky

You smile, and type back before you can stop yourself.

You don’t have to sign it

I know who you are

There’s a long pause, and then suddenly your phone is ringing.

“You don’t know that.” He grumbles, right as the call picks up, and you smile into the air.

“I should. I have your number saved.”

He grunts. “Fine. Why are you up.”

You flush. And Bucky can’t see it, but somehow, he’ll know. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Your turn.”

“I-“ Couldn’t sleep either. Woke up from another dream about you. Also I feel like my brain is being crushed by my skull, but if I tell you that you’re going to put together that it’s because of Miles. “Drank too much coffee. Waiting for it wear off.”

There’s a pause. “Too much coffee.”

“Uh huh.”

“And what’s that for you, a thousand cups?”

You roll your eyes, even as a smile tugs at your lips, and pain splits through your gut.

Fuck.

You’ve should’ve asked Miles to let you take the edge off, while he was on the line. Now it feels like something is trying to claw its way out of your head.

“Shut up, dickbucket.” Your words are mumbled, and Bucky laughs. It’s just as beautiful as in the dream. More beautiful. There’s nothing hazy filtering over it.

“Smart mouth, Butterfly-“

“I’m tired.” You mumble. “This isn’t going to be my best work, James.”

“I think it’s fine. I’m real insulted.” He’s grinning. You can’t hear it in his fucking voice. “If you’re tired, sweetheart, maybe you should sleep-“

“Can’t, I-“ You cut yourself off with a wide yawn, and your eyelids are growing heavy.

Only minutes ago you’d been on the edge of being wired, nothing but a tight feeling around your lungs and a stabbing pain feeling like it was driving through your eye. And the pain is still there—if anything, it’s stronger—but you’re getting sleepy. Bucky’s doing something to you, and it feels so peaceful, and you don’t even want to fight it. You just want to keep hearing Bucky’s low, teasing voice, and maybe sleep for a little while longer.

Maybe that gas theory was right. Maybe your brain is going haywire, and everything is out of regulation.

You don’t really care either way.

“Got work to do.” Your attempt to throw Bucky off the trail is weak. Even the blinding screen in front of you looks disappointed. “I- Need to finish some stuff-“

You barely manage to finish that sentence before another yawn hits.

Bucky doesn’t miss it.

“I don’t know,” he hums your name, and your eyes droop. “You sound pretty tired.”

“I’m not tired.” You’re sinking further into the mattress, and the Mist is burning through you, but the rest of the bed is so cold. “Never been tired. Don’t even know what-“ Another yawn. Fuck. “What does tired mean-“

“Means you need rest, Sweetheart. Is the Boy there?”

You glance around the room, and find a fuzzy, peaceful little black ball on the edge of your mattress. “Hmm.”

“I don’t know what hmm means-“

“He’s here.”

“Good. Put him on the phone.”

You giggle. It’s high and breathy, and doesn’t even sound like you. “He’s a cat, James.”

“Yeah, well if you’re not gonna put yourself to bed, I gotta make sure someone does.”

“The Boy can’t talk.” The world is starting to get blurry. “Not like you.”

There’s a pause, and then, “Not like me/”

“Like this.” This is fine to tell him. It’s not some sort of big secret anyway. “Getting sleepy now. Cause of you.”

“Ah.” Bucky clears his throat. “Does it help if I tell you to go to sleep?”

“No. Gotta use the voice.”

“The- What voice?”

“Go to sleep.” You mimic Bucky’s commanding voice, and your eyes close. “Wow, ’s working on me from me. That’s hilarious.”

He mutters your name, and you sigh. That’s the voice, even it’s softer than usual.

That doesn’t seem to really matter.

“There it is.” You mumble, and Bucky chuckles.

“Go to sleep.”

“Alright. But not cause you told me to.”

“Course not.” Bucky’s voice is a little muffled through the speak. You still think you can hear his smile. “Goodnight, Butterfly.”

Bucky’s dog tags are cool on your fingers. Grounding. And he’s so handsome, even in the dark.

He’s handsome everywhere.

And here—in bed, in the dead of night, wrapped around you and snoring in your ear—he’s only yours.

“Can feel you starin’,” Bucky mutters your name, his eyes staying closed. “I hear that’s rude.”

“I’m not known for my excellent manners, Buck.”

He hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s pretty big coming from Sargent Dirty Talk-“

“But you love that, babydoll.” Bucky pulls you a little tighter into his body, shifting his knee so it’s pressed right against your core. “Still fuckin’ soaked for me. It’s all from starin’ at me, isn’t it.”

“I- It’s not my fault you’ve got such a starable face.”

That, somehow, breaks him. Bucky’s flipping you over in a second, already full awake and grinning down at you.

The dog tags are still on.

You’re not letting him take them off for anything.

“You don’t know anything.” He mutters, tongue doing it’s stupid little thing as he dips down, hovering over you so your lips are just brushing his. “About havin’ to look at a starable face. You got the most starable face in the world, sweetheart. Hell, it needs a hazard warning or something.”

“Bucky-“

“And when you’re comin’ apart for me?” His metal hand starts to trail between your legs, and your back arches off the bed. “Prettier than a fuckin’ sin. Like looking at all the stars, but they’re screaming my name.”

You gasp as two fingers shove into your cunt, and Bucky lets out a low chuckle.

“There you are. Already takin’ me so well.” He starts to pump, and your fingers fly up to his shoulders.

“Oh- Fuck-“

“That feel good?“

You nod like a bobble head, grinding onto Bucky’s hand and squeaking when his thumb brushes over your clit.

“C’mon, sweet girl, where’s that mouth of yours-“

It falls open with a whining plea, and are rewarded with Bucky’s thumb flicking over your clit.

“Yeah, just like that. Look like an angel, Butterfly, need to hear you sing-“

“Fuck- I-“ You let out a loud, shameless moan as Bucky scissors his fingers deep inside you, and he swallows the sound with a kiss.

“C’mon.” He almost growls, his fingers hitting an impossible, brutal pace. “Doin’ so good, always do so good-“

“Bucky-“

He nips on your lower lip. “Try again.”

“I-“ His fingers crook, and rub. “James-“

“Good girl.” He grunts, slamming his mouth back over yours. “Cum for me, babydoll.”

Two in one night. You rocket awake—the Mist is waxing and falling and flaying through your whole body, your leftover Chinese is making its way back up as you bend over the toilet bowl—and that’s two. In one fucking night.

After you clean up and get ready, you’re mostly just staring blankly at your computer again, trying to push every single image from your dream either out of your head, or into reality. If you were luckier—and you’re not—you’d be able to simply will a reality where Bucky looks at you the way he does in your mind, and you’re curled up at his side this very moment, and Miles isn’t even a thought. Yet just the idea is making the Mist stutter and scratch at your muscle. Your vision is blurring and your hands are shaking, and you need to get it together before Bucky arrives and notices. He will notice.

He always notices.

And you’re smiling into the dark like a fucking idiot, not a single word being typed on you laptop.

This not-crush is going to kill you. It’s making you stupid and ditzy.

But it feels so fucking good.

Bucky picks you up a few hours later, waits until you’re a few feet away to give you a slow, underhand toss of your sandwich, and grins when you catch it.

You grin back. You can’t help it. You’re smiling as you move through the day with Bucky a half-pace behind you, and as you’re eating lunch and he’s glaring at the blue chia seed pudding—he insisted on getting it, and usually you’d stop him but his this is fucking disgusting face is adorable, and you’re selfish—and when he proudly shows you how he’s worked out the Slappy just fine all on his own.

“Wow.” You hum, hanging over his shoulder to stare at the page for a literature class. “How late were you up doing this?”

“Few hours after we hung up.” He mutters, glancing back at you with a frown. “You get some sleep, Butterfly.”

You flush, moving to fiddle with your hair as you nod. “Yeah. A- Yeah.”

“You feelin’ alright?”

“I- I feel great-“

“You’re sure.” Bucky’s voice is flat, and you give him a wide, plastered smile.

“I’m great.” Your voice is too high. It’s not convincing. “Why? Do I look bad?”

Bucky narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything more.

A lot of the week is consisted of Bucky glaring at you, and not saying more. He’s leaving more and more water on your desk, and getting you lighter and lighter foods to eat, and when you start to sweat—your heartbeat in your ears and you fingers shaking—Bucky tosses you an ice pack without a word.

Miles isn’t picking up the phone. All week, Miles hasn’t been picking up the phone, and the Mist is making it hard to breathe. But it doesn’t feel like it’s poison, trying to kill you. It’s starting to feel like a feral animal, clawing and ripping at anything it can to get free.

You don’t even know what free would look like.

It might be something frighteningly similar to Bucky, walking you up to your apartment because you’re dizzy when you stand, kicking off his shoes and glaring down at your attempted smile.

“You got any meds for this.” He grunts, and you shake your head.

“It’ll pass, Buck-“

“I don’t care. You need rest now.”

You shake your head weakly. “I- I’m fine-“

“No, you’re not.”

“I’ve been doing this my whole life, Buck-“

“Yea, that doesn’t make me feel better, Butterfly.” He sighs, glaring at your couch. ��Where do you sleep.”

You blink at him. “In my bedroom? But I’m-“

“C’mon, let’s-“

“Stop interrupting me!” Your words fall out before you can stop them, but it’s all just a lot of pain, and your mind is turning into a haze of spiderwebs and flowers and it hurts- “I’m trying to talk and you keep cutting me off, and I’m fine, Bucky, I’ve taken care of this myself my whole life, and I don’t need you-“ You poke his chest, and he frowns. “Coming in and taking over!”

Every word seems to dissipate into the air the moment you say it. You're not really sure what you said at all. Only that is really hurts and no part of your brain fells like it’s connecting where it should be. And Bucky’s staring at you, with a furrowed brow and two blinks.

“Don’t know what that face means.” You mumble, reaching up to trace a hand over the lines on his brows, and he tenses under your touch. “I’m sorry-“

Bucky catches your hand before you can yank it away.

He’s still frowning at you. The Mist is going to eat you alive.

“’S fine.” He mutters. “And I don’t doubt that you’ve taken care of yourself, kid. You don’t need to, though.”

“But I can.” You pout up at him, although you’re not quite sure what you’re talking about. “I’ve got it.”

“I know. But that,” Bucky pokes your nose, and you let out a soft squeak. “Isn’t gonna work on me. You’re goin’ to bed.”

“But it’s far.” You mumble, dropping your head onto Bucky’s chest, and he sighs.

“I’ll carry you if I gotta, but- Need you to tell me where I’m goin’.”

You shake your head, because it’s all you can do, and something rubs on your legs. Bucky’s still talking, but his voice is sort of far away. And you feel like you’re being ground into dust—it’s never hit you this fast, this strong, and you should be more worried about that but you can’t remember how to be in anything but pain—but Bucky’s warm. Firm. He won’t let you fall, and the wings in your chest are letting the rest of your body know, until you’re fully slumped against him.

He’s going to keep you safe. And he’ll know what safe looks like, too. That it’s not a cage, because then you’d pace around and around and drive yourself insane.

Bucky knows you.

And you’re going to be fine.

“Buck?” You’re sitting on top of him, poking at his chest, and his hands fly to your hips but the snoring doesn’t stop for a second. “Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

Nothing.

“James Bucky Barnes.” You whisper, leaning down until your nose bumps with his. “Barnes. James Bucky Buchanan Barnes. James Barnes. Buchanan Barnes. James Bucky. James-“

“How many of these can you come up with?” He mumbles, squeezing his hand against you but still not opening his eyes, and you smile.

“As many as it takes for you to pay attention to me.”

“‘M always payin’ attention to you.”

“You’re sleeping.”

“You sayin’ I can’t do both?”

You roll your eyes. “Not when you can’t see me-“

“Don’t need to see you.” He grumbles, tugging you forward until you’re pressed down onto his chest. “Know you look gorgeous, and you’re wearin’ my shirt-“

“That’s not something you didn’t already know, though.” You let your fingers drift into his hair, and Bucky hums.

“Know you’re probably needy for me, sweetheart. And it’s why you’re botherin’ me while I’m trying to sleep.”

“Nuh uh-“

Bucky’s hips jerk up, his half-hard cock slamming right against your pussy, and your mouth falls open with a gasp.

“Shit- I-“ You bury your face in his neck, shaking your head. “I was just hungry, Buck. I was gonna ask if you wanted waffles.”

He’s moving before you know what’s happening. Rolling you over and kissing you long and deep into the mattress, before pushing away right as you moan into his mouth.

You blink at him, in a slight daze. “Bucky. I- I still want it.”

“I know. I’ll fuck you good later, Butterfly.” He hums, running a hand through your hair and grinning when you lean into his touch. “Gotta make sure you’re fed, first. Can’t have my best girl bein’ hungry while I fuck her dumb.”

Your eyes blink open to soft light. The pain isn’t gone, but it’s hit a steady, even, tolerable pace.

You’re in your room. In bed. The Boy is curled up on the opposite pillow—he always does that whenever Miles leaves, like he’s trying to reclaim the territory of the man slashing through his world—and you’re not really sure how you-

Bucky.

Bucky must have put you in bed. And there’s a glass of water that you definitely didn’t put there, so Bucky had been in your room.

You reach around blindly until you find you phone—ignoring the Mist slashing up your spine and the pounding ache between your legs—and open your screen to find-

barnes - 3 messages

It’s almost 10am. Bucky’s messages are from last night. And there are no calls, but you’re fucking late for work-

barnes

We’re taking that day off today. You need to the rest.

Text when you’re up.

Do not leave the apartment. If you need something, call me.

Call him.

You can just call Bucky, and he’ll get you what you need-

The image of your last dream flashes over your head, and maybe it’s good to take a day apart. You can get yourself together, and get some work done, and be in as much pain as you want.

Alone.

Just you and the Boy, alone.

It’s barely an hour before you miss him. Before you’re glaring at your computer screen, almost all your work already done, and wishing Bucky was here with you.

You don’t need him. You’re not supposed to need him.

But you’d forgotten how long being alone feels. Making the seconds stretch and every word from the TV—playing another Who is Spiderman investigative piece in the background—sound like it’s being spoken in slow motion. No matter how fast you type, it’s not enough. You’d texted Bucky a quick I’m up, but he hasn’t responded. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s using his day off to hang out with Sam, or talk to other people-

You don’t think Bucky has other people. As far as you know, he’s the only other person in the world whose whole social circle is limited to Sam.

And you. You’re friends.

Maybe he wants people who are more than friends, and he’s using his day off to find that.

It shouldn’t be allowed to make you sick, that thought. You have no right to feel sick from that thought. You have Miles.

But Miles doesn’t know you. Not really. He doesn’t even like you.

Bucky likes you. He wouldn’t talk to you or take care of you if he didn’t-

Take care of you.

He’s been taking care of you.

You need to do more than just fucking sitting in your living room. You’ve only been here ten minutes, but it’s sending your head spinning, and you’re not getting enough work done but you’re still doing too much, you are too much, you’re alone like this because you’re too much, and Bucky doesn’t seem to think so-

Bucky doesn’t seem to think anything bad of you. Not lately. And he’s said you aren’t annoying, and not a bitch, and it won’t stop echoing around in your head. Maybe you’ve tricked him. You’d dropped the Show, but you must still be tricking him.

But he put you to bed. And he wouldn’t just do that, if he didn’t care.

He cares. He listens to you and knows you and still cares.

He cares. He cares. He cares.

You need to do something. More. You need to do more than what you’re doing now. More than sitting on your ass and waiting for your crush to text you back like a schoolgirl.

But you have groceries, and the Boy is napping peacefully, and your apartment is perfectly clean from the anxiety of Miles being here. Most of your work is done, just waiting on responses from different departments. You can’t just watch TV. You can’t text Bucky again, because if he’s not answering it’s for a reason.

You could go get the mail. You’ve been going out through the garage since you’d stopped taking the Subway, so it’s probably built high up. And they’ve been vetting it carefully, so you won’t have to worry about another Hydra letter. And even if one slipped through the cracks, that will be something to do. Try and use it to crack more code.

Bucky told you not to leave your apartment.

You won’t be leaving the building, though. And he could’ve meant the building—you know he didn’t—and it’ll be quick, and the worse that happens is you get hurt.

And it’s just you.

So it doesn’t matter.

You shove your keys in your pocket, glance one last time at your phone—no text from Bucky—and shuffle out the door. You lock it behind you, because you’re not stupid. You just can’t sit still. It’s not like you’re going to the office without him. And if you did, he’s not your boss. You’re more than just Bucky’s job now—at least to yourself you are, you don’t really want to think about what you might be to Bucky—but you’re still in charge of you. You don’t need him.

You can get the mail like a big girl, then go back up to your apartment.

And the lobby is empty, but that’s not unusual. Most people are at work right now—you should ask Bucky if he told Grace she didn’t have to go in, because if you’re not there she shouldn’t have to be either—and nobody checks their mail that often anyway. There are a few people milling about past the windows, but that’s not odd either. It’s a street in New York. People usually walk on those.

What’s odd is the fact that your mailbox is slightly propped open. You almost miss it, your attention moving too quickly around you to hone in on any one thing.

But then you see the little wire, poking out of the bottom.

And the man out the window who hasn’t moved. Who’s invested in his phone, but angled to see into the lobby. To see you.

The air is growing thin, as you look between the mailbox and the man. He’s still looking at his phone, and maybe it’s nothing, maybe you’re just a horrible combination of reckless and paranoid, but-

The man glances up, and your eyes lock.

Fuck.

You don’t think. It’s like a switch in your brain flips into something panicked and feral, and when the man draws up to his full height, something flashing across his features, you can’t afford to think.

If you think, you’ll think too much.

This has to be instinct.

Safe. You need to get somewhere safe.

Your apartment isn’t safe. The man will just follow you.

Bucky’s safe.

He lives near the hospital. A block.

You need to get to Bucky. You’re sprinting to the stairs, down to the garage, refusing to look back because then you’ll fall over. You can hear the man behind you anyway. And between the pain in your body, the Mist trying to shred you apart, and the panic in your chest—beating your heart and wrapping over your lungs—you’re barely breathing, and you’re lightheaded, and-

You’re in the car. The door slams and locks behind you, and the man is right there, sprinting towards you-

Don’t think. He’s banging on the window and pulling out what might be a gun, and you can’t breathe, but don’t think.

There’s a thump, as you slam on the gas. Don’t think about it. So it goes.

You need to drive. You need to get to Bucky.

Safe.

Bucky will be safe.

——————

“You know, Sam refused to give me details of why your sessions were moving to as requested.” Raynor frowned at Bucky through the computer. “I told him I didn’t recommend it. He said he didn’t care. That’s not like Sam.”

Bucky snorted. That was exactly like Sam. “Work has gotten busy. I need to focus on it.”

“You can’t only be working, James-“

“Why not?” He raised his brows, keeping his tone flat and bored. “Didn’t you tell me to find things to do, doc?”

Raynor sighed. “I meant hobbies. Not throwing yourself into another mission-“

“You had me doing missions.”

“I had you doing amends-“

“And I finished them.” Bucky snapped. “This job is full time, and if Sam says I need to slow on this, then that’s that.”

He didn’t want to talk about this. Raynor was glaring at him, but Bucky just glared right back, because he didn’t want to talk about it. He was only taking the day because She made him, and Sam had told him to do a session whenever he could.

“How about never-“

“Man, just find a new therapist.” Sam had sighed, giving Bucky a flat look. “It’s not supposed to be like pullin’ teeth.”

“I’m not allowed to choose my therapist.” Bucky had grumbled. “Part of the court mandated shit. Can’t you just stop all my sessions like Walker did-“

“No.”

“C’mon, Sam-“

“You hated that Walker did that.”

“I hated Walker.” Bucky muttered. “If you did it, I’d be fine.”

Sam had rolled his eyes. “You just wanna excuse to hang out with-“

Raynor said Her name, and Bucky blinked back to the present. “How is she?”

“She’s fine.” Bucky muttered, his hands curling into fists. “Good.”

“Are there any… updates? That I should be made aware of?”

“No.”

Raynor sighed. “James.”

“I said no.” Bucky snapped. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to respect that.”

He was pretty sure he’d gotten good at hiding the fact that he thought about Her all the time. That even now, his thoughts were circling around if She was okay, if She was feeling better, if She’d meant to wrap Her arms around him and fall into his hold last night. She’d texted him, right as he’d logged onto the call. Just saying she was up.

Bucky wasn’t sure what She’d remember of last night. If She’d remembered Bucky grinning at Her with a soft affection he could feel, thawing at his heart. If She’d know that she’d whined about not needing him, but then held onto him so tight he’d had to pry Her hands away.

If She’d known the Boy would lead Bucky to Her room.

Because She’d fallen into Bucky, he’d had no fucking clue where the hell Her room was, and there had been a soft chirping sound from near his feet.

The Boy had been staring up at him, head tilted slightly and tail whipping back and forth.

Bucky had sighed, glancing back to the inhumanly beautiful woman, passed out in his arms. “I’m gonna need to snoop, sweetheart. ‘Less your cat knows where the hell your room is-“

The Boy had chirped again, and Bucky had frowned at him.

“I’m not hurtin’ her, buddy, I wouldn’t- She- I need to get her in bed, and-“

The Boy had walked to the stair, run half-way up, then turned to glare at Bucky.

“What-“

The Boy had chirped. Twice. Then yowled. And he hadn’t stopped yowling until Bucky moved Her fully into his arms bridal style, and carried Her up the stairs.

He’d followed the Boy to Her room. The cat had been scratching one of the three upstairs doors, and yowled again until Bucky opened it into Her room.

Bucky had felt like he’d been losing his mind. The goddamn cat had showed him Her room. He’d been in Her room. She’d mumbled Bucky’s name when he’d tucked her into bed, then James when he’d gone back up to leave her a glass of water.

And Bucky didn’t want to talk about Her with Raynor. He just wanted to go see Her. Grab Her food from the deli, and watch Her eyes widen in that pretty way when he tossed it to Her. He wanted to see the little smudges of food She always managed to get on Her cheeks, and hear Her talk about anything she wanted, and watch Her smile at him. He wanted the be swept away and burnt to ash from the heat She always lit inside him.

He wanted to push his luck and just hang out in Her apartment all day, when fucking Miles wouldn’t get in the way-

“James.” Raynor said, her voice firm. “If there is anyone in your direct life, who may be affecting your recovery, I have to know about it.”

“Why.”

“Because that’s my job.”

“You should get a better job.” Bucky muttered. “This one sounds boring.”

“Maybe I’ll get your job.” Raynor said, voice flat. “Why don’t you tell me about it, and why it’s taking so much of your time.”

Bucky scowled. “You know what my job is. And it’s gotten better.”

Raynor said Her name. Bucky didn’t like how she said it. Clinical. Bored. Wrong. “She seems to have become a bigger part of your life. Have you found the words for your personal opinion of her?”

He had.

Want. Bucky wanted Her. More than he’d maybe wanted anything in his life.

Raynor didn’t get to know that.

And when Bucky was silent, Raynor sighed. “Have you connected with her further? Does she know about your past?”

“Yes.” Bucky grunted. If he was careful, he could get through this quick without actually telling Raynor anything. “She doesn’t care.”

Raynor’s shock was visible. “Really? How much does she-“

“Most of it.”

“Huh.” Bucky didn’t appreciate how disbelieving Raynor sounded. “And there is… no apprehension. About your actions.”

There wasn’t. She really didn’t fucking care. “Nope.”

Raynor frowned, her words slow. “I have… read about her. Before and after your job began. And there are rumors, surrounding her past-“

“So?” Bucky snapped, sitting a little taller, and Raynor’s eyes flashed.

“You are aware of these rumors.”

They weren’t rumors. But they didn’t Her any less beautiful. If anything they made Her more like art. Made Bucky want Her more, too. To care for Her like she’d never gotten—under sheets and through long nights, softly or harshly or whatever made Her know it was about Her—and as he’d never been allowed to.

It made Bucky want something with Her. The things he had always thought about before the train, and never since. Until Her.

Bucky had been thinking about those things—coffee and sleepy eyes and holding each other on the couch just for the sake of it—a lot, and he only thought about them more, the longer he was close to Her. And the aquarium hadn’t helped. In the shifting, low lights, of the water, She’d been so fucking gorgeous Bucky had been certain this all had to be a dream.

But it wasn’t. She was real, and Bucky really wanted Her, loud and beautiful and scarred in a way that Bucky would fit perfectly against him.

“I am.” Was all Bucky offered Raynor. She didn’t deserve more.

Not as she made an odd face, and frowned. “Has she… confided in you. About it?”

“Yes.”

“While being-“

“I said she was aware.” Bucky snapped. She trusted him. That should be a good thing, because She’d told him things even Sam didn’t know. “And I’m aware of her shit. That’s it.”

“I see.” Raynor wouldn’t stop looking at Bucky like he was a specimen. “And have there been any romantic developments?”

Bucky wanted there to be. “No.”

“Do you believe it’s because of your past? What you’ve done?”

“No.” Bucky snapped. She didn’t care about that.

And his phone was ringing.

That was a good excuse to make an exit.

“Why do we do the exercise-“

“I’m good.” Bucky shrugged, grabbing his phone off the table and frowning at the screen. Caller ID said it was the deli place he always got her sandwich from. Bucky wasn’t sure how they got his number. “Do it myself later. Bye, doc.”

“James, wait-“

Bucky hung up before Raynor could finish. Maybe Sam had been right about needing a new therapist, too. He didn’t fucking need someone else to tell him that he shouldn’t be thinking about love with his past. That he was happy to have a future with just himself. Bucky was well aware of that. He knew it was selfish to want Her like he did, with Her history and fucking Miles.

Didn’t stop him, though. And it felt better than wanting nothing at all.

“Hello.” Bucky kept his words short when he picked up. If this was a trap, he had a gun under his bed.

“This Bucky?”

He frowned at the air. He’d never given his name. “Who’s asking?”

“I work at The Goldberg Deli. I got a girl in here sayin’ you live near here, askin’ for us to call you.”

“A-“ Something tasted bad, in the back of Bucky’s throat. “A girl?”

“Lady. She’s sittin’ like a lady. Told us your number, and to ask for James Bucky Barnes. You gonna tell me if that’s you, pal?”

“Yeah, I-“ Bucky was already putting his shoes on, the gut feeling was strong. He had to be sure. “The lady, what’s she look like?”

“Uh- Big slippers. And a hoodie-“

“Her face-“

“Oh.” The man on the line kept talking, describing Her perfectly, all the way down to- “She’s pretty hot, too. If she is your girl, I’d come take her ‘fore one of my guys steals ‘er.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “I’ll be right there.”

He jumped down the stairs. It was just him, so he could. He needed to. She wasn’t supposed to be out at all, so She was either being monumentally reckless, or-

Bad.

Something bad.

Bucky burst into the deli, and he couldn’t see Her, there were so many fucking people and Bucky couldn’t see Her-

“You Bucky?” Someone called, and Bucky’s head whipped to see one of the guys behind the counter frowning at him.

“Yeah, I- Where-“

“In the back.” The man jerked his head. “Was cryin’ real loud. Scarin’ people. Don’t know how you fucked up that big, pal-“

Bucky ignored him, jumping the counter without a word and storming through the doors.

There She was.

Curled up and completely on the floor, a large butchers knife in one hand and a burly man standing awkwardly over her.

“Are you-“

“Yes.” Bucky grunted, kneeling down to scan over her. There was no visible damage, but She was completely still, and Her grip on the knife was white-knuckled. “You gonna stab me, Butterfly?”

No reaction.

That wasn’t good. She was only blinking at him. A little too slowly, but not recoiling when Bucky carefully grabbed her chin, angling around to look for anything hidden-

“She’d only come back here if we gave ‘er a weapon.” The man mutters, and Bucky didn’t know why he was still here. “Only thing she’s said is that she needs Bucky, and your number.”

Bucky sighed, prying the knife out of Her grip. She’d hurt herself. “You memorized my number, sweetheart?”

She nodded, and when She spoke, her voice was too small. “Made a song.”

“Course you did,” Bucky muttered. “What-“

“I know you.” The man cut in, and Bucky was going to flip the knife and stab him. “You’re that guy that comes in every mornin’ and always gets the same sandwich for a girl-“

“That’s me. Can you-“

“You got a metal arm?”

Bucky paused, glancing at where he’d braced himself against the wall. He’d forgotten his gloves, but he was also wearing a t-shirt, so it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. “I-“

“Bucky.” She whispered, a hand tugging at his collar, and his attention snapped back to her wide, open face. “Bucky, help.”

Fuck. Bucky muttered Her name, using that voice She’d been telling him about on the phone. “I need you to tell me what happened.“

“Hydra.” She whispered, and Bucky’s blood fucking curled. “They were at my apartment. I- I think they rigged my mailbox. I hit the guy with my car-“

“You hit-“ Bucky sighed, shaking his head. There probably shouldn’t be a warm, growing feeling in his chest. “Only one guy?”

She nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I- I think so. Nobody followed me.”

“Good girl.” Bucky nodded slowly, glaring at the air. She’d been smart, looking for Bucky, and She’d likely forgotten Her phone in her apartment. They’d have to have the don’t fucking leave your apartment, you beautiful, insane, stubborn woman conversation later, though. Now was about calming Her down, calling Sam to make sure someone got to the Hydra guy she’d run over, and making Hogan send him all the security tapes.

Those last two could wait though.

This was mostly about Her. That was the mission.

Keep Her safe.

“You wanna come up to my place?” He kept his words soft, and tried not to feel too good at how quickly She nodded.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright. C’mere.” Bucky carefully scooped Her up into his arms, and he needed to stop doing this to himself.

She fit so well. And She turned her face to press into his neck, and he felt like maybe he could hold Her forever, and She could be fragile, but it would be fine. She’d have Bucky. The bulletproof glass around the art.

“Do not,” Bucky grunted to the man, keeping his words low and voice firm. “Tell anyone about this. Or I will kill you.”

The man shrugged. “Sure, man. I don’t give a shit.”

Bucky nodded, then paused—Her body almost molded into his—and turned back. “Thanks.”

He didn’t wait for a response again. This wasn’t about the deli people.

It really was about Her.

“You’re gonna need to stay somewhere else,” Bucky muttered in Her ear, glaring at anyone in the deli who gave them an odd look. “Least until we clear your place, preferably until we upgrade your security. No hotels. It can be Hogan or Sam-

“Can I- Can it be you?”

Bucky swallowed. He wasn’t sure he was capable of saying no. Not when She’d asked. “Wherever you want, Butterfly.”

She nodded against his neck. “You. Please.”

“Alright.” Bucky let out a long breath. “You can take my bed.”

Of course that was the thing that made Her pull back. “But-“

“I’ll be fine. You’re my guest.”

“I wasn’t invited.” She mumbled, fiddling with the fabric of Bucky’s shirt.

She was talking.

Moving.

Bucky was helping.

“I’m not at guest if I wasn’t invited.”

Bucky sighed, staring at Her until she met his gaze. “You wanna come sleep at my place, Butterfly?”

“I-“ She swallowed. There were the Doe-eyes. “Yes. Please.”

Jesus. Even if control about his feelings was long out the window, Bucky needed to get an iron grip over his body.

He couldn’t be thinking about Her saying that shit, without any of the pain, under him and-

Nope.

Control.

“Alright.” Bucky grunted, kicking the door to his building open. “You’re invited. Take the bed.”

She was giving him a pout-glare, and Bucky was pretty sure it wasn’t having the effect She intended.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart.”

“It’s noon.” She grumbled. “Don’t need rest.”

“If you think you’re doin’ work-“

“I don’t have my laptop.”

“Good.”

She whacked his chest. “That’s rude, Bucky.”

“I don’t care. You’re not workin’.” He shoved open his door, walking Her to the couch. “I’ve got a TV, and books. Use them.”

She hummed as Bucky set Her down, scanning around his apartment, and he froze.

She was here. In his apartment.

And She was so full of life, and Bucky’s walls were bare and his decorations was nonexistent, and he wasn’t what She’d been expecting—if She’d been expecting at all—but it probably wasn’t something bordering on a fucking prison, and this was the better version. The version where Sam had made him get furniture and a whole extra floor blanket, and why was his floor blanket still out-

“You have a nice view.” She mumbled, Her eyes fixed on the window. “I can see the ocean.”

“It’s not bad.” Bucky muttered, running a hand through his hair, and She gave him an odd look.

“You must have high standards, James. I think it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” He tore his gaze to the window. The view was kind of shit. But he could see the ocean. And—if he turned his head slightly—the Coney Island Ferris Wheel. “Whatever you say, Butterfly.”

She smiled at him, and Bucky had to cough to jerk his thoughts back together.

“What are you gonna do. All day.”

“I- I don’t know.”

Bucky grunted, and moved around the couch to grab the TV remote. He handed it to Her. Tossing things never went well. “Watch what you want. I’ve gotta make some calls.”

“Okay.” She whispered, curling into to the couch. She was trying to make Herself small.

Bucky needed to fix that, after he talked to Sam.

“James?”

He nodded, and She let out a long breath.

“Can you sit with me? When you’re done?”

Bucky stared at Her. She wanted him there.

He’d have to be insane to say no.

“Course. I’ll be right back, but get comfortable, Sam’s slow as hell with this shit.”

She nodded, opening and closing Her mouth a few times, and Bucky sighed.

“Say what-“

“Thank you.” She whispered, doe-eyed again. “For this.”

Bucky’s nod was tight. If he did anything else, it might be something stupid. “No problem.”

He almost ran away. He needed to get a fucking grip.

The call with Sam was fast. The call with Hogan was faster. They knew what needed to be done, and they knew She was safe with Bucky.

And She was.

He’d take care of Her.

He’d sit with Her on the couch and watch whatever the hell She put on, even if he couldn’t follow it. He’d pass Her one of his floor blankets because it was all he had to offer, and snort at all Her mumbled jokes at the TV. He’d make Her food with the pathetic contents of his fridge, and try not to think about how She shuffled up next to him to watch him work.

“I’m guessing we can’t order?”

Bucky shook his head. “Can’t. Not safe.”

“Oh.” She was frowning at his work, and shit, She was adorable.

“You not trust my cooking abilities, sweetheart?”

“No.” She mumbled, looking up at him with the doe-eyes. Again. “I just don’t want you to do extra work.”

Jesus Christ.

If there was anything past a goner, that was what Bucky was.

“I’ll live, Butterfly. You wanna watch another movie?”

“I- Do you have cards?”

Bucky nodded. Of course he had cards. He hated going out in public and doing most things people considered fun—although he’d also hated trivia and day-trips, until he’d done them with Her—but he wasn’t a heathen.

Although the game they ended up playing was insane. He’d played it before, with Sarah’s sons. But they’d been normal at it.

She was… impossibly good.

“Sam’s right.” Bucky muttered, glaring at the fistful of cards in his hand. “You are a cheater.”

She laughed. It was fucking musical. “Or maybe you’re just both losers. King?”

“Fucking-“ Bucky tossed the card across the table. “What the hell happens when you run out?”

“I grab another card from the top.” She shrugged. “Five?”

Thank Christ. “Go fish.”

She sighed, and drew a card. “You’re go.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, scanning over Her perfect, unreadable face.

Or very readable.

Too readable.

Usually, Bucky was pretty confident in his guesses about Her emotions. Her feelings would end up written all of Her body and face and between Her words. But here, it was impossible. This might have all been an impossible long-con, and She was actually a world-class spy, just to beat Bucky at Go Fish.

“Six.” He muttered, and She grinned. It was the wolf-like grin. Fuck.

“Go Fish.”

Bucky scowled, but She laughed again, so nothing could really be all that bad.

Really, nothing felt bad, for almost the rest of the day. They ate, and watched another movie—an animated spy film, where all the characters were cars for some reason, but was still pretty good—and talked until She yawned, the sun barely setting over the sky.

“Bed.” Bucky muttered, and She shook her head.

“I’m- ‘M not tired-“

Another yawn, and She blinked at the air with a small frown, like she was angry about being tired.

Jesus, She was adorable.

“You can be not tired in bed.” Bucky started to move Her, and she didn’t fight it.

She ended passed out in Bucky’s hastily made sheets, and now he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

It had been too fucking normal to have Her here. It made him feel like this was what everyday was, when he knew it wasn’t. And as he sat at the table and tried to do some of that online course stuff She’d given him, all he could think about was Her. And when he did the exercise, all his thoughts just kept circling back to want.

Bucky wanted Her to get some proper sleep. He wanted Her to play another card game with him, and to win, cause She’d been real happy when She won. He wanted Her here more, because it made him feel good. Feel better. The whole apartment was better, and it was because of Her. And he wanted this to be his life. It was impossible, but suddenly this didn’t feel like a pointless task, to be better, to move on from the Soldat—scratching oddly at the base of his skull—to have a life-

Around midnight—Bucky had spent longer than he thought, just sitting like an insane person in the dark—there was a sound from the bedroom, and Bucky was on his feet in a second. When he got to his room, She wasn’t in the bed, and the bathroom door was ajar, wrenching sounds coming from inside.

She was throwing up.

Fuck.

Bucky bended down behind Her, moving slowly to avoid startling Her, and pulled Her hair back as she kept vomiting.

It was dry heaving. For minutes.

He’d known it was bad. This was worse than he thought.

But they’d talk about it later. She looked exhausted, when She turned back to meet his eyes. Almost gaunt.

“Don’t apologize.” Bucky muttered, before She could even try. “Feelin’ better?”

She nodded, and Bucky sighed.

“Good. Hold on.”

He carried Her back to bed. And She was almost clinging to him, and after he’d tucked Her back in and gotten Her water, Her hand grabbed his wrist before he could return to the table.

“Bucky?” She whispered, and he felt his jaw twitch.

“Yeah.”

“Can- Can you tell me the truth? Not what Sam wants me to think, or what will make me feel better, but the truth?”

He swallowed, muttering Her name, but she shook her head, hair falling back over Her face, voice soft.

“Please.”

Damn Bucky to Hell, he could only nod. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” She took a long breath, Her gaze fixed on Bucky’s. “How bad is it? That Hydra wants me?”

Shit.

He needed to get a better grip over himself, and his willingness to bend as far as he needed for Her. Watching Her shows. Reading Her books. Letting Her into his apartment, holding Her hand-

Bucky was holding Her hand.

Sort of.

His hand was folded over Her’s. It was close enough.

And he’d promised to tell the truth, but he didn’t have to let Her be small.

“Bad,” Bucky muttered. “Really fuckin’ bad. But you’ll be fine. You’ve got me.”

She blinked at him, and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Just like that.

She was trusting Bucky, like it was nothing.

It was the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced, but it felt good. He was finally starting to get why people liked rollercoasters. There was a thrill to it. The drop. The feeling that something could go wrong, but the faith that it wouldn’t.

And Bucky had more than faith. He had resolve. He wouldn’t let anything go wrong. As long as he was breathing, nothing bad would happen to Her. It had nothing to do with the job. Nothing to do with Sam’s friend.

It was all Her. Making things better, making Bucky feel oddly normal even in the midst of a crisis, making him sit on a bed without it feeling vile.

He was on the bed for Her. That alone made it a worthwhile task.

“Do you-“ She swallowed, blinking at him in the dark. “Do you wear dog tags?”

Bucky frowned. “Yeah, uh-“ He pulled them out from his shirt. “Here.”

“Can I-“

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged, and moved to take them off, but before he could she was grabbing them.

Turning them between Her fingers with an oddly concentrated face, and Bucky was so close to Her. He could see exactly where She always chewed her lip, and the focus in Her eyes, and how all the shadows cast on Her face made her really look inhuman.

Maybe She was an alien. She’d said Her memories were glossy, and that might be why. Whoever brought Her here had made Her think she was human, but in reality, she was some space-siren sent to wander around and make Earth better.

But there was something—not in the Moon, spinning and rolling in dark and deep in Her pretty eyes—about Her that was painfully human. Something Bucky recognized, because he’d seen it in his own mirror. A little too shattered and hollow and made of so much with nowhere to put it. So much anger. So much sadness.

If Bucky could give Her some of his anger, maybe he could take some of Her sadness. And they could carry it together, even if what Bucky could give Her ended there.

If he had a say, he’d give Her most anything. More conversation, more comfort, more safety. Things She couldn’t buy with money, but deserved more than anyone. Little ways for Bucky to shout let me keep you safe. Let me keep you at my side. Let me keep you happy.

She was tucking Bucky’s dog tags back into his shirt with an odd expression, and Bucky really just wanted to keep Her happy.

“Are you-“ Bucky cut himself off with a chuckle when She yawned. “There you go. Sleep, sweetheart.”

“I-“ She shook Her head against the pillow. “I don’t wanna-“

“You gotta-“

“Don’t wanna be alone.” She mumbled, and the heat was high in Bucky’s face and chest. “Stay.”

He swallowed, glancing at the bed. “I-“

“You can just sit. Or I can go-“ Another yawn, and Her fingers were tangling with Bucky’s, and maybe the sky was falling but he couldn’t tell.

He couldn’t stop staring at Her.

“I can go to the couch.” She mumbled, squeezing his hand weakly. “Just don’t wanna be alone.”

“I- I’ve got you.” Bucky whispered. If he was too loud, She might bolt away like a stray cat. “Go to sleep, Butterfly. I’ll stay.”

He did. She yawned again, and passed out in a few minutes, and Bucky stayed. On the edge of the bed, his hand tangled in Her’s, just watching Her because he could.

And even when the sun broke the sky with a million colors, there was nowhere else he’d ever want to look.

End Note: Bucky wait until you hear about Wikipedia you're gonna go crazy (he just wants to know what the hell is going on)

ALSO, small update: the chapter are going to be shorter going forwards. Not because I'm not really loving writing this fic, but because between my real life responsibilities and personal health shit, I don't want to overstretch myself and burn out. Gotta avoid the ao3 curse, yall. What this means is basically the story will have all the same beats and be around the same length as I've estimated, but the POVs will be split into their own chapters (which looking at the planning will actually make more sense lol). Each Chapter will be about 7k. I hope this is okay with you guys!

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

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@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

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storkmuffin · 19 hours ago

Note

hey if you ever wanna repay the crying yunho tagging there’s two things i’m obsessed with right now (some people may agree)

1) is hongjoong getting mad or scolding the members, i saw him yell at mingi for not getting in a semi circle with the others and rewinded it 15x, and one where wooyoung talks over him and he snaps at him to shut up and listen (seonghwa is also pretty good at this)

2) is topaz with mingi cause those two are pretty domineering/aggressive to make up for size right? like hongjoong has this authority that everyone has to play into and wooyoung is wooyoung so it’s easy to just fall in line and do whatever he wants and for some reason both of these frequently work to make mingi soft and compliant? there’s a clip somewhere of hj and mg facing each other on stage and mg is too tall so hj just pushes his head down to his level (unforgettable) and the one recently where mg stumbles and wy grabs his thigh to stabilize him but then straight up gropes his thigh for a couple seconds while mg just stands and watches (?????) very underrated. i love big sub x small dom 4ever

I took this as an order (in the Pok-joong Hongjoong style) to create a compilation, so uh, here is a compilation of Hongjoong getting angry as a leader

He is shooting lightening at Mingi without even needing to say anything. Mingi is smiling (because that seems to be Mingi's default reaction to anything Hongjoong does) but Wooyoung wants it to stop.

youtube

2. Hongjoong getting annoyed bc nobody is paying attention and he gets interrupted.

3. Roasting Mingi for his heartfelt crying that one time that was actually very moving to me, but go off Hongjoong.

youtube

4. Hongjoong is talking to Mingi off screen here - 'Get out' - 'Just listen...'- 'Why I ought to--!'

youtube

5. This is Wooyoung telling the host that The Biggest Fight Of His Whole Life ever was with Mingi, and it was at a shoot for Hala Hala, but then Hong Joong comes in to say that the cause of this fight was him, but it ended up being a battle between Wooyoung and Mingi.

youtube

And this is what I could find of the Wooyoung-Mingi thigh grab moment.

So the initial grab was because Mingi broke something with his foot by leaning his weight on it. (You should go find Tumblr User Fayet's write up of the concert she attended where Mingi did this same move with less destructive results, so this is his habitual thing). Woo was saving Mingi. But then if you see, Mingi doesn't actually immediately remove his foot or stop doing what he did to cause the problem, so Woo is like, Are you still going to do the thing?? and letting his hand linger.

Or you know, the other explanation is just as valid: Mingi thighs are fun to touch and if he lets you, you should just keep doing it.

#hongjoong #폭중이 #ateez meta #kpop meta #ateez ask #kpop ask #wooyoung #mingi

26 notes · View notes

l1v-jzn · 1 day ago

Text

thesis of the damned au — geum seong je #2

pairing: geum seong je x reader

genre: psychological thriller, dark academia, slow-burn romance, alternate universe (au)

summary: you transfer to an elite private university on a prestigious academic scholarship. Everyone there seems to know each other. Secret handshakes. Closed doors. Whispers you’re not invited to.

you meet Geum Seong je—sharp-tongued, perpetually late, smirking like he knows every secret in the building. He’s brilliant, bored, and definitely hiding something. Rumors say he wrote a paper so controversial it was buried by the faculty.

you find it. It’s not just a thesis. It’s a manifesto. Buried in it… are clues. To a secret society. To a missing student. To a crime that never made it into the newspapers.

and you?? You’re the only one smart and reckless enough to keep up with him.

taglist: @thepoeticfirefly @kyungjunnies @hikaerys @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @miyawwn @sanaxo-o @feralmaneater @jeewhat @satorustorm @jaymiwrld @satoru2716 @heeknow @indarius @yinyangcchii (and anyone wanna be tagged here!)

— Previous Part — — Next Part —

they didn’t speak again until 2:13 a.m.

the dorm room was dim, lit only by the old desk lamp humming softly. It cast a pool of golden light across the bed—now a battleground of papers, redacted documents, and the occasional half-eaten snack. Rain tapped at the window like it was trying to eavesdrop.

you sat cross-legged on the faded rug, hoodie sleeves pulled over your knuckles, your fingertips smudged with graphite. Seong Je was sprawled across the bed like he owned time itself, one arm behind his head, the other flipping through a binder so yellowed it crackled.

he had this infuriating calm about him. Like even chaos couldn’t touch him without asking permission first.

“So,” you said, circling something on the map, “this tunnel under the chapel—sealed, right?”

“According to the administration, yes,” he said, chewing absently on the end of a pencil. “But the administration also claims Avemhall doesn’t have an underground archive full of censored case files and missing student records.”

you looked up. “So what you’re saying is…”

“I’m saying if they say it’s sealed, it probably leads straight to hell.”

you gave him a slow look. “You say that with the confidence of someone who’s been there.”

“Freshman orientation,” he deadpanned.

a tired laugh escaped you before you could help it. And just like that, the air shifted—less like static, more like a string being pulled taut between you.

you leaned forward, tracing a red circle drawn around a date on one of the files. “This notation—it’s tomorrow.” He sat up instantly. “What?”

you handed him the paper. “Look. Same pen, same handwriting as the other notes. ‘Phase II: Observation begins.’ That’s not just a theory. That’s a schedule.”

his eyes scanned the page, the line of his jaw tightening. He was already halfway off the bed, pulling on his hoodie. “Then we go tonight. Map the route. Find their access point before they use it.” You raised a brow. “You’re assuming we’re doing this together.”

he turned to you, one brow arched with practiced arrogance. “You broke into a vault, showed up at my door like a drenched banshee, and now you’re sitting on my floor sorting contraband. Congratulations. You’re in the group chat.” You smirked. “You have a group chat?”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a flashlight from his drawer. “It’s just me. But I send really dramatic updates.”

he knelt beside you, flipping through the tunnel schematics. His knee brushed yours. Neither of you moved. You could smell his cologne now—woodsy, sharp, and faintly burned, like cedar left too close to flame. He looked up at you—and paused just for a beat.

it wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Still. But his gaze lingered longer than necessary. Like he wasn’t looking at you, but into you—cataloguing something only he could see. You swallowed. “What?” His voice was softer than expected. “Nothing.”

you narrowed your eyes. “No, you were looking at me like I grew antlers.”

a hint of amusement curved his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

he didn’t reply, just passed you a worn polaroid. “This was Myeong-joo’s. Last photo she took before she vanished.”

you studied it—two students near the chapel, faces blurry, one circled in red ink. Your stomach turned. The figure looked familiar. Too familiar. “She was close,” you whispered.

“She was reckless,” he said, voice tight. “She trusted the wrong people.” You looked up. “That why you don’t trust anyone now?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The silence between you said everything. You bit your tongue, “Okay,” you said. “Tomorrow night. We go under the chapel.”

“Carefully,” he said. “Obviously.” You said playfully rolling your eyes to him.

“And no more solo hero moments.”

“No promises.”

he sighed, exasperated. “You’re going to get us both killed.” You smiled. “Not before I solve this.”

Seong Je's Dorm — 3:55 a.m

it was nearly 4 a.m. when she finally fell asleep.

she hadn’t meant to—just laid back for a second, eyes fluttering, papers still in hand. Seong Je had glanced up from the notes, ready to make some snarky comment about caffeine limits, but the words never made it out.

she’d drifted off, head resting awkwardly against his bed frame, a file folder cradled like a blanket, hair a halo of chaos across her hoodie.

and just like that, the room went quiet. Really quiet.

not the kind of silence that comes from emptiness, but the kind that fills a space. Stretches it. Softens the edges of everything sharp.

Seong Je leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, pretending to still read—but his eyes kept flicking back to her. Once. Twice.

and then he stopped pretending.

her breathing had gone steady, one arm curled under your head. There was a tiny crease between her brows, like she was still fighting the mystery even in her sleep. She looked tired. Not just physically. Bone-deep tired. Like she’d been carrying things alone for too long.

he hated that he recognized it. He stood slowly, careful not to wake her, and picked up the scattered pages at her feet. He hesitated over the polaroid she’d been studying last—two anonymous figures under chapel light, secrets stitched in the shadows.

she’d gotten too close. So had Myeong-joo.

and now here she was, asleep in his dorm room with a target practically glowing on her back—and yet somehow still the calmest thing in the room.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, crouching beside her. “So stupid.”

he reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed and paused. His hand hovered just above hers. Not touching. Just hovering. Because he didn’t trust what it would mean if he let it.

instead, he gently draped the blanket over her shoulders, brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, and stood.

he didn’t say it out loud, of course. But in the soft silence, in the space between breath and heartbeat, it was there anyway, “Don’t disappear on me too.”

Seong Je’s dorm — The next day, 7:24 a.m

the morning light sliced through the blinds like judgment.

golden and intrusive, it crawled across the room, catching on the spines of old books, highlighting dust motes floating like ghosts between you and the boy you weren’t supposed to care about.

you stirred slowly, the stiff ache in your neck dragging you back to consciousness. You were curled on the floor beside Seong Je’s bed, the same cursed blanket still wrapped around you like a quiet confession. His scent clung to it—clean laundry, rain, and whatever danger smelled like in human form.

you blinked. Took stock. Your legs were tangled in an old hoodie. Not yours.

your breath hitched. Oh no.

across the room, Seong Je sat perched on the edge of his desk, barefoot, a mug in one hand and a pen tapping restlessly against his knee. The glow of his laptop screen cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the dark crescents under his eyes.

he didn’t look at you. “Sleep well?” he asked flatly, eyes fixed on the screen like it was more interesting than the very obvious emotional minefield in the room.

you pushed the blanket off your shoulders like it had personally betrayed you. “You let me fall asleep in your room?”

“I let you collapse like a Victorian orphan who just saw too many secrets,” he said, sipping his coffee. “There was snoring. I considered calling campus security.”

“Liar,” you muttered, rubbing sleep from your eyes. He didn’t deny it.

the silence hung. Long. Heavy. One of those silences that wasn’t empty—it was full. Of all the things you could say. Shouldn’t say. Almost said last night when he tucked the blanket around you like someone who definitely didn’t care (but absolutely did).

you stood too quickly, catching your balance on the edge of his desk. Your fingers brushed his mug. Warm. Steady. Not like you.

he finally glanced at you, eyes flicking up from the screen—and lingered. Just for a second too long.

his gaze was unreadable. Not cold. Not warm. Just... layered. Like there were too many thoughts trying to fit into too small a space. You cleared your throat. “So. Nothing happened. We move on. Cool?”

“Cool,” he echoed, voice carefully neutral. You stepped back. He watched you go.

but then—just before you reached the door—he said it. Quietly. Without looking. “You talk in your sleep.” You froze and slowly turned to him. “What did I say?”

he smirked, finally—finally—meeting your eyes. “You said my name.”

your stomach dropped somewhere between your knees and the floor. “I–I was probably threatening you,” you said, too fast.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sounded more like pleading.”

he looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. Like he’d won some silent battle you didn’t even know was happening. You glared. “You’re insufferable.”

he shrugged. “You keep coming back.” And you hated that he wasn’t wrong.

Avemhall University Courtyard — 4:18 p.m

the courtyard was crowded.

golden-hour light slanted through gothic arches, casting long shadows over the students sprawled on stone benches and creaking iron chairs. Laughter floated through the air—too bright, too brittle.

you were flipping through your annotated copy of Symbology and Subversion under a cherry tree, trying to look casual. Like your pulse wasn’t betraying you. Like you didn’t know exactly who had just walked into the quad five minutes ago.

and like you hadn’t felt his stare the moment he did.

across the way, Seong Je leaned against the arch of one of the older halls, deep in mock conversation with Baek Jin and some other upper-year society kids. His head tilted back slightly as if he was laughing at something—but his eyes? They weren’t on them. They were on you.

barely there. Blinking slow. Calculated and careless all at once. You turned a page you hadn’t read.

he said something to his friends—then peeled off, crossing the quad at a maddeningly unhurried pace. You didn’t move. You didn’t have to. His presence closed in like a storm front.

he stopped a few feet away. Hands in his coat pockets. Head cocked. “Didn’t think you were the type to sit outside and soak in aesthetics like a tragic protagonist.” You looked up, dry. “Didn’t think you were the type to do social interaction in daylight.” He smiled—barely.

the air crackled between you. Neither of you stepped closer.

a girl nearby glanced between the two of you, sensing something unspoken, and immediately looked away like she’d just seen something too private. “Where were you headed?” you asked, tone carefully light. He shrugged. “Nowhere in particular.”

you raised a brow. “So you just happened to stop near me.”

“I’m doing research,” he said, voice smooth. “On self-deluded scholars who think they’re subtle.”

you exhaled a laugh despite yourself. “That’s rich coming from the guy who definitely stared at me for five full minutes without blinking.” He stepped closer. Just slightly. “Only because you were looking at me first.” That shut you up.

for a heartbeat, the world blurred—students walking by, campus noise fading, cherry blossoms dancing in the breeze like confetti for a moment you weren’t ready to name.

he looked at you like he was trying to memorize something.

and then—like it never happened—he straightened, cleared his throat, and nodded to your book. “Careful with that chapter. The margins hide more than just footnotes.” And with that, he turned. Gone before you could ask what he meant. You stared after him. Every nerve lit. Every thought tangled.

your book felt heavier in your lap. You flipped to the page he mentioned—and froze. Tucked into the margin, between two lines about initiation rites, was a name. Yours.

and the same thin, sharp handwriting from the locker note.

North Wing hallway — ?:??

you weren’t supposed to be here, that much was clear from the way the overhead light flickered once—just once—as you passed beneath it, as if the building itself was warning you to turn back. But you couldn’t.

the name in the book’s margins had been written deliberately. Ink too fresh. A plant. A message. And that message had led you here.

to the hallway they said no one used anymore. To the door with the rotted wood frame and a handle that shouldn’t have turned—but did.

you stepped inside. Dust hung in the air like fog. The room smelled like candlewax and old secrets. Long shelves lined with cracked leather tomes. A single desk in the center. Nothing on it except—a black envelope, with your name. You reached for it—but a voice beat you to it. “I wouldn’t open that if I were you.”

you froze. Behind you stood a girl. Maybe your age. Maybe older. Her uniform was regulation-perfect, but too clean. Pressed like it had never been worn for anything as pedestrian as learning. Her hair was pinned with a silver clasp shaped like the Avemhall crest—but older. Sharper. You hadn’t even heard her enter.

her eyes scanned you like a file. Unbothered. Icy. “You’re the scholarship girl,” she said, like it was an insult wrapped in silk.

you straightened your shoulders. “And you’re clearly someone who enjoys dramatic entrances.”

she smiled, and it wasn’t kind. “We’ve been watching you.” That ‘We’. Your stomach twisted.

she stepped closer, circling like a hawk. “You and Seong Je make a curious pair. He doesn’t usually get... attached.” You bristled. “We’re not anything.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “That’s what Myeong-joo said too.” The name hit like a dropped stone in your chest. Your voice cracked. “You knew her?”

“She knew too much. Asked the wrong questions. Trusted the wrong people.” Her eyes met yours, dead calm. “You’re heading down the same path.” Silence. Thick. Chilling.

you wanted to speak. You really did. But your throat felt like it had been tied in knots.

then—she leaned in, close enough for her whisper to skim your ear, “Secrets are sacred here, sunbae. Break the rite, and the walls break you.” She pulled back with the poise of royalty. “You’d be wise to remember that.”

and just like that, she slipped past you and out the door—heels clicking like punctuation marks. When you blinked again, she was gone.

you looked down. The envelope was missing.

Your Dorm — 8:39 p.m

you didn’t notice it at first. The symbol.

not until your notes from Prof. Chae’s lecture started shifting—not in content, but in vibe. You flipped a page, and there it was: scrawled in the corner like a careless doodle, sharp and spiraling and wrong.

it looked like three crescent moons stitched into a circle, ringed with tiny marks like teeth. You hadn’t drawn it.

you would’ve remembered drawing something that unsettling.

you stared at it for a long moment, waiting for the memory to click into place. Nothing did.

you shut the notebook. Waited. Then opened it again. The symbol was still there.

then you checked another notebook. Your copy of Dark Societies of the Enlightenment. The back cover. Same symbol. A little fainter. But there.

and when you turned off the desk lamp? It glowed faintly.

your breath hitched. Something in your chest thrummed—like the notebook was vibrating with a frequency your bones didn’t know how to ignore.

and then came the sound. A thud. Low. Hollow. Not from your room—but somewhere close. Like a knock, but not on your door. You grabbed your phone. Dead. Again. Of course.

you stood slowly, heart jackhammering, and opened your closet—not knowing why, just following that cold instinct that something was off—and tucked behind the shoeboxes at the back was a folded piece of parchment. Not paper. Parchment.

you unfolded it carefully, hands trembling. It looked like a map. Or a blueprint. Lines connecting parts of campus you didn’t even recognize. And right in the center: That same symbol. Burned into the page. Below it, written in tiny, spidery handwriting: “When the sun passes the tower’s eye, the door will open. Come alone. Leave nothing behind.” You blinked—and the message began to fade. Disintegrating like ash.

you clutched the page tighter, breath shallow, pulse frantic. It didn’t matter if it made sense. You knew one thing: You were being summoned.

The Clocktower — 11:43 p.m

the bell didn’t chime at midnight. It never did.

that was part of the ritual—you learned that from the map. When the “tower’s eye” looked over campus and found only silence, that was the moment.

so you stood there beneath the looming arch of the clocktower, breath clouding in the cold, the map clutched in one hand and the faint glow of the symbol on your wrist—because yes, it was on your skin now—guiding you.

you weren’t sure when it had appeared, only that it burned cold every time you got closer.

a breeze whispered through the cracks in the stone, and then—a click. The wall shifted—barely but enough for a body to get in.

you stepped forward, heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to break out. The door was flush with the tower wall, nearly invisible unless you knew where to look—etched with the symbol, which pulsed softly once as your fingers touched it. Then it opened.

stone groaned. Dust lifted. Air that hadn’t breathed in years sighed in your face. You slipped inside.

the passage curved down—spiraling steps, lit only by sconces that shouldn’t have been lit, their flames unnaturally steady. As if the air didn’t dare move down here.

you followed the steps, down, down, and then voices. Low. Chanting. Rhythmic.

your feet landed on a marble floor carved with sigils you didn’t recognize. Candles in concentric rings. Robed figures standing silent. Hooded. Unmoving.

in the center of the room, a boy knelt. Head bowed. Shaking. You couldn’t see his face, but you recognized the uniform. First-year. Another scholarship student.

they were saying something in Latin. Or maybe it wasn’t Latin. Your brain tried to translate and failed.

a silver bowl of water passed from one figure to the next. Then, a blade.

the one holding it raised their hand—and you didn’t realize you’d gasped until all their heads turned to you in unison. “Who—” one of them started. You ran.

bolted back up the stairs, lungs burning, not stopping until you slammed out into the night, your breath tearing from your throat. Until someone pulled you from the dark.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You yelped—spun—and found yourself face-to-face with Seong Je, hoodie on, hair disheveled, eyes blazing.

he shook your arm once. “Are you insane?! Going in there alone, what did you think that was?! A damn tea ceremony?!”

“I didn’t know what I’d find–”

“You don’t get to not know!” he shouted, voice raw. “They could’ve—God, they could’ve marked you or worse.” You’d never seen him like this.

he let go of your wrist like it burned him, turning away to drag a hand through his hair.

you stepped closer, quieter now. “I found the map. The symbol. The book in the library. And you weren’t going to tell me?”

he turned back to you, and for a second the anger dropped—just long enough for you to see the fear under it. Too late. You both knew it.

behind you, the clocktower bell finally rang—one slow, thunderous chime. You both looked up.

and in the silence after it faded, Seong Je said, almost too softly, “…They know your name now.”

Abandoned Greenhouse — 12:09 a.m

he didn’t say a word after the clocktower.

just grabbed your hand—tight—and pulled you through side paths and service corridors like a ghost who’d memorized every skeleton Avemhall had hidden.

you didn’t protest. Not even when you recognized the back entrance to the greenhouse.

not even when you noticed it had been reinforced—barred windows, layered locks, wards carved into the old stone lintel like quiet prayers against whatever hunted outside.

he finally stopped moving once the door was locked behind you. You were breathing hard. He wasn’t.

the room was strangely warm, lit by mismatched lamps and the faint shimmer of bio-luminescent moss creeping up the wall. Not the prettiest sanctuary, but clearly lived-in. A cot in the corner. Books stacked everywhere. One lone space heater chugging like a tired beast.

you opened your mouth to ask something—anything—but he beat you to it. “You could've died.” Just that. Quiet. Flat.

you stepped closer, defiant. “So could that kid in the circle. What were they doing to him?” Seong Je didn’t answer.

instead, he sat on the edge of the cot and dragged a hand down his face like he was trying to rub away the entire night.

“Avemhall’s full of stories,” he muttered. “Secret societies. Hidden doors. But the real ones? The ones that don’t make the yearbook? They don’t play games. You show up uninvited, you don’t get detention. You disappear.”

“You shouldn’t have seen that.”

you crossed your arms. “I did.” Another silence.

then he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something toward you. It slid across the old worktable and stopped near your hand. A charm. Worn brass. Shaped like the symbol—but different now. Inverted. Protective, maybe. “Wear it,” he said. “Always.” Your fingers closed around it. “And what is this supposed to do?”

his eyes met yours, serious in a way that left no room for sarcasm. “Buy me enough time to get to you if they come.”

something in your chest fluttered—fear, maybe. Or something softer and more dangerous.

you lowered yourself into the chair across from him, charm clutched in your palm. “…Is this the part where you tell me everything?” Seong Je’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No.” You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

he leaned forward, forearms on knees, voice dark velvet and razor-thin patience. “Because the more you know, the more you’re worth killing.” Your stomach dropped. But you nodded. The charm burned faintly warm in your hand.

outside, the wind screamed against the glass. Inside, Seong Je watched you like you were already part of the game. And in the farthest corner of the greenhouse—one of the vines shifted. Like something was listening.

Flashback to Seong Je’s Past

Seong Je had been just like you, once.

scholarship kid. Transfer. Smarter than most, angrier than all. His grades outpaced his professors. His mouth outpaced his sense. And someone—someone in the Society—had noticed.

he got the first note the night after he corrected a professor in Latin. It didn’t say much.

“We see you. You want truth? Come earn it.”

he thought it was a prank. He followed it anyway. Just like you.

but his initiation hadn’t been something he stumbled into. It was planned. Controlled. Everyone in those robes had known his name. His history. His weak spots.

they brought him to the same chamber under the clocktower. They didn’t blindfold him. They wanted him to see.

the boy kneeling that night hadn’t been a victim. It had been him.

they marked him—not with a blade, but with words. Dozens of voices whispering secrets all at once. Some of them true. Some half-true. Some designed to break him.

by the end of it, he didn’t know which way was up, but he knew one thing: They didn’t want obedience. They wanted complicity.

so when they offered him the final rite—to complete the circle, to take the oath—he smiled and walked away. No one ever did that. He’s the only one who lived to try.

his legs barely worked by the time he found the east wing. He’d followed instinct more than direction. It had been raining then, too. Of course it had.

the greenhouse had been abandoned for years—students joked it was haunted, or cursed, or full of venomous plants that never died. Which made it perfect.

he’d broken in through a rotted window. Collapsed against the floor. Cried, maybe. Not that he’d admit that now.

he carved his first ward into the wall that night. Slept beside it.

every time someone got too close—Society members, professors, anyone with that look in their eye—he added another ward. Another layer of defense. Another brick in the fortress he never let anyone see inside. Not until now. Not until you.

Back to the Present

he doesn’t tell you about it, of course. A past that still lingers in him.

he just sits across from you, watching as you twist the charm in your fingers like it might whisper to you.

you don’t see the way his gaze lingers on your face. The worry that slips through the cracks. The guilt he carries like a brand under his skin.

he doesn’t say it out loud. But he’s thinking it.

“I should’ve burned that map the second I saw it in your hands.”

“I should’ve warned you.”

“I should’ve never let you in.”

but instead, he just mutters, “Get some sleep.” and turns away. He doesn’t sleep. Not really. He just listens. To the wind. To the heartbeat he’s too aware of.

to the silence where your breathing fills the room—and so help him, if you snore, he’s going to have to start catching feelings against his will.

Abandoned Greenhouse — The next day, 7:37 a.m

you don’t remember falling asleep. Just the soft warmth of the charm in your hand. The low hum of the space heater. The way the rain outside sounded like static against the glass. But you woke up to silence. Not in the creepy way.

the rare kind. Sacred. Like the world had paused to give you one breath of peace.

you blinked at the sight of you. The light was low—one lamp still on, flickering gently like it was trying not to disturb you. Your muscles ached from the cot, your mind still fogged with the aftershock of everything you’d seen.

and then you saw him, Seong Je. Asleep. Slouched in the chair beside your cot, hoodie bunched up at the neck, head tilted slightly like it had dropped mid-watch. His arms were folded. One leg stretched out. His face soft in a way you’d never seen—none of the usual tension in his jaw, no biting sarcasm curled into his mouth.

just stillness. Just a boy who looked… young. Tired. Beautiful, in the way tragic statues are—half-sorrow, half-strength, all shadow.

a few strands of hair had fallen into his face. You fought the sudden, idiotic urge to brush them back.

he muttered something in his sleep. Frowned. Then relaxed again, like whatever demon he was dreaming about had let him go.

you stared at him for—like really stared—because this—this wasn’t the Seong Je who barked orders and rolled his eyes and called you “newbie” like it was your birth name.

this was the one who’d dragged you to safety. Who’d given you protection he didn’t even want to admit you needed. Who stayed. Even when he didn’t have to.

the charm was still warm in your hand. Carefully—slowly—you sat up, the blanket falling from your shoulders. You didn’t want to wake him. Not yet. Not when the storm had quieted and he finally looked like someone who could be trusted. Or maybe just someone who wanted to be. And maybe that was worse.

because you knew. This moment wasn’t going to last.

eventually, the real world would claw its way back in. With threats. And secrets. And the reminder that you weren’t supposed to be here at all.

but for now? You watched him sleep.

and tried not to fall for the only boy, who is broken enough to understand why you never really felt safe in the first place.

second part is here!! 🙈🥳 how are y'all feeling abt this part?? 🙌🏻😤 happi reading!! 🙂‍↕️🤌🏻

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