#and like he brought it up to me before but i think it's festering for him still idk

[vunblr]

To Mend a Soldier

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ (Masturbation). Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.

Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

Word Count: About 20k.

note: Yeah… it’s a long one. This has been sitting in my folder for a while, and I couldn’t figure out where to split it, so here we are. Please don’t hate me! 😅 If you enjoy it, I’d really appreciate it if you could share or leave a comment, it means so much.

After everything he’d been through -Hydra, Zemo, Thanos, Steve’s departure, and now therapy with Dr. Raynor- Bucky still couldn’t seem to find peace. The nightmares remained, the guilt festered, and every glance he got on the street reminded him of who he used to be, not who he was trying to become. Trusting people felt impossible, and his defenses were built like steel walls.

Sam, however, refused to let him slip further into isolation. Over the past few months, he’d watched him struggle silently, shrugging off every attempt to help him open up. But The Falcon wasn’t one to give up easily.

One evening, while they were returning from a brief mission on a plane, he finally brought it up again.

“You ever thought about alternative therapy?” he asked casually, pressing a cooling bag over his shoulder.

Bucky didn’t even look up from where he was unlacing his boots. “What, like yoga?” His voice was flat and unimpressed. “I don’t bend that way.”

“No, not yoga.” Sam’s tone was patient like he was explaining something to a stubborn child. “It’s something some veterans are trying. Heard about it from a guy at the VA.”

“Right.” Bucky snorted. “Modern mumbo jumbo. What is it? Journaling? Crystals? Hugging trees?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s called rent-a-mom.”

That got Bucky’s attention. His head snapped up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Rent-a-what?”

“Rent-a-mom,” Sam repeated, biting back a grin at Bucky’s incredulous expression. “It’s this service where someone -usually a nice, older lady- comes to your place for a couple of hours a week. She cooks, chats, and keeps you company. Some guys use it to feel normal again, you know? A little comfort or emotional support, whatever you need, with no judgment.”

Bucky stared at him for a beat before deadpanning, “So you’re telling me to hire a prostitute.”

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. “What is wrong with you man? No! That’s not what this is.”

“You sure? Because whatever I need, with no judgment sounds like you’re telling me to hire someone to-”

“Stop!” Sam cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “It’s not like that, okay? She works with vets all the time. You know, people like you who don’t trust anyone and think the world’s out to get them.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “Sounds like a scam.”

“It’s not a scam. I know a guy who uses her services. He says it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded some weeks. And it’s not just him. A lot of vets partaking on the program swear by it.”

Bucky grumbled under his breath, something about “modern nonsense” and “people these days.”

Sam sighed, leaning forward. “Look, man, I’m not saying it’s gonna fix all your problems. But what’s the harm in trying? One session. Worst-case scenario, you don’t like it, and you never call her again.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t need some stranger poking around in my life.”

“She’s not gonna poke,” Sam insisted. “She’s just there to help. And let’s be real, you could use it. You’ve been holed up in that apartment for weeks. When’s the last time you had a real conversation with someone who wasn’t me or that Raynor bitch?”

Bucky didn’t answer, just tightened his jaw.

“Exactly,” Sam said, leaning back with a smirk. “Plus, you owe me for Redwing. That little stunt you pulled last week? Yeah, I’m still mad about that.”

“Cheap shot,” Bucky muttered, glaring at the floor.

“Call it whatever you want. You’re doing this.”

After a long, heavy pause, Bucky sighed. “Fine. One session. But if this is a waste of my time, I’m blaming you.”

Sam grinned, already pulling out his phone. “You’re gonna thank me when it works. Just wait.”

----

Bucky sat on the edge of his couch, glaring at his phone like it had personally wronged him. Sam had texted him the woman’s contact information a few hours ago, with an obnoxious winky face at the end. He couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be reassuring or not but either way, it made his skin crawl.

“Just one session,” he muttered, running his hand down his face. Sam’s words echoed in his head: “It’s not what you think, man. She’s just… good at what she does. People trust her.” Trust. Bucky scoffed. That wasn’t something he handed out easily anymore, but after the Redwing incident, Sam wasn’t going to let him live it down unless he followed through. Grimacing, he tapped out a message.

Hi. This is James Barnes. Sam Wilson gave me your contact information. He said you… help people. I’m interested in setting up a session. Let me know if you’re available.

He stared at the screen for a good minute before hitting send. The second the message left his phone, he regretted it.

What the hell am I doing?

His internal spiral was interrupted by a response. That was fast.

Hi, James! Thanks for reaching out. I’d be happy to help. How does Tuesday at 5 PM sound?

He frowned. No small talk? No questions? Just… straight to the point. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but he appreciated it.

Fine, he replied, then immediately felt like a jerk. Then he added a Thanks.

----

Thursday came too quickly. Bucky paced his apartment, tidying up out of sheer nervous energy. He wasn’t sure what to expect. What was this woman going to do? Make him tea? Lecture him on proper nutrition? Sam had called her a “mom-for-hire,” but the idea still sounded absurd.

At exactly 5 PM, there was a knock at the door. Bucky froze. For a split second, he considered pretending he wasn’t home. But he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the door, noticing two things:

First, this Mom was not an older lady. Either Sam left out that critical detail, or she was some kind of evil witch who sucked the life force out of her victims to stay young.

Second, she was… nice to look at. He quickly chastised himself for the thought.

“Hi,” she said, in a warm but professional tone, like she’d done this a hundred times before. There was no hesitation in her posture, no uncertainty in her eyes. She shifted the bag on her shoulder and offered a small smile. “You must be James.”

“Bucky.” he corrected gruffly, crossing his arms and leaning slightly against the doorframe. “You’re not what I expected.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “Let me guess. You were expecting someone older? Maybe with glasses and a knitting basket?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, not confirming but not denying either.

She lets out a soft laugh. “I get that a lot.”

The silence stretched between them, and then he realized he was just standing there, blocking the doorway like an idiot. He stepped aside, muttering a “Come in.”

She entered the apartment, glancing around the living room as she set her bag down, taking in the stark, utilitarian setup. A couch, a small TV on a stand, and little else. The dining table was non-existent, replaced by a counter with two bar stools. “This is… cozy,” she said diplomatically, gesturing at the space.

Bucky’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “It works.”

She hummed in response, her gaze falling to the small stack of books on the coffee table. A couple of dog-eared crime novels sat next to a remote. There wasn’t much else to indicate anyone truly lived here. No photos, no clutter, just the bare essentials.

He folded his arms again, hovering near the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to close it or bolt. “Look, I don’t need the whole... whatever it is you do. Sam talked me into this, so don’t feel like you have to stick around for too long.”

She didn’t seem fazed by his awkward brusqueness. Instead, she just nodded and set the bag down on his counter. She began unpacking a few items, ingredients, it looked like.

“So,” she said, turning to him with an easy smile. “What’s on the agenda for today? You tell me what you need, and we’ll go from there.”

What he needed? Hell if he knew.

“Uh…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t… really know how this works.”

“That’s okay,” she reassured, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “We can start small. How about I make us something warm to eat while we talk?”

Talk. Right. He could handle that. Probably. And the food didn’t sound half bad either.

“Sure,” he said, with a softer tone now. He hesitated before adding, “Thanks.”

She smiled at him again and reached into her bag, pulling out a neatly folded apron. Without hesitation, she slipped it over her summer dress, tying the strings behind her back. The casual way she moved threw him off; she already seemed at ease in his space, which was more than he could say for himself.

“Is there anything you don’t like to eat?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.

Bucky blinked at her like she’d just asked him if he believed in unicorns. “Anything I don’t like?” His eyebrows lifted, clearly baffled by the concept.

“Yes,” she replied with a small laugh, looking back at him as if to say she was serious.

He gave a short huff, leaning against the counter, his lips twitching with faint amusement. “Doll, I grew up in the Depression. You ate what you got and licked the plate clean.”

She froze mid-step, her hands moving to her hips as she turned to face him fully. “Okay, first of all, you don’t ‘doll’ your mother,” she said, her tone firm but with a playful edge. “So let’s make it clear: that won’t be a thing between us.”

His head tilted, his eyes narrowing slightly in mild surprise at her sudden, slightly commanding tone.

“And second,” she continued, crossing her arms as if daring him to argue, “we’re not in the Depression anymore. So, humor me and tell me if there’s anything you don’t like.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the smallest hint of a smirk appearing as he quirked an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not even close.

“Guess I’ll have to think about it,” he muttered with the faintest trace of amusement.

She rolled her eyes, tying the apron snugly around her waist. “Well, then tell me what you do like, so I can see if I can pull it off with what we’ve got.”

He hesitated, darting away his gaze as if the question required more thought than it should. Finally, he mumbled, “Potatoes?”

Her lips twitched with amusement. “Lucky for you, I brought some with me.” She nodded toward another bag she’d left near the door.

Bucky watched as she moved around his kitchen, opening cabinets and peeking into drawers. It was strange seeing someone else handle his things like they belonged there.

She moved to his fridge next, tugging it open, and froze. For a long moment, she just stared, her head tilting slightly. “Huh.”

Bucky frowned, leaning to the side to see what had caught her attention. “What?”

She stepped back, gesturing inside with a wooden spoon she’d plucked from the counter. “The two plums are fine, but that sad, dried-out lemon is holding on by a thread, and…” Her nose wrinkled as she peered at a container shoved in the back. “I don’t even want to guess what’s in that tupperware.”

He shifted as his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s probably still good.”

“Bucky.” She turned to him, one brow arched and her tone matter-of-fact. “We’re going to have to make a shopping list if these visits are going to continue. Unless you’re planning to survive off potatoes and mystery leftovers?”

His lips twitched again, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged.

“I’ll take that as agreement,” she said, grabbing the potatoes she’d brought with her and setting them on the counter. “For now, I’ll work some magic with these and whatever’s actually edible in here.”

He smirked faintly, leaning against the counter as he watched her sort through his kitchen again with an air of efficiency like she’d done this a thousand times before.

At some point, she straightened up and caught his gaze. “You didn’t say anything yet,” she said, leaning a little on the counter. “but I assume you have questions about what I do?”

He shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as if buying time. “Sam told me something… about cooking and talking,” he muttered hesitantly. Then he glanced away, subtly implying that he didn’t expect much beyond that.

She didn’t rush him, waiting patiently for him to finish. When he fell silent, she let out a soft chuckle and grabbed a cutting board from the counter. “I have a proper job, you know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “At a bookstore. This…” she continued, gesturing vaguely toward the room, “is just something I’ve been doing for a couple of years now. It started when a lady from the program came into the shop looking for books to read to her son before nap time.” She paused, her lips curving in a small, amused smile. “The thing is, this lady was, well… let’s just say she was quite old to have a little kid. She must have seen the look on my face because she told me about this initiative she was part of.”

Bucky tilted his head, curiosity tugging at his otherwise guarded expression. “And you signed up?”

“Eventually,” she admitted, peeling one of the potatoes with practiced ease. “I kept running into her, and she’d stop by the store to chat about how the reading sessions were going, how much her ‘kid’ enjoyed them.” She made air quotes with her fingers, smirking. “Turned out, her kid was a Vietnam vet. He was struggling with some things, and she was helping him feel more grounded.”

Bucky arched his brows.

“Exactly,” she said, laughing softly. “I thought it was strange at first, too, but the more I learned, the more I realized how much of a difference it can make for some people.” She paused, setting the peeler down and turning to fully face him, with a softer expression now. “There’s something about the kind of comfort a mother gives, something other roles just… don’t quite reach.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, furrowing his brow.

“You’ve probably seen it,” she continued, “Soldiers in their last moments, calling for their moms. Or when they’re delirious with fever or pain, their minds go back to a time when they felt safe, protected, and cared for. It’s not about the specific person, it’s the feeling. That deep-rooted need to know someone’s there for you, no matter what.”

His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before flicking back to her. She didn’t miss the shift in his expression, a flicker of recognition, a shadow of memory.

“I’m not saying I’m trying to be anyone’s mother,” she added quickly, offering him a gentle smile to lighten the mood. “But sometimes people just need a little bit of that energy in their life, you know? A chance to feel… safe.”

Bucky’s mouth pressed into a thin line, stiffening briefly before he exhaled, his relaxing his shoulders just a fraction. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of her words lingered in the air between them.

He had to admit it sounded... nice. Having someone to turn to when things got… when you couldn’t breathe. When the world felt too heavy and every corner of your mind was filled with noise you couldn’t escape. But just as that thought settled in, his defenses kicked in, sharp and automatic.

He scoffed, the sound coming out a little too rough, a little too biting. “And then what? You cuddle on the couch, singing a lullaby?”

Her hands stilled, and she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. There was no annoyance in her expression, no judgment. Just a calmness that made him feel even more off-balance.

“If that’s what you need,” she said simply, “then yes.”

For a moment, he was stunned into silence, caught off guard. There was no sarcasm, no condescension, just a sincerity that felt almost disarming.

His eyes darted away as he shifted his weight, the corners of his mouth twitched in an effort to form a response. But for once, words failed him, leaving only the quiet hum of the kitchen and the soft clatter of her returning to the potatoes.

“There are some info sheets and forms in the bag,” she said, nodding toward her tote. “If you want to read and complete them while I do this.” She gestured as she resumed working on the potatoes.

Bucky hesitated, flicking his gaze between her and the bag. “What’s the payment?” he asked gruffly, trying to keep his voice casual. “In case… in case I might be interested.”

She paused for a beat, then glanced over her shoulder with a small smile. “I don’t charge veterans,” she said simply.

He blinked, clearly taken aback. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Finally, he managed, “Sam didn’t… didn’t tell me that.”

“Well,” she said, setting the knife down for a moment and turning fully to face him, “to be fair, Sam told me a little about you.”

At the slight stiffness that crept into his expression, she quickly added, “Just… basic things.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m already working with someone who’s… retired now, and I wasn’t sure about having two ‘sons’ in the same department, so to speak.”

She hesitated, studying his face for a moment before continuing. “But when he told me who you were… I didn’t doubt it for a second. You’re a hero, you know?”

He seemed surprised by the statement, his brows knitting together as if trying to make sense of her words. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. Finally, he grumbled, “Don’t know about that, but thanks.”

She smiled softly, “Don’t thank me, sweetheart. I’m just stating the obvious.” With that, she turned back to the cooking, leaving Bucky standing there, uncomfortably aware of the unexpected swell of gratitude threatening to creep past his defenses.

He then opened the tote bag and pulled out a neatly organized folder. Inside, there were several documents, each clipped together in its own section. He skimmed over the first page, a set of “basic rules” clearly outlined at the top.

His brow furrowed slightly as he read. Boundaries: He would only call her “Mama” or some other variant, never her name, an instruction that immediately made his stomach twist with both unease and an odd sense of reassurance. The point was clear: this wasn’t a friendship or anything else ambiguous. It was meant to define their dynamic firmly.

Further down, he saw a list of do’s and don’ts regarding acceptable forms of touching. The wording was straightforward but gentle, ensuring the rules were understood without feeling restrictive. A clause about privacy caught his attention: Everything discussed during their sessions would remain strictly confidential. Nothing said between them would be disclosed, ever.

He sighed and leaned against the counter, flipping to the next section. The forms included a series of questions: What would you expect from these sessions? What would you prefer not to happen? What are your favorite comforts? Least favorite?

The questions made him uncomfortable. What did he expect? Hell if he knew. What would he even put down for “favorite comforts”? He tapped the pen against the counter, unsure where to start.

When he finally glanced back at her, she was chopping the potatoes with practiced ease. “And what happens after I fill this out?” he asked, trying to sound neutral.

“Once the forms are completed and signed,” she said without turning around, “I’ll be in charge of the dynamic.” She paused, glancing at him over her shoulder with a small smile. “After all, Mama knows best.”

Her tone was light, teasing, but the words landed heavier than she might have realized. Bucky stared at the form again, feeling the faintest flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe trust. Maybe just exhaustion. Either way, the weight of his pen didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

“You don’t have to sign it right now,” she said, washing her hands and wiping them on a towel. Turning back to him, she added, "Maybe wait and see how this goes first?" then, she walked toward the living room and perched on the edge of the couch patting the spot next to her. “Sit. You can tell me about your week while the potatoes cook… if you want.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the couch like it might be a trap. Finally, he crossed the room, lowering himself onto the seat beside her. The couch dipped under his weight, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed a hand over his face. The silence hung between them, save for the faint sound of traffic through the window. After a moment, he started to bounce his knee.

She noticed the motion and glanced at him, her gaze drifting lower. That’s when it hit her, the long-sleeved henley and the glove on his hand. The room wasn’t exactly cold. In fact, with the oven going and the potatoes roasting, it was comfortably warm.

Her brows knitted together. “Bucky,” she started carefully, with a light tone, “you know by now that I knew who you were before I knocked on your door, right?”

He turned his head slightly, not quite meeting her eyes but acknowledging her words with a small grunt.

“So… don’t you want to change into something less... suffocating?” She gestured loosely at his shirt. “I mean, it’s hot in here.”

His knee stopped bouncing. He straightened slightly but didn’t respond right away. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw worked like he was weighing his next move.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, his voice gruff. He didn’t sound angry, just… uncertain.

“It’s not fine,” she countered gently. “You’ll overheat sitting here like that. Besides, I thought we were working on this whole... trust thing since you know… the mom thing?”

Her words hung in the air, and for a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a deep breath, Bucky pushed himself to his feet, heading toward the hallway. He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t catch, but the slight hunch of his shoulders told her he was uncomfortable. Still, he disappeared into the bedroom, and she heard the sound of a drawer opening.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was wearing a soft, dark gray T-shirt. He paused in the doorway, his eyes flicking to her briefly before he sat back down, this time leaning into the couch instead of perching on the edge.

“Better?” he asked, his tone dry but not harsh.

“Much better,” she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

Bucky didn’t say anything, but his shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction. The oven timer went off in the kitchen, breaking the moment, and she stood, giving him a reassuring pat on the knee as she passed by.

As she checked the food with her back turned to him, she spoke casually, “Sam said you’ve been having a rough time lately.”

Bucky frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Sam talks too much.”

Her lips quirked in a small smile, though she didn’t turn around. “He’s worried about you.”

“He doesn’t need to be,” Bucky muttered.

“Maybe not. But he is. And from what I can tell, he’s the kind of person who acts on that worry.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m not here to pry.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed slightly, and his jaw tightened. “Then why are you here?” The question came out sharper than he intended, his voice low and clipped, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned off the stove, wiped her hands on a towel, and finally faced him.

“Why am I here?” she echoed with a calm tone. “One, because you texted. And two…” She crossed the room slowly, stopping a few feet from the couch. Her gaze softened, her head tilting slightly. “Sometimes, it helps to have someone around. Someone who’s not a therapist or a friend who knows too much. Just… someone.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the gears turning in his head. She approached the couch and sat down beside him, leaving just enough space to avoid crowding him but close enough to offer her quiet support.

Bucky shifted slightly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together tightly. The silence between them stretched, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt like an invitation for him to speak if he wanted to, no pressure, no expectations.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said finally, almost in a grumble.

“I know.” Her reply was soft, almost instinctive. “It’s okay.”

His shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and for the first time that evening, he glanced at her directly. There was a hint of something vulnerable in his expression. Hesitation, perhaps.

“It’s just…” he started, his voice trailing off as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a lot lately. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Just where you feel like it, I’ll be here to listen. And if you don’t want to talk, that is fine too, one doesn’t tell everything to their mom, hm?” she assured gently.

The timer beeped from the kitchen again, cutting through the moment. She reached over, giving his forearm a brief, reassuring squeeze before standing. “Let me get that before the potatoes burn.” As she moved toward the kitchen, she glanced back at him with a small smile. “Think about it, Bucky. No rush.”

He watched her retreat, his chest feeling a little lighter, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

When she called from the kitchen, cheerfully announcing that dinner was almost ready, he found himself answering without thinking. “Smells good.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He pushed himself off the couch with a grunt and crossed the short distance to the kitchen in a few long strides. Without a word, he started opening cabinets and drawers, pulling out a couple of plates and utensils to set up at the counter.

“Oh, such a good boy!” she teased warmly.

He paused, shooting her a look over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and embarrassment. “It’s just the right thing to do,” he muttered gruffly, his ears tinged faintly pink.

She bit back a smile as she pulled the tray of potatoes from the oven, the aroma filling the small kitchen. As she set the tray down, she reached for the fridge and produced a small bowl of creamy dip, placing it on the counter beside the potatoes.

Bucky quirked a brow with evident curiosity.

“What?” she asked playfully. “These aren’t your Depression potatoes. They’ve got a little twist.”

He snorted softly, shaking his head. “A twist, huh?”

“Just a little sour cream, and the spices are courtesy of your kitchen,” she said, ladling the potatoes onto a serving dish with practiced ease. “Trust me, they’ll still taste like home. Just… a little fancier.”

Bucky glanced at the bowl again, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “Fancy potatoes,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Hey,” she countered, setting the dish in the middle of the counter with a flourish. “Even tough guys like you deserve something nice now and then.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as he pulled out a stool at the counter and sat, there was a flicker of something lighter in his eyes. “Guess we’ll see if they live up to the hype.”

She handed him a fork, with a widening smile. “Challenge accepted.”

For the first time that evening, the atmosphere in the room felt less heavy. The clinking of utensils and the scent of roasted potatoes mingled with the faintest hum of unspoken understanding.

“Not bad,” Bucky admitted after his first bite, begrudging but carrying a hint of approval.

“Not bad?” she echoed, raising a brow. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and for a fleeting moment, it almost looked like he might smile.

They made small talk while they ate, keeping the conversation light. She asked about the crime novels on his side table, and he asked -grudgingly- what kind of twist she had planned for the next meal, implying she might want to poison him. Despite himself, Bucky found the interaction strangely… normal. He wasn’t used to normal, but he didn’t hate it.

When they finished, he stood and began gathering the dishes. She protested at first, but he waved her off. “It’s what my Ma would have expected anyway,” he said matter-of-factly.

He’d just started scrubbing the first plate when her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen, then at the clock, letting out a soft sigh. “Well, Buck, it seems our two hours are up.”

Bucky froze and his hand gripped the plate under the warm water. Then he nodded once. “I see…”

She leaned against the counter next to him, watching him carefully. “So, um… what do you want to do? Will you read the forms and consider starting this little journey together, or would you rather not see my face again?” She smiled softly. “Which I’d totally understand if that’s the case.”

He didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on rinsing the plate and setting it on the drying rack. For a moment, the only sound was the rush of water and the faint hum of the fridge. It was as if he was battling with himself, his tension was visible in the way his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched. Finally, he let out a long breath and turned to face her. His hand raked through his hair.

“I... I want this, I think,” he stated. Then, almost immediately, he added, “I can step out whenever I want, right?”

Her smile softened as she reached for his vibranium hand, her fingers resting lightly against the cool metal. “Yes, Bucky. You can step out whenever you want. No pressure, no expectations. This is for you, on your terms.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes flicking down to where her hand rested on his before shifting back to meet her gaze.

“Just take your time filling out the questionnaire, think the answers carefully” she continued, warmly but matter-of-fact. “and, whenever you’re ready, snap a picture and send it to me. No rush.”

“Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Also…” She tilted her head. “How many days a week do you want me here?”

Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. He shifted slightly, glancing away as if considering his answer. “Uh… two, I guess?”

“Two it is,” she said with a small nod, releasing his hand and grabbing her bag from the counter. “You’re calling the shots, Buck. You just let me know if that changes.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as she slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way toward the door, he called out in a low tone. “Thanks.”

She paused, glancing back at him with a smile. “Anytime.”

As the door closed behind her, Bucky stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty space she’d left behind.

Almost three minutes after she left, his phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a notification. He didn’t have to check to know who it was. Sure enough, the preview of the text confirmed it: Sam. The string of emojis accompanying the message made Bucky’s scowl deepen as he stared at the screen.

���💪👍👵🍲

“What the hell does that even mean?” he muttered to himself, swiping the phone off the counter and locking it without reading the full message. The last thing he needed was Sam’s smug commentaries right now.

He set the phone down a little harder than necessary and decided to distract himself the only way he knew how: by scrubbing himself clean. Grabbing a towel, he headed to the bathroom, peeling off his T-shirt on the way. The promise of a hot shower sounded like the closest thing to clarity he might find tonight.

But as the water beat down on his skin, his thoughts drifted back to the folder she’d left behind. The questionnaire seemed simple on the surface, but for a man like him, answering those kinds of questions wasn’t easy.

What comforts you?

The question alone made him bristle. Comfort wasn’t something he’d thought about in decades. Comfort was… a luxury, a distraction, a weakness. At least, that’s what they always told him and he still couldn’t shake that feeling.

The thought of filling out that damn paper felt heavier than any mission he’d been assigned. He’d rather face a bullet in his leg than sit down and figure out what he wanted.

He leaned his head against the shower tiles, the warmth of the water doing little to ease the tension coiling in his chest. Maybe he’d give himself a day. Or two. Hell, maybe a week. She’d said no rush, after all.

And if he didn’t send it? Well, it wasn’t like she’d show up uninvited. He could still back out.

He turned off the water with a sharp twist, the sudden silence leaving him alone with his thoughts. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out, glancing toward the closed door of his bedroom where the folder waited.

----

It had taken Bucky two weeks to fill out the forms. Two long, painstaking weeks of sitting at his couch, pen in hand, staring at questions that felt more like traps than prompts. He’d forced himself to be thorough, thinking carefully about each subject.

What makes you feel safe? What comforts you? What do you need from me?

How do you want to be called as an endearment?

He’d tried to approach it with an open mind, though the process made him cringe more than once. Admitting what he needed -or even what he was willing to permit- felt like baring himself in a way that left him raw.

But he finished. He signed the papers, scanned them with his phone, and sent the file off with an unceremonious text:

Here. Let me know if it’s fine.

Her reply had been immediate and cheerful: Got it! Looks perfect. See you Tuesday.

----

When Tuesday came, she arrived at his building, juggling a tote bag filled with what she liked to call her “comfort supplies.” A neighbor leaving the building had held the door open for her, a kind but overly trusting gesture.

Not a very safe thing to do, she thought as she stepped inside. But I’m not going to complain.

She reached his door, knuckles rapping lightly against it. “Bucky? It’s me.”

No answer.

She frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Bucky, you there?”

Still nothing.

She pulled out her phone and sent him a quick message: Hey, I’m here! A moment later, her phone buzzed with the dreaded notification: Message failed to deliver.

Her frown deepened. She tried calling, but the call went straight to voicemail. A sinking feeling settled in her chest as she pressed her ear to the door, listening intently.

Nothing. No footsteps. No muffled noises. Just silence.

She sighed, leaning back against the wall. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he’d changed his mind and didn’t know how to tell her.

She checked her watch. Twenty minutes had passed, and she still hadn’t heard a peep from him. With a reluctant shake of her head, she turned and walked toward the elevator, her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet hallway.

-----

A couple of hours later, Bucky dragged his feet through the corridor. His nose throbbed painfully, a reminder of the last few days he’d spent dealing -again- with enhanced assholes who seemed to have gotten their hands on some variant of the serum.

The faint metallic scent of dried blood clung to him, mingling with the sweat and grime of too many hours spent in the open. His brows furrowed, eyes heavy-lidded as he scanned the hallway out of habit. That’s when he spotted it, a small bag made of cloth sitting neatly at his doorstep.

He paused, taking a moment to connect the dots through the haze of exhaustion.

Fuck.

He let out a slow, frustrated exhale, running a hand over his face and wincing as the dried cut on his cheek tugged painfully. Of course, this would happen. Of course, he’d mess this up right out of the gate.

Bending down, he picked up the bag, holding it gingerly in his hands like it might scold him. The fabric was soft and patterned with small flowers, something that felt almost absurdly out of place against his bloodstained hands and the concrete walls of the hallway.

He peeked inside, and his chest tightened. A handful of sugar babies’ packages into view, the bright yellow being a jarring contrast to the dull exhaustion weighing him down.

What were your favorite sweets as a child?

The questionnaire echoed in his head, and his stomach twisted. He hadn’t even realized he’d written those down until now.

Straightening up, he glanced down the hallway toward the elevator, tightening his grip on the bag. What kind of impression was this supposed to leave? Forgetting the session entirely, not answering the door, not even leaving a message…

He groaned, leaning back against his door and glaring down at the bag like it held all the answers to his failures.

After a long moment, he nested the bag into the crook of his arm, fumbled with his keys, and let himself into the apartment.

The silence inside was deafening. He placed the bag of candies on the counter and reached for his phone, dead as expected. He plugged it into the charger with a sigh, running a hand through his hair before peeling off his ruined clothes. The bloodstained shirt landed in a heap on the floor as he pulled his knives and gun from their holsters and set them down on the counter next to the flower-patterned bag.

The juxtaposition was almost laughable. The hard edges of his weapons, worn and familiar, sat starkly against the soft, cheerful fabric of the bag.

It didn’t feel right, to see them in the same space.

But he was too tired to care for the moment.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky leaned against the counter, lingering his gaze on the bag of candies. He reached inside and pulled out one of the packages, turning it over in his fingers like it was something fragile. For a moment, he just stood there, as the weight of the past days pressed down on him.

Finally, he tore the wrapper open, popped one caramel into his mouth, and let the sugary sweetness dissolve on his tongue. It wasn’t much. But somehow, it tasted like a small piece of something he’d forgotten he needed.

-----

It was late afternoon when her phone buzzed with a message. She picked it up from the table, brushing across the screen to read it.

Just one word: Sorry.

She stared at the message for a moment, tightening her grip on the device. Well, at least it didn’t seem like he’d changed his mind entirely. That was something.

Are you okay?

The reply didn’t come right away. The minutes stretched, and she found herself glancing at the screen every few moments. Finally, the phone buzzed again, and she read his response:

I don’t know.

Her chest ached at the honesty of those three words. Biting her lip, she typed her reply carefully.

Do you want me to come over?

The dots indicating he was typing blinked, disappeared, and then reappeared. His answer came back after what felt like an eternity.

You don’t have to.

She frowned, her thumbs flew across the keyboard.

That is not what I asked, Bucky.

Another pause. This one was longer. The late afternoon sun painted her walls in streaks of orange and gold, but she barely noticed, since her attention was fixed on the phone in her hands.

Finally, he replied.

Yes.

Her shoulders relaxed as she exhaled. Without hesitation, she grabbed her bag, slid her phone into her pocket, and headed for the door.

-----

Her gaze widened when she saw Bucky’s face as he opened the door. A nasty cut marred the already purpled skin of his cheek, his nose looked bruised, his lower lip was split, and scrapes littered his flesh arm. His expression and the slump of his shoulders only added to the picture of someone who’d been through a lot.

He must have noticed her stare because the first thing out of his mouth was, “You should see the other guys.”

She clicked her tongue in exasperation, her hand motioning firmly toward him. “Move. Let me in.”

Bucky stepped aside, his expression hovered somewhere between guilt and defiance. She entered without waiting for another invitation, her sharp eyes already scanning the room. “Did you clean the wounds?”

He shrugged nonchalantly as if it weren’t worth mentioning. “I took a shower…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, deliberate sigh. “That’s not… no. That doesn’t count. Where is your first aid kit?”

He looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Doll, all this is going away in three days, tops. Courtesy of the serum.”

Her gaze snapped to his, sharp enough to freeze hell over. “Where. Is. It. And how did you just call me?”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then shut, and he swallowed audibly. “M-ma,” he mumbled, his eyes darting to the floor like a chastised child.

“That’s what I thought.” She folded her arms, with a tone that brooked no argument. “I assume you have that thing in the bathroom.”

“I told you, it’s not neces-”

That look again. He stopped mid-sentence, his shoulders slumping as he relented. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said briskly, already heading toward the bathroom without waiting for further direction. “Stay put. I’ll handle this.”

Bucky stared after her, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. With a quiet groan, he leaned against the counter, muttering under his breath, “You should really see the other guys…”

But even as he said it, he found himself oddly relieved that she was there.

“Sit on the chair so I can see you better”, her voice came calm but firm from his side as she gestured to the single chair against the wall.

Bucky hesitated for half a second before complying, dragging the chair forward slightly and lowering himself onto it.

She knelt slightly in front of him, brushing her fingers lightly over the bruised and battered skin of his face. “This surely must hurt,” she said softly. “You don’t have to act all rough with me.”

He didn’t answer, clenching his jaw ever so slightly. Not to brush off the pain, not to admit that it hurt. He just stayed silent, with his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder.

With gentle care, she dabbed at his cheek with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. The sharp, chemical smell hit the air immediately, and Bucky flinched, pressing his lips into a thin line.

She paused, knitting her brows in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

Her gaze stayed patient but unyielding. “Bucky.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes flicking away from hers before returning. “I don’t like the smell,” he admitted, almost in a whisper.

She stilled, hovering her hand in midair. “Why?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze grew distant, and his expression went clouded as if he were somewhere else entirely. When he finally spoke, his voice was even quieter, tinged with something raw and broken.

“Spent a lot of years smelling that shit,” he said, with words that carried too much weight. “Couldn’t drink a glass of water without a command. Couldn’t… do anything. And that smell… it was always there. Always.”

Her heart ached at the admission, but she didn’t let it show on her face. Instead, she lowered the cotton ball, letting him see her hands move it out of the way. “Okay,” she said softly. “We’ll rinse the cuts with water instead. No more of this stuff.”

He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at her. “You don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t,” she interrupted gently. “But I’m here to help you, honey, not to make things harder.”

He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.

By the time she finished tending to his wounds, Bucky was leaning heavily against the chair, with drooping eyelids. The tension in his frame had loosened ever so slightly, his exhaustion was clear in the way he blinked sluggishly at the floor.

She stood and began gathering the supplies, placing them neatly back into his first aid kit. “I’m going to make you something to eat,” she said firmly, already planning a quick meal to get something nutritious in him.

“Not now,” he murmured, barely lifting his head.

She turned toward him with a frown. “Bucky, you’ve probably gone days without eating anything that isn’t complete garbage. You need-”

“I just…” His words came out with difficulty, like they were being dragged out of him. He rubbed his flesh hand over his face “I just want you close.” his voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

Her expression softened instantly. Nodding, she stepped closer, reaching for his vibranium hand. She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Come on. Let’s sit on the couch.”

She guided him the short distance toward the living room and he followed with slow, dragging steps. Once they reached the couch, she looked at him with patience. “What do you need?”

Bucky hesitated and his throat worked as if he were trying to swallow his pride. His eyes flicked to her, then away again, his mouth opening and closing like he was fighting himself. Finally, he let out a soft, almost defeated sigh.

“I… I want to lean my head on your lap, Mama,” he admitted almost shakily.

She smiled softly, not saying anything that might make him feel more self-conscious. She just nodded and sat at one end of the couch, patting her thighs gently to indicate he should lie down.

Bucky followed, his movements stiff and hesitant as he eased himself onto the couch. He stretched out his long torso, his head tentatively resting on her lap. He stayed tense for a moment, as if bracing for something, though even he wasn’t sure what.

She started running her fingers through his short hair, brushing the strands back in slow, rhythmic motions. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay.”

The tension in his shoulders began to melt, and his breathing slowed as her fingers worked through his hair with careful, deliberate strokes. He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh as his body finally surrendered to a comfort he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

-----

After two months of visits, she was surprised one day to find an old oak dining table in Bucky’s apartment. It was small but sturdy, with matching chairs tucked neatly under it. The single chair he’d once had was nowhere in sight.

She stepped closer, running her hand along the smooth wood. “This is lovely,” she said, her tone genuinely appreciative.

Bucky stood nearby, with his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. He glanced at her, then at the table, mumbling, “It was time for me to have one.”

She turned to him with a smile. “Well, it makes the place look more like a home now. You know,” she added thoughtfully, “I have a tablecloth about this size at home that I don’t use. I could bring it next time, if you’d like.”

Bucky hesitated, furrowing his brows slightly as if considering her offer. “About that…” he started, a little unsure.

She waited patiently, giving him time to express what he wanted to say.

“I want to start…” He paused, searching for the right words. “making this place more... like someone is living here.”

“Like a home?” she prompted gently.

“Y-yeah.” He looked down, scratching at the back of his neck. “Besides that hut in Wakanda… it’s been a lifetime since I had a place to… a… a home.”

Her heart ached at his admission, but she didn’t push. Instead, she stepped closer and gently rested her hand on his arm. “That sounds very hard, sweetheart.”

Bucky didn’t deny or confirm her statement, just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I was wondering…” he began, his voice steadier now. “If next time, we could schedule an earlier time to see each other. And maybe…” He hesitated, glancing at her as if bracing for her reaction. “Maybe you could come with me to help me buy some things?”

Her smile widened, her hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That sounds great, honey.” Then, she added warmly but firmly, “Just remember, this is your home. You have to choose what you think suits you.”

Her words were a reminder of the boundaries they’d set, of the balance they were working toward. Still, they carried enough warmth to let him know she’d be there for him.

After discussing the table and his plans to make the apartment feel more like a home, she glanced around the space and tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know,” she said lightly, “a good table deserves a little cleanup around it. How about we tidy up a bit?”

Bucky frowned, sweeping his gaze over the room. “It’s not that bad.”

She gave him a pointed look, walking toward a pile of mail and random odds and ends stacked on the counter. “It’s not terrible, but a little organizing wouldn’t hurt. Come on, help me out.”

He followed her reluctantly, muttering something under his breath about bossy moms.

She smirked but didn’t rise to the bait, handing him a small stack of papers. “Sort these, bills, junk, whatever doesn’t need to be here,” she instructed, already reaching for a rag to wipe down the counter.

As they worked, the task settled into an easy rhythm. She asked him about the books he’d been reading, and he surprised her by asking if she had any recommendations. It was small talk, but it felt comfortable and natural like it had been almost since the beginning.

After the living room and kitchen looked noticeably tidier, she wiped her hands on her jeans and glanced toward the hallway leading to his bedroom. Motioning toward the door, she said, “Alright, let’s check out the bedroom next.”

Bucky froze, tightening his shoulders visibly. “Bedroom’s fine,” he said quickly, the edge of reluctance in his voice was unmistakable.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m already on a roll, Buck. Might as well see the whole place.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he reluctantly trailed behind her. “It’s not much to look at,” he muttered, more resigned than defiant.

“Then it won’t take long,” she quipped, throwing him a reassuring smile before disappearing through the doorway. Her brows furrowed at the sight before her. The bed was buried under a haphazard pile of boxes, and scattered clothes dotted the floor. The mattress didn’t even have sheets on it, and the faint layer of dust on the headboard told her it hadn’t been used in a while.

She turned to him, crossing her arms. “What’s going on here? Where do these boxes go?”

Bucky shifted awkwardly in the doorway, avoiding her gaze. “They’re fine where they are.”

“Bucky…” Her voice softened, concern creeping into her tone. “Where are you sleeping?”

He clenched his jaw, and after a long pause, he mumbled, “On the floor. In the living room.”

Her eyes widened. “The floor?

He nodded, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

She stepped closer, keeping her voice calm but firm. “Why?”

His lips pressed into a thin line before he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The bed’s too… soft.” He paused, struggling with the words. “It doesn’t feel safe,” he continued, with a low voice. “When I’m on the floor, I can feel the room. Hear things better. I… know what’s going on and can act in case something happens.” His gaze dropped to the pile of boxes on the bed. “And the bed… it’s just not right. Too soft, too confining. It feels like a trap.”

She nodded slowly, her expression a mix of understanding and quiet sadness. “That makes sense,” she said gently. “But, honey, that’s no way to live. I get why you feel that way, but you deserve to rest somewhere that doesn’t hurt your back.”

He gave her a faint shrug, the corner of his mouth pulling downward. “I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” she replied, stepping closer and resting a hand lightly on his arm. “How about we start small? Let’s clear off the bed today. No pressure to use it yet, but maybe we can make it feel a little less… wrong. Less like a trap.”

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flicking back toward the cluttered bed. She could see the hesitation in his face, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was fighting an internal battle.

Finally, he nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “Alright.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile. “Good. So, where do these boxes go?”

“Closet,” he muttered, stepping forward to help her.

Together, they cleared the bed, tucking the boxes away and folding the stray clothes. She didn’t push or prod, keeping the conversation light as they worked. She mentioned ideas for making the bed more comfortable, maybe firmer pillows or a thinner mattress topper to make it feel less suffocating.

By the time they were done, the room already looked less like a storage space and more like a place where someone could rest.

“There,” she said, dusting her hands off and turning to him. “A step in the right direction.”

Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, staring at it like it was something foreign. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess so.”

“You don’t have to use it right away,” she gently. “But when you’re ready, it’ll be here for you.”

He nodded again, loosening his shoulders slightly.

As they returned to the main area, she expected Bucky to suggest starting dinner, but instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Can we… sit for a bit? On the couch?”

“Of course,” she said with an easy smile, leading the way. She settled into her usual spot at one end, patting her thighs lightly.

Bucky sat and shifted, lying down until his head rested on her lap. When her fingers began threading gently through his hair, he let out a quiet exhale. They stayed like that for a while, the stillness of the apartment punctuated only by the soft rhythm of her fingers against his scalp and the occasional hum of traffic outside.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked softly, not wanting to break the moment but leaving the door open for him.

Bucky closed his eyes, his voice low and drowsy. “Not yet. Just this. This is… enough.”

After a while of lying on the couch, Bucky's body had grown heavier against her lap. His breathing became slower, and his voice was groggy when he finally spoke. “Hey… can we go shopping on Saturday instead of Friday?”

Her fingers stilled briefly in his hair before resuming their soothing rhythm. “Saturday?”

“Yeah…” He trailed off, blinking sluggishly up at the ceiling. “I’ve got some stuff to deal with on Friday. Nothing big. Just easier if it’s Saturday.”

She hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at him. “I can’t,” she said gently.

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to meet her gaze.

“I have a date.”

The weight in the room shifted immediately and his body stiffened under her touch. “Like… with your other ‘son’?” he asked, the words tumbling out awkwardly before he could stop himself.

She blinked, then laughed softly. “No, Bucky. Like with a man. A real date.”

Her fingers resumed their lazy rhythm through his hair, but she could feel the way his shoulders tensed further, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t respond right away, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Sensing his unease, she chuckled. “Don’t worry. You won’t meet him, and you definitely won’t have to call him Dad.”

Bucky let out a faint huff, something caught between a snort and a sigh, but he didn’t relax. “Didn’t say I was worried,” he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

She smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair again with deliberate care. He closed his eyes again, letting her touch ground him as the weight of the day slowly ebbed away.

After a moment of silence, Bucky shifted slightly against her lap. His lips pressed together like he was trying to hold something back, but finally, the question slipped out. “Where… where did you meet this guy?”

Her fingers paused briefly in his hair before resuming their soothing rhythm. “At the bookstore,” she said lightly. “He comes in pretty often. We’ve had a few nice conversations over the past couple of months.”

Bucky frowned, his brows knitting together as he stared at the ceiling. “You’ve gone out with him before?”

She shook her head, smiling softly. “No, this will be the first time.”

He mulled that over, his gaze flickering with something unreadable before he glanced up at her. “So… what do you like about him?”

The question came out gruff, almost begrudging, but there was a flicker of genuine curiosity -or maybe hesitation- in his voice.

Her lips twitched with amusement as she considered the question. “Well,” she began, “he’s polite, for once. Always says hello and takes the time to ask how my day is going.”

Bucky huffed lightly, a soft sound of dismissal.

“And he’s thoughtful,” she continued. “One time, he brought me coffee because he noticed I was swamped with a shipment of books. Didn’t even stay to chat, just handed it to me and said he thought I might need it.”

“Sounds like a Boy Scout,” Bucky muttered, his tone laced with faint skepticism.

She chuckled softly, brushing her fingers lightly over his temple. “Maybe. But I like that he pays attention. He’s kind without expecting anything in return.”

Bucky stayed silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on some invisible point far away. Finally, he murmured, “So, you’re serious about him?”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “It’s just one date, Buck,” she said gently. “I’m not planning a wedding.” Her voice carried a reassuring warmth, softening the weight of his question. “I don’t even know if there’s anything there yet.”

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, his tone softer now, though the small frown on his face lingered. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“I guess I will,” she replied. After a pause, she added with a playful glint in her eyes, “But no matter what happens, it won’t change anything between us. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

Bucky’s lips twitched faintly, the ghost of a smile breaking through his lingering tension. “Yeah… I remember.”

Her fingers slid through his hair again with deliberate care, and the corners of his mouth relaxed, even if his eyes remained shadowed. Whatever the storm in his mind, her presence was enough to keep it at bay for now.

“Speaking of dates,” she said, lightly but curious, “you didn’t tell me how your date went with the woman from the grocery store. The one you told me about the last time we saw each other.”

Bucky shifted against her lap, suddenly looking a lot less relaxed. “I… kind of left in the middle of it,” he admitted, uncomfortable.

“Oh, you didn’t,” her eyebrows lifted in mock reproach as she tugged softly at his hair, as a playful reprimand.

He huffed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “She was… noisy,” he started, his voice tinged with frustration as he struggled to explain. “Talked too much, and it wasn’t even about anything interesting. Kept asking questions, but…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “She didn’t actually care about the answers. Just wanted to fill the silence.”

Her fingers paused briefly, then resumed their soothing rhythm through his hair. “That sounds exhausting,” she said softly, her tone full of understanding. “But that’s not the whole reason, is it?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked away. “She was touchy,” he said finally. “Kept leaning in, grabbing my arm, laughing like… like it was supposed to make me feel good or something.”

“Did it?” she asked gently.

“No.” His response was firm, and his hands flexed at his sides as though the memory left him uneasy. “I wasn’t comfortable with her being so close. I don’t even think she noticed. Or cared.”

She sighed softly, her touch steady as she brushed her fingers through his hair again. “You’ll find someone who gets you. Someone who’ll respect your pace and what you need.”

His lips twitched faintly, like he wanted to smile but wasn’t quite sure how. “What if there’s not?” he muttered, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t catch it.

“There will be,” she reassured him. “You just have to be patient. And picky. Nothing wrong with that.”

For a moment, he was silent, the tension in his body softening just a little under her touch. Then, almost shyly, he murmured, “Thanks… Mama.”

She smiled warmly, leaning back into the couch as her hand continued to comb gently through his hair. “Anytime, honey.”

-----

Time had a way of slipping by, and before he knew it, Bucky found himself sitting across from another date. This one wasn’t noisy or overly touchy, and the small brewery they’d chosen wasn’t bad, either. He nursed a beer in one hand, his vibranium arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his Henley, as the woman across from him laughed at something he’d said, a low, cautious laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

Her eyes drifted to his wrist, where the dark leather bracelet he always wore peeked out from his sleeve. “I like that,” she said, nodding toward it. “The bracelet. It’s nice.”

He glanced at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. My mom gave it to me.”

Her expression faltered slightly, the smile on her lips growing a bit stiff. “Oh, that’s… sweet,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you, uh, live with your mom?”

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking at her like she’d just asked if the sky was purple. “No. Why?”

She shifted in her seat, her fingers toying with the edge of her glass. “Well, then you must be very… close to her. Are you the youngest son?”

“No.” His tone was sharper now, though he didn’t mean it to be. “Why?”

The woman hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her drink. Finally, she gestured vaguely toward him, her voice dropping as though she were trying to be delicate. “Well… you’ve brought her up a lot. And, no offense, but it’s kind of… weird for a man your age. On a date, I mean.”

Bucky froze, his beer halfway to his lips. For a moment, he said nothing, his blue gaze narrowing slightly as he processed what she’d just said. Then, slowly, he set the bottle down, and his fingers tightened slightly around the glass. A familiar sense of unease churned in his chest, accompanied by the ache of frustration.

“Right,” he said finally with an even voice, though there was a subtle edge to it. “I guess that is weird.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably, her awkward smile faltering completely. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted, leaning back in his chair. His expression was blank, his tone cool, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

For the rest of the date, the conversation limped along, each attempt at salvaging it falling flat. Bucky found himself withdrawing, offering short, polite responses but little else. The spark of curiosity or connection -if there had ever been one- had fizzled out entirely.

When the check came, he paid for their drinks, refusing her offer to split it with a quiet but firm “Don’t worry about it.”

As they stepped outside, he offered a polite goodbye, but his tone was distant, and he didn’t wait for her to respond before walking off into the night.

He didn’t bring her up that much, did he? The thought came gruffly as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, but deep down, he already knew the answer. Should’ve just stayed home.

His gaze fell to the leather bracelet again, and he sighed, slowing his footsteps.

‘Mom’ wouldn’t have made me feel like that.

He shook his head as he entered, the faint metallic clink of keys landing in the small ceramic bowl echoed through the quiet space. His lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze lingered on it. The damn bowl she picked because I couldn’t decide. He let out a low, frustrated growl, kicking off his boots near the door and running a hand through his hair.

His nose wrinkled as a faint scent clung to him, cigarettes, from his date. She must have smoked earlier, and now it lingered in his jacket, his shirt, even his hair. His brows furrowed. He didn’t like it. The realization was sharp, irritating, and only added to his foul mood as he stripped off his clothes while walking toward the bathroom.

The shower hissed to life, steam filling the room as he stepped under the hot spray, letting the water cascade over his shoulders. He rested his palms against the tile wall, hanging his head forward, dampening his hair.

The date replayed in his head in vivid detail: her awkward comments, the tight smile when she’d tried to backpedal, the judgment laced in her words. Weird for a man your age. He gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening against the slick tiles.

She wasn’t wrong, he did bring up Mama more than he realized. But was that a crime? She was one of the few constants in his life that didn’t feel… hollow.

The thought only made the pit in his stomach grow heavier. The way she’d looked at him like he was some awkward, broken man who couldn’t function properly… it stung.

Before he knew it, his thoughts wandered to her instead. Not the woman from the date, but the one helping him put his life back together piece by piece. The one who’d picked out that damn bowl. The one who had sat on his couch, combing her fingers through his hair when he’d been too exhausted to speak.

His breathing hitched slightly as he remembered her touch, soft and unhurried, calming him in a way no one else ever had. He could almost feel the ghost of her fingers brushing through his hair, skimming over his temple with a care he didn’t deserve.

His hand slid down his chest, trailing over the wet planes of his torso, and he exhaled shakily, furrowing his brow. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. It was wrong -so wrong- but his body didn’t seem to care.

His grip tightened on himself, and his head thunked lightly against the tile as a groan slipped past his lips. The hot water beat against his back, but it couldn’t drown out the traitorous images flooding his mind. Her smile, the warmth of her voice, the way she’d called him “honey” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his strokes becoming sharper, more desperate as if he could exorcise the feelings clawing their way to the surface. He shouldn’t be doing this, he admonished himself again. Not with Mama. Not the one person who made him feel safe.

And yet, the warmth of her imagined touch, the thought of her fingers tracing the scars on his skin or resting lightly against his jaw, was enough to push him over the edge. His release came with a choked groan, and his forehead pressed harder against the tile as his body shuddered.

For a moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of the water and his ragged breathing.

And then the guilt hit him.

His hands clenched into fists, as his chest tightened. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he whispered harshly, his voice cracking under the weight of his self-reproach.

He braced himself against the wall, shaking his head slightly. He felt disgusting, his stomach twisted as shame crept in his mind. She trusted him -cared for him- and this was how he repaid that?

With a low, bitter laugh, he reached for the soap, scrubbing furiously at his skin as if he could wash away the evidence of what he’d just done. But no amount of scrubbing could cleanse the storm of emotions raging inside him.

It was wrong. He was wrong. And yet, deep down, a part of him couldn’t stop wanting.

Goddammit.

-----

When Sam hinted that week about needing him for a little thing in Kuala Lumpur, Bucky didn’t hesitate. It didn’t seem like something Wilson could handle solo, and besides, a mission was the perfect way to blow off some steam. Anything to quiet the thoughts that had been clawing at the back of his mind since the date -and especially- since that shower.

He sent a quick text to Mama, keeping it short and simple, their usual code for missions.

Taking a vacation this week. Won’t make Friday.

Her reply came quickly: Take care of yourself. Don’t engage in crazy fun.

Bucky huffed softly, shaking his head as he stared at the screen. Ok, Mom, he typed back, his lips twitching faintly despite himself.

Her response came almost immediately: I mean it, Jamie.

Fuck. His jaw tightened, and he locked the phone without answering. She always had a way of cutting through him, even with a couple of words. He shoved the phone into his pocket and headed to pack, grumbling under his breath.

When Sam picked him up a day later, Bucky was already in mission mode: focused, stoic, and bracing himself for whatever chaos Wilson was about to drag him into. But despite his best efforts to push her words aside, they echoed faintly in his mind.

Take care of yourself.

He’d try. For her.

-----

Things went slightly fine the first day, if you ignored the shooting, falling from a 15-story building into a trash container, and the broken shower in the safehouse. Bucky stood shirtless in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, grimacing as he splashed cold water over his chest and shoulders. The sink barely worked, sputtering like it might give up entirely, and the dingy tiles on the walls didn’t do much to make him feel clean.

“Man, this place is a dump,” Sam said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Better than the street,” Bucky grunted, grabbing a threadbare towel to dry off.

Sam hummed noncommittally, watching as Bucky fumbled with the faucet. “So, how’s it going with her?”

Bucky froze briefly before answering. “Things are good.”

“Glad you finally listened to me.” Sam’s voice carried just a hint of smugness. “I mean, you’re still a pain in the ass, but at least your mood’s improved a lot these past months.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. You want me to thank you or something?”

“Nah,” Sam replied, grinning. “But I’ll take it as a win anyway.”

Bucky muttered something unintelligible under his breath and pushed past him, heading to the small, creaky bed in the corner of the cramped space.

That night, like most nights, sleep evaded him. He lay on his back, staring at the water-stained ceiling of the safehouse, while his mind spun with too many thoughts. Missions were supposed to clear his head, burn off the restlessness that kept him awake. But tonight, even exhaustion didn’t help.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up and grabbed the disposable phone Sam had handed him earlier. He knew it was a bad idea, knew he should just put it away and try to rest, but his fingers moved on their own, pulling up her profile.

Her social media was usually quiet: cozy book displays from her job, pictures of the plants she was trying to keep alive, and the occasional funny meme. It was soothing, like a peek into a normal life that he could never fully touch.

But tonight, it wasn’t soothing.

His stomach dropped as he stared at the most recent photo, uploaded just a few hours ago. It was a close-up of two hands holding Sharpies, coloring a detailed mandala. One of the hands was hers, he recognized the delicate curve of her fingers, and the faint scar near her thumb. The other one was clearly male, broader and rougher.

The tags hit him like a punch to the gut:

#SoProudOfYou #AlmostAllByYourself

Bucky stared at the screen, and his chest tightened as the meaning sank in his brain.

Her other son.

It had to be him, the other veteran she worked with, the one she’d mentioned months ago. The one responsible for her being “unsure” about taking him in when Sam first approached her.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the floor. He could still picture the hands, the caption, the pride in her words. And it twisted in his chest, an uncomfortable, raw feeling he couldn’t shake.

He rubbed his hand over his face, groaning softly. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

It shouldn’t matter. She wasn’t his. She’d never been his, not in that way. He told himself that over and over, but the ache in his chest didn’t care. The idea of her giving someone else that same care, that same warmth, felt like a betrayal, even though he had no right to feel that way.

With a frustrated growl, Bucky tossed the phone onto the nightstand and dropped his head into his hands. For all the chaos of the mission, for all the bullets and explosions and pain, nothing had hit him harder than that damn photo.

And he hated himself for how much it hurt.

-----

The mission wrapped up in a flurry of controlled chaos. The intel had been secured, the enhanced assholes neutralized, and while Sam emerged with only a few scratches, Bucky sported a fresh bruise on his jaw and a deep gash on his forearm, not that he cared.

The flight back was quiet, the hum of the jet’s engines filling the cabin as Bucky sat slumped in one of the seats, staring a blank point in front of him. His vibranium fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, the only outward sign of the storm brewing in his head.

Across the aisle, Sam noticed. He always noticed.

At first, he let it be, figuring Bucky’s mood would even out once they hit the ground. But as the hours dragged on, and the Winter Sulker stayed silent, Sam couldn’t help himself.

“You’re quiet,” Sam said, leaning back in his seat.

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze kept fixed on the clouds outside.

Sam tried again, his tone a little sharper this time. “You gonna sit there brooding the whole way, or are you gonna tell me what’s eating you?”

Still, nothing.

Sam let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. But let me guess: You’re pissed off because someone scratched your arm? Or wait, maybe you’re mad because someone didn’t say ‘thank you sir’ after you saved their life?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled on the armrest, tightening his jaw.

That was all the opening Sam needed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, man, I’m not blind. You’ve been sulking since day one of this mission. You want to talk about it, or do I have to guess some more?”

Bucky’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing. “Just drop it, Wilson.”

“See, now you’ve got me curious,” Sam said, grinning in a way that only made Bucky’s irritation spike. “What’s got the great James Buchanan Barnes in such a mood? Did Mama scold you over text?”

That did it. Bucky shot out of his seat, towering over Sam with a scowl. “I said drop it!” he barked, his voice echoed in the small cabin.

Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He just stared up at Bucky. “So it is about her.”

Bucky froze, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Man, you’ve been walking around like someone kicked your dog,” Sam continued, with a softer tone. “And I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, you’ve got to get it out before it eats you alive.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before sitting back down with a heavy thud. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and muttered, “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Sam pointed out.

“It’s fine,” Bucky snapped tiredly.

Sam watched him for a moment before sighing and leaning back. “Alright. Keep it to yourself if you want. But I’m telling you now, whatever’s got you in this mood, you better work it out before it gets worse.

Bucky didn’t answer, turning his gaze back to the blank point. The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, as the weight of Sam’s words pressed down on him more than he wanted to admit.

----

He entered his apartment, dragging his feet like every step took more effort than it should. The mission had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, though it wasn’t the physical strain, it was the weight in his chest that seemed to grow heavier every time he returned to this quiet, empty space.

He grabbed his dead phone from the counter and plugged into the charger, barely glancing at the notifications, and made his way to the bed. The mattress was thin, and the pillows hard, as she’d suggested. “A good way to transition from the floor,” she’d said, and damned if she hadn’t been right. He’d hated it at first, but now… now it felt like his.

He dropped onto it without bothering to change, his eyes closing almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was so tired. So fucking tired.

That night, the nightmares came back.

And the next night.

And the next.

-----

Several days later, she was pacing her living room, phone in hand, staring at the screen with her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Whatever Bucky was into, it must have been over by now. She was sure of it, or at least, she hoped so. The radio silence was starting to worry her.

He wasn’t one to check in often -God knew that- but after all these months, she’d learned his rhythms. This wasn’t like him, not entirely. Not answering her, staying quiet this long? That wasn’t just distance. That was something else.

Finally, she typed a quick, casual message:

Still at the resort, hun?

His reply came faster than she’d expected, but it was curt.

No.

Her brows furrowed. Oh, okay, she thought, frowning at the screen. Something felt off. She typed again.

Everything alright? Did you have more fun than intended?

The dots in the chat appeared, blinked, and then disappeared.

Okay, she thought, waiting. Then they blinked again. And disappeared.

Bucky, are you hurt? she finally wrote with concern.

This time, the message was read almost instantly, but no reply came.

She sighed, deepening her frown. She knew this pattern all too well. When Bucky didn’t answer, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, it was because he didn’t know how.

“Alright, Buck,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her bag. “Time for a visit.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, dropping everything to pull him out of whatever dark place he’d retreated to. He’d let her in, little by little, trusting her with parts of himself no one else saw. She’d told herself it was about helping him, being there for him in the way he needed.

But it was more than that.

The truth, the one she kept swallowing down, was that her care for him didn’t fit neatly into the boundaries of their arrangement. It wasn’t maternal, not entirely. It was something more, something deeper. She shoved the thought aside, tightening her grip on her bag. Principles, she reminded herself firmly. Getting involved with him like that would be wrong. He deserved better.

But she couldn’t stop herself from caring.

She grabbed the key off the hook by her door and headed out. Not answering the door wasn’t going to be an option this time.

Not for her.

As expected, her knocks were met with silence. She sighed with resignation and slipped the key into the lock.

The door creaked open, and she wrinkled her nose as the stale, charged air of the apartment hit her. It wasn’t the worst she’d seen it, but it was far from the neat, semi-organized space they’d worked on together. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the scattered clothes on the floor and a small pile of takeout containers on the counter.

At least he’s been eating, she thought, a small relief in the face of the mess.

The faint sound of water running led her to the source: the bathroom. The shower.

She turned her focus back to the living room, her lips pressing into a line as she slid the window open to let in some fresh air. The cool breeze offered a small reprieve from the heaviness of the space.

Spotting a roll of garbage bags near the counter, she grabbed one and started tidying up. The crumpled clothes went into a hamper, the empty takeout boxes into the bag. She wiped at the counter absently, and her mind drifted to the last time he’d gone radio silent like this.

Whatever this is, we’ll get through it, she told herself.

She was so focused on her task, that she didn’t notice when the sound of the shower stopped, or when Bucky emerged from the hallway.

He stood there, quiet and guarded, with a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to his skin, rolling down the faint scars on his flesh arm and chest. His stare was intense and unreadable as he watched her move around his apartment as if she belonged there.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice startled her, low and edged with exhaustion. She turned sharply, the garbage bag crinkling in her hands as her eyes met his.

“Oh,” she said, recovering quickly. Her gaze flicked briefly over him before landing firmly on his face. “I knocked. You didn’t answer.” She gestured toward the bag in her hands. “Figured I’d help you out a little.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“No,” she replied evenly, setting the bag down and crossing her arms. “But I wasn’t about to leave you stewing in here like this.”

His jaw worked as he shifted his weight. “I’m fine.”

She raised an skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah? Because this,” she gestured to the room, “doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine,’ Buck.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Good,” she shot back, her tone soft but firm. “Because I’m not giving you one. I’m here because I care about you, and you clearly need someone right now. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, and his guarded expression wavered slightly. Then, with a tired sigh, he stepped further into the room, slumping his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted with a soft gaze. “But I’m here now. So let me help.”

He didn’t respond, but the fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders loosened, and he dropped into a chair near the counter, fixing his gaze somewhere on the floor.

She picked up the garbage bag again, resuming her quiet cleanup. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to coax him out of his own head, and she suspected it wouldn’t be the last. But as she moved around the room, she noticed the faintest crack in his armor, proof that he was letting her in, even if he didn’t have the words to say it yet.

“So… what’s going on?” she asked, as she picked up a wrinkled pair of boxers from one of the chairs.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to the offending garment, then back to her face. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. He was tired, tired of pretending, tired of holding back.

“I’m… jealous.” he admitted reluctantly.

She paused, her fingers tightened around the fabric before dropping it into the laundry pile. “Jealous?” she echoed, her brows furrowing. “Of who?”

His jaw tensed, and his gaze darted away before he muttered, “I saw it. The Sharpies picture.”

Her lips parted slightly in understanding. “Oh,” she said softly. “And?”

“And…” He sighed again, the frustration etched into every line of his face. “You never did that with me.”

“Coloring?” she asked, tilting her head. “I didn’t think you’d be into it, babe.”

“Not coloring,” he said sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again. Then his voice softened, but his words carried a heavy weight. “The… the picture.”

Oh.

“Well,” she started gently, “you’re not exactly a fan of social media. And you always grump when I try to take one of us.”

“It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head. His blue eyes finally met hers, raw and vulnerable in a way that made her chest tighten. “It’s… I forget sometimes that I’m not your only son.”

Oh.

He leaned back in the chair, running his hand over his face as if to hide the emotions flickering across it. “I don’t like the idea of sharing you,” he admitted, in a low, almost bitter tone.

She swallowed hard. “Well, it happens all the time,” she said cautiously, trying to keep her tone light. “Brothers usually don’t like-”

“He’s not my brother,” Bucky interrupted firmly, snapping his gaze to hers.

The air in the room shifted. His next words came softer, but they hit like a thunderclap.

“And you… you’re not my ma.”

The room seemed to still, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge in the background.

She stared at him, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “Bucky…”

“I hate it,” he said, dropping his hands to his lap as he looked at her with a mix of anger and desperation. “I hate that I look forward to seeing you more than I’ve looked forward to anything in years. I hate that I can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting what I get. And I hate that I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed as she searched for the right words. “Bucky,” she said softly, leaning toward him, “this… this doesn’t have to be something you hate.”

“I know,” he said, his voice was raw and strained. “But I can’t manage my feelings toward you.”

Her breath caught, and her heart twisted painfully as she absorbed the weight of his confession. She leaned back slightly, clenching her hands together in her lap and sighed.

“Bucky,” she started softly, “this bond we’ve built… it’s compromised. It’s not what it’s supposed to be anymore. It wouldn’t be ethical for me to continue mothering you.”

His head snapped up, his blue eyes went wide and glassy with panic. The look on his face made her chest ache. He looked utterly wrecked, his lips parted as if to argue, but no words came at first.

“No,” he finally stammered, his voice shaky and uneven. “No, please. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I’ll stop. I’ll never bring it up again, I swear.” His breath hitched, and he shook his head as if trying to find the right words. “Just… don’t leave me, Mama.”

He reached for her hand, firmly but also trembling. His vibranium fingers brushed against her wrist, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the warmth of his touch. “I need you,” he said, his voice breaking.

Her heart shattered at the sheer desperation in his voice, in the way his thumb nervously rubbed over the back of her hand like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

With her free hand, she reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek, softly brushing her thumb over a scar near his jawline. His breath hitched again, and his eyes fluttered shut momentarily, as though her touch was calming him.

“This ordeal isn’t right, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s not fair to you. Or to me.”

“But-” His hand tightened around hers, his body leaned closer to her as though proximity alone could keep her from slipping away. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep it together. Just… please, don’t go. Don’t give up on me.”

“Bucky,” she whispered, tracing soothing circles on his cheek. “It’s not about giving up on you. It’s about what’s right. What’s healthy.”

“I don’t care about right,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I just… I can’t lose you too.”

Her hand trembled slightly where it rested against his cheek, but she steadied herself with a deep breath.

“Bucky,” she began softly, tentative but growing steadier as she continued, “I also have feelings for you. I’ve been having them for a while now.”

His breath hitched, his wide eyes searching hers desperately, but before he could speak, she pushed forward.

“I was never going to act on it,” she said firmly. “Because it would mean taking advantage of you.”

His brows furrowed deeply, and he shook his head, rising his voice with frustration and disbelief. “I’m a grown man. You can’t take advantage of me.”

“You know that’s not true,” she countered gently but unyieldingly.“You trust me, Bucky. You let me in, more than anyone else. And that’s why we can’t do this dynamic anymore.”

Her words hit him like a physical blow. His grip on her hand tightened, and his shoulders hunched as his head dipped forward slightly. For a moment, he was silent, breathing heavily as he tried to process her words.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head, his voice broke as he looked back up at her with unshed tears brightening his eyes. “No… Ma… you can’t just-”

“Bucky,” she said softly, cutting him off with a tenderness that nearly undid him. Her fingers brushed his cheek again, tracing soothing circles as her heart ached at the devastation written across his face. “The contract we made, the boundaries we agreed on, it doesn’t fit us anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be something I’m not.”

His breath hitched, the knot in his throat tightened as he struggled to find words. “But you’re not-” he started, voice trembling.

She shook her head gently, stopping him again. “I’m not your mom, Bucky. You said it yourself.” Her voice wavered just enough to betray the conflict she felt.

His lips parted, but no sound came as he searched her face, desperate for something -anything-that might keep her close.

“That being said…” she murmured after a beat, her thumb still brushing gently against his cheek. Her eyes softened as they searched for his. “We can try… dating. To see how and where this might go, because that’s something completely different.”

His mind blanked for a moment, as her words hit him. Dating?

The word echoed in his head, feeling too big and too small all at once. He blinked, his mouth opening slightly as he struggled to process what she’d just said. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out, his breath caught somewhere between confusion and longing.

Dating… her?

His heart twisted, caught in the crossfire of disbelief and a yearning he’d buried for so long it felt foreign. She wasn’t pulling back. She wasn’t brushing this off or deflecting like he’d feared. Instead, she was offering something he hadn’t dared to hope for.

Does she mean it?

For so long, he’d kept his feelings locked away, hidden in the shadows of his mind where they couldn’t hurt him -or anyone else-. But now, here she was, standing in front of him, dragging those feelings into the light with words that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

“…What?” he finally managed, the word slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was rough, strained, tangled somewhere between confusion and desperation.

Her expression didn’t falter, but there was a faint glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes, just enough to make his chest ache. “Dating, Bucky,” she repeated. “Not as your mom. Not as anyone else. Just… as us.”

Us.

His throat tightened, and his hands flexed against hers. The knot in his chest twisted painfully, caught between fear and something that felt dangerously close to relief.

Could there even be an us?

“Bucky, you’re doing the staring thing,” she said softly, her voice tinged with amusement, though her eyes remained serious as if willing him to believe her.

The corner of his mouth twitched, a faint huff of air escaped his nose as he ducked his head slightly. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I thought it was just me. You’re… sure about me?

Her thumb brushed gently along his jaw, and a small, reassuring smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t be here saying this if I wasn’t sure, Buck.”

He glanced at her lips, the desire to close the space between them was almost overwhelming, but he hesitated. “You’re not… scared?”

“Of you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Never.” Her smile grew just a bit, as she added, “You’re not as intimidating as you think, you know.”

That earned a faint chuckle, though it was weighed down by the uncertainty still lingering in his chest. “I just… I’m not exactly easy, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m complicated. Messed up.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand gently. “Bucky, all these months I’ve been coming here to be with you, you’ve opened up to me in ways I don’t think you’ve done with anyone else. You’ve trusted me with parts of yourself that I know aren’t easy to share.”

Her voice softened, her thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. “I know what I’m dealing with. And I can promise you, you’re not a mess. Not to me.”

His chest tightened at her words. He exhaled slowly, his blue eyes flicking between hers as if searching for any trace of doubt but all he saw was warmth. “Then,” he began, his tone was low but went higher as he steadied himself. “Let’s-let’s go. On a date.”

Her lips twitched, and she glanced down briefly, with a playful glint dancing in her eyes. “Well, to go right now, you should probably put some clothes on first, don’t you think?”

For a moment, he blinked, caught off guard by the shift, until her words sank in. His gaze darted down to the towel wrapped loosely around his hips, and the faintest flush crept up his neck.

“I didn’t mean right now, Ma-” He caught himself, his jaw tightened as he quickly corrected, “Doll.” The word came out gruff, almost embarrassed, as he scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flicking away for a second.

Her brow arched at the slip, but she didn’t comment, though the faint smile tugging at her lips didn’t go unnoticed.

Bucky shifted slightly, rolling his shoulders, and for once, the knowledge that she wanted this too -wanted him- settled something inside him. The usual discomfort of being caught off guard wasn’t there. Instead, he felt a spark of confidence, small but growing.

She leaned back in her chair, deciding to give him the space to take the lead. Considering his old-fashioned upbringing, it felt right to let him set the tone, not just to give him control, but to help him feel steady.

“So,” she said lightly, playful but encouraging, “pick a place and a time, and we’ll see.”

He nodded slowly, flexing his fingers against his knee before leaning back slightly in his seat. The movement shifted the towel around his hips just enough to make her painfully aware of the fact that he was still half-naked.

Her eyes traced the line of his shoulders, and the slight curve of his jaw as he glanced down in thought. Then her wandering gaze dipped against her better judgment, tracing the line of his chest, the faint curve of muscle at his stomach, and the scars she’d never quite let herself linger on before.

When her eyes flicked back up to his face, his sharp blue gaze was already on her, a flicker of amusement sparking in his expression. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, “Okay,” he said, more confident now. “I’ll… figure it out.”

Her cheeks warmed faintly, and she quickly forced a smile, hoping it would cover her flustering. “Take your time, Bucky. Just not too long.”

He tipped his head slightly, and his smirk deepened with an easy confidence in his posture that was now unmistakable. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

----

True to his word, her phone buzzed with a message a couple of days later.

Dinner? Friday at 7. That place you mentioned once, Marcellino’s.

She blinked at the screen, parting her lips in surprise. Marcellino’s? The Italian place she’d mentioned months ago, almost offhandedly, as a “bucket list” spot she’d love to visit someday? How had he even remembered?

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard before she typed back.

Seriously? I’ve been dying to go there. How’d you manage reservations so fast?

On the other side of town, Bucky stared at her message, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he reclined on his couch. It had been a pain finding a reservation on such short notice; apparently, Marcellino’s had been booked solid for weeks. But hacking into their system had been child’s play, a few keystrokes, some backdoor access, and voilà: table for two, Friday at 7.

She would never know, of course.

He typed back simply.

I’ve got my ways.

Her reply came quickly, punctuated with a laughing emoji.

Mysterious, huh? Alright, Bucky. I’ll see you on Friday.

Bucky exhaled slowly, setting his phone down and leaning back against the couch. A small, quiet sense of satisfaction settled in his chest. It wasn’t just the date, it was the effort, the planning, and the decision to put himself out there in a way he hadn’t in decades.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

----

When the cab pulled up to the curb, she spotted him immediately. He was standing just outside the restaurant, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark suit pants. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was distracted, fixed on something across the street.

She rarely saw him out of his usual Henleys and jeans, but God help her, he cleaned up well. The suit was perfectly tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his broad shoulders and tapering at his waist. His hair, usually left to its own devices, was slicked back neatly, the sharp lines of his jawline even more striking under the glow of the streetlights.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Bucky, oblivious to her arrival, shifted his weight slightly, his vibranium fingers flexing in his pocket as his flesh hand adjusted his tie. She smiled to herself, taking the opportunity to appreciate him while his guard was down. He was so effortlessly striking, yet she knew he’d put thought into it. He really wanted this to go right.

Finally, she stepped out of the cab, and her heels clicked softly against the pavement. “Hey, handsome,” she called out.

Bucky’s head snapped toward her, his distracted expression melting into something softer. His lips parted slightly, raking his gaze over her from head to toe. “Wow,” he murmured, low and rough. “You look…” He trailed off, his mouth twitching like he couldn’t find the right word.

“Good?” she offered with a smirk, stepping closer.

“Better than good,” he corrected, “Way better.”

Her cheeks warmed under his gaze, but she managed to keep her tone casual. “You’re not looking so bad yourself, Buck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you do this sort of thing all the time.”

He huffed a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck, though the faint pink dusting his ears didn’t go unnoticed. “Guess I clean up okay.”

“Okay?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Try amazing.”

He ducked his head slightly, a rare but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks,” he muttered, holding out his arm. “You ready?”

She looped her hand through his, letting him lead her toward the entrance. As they stepped inside, she couldn’t help but think this was already shaping up to be the best first date she’d ever had.

The table was in a prime spot near a window overlooking the city lights. Bucky pulled out her chair smoothly, motioning for her to sit confidently, making her heart flutter.

He settled across her with fluid movements. Despite the nerves buzzing in his chest, they were the good kind of nerves, normal ones. The kind that came with wanting to impress someone without feeling like he had to prove his worth.

He already knew her.

That made everything easier. There was no need to rack his brain for icebreakers, no awkward pauses to fill, no second-guessing every little thing he said. Instead, he could focus entirely on her: the soft curve of her smile, the way her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, the way she twisted her hands together on the table when she thought he wasn’t looking.

And, maybe, on seducing her. Not aggressively, but in the easy, intentional way he remembered from a lifetime ago. A brush of his fingers here, a lingering glance there, the kind of thing that built tension without needing words.

If he was rusty, it didn’t show.

She, on the other hand, was a wreck.

Her posture was perfect, her smile warm, but underneath the table, her knees bounced faintly, betraying the swirl of emotions coursing through her. This was -and wasn’t- her Bucky.

The man sitting across from her wasn’t the grumpy, guarded man she’d coaxed out of his shell with patience and care. This Bucky was confident, deliberate. The way his piercing gaze lingered just a second too long, the faint smirk tugging at his lips when he caught her fidgeting, he wasn’t shy about letting her know she had his full attention.

And it was overwhelming. Not in a bad way -it was thrilling- but it left her feeling completely off balance.

She wasn’t in charge anymore.

The realization sent a wave of warmth through her body, leaving her acutely aware of every little detail: the way he leaned forward slightly when she spoke, the way his hand rested on the table, close enough to brush hers if she dared to reach out.

God help her, she thought faintly, swallowing hard. If this was Bucky now, she couldn’t imagine what Sergeant Barnes of the 1940s must have been like. A menace, no doubt. A walking, talking heartbreaker wrapped in charm and good manners.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his again, and he gave her a slow, knowing smile, one that sent her pulse skittering.

She tightened her grip on the edge of her napkin, trying to will herself to relax. This was Bucky. And yet, sitting across from him like this, with the weight of his attention focused entirely on her, it felt like seeing him for the first time all over again.

When the food arrived, Bucky’s face was a masterclass of self-control. His expression remained completely neutral as the waiter arranged the plates with what could only be described as an air of reverence. He nodded politely when the man finished, even offering a quiet “thank you,” though inside he was already questioning his life choices.

Once the waiter walked away, he let his eyes shift to her, raising a brow to see if she was thinking the same thing he was.

Her lips twitched, struggling to suppress a laugh as she glanced down at her plate. The elegant presentation might have fooled someone else, but all she could see was what appeared to be a tiny portion of gnocchi, barely enough to feed a toddler.

Bucky’s plate wasn’t much better: three perfectly arranged sorrentinos, sitting proudly in the center of an artfully swirled sauce. It was the most stylish and inviting minimalist plate he’d ever seen.

He glanced back up at her, his lips twitching as her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“This…” she started, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle a giggle, “…this is it?”

Bucky huffed, leaning back in his chair as he gave his plate a long, scrutinizing look. “Guess we’re supposed to savor it,” he said dryly.

She bit her lip, trying and failing to stifle another laugh. “It seems they’re encouraging portion control.”

He scowled. “Didn’t know I’d be eating an appetizer disguised as dinner, goddammit.”

“I’m… I’m sorry! I didn’t know… they have such great feedback!” she groaned still chuckling.

“It’s my fault,” he muttered, spearing one of the sorrentinos with his fork and eyeing it as if it had personally insulted him. “For not checking the place out better.”

He couldn’t believe he’d hacked their system for this. He’d spent nearly an hour working around firewalls and reservations, all to secure a table at this supposedly renowned spot. It hadn’t even occurred to him to scout the menu or check the portion sizes.

This wouldn’t have happened to the old me, he thought bitterly, chewing slowly on his second overpriced sorrentino. His jaw tightened as the familiar ache of inadequacy crept into his chest.

She must have noticed the subtle shift in his expression because, without a word, she reached across the table and rested her hand over his.

“Bucky,” she said softly, her voice laced with gentle authority. “Don’t you dare take a ride on the self-deprecation train.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers with surprise, before relaxing his features.

“This,” she continued, squeezing his hand lightly, “is just an anecdote. Something to laugh about later, hm? It doesn’t mean anything except that we picked a fancy place with tiny portions. That’s it.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, flexing his fingers slightly under hers. Then, reluctantly, his lips twitched into a faint smirk. “An anecdote, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling now, her thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “Something to tell people one day, how you bravely faced off against a plate of minimalist pasta. Now finish your last bite so we can leave and find something less fancy but more substantial,” she stated with amusement.

Bucky poked at the last piece of pasta with his fork, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Even the breadbasket was sad,” he grumbled, as he signaled for the waiter to bring the bill.

The waiter approached, and with a politely confused expression, he noted their early departure. “Would you like to see the dessert menu, perhaps?” he offered, his tone gracious but hoping to redeem the situation.

“No, thank you,” Bucky replied smoothly, his voice polite but final. He slid his card across the table before she could even think about reaching for her wallet.

“Bucky-” she started, but he cut her off with a quick shake of his head.

“Don’t even try,” he said firmly but light enough to soften the refusal.

She huffed but didn’t argue further, leaning back in her chair as he settled the bill. Once it was taken care of, Bucky stood and offered her his hand, helping her up with ease.

As they made their way toward the exit, he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door he opened for her.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, as she stepped outside into the cool night air.

“Only for you, doll” he murmured, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk as he shifted slightly to shield her from a passing breeze.

She stepped beside him, automatically taking the inner spot on the sidewalk as he steered her toward it and slipped her hand easily onto his offered arm

“So,” he said after a moment, “Any ideas where we’re finding this substantial food? Or am I winging it?”

She laughed softly, squeezing his arm. “Let’s see what’s nearby. Maybe we’ll find a place with a breadbasket that doesn’t make you sad.”

“That’s a low bar,” he muttered, earning another laugh that made his chest feel lighter than it had all night.

They ended up at a small, no-frills pizza place, tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The neon sign in the window flickered faintly, and the smell of melted cheese and fresh dough hit them the moment they stepped inside.

Sliding onto the high bar stools at a tiny plastic table, they both seemed keenly aware of how out of place they looked. Her dress shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, and his perfectly tailored suit drew more than a few curious glances from the other patrons, who were clad in hoodies and jeans.

Bucky sat a little stiffly at first, as he glanced around. The contrast between this place and the upscale restaurant they’d just left wasn’t lost on him, but the casual atmosphere somehow felt more... right. Still, the attention made him uneasy, and he shifted slightly, brushing his vibranium hand on the edge of the table.

But then he looked at her.

She had a slice in her hand, the cheese stretching almost comically as she took a bite. Her shoulders relaxed as she chewed, and then she closed her eyes, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips.

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, locking his gaze on her as a faint flush crept up his neck. He watched her savor the bite, her fingers tapping lightly on the table to emphasize her approval.

In that moment, every awkward glance from the other patrons, every thought about his appearance or how ridiculous they looked, melted away.

All he could think about was her.

“Good?” he asked, unable to stop staring.

She opened her eyes, blinking like she’d momentarily forgotten where she was. “So good,” she said, curling her lips into a satisfied smile. “I needed this.”

“Glad I could deliver,” he teased, taking a bite of his slice after winking at her.

She shook her head with a small laugh, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “You know… I don’t get it. How did all your last dates go so bad, Bucky?”

He paused mid-bite, chewing slower as the thought crossed his mind. Maybe because I couldn’t stop bringing up my ‘mom’ in conversations like some kind of creep.

“Because they weren’t you.”

The answer came easily, effortlessly, but the way her eyes widened told him she hadn’t expected it.

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice. For once, she was the one scrambling for words, the usual balance between them tipping in a way that made her pulse quicken. “Bucky…”

He held her gaze. “I mean it.”

She blinked, the teasing light in her eyes dimming as something warmer and softer, replaced it. Slowly, her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, fiddling her fingers with the edge of her napkin as she tried to gather herself.

“Well,” she murmured playfully, “I guess they didn’t stand a chance, huh?”

“Not even close,” he agreed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back slightly on the barstool. The suit jacket he wore pulled just enough to highlight the sharp lines of his shoulders, and for a brief moment, she found herself really looking at him. The paper napkin in his hand felt absurdly out of place against the polished, confident image he presented, but somehow, it only made him more endearing.

She reached for another slice of pizza as if that would help her steady herself. She didn’t say anything, couldn’t, because what could she possibly say to that? Instead, she glanced down quickly, busying herself with her plate and hoping he didn’t notice the sudden warmth in her cheeks.

When her eyes flicked back up, he was still watching her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. It wasn’t teasing or overconfident, just… him.

As they finished their meal, the buzz of the restaurant began to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them in their little corner of the world. Bucky leaned back, draining the last of his drink before standing and adjusting his jacket. He offered her his hand, his vibranium fingers catching the soft light. “Come on,” he said in an inviting voice.

“Where?” she asked, slipping her hand into his.

“Just… a walk,” he replied, almost tentative “Unless you’re in a hurry to call it a night.”

“Not at all.” She promptly answered as she rose to meet him.

They wandered down the sidewalk unhurriedly as the night wrapped around them. The streetlights cast long shadows, and their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by the occasional laugh or lingering glance. For a while, neither seemed to notice the passing of time. But then a cool breeze rolled in, and he felt her shiver slightly beside him.

He stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Alright,” he murmured reluctantly, “I’m calling you a cab.”

She blinked, furrowing her brow . “What? Why?”

“You’re cold,” he said simply, his tone firm despite the regret in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she argued, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her words.

“Doll,” he said, shaking his head with a faint smile, “you’re shivering. I’m not letting you walk around all night freezing.”

Her lips curved into a teasing smirk. “You could just lend me your jacket, you know. Like they do in the movies. Then I’d nuzzle into it because it smells like you, the usual cliché.”

He quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk widened into something distinctly playful. “You know, if you want to smell me, you can do it whenever you want.”

Her mouth fell open slightly, her cheeks burning as her witty comeback disappeared from her brain.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with her reaction, but his expression softened as he continued. “You’re shivering,” he repeated. “I’m not about to let you freeze out here.”

She folded her arms, attempting to regain her composure. “I’m really fine.”

“Trust me,” he said, pulling out his phone, “if I gave you my jacket, I’d have to carry you home. You’d drown in it.”

She let out a small huff, quirking her lips into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she relented. “But only because I don’t want you giving me that sad, guilty look all night.”

“Guilty?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow as he tapped at his screen.

“Yeah,” she teased, nudging him lightly. “Like you’re already blaming yourself for the weather.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he finished ordering the cab. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

-----

As they waited, he guided her toward the side of the building, resting his hand instinctively on her lower back as he steered her out of the breeze.

“Thanks for tonight, Bucky,” she said softly, leaning slightly into him, guided by the warmth of his hand.

Bucky froze for half a second, as the closeness of her body sent his heart into overdrive. She tilted her head to look up at him, and she smiled, not quite shy but not entirely bold either.

For a moment, he struggled. His old-fashioned nature tugged at him, warning him to hold back, to wait. He wasn’t sure how these things worked anymore, not when it came to her. Did he ask? Did he wait for her to make the first move?

But then her gaze dipped just for a second, to his lips.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned down, giving her time to pull away.

She didn’t, parting her lips ever so slightly, and it was all the reassurance he needed.

Their lips met, and the world seemed to still. The kiss was soft, tentative, but filled with all the emotions he hadn’t known how to put into words. His vibranium hand slid gently up her upper back, steadying her, while his flesh fingers brushed the curve of her jaw.

She leaned into him, resting her hands lightly on the lapels of his suit jacket and the kiss deepened, just enough to send a pleasant warmth humming through them both before they slowly pulled back.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a small smile played at her lips as she whispered, “Took you long enough.”

He huffed out a low laugh as his hand lingered at her back. “Guess I’m a little rusty.”

“Not bad for rusty,” she teased, curling her fingers slightly against his jacket.

He sighed as he raked a hand through his hair. “You’re good for me, you know that?”

Her smile widened, and she nudged him gently. “I try.”

He bit his lip, glancing down briefly before meeting her gaze again. “Even without trying, these past months, they’ve been…” He paused, the words catching in his throat as he searched for the right way to say it.

“Good… in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Because of you.” He managed to finish the best he could.

Her heart swelled at the raw honesty of his voice. She leaned closer, brushing her hand lightly against his chest. “You’ve done a lot of that yourself, you know,” she said softly. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Maybe,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost shy smile. “But you were there. That made all the difference.”

She smiled, her thumb brushing over the lapel of his jacket. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he murmured, “Because I’m not letting you.”

They just stood there, the hum of the city fading into the background. The night was cool, but the warmth between them was enough to keep the chill at bay. Finally, he tilted his head. “Ready to go?”

“No,” she pouted softly, looping her arm through his with a playful glint in her eyes.

Bucky hesitated for a fraction of a second, dipping his gaze to her lips again before he acted on impulse. His hand slid around her waist, gently pulling her closer as he leaned in.

This kiss was different, more sure, deliberate. His lips pressed against hers with a tenderness that made her knees feel weak, and she melted into him without hesitation.

When he finally pulled back, he let his lips brush against her cheek, trailing softly upward until they rested near her temple.

“Don’t make it difficult, Ma,” he teased lowly against her skin.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, as she leaned into him. “Not my fault you’re irresistible, sweetheart.”

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile against her temple before he sighed softly, resting his hand lightly on her lower back. With an easy motion, he guided her toward the waiting cab at the curb.

When they reached it, he opened the door for her without a word. She stepped in, pausing briefly to glance back at him. Her lips were still curved, and her warm smile made his chest ache in the best way.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, a little rough around the edges. His gaze lingered on her, flexing his fingers slightly as if reluctant to let go of the door. Finally, he shut it gently, stepping back as the cab pulled away.

For a long moment, he stood there with his hands tucked into his pockets, watching as the car merged into the traffic and disappeared into the city lights. Finally, he turned slowly heading home, the faintest trace of a smile still tugging at his lips. For once, the night didn’t weigh so heavily on him, as he carried the lingering warmth of her smile and the memory of her kiss.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[4barbatos]

✦ forgive me, father (for i came)

venti x dahlia x fem!reader

then had a ménage à trois ...last friday night .ᐟ

cw: threesome (dom!venti & dom!dahlia x sub!fem!reader), spit-roasting, overstimulation, light dumbification, degradation and praise, blasphemous religious themes, rough sex, oral (receiving + giving), light choking, name-calling, drunken decisions, semi-public buildup, reader being very very down bad. idek atp it’s unholy.

a/n: jesus. this fic nearly took me out 😭 had to do actual research on what goes down at an american party bc obviously i’m not american (if u thought i was…… respectfully get out). also i was gonna post this at 2am but i deadass fell asleep mid-edit while “last friday night” was blasting in my left ear.

had this festering in my drafts for like a week because my brain refused to cooperate. finishing it felt like fighting for my life in the trenches, but i’m glad i pushed through bc i kinda love it??? dahlia being a repressed religious perv is sooo real to me. venti has a god complex and i’m not stopping him. man thinks he invented pleasure. praise be. 

also! modern college au, everyone’s legal and consenting, and ready to make terrible decisions <3 

you didn’t even wanna come to this party. 

like, genuinely. you had an exam next week, a half-written paper, and a half-dead social battery. the last thing you needed was to be shoulder-to-shoulder with a bunch of horny undergrads blasting katy perry like it was 2010 and shame didn’t exist.

but your roommate was hot and persuasive and already four shots in when she started dragging you by the wrist.

“i swear,” she slurred, her glitter eyeshadow half-smudged and confidence turned all the way up to eleven, “you need to get dicked down or at least dance, girl.”

you brought a water bottle and wore a thrifted denim short. crop top optional, dignity minimal. you figured you’d hover around the snacks, say no to three drinks, and dip early with your gpa intact.

you weren’t expecting to find god.

or rather — two boys who made you forget him completely.

it started off normal. crowded house, colored leds, somebody grinding to a weeknd remix in the living room. your roommate disappeared ten minutes in, presumably to go make out with that guy from her econ class who looked like he cried after sex.

you were posted by the kitchen counter with your “water” (spiked, probably) and a vague plan to ghost as soon as someone tried to rope you into flip cup.

suddenly you heard a familiar voice, buried under the bass and drunk laughter. something warm and deep, with a laugh you remembered a little too well — like the echo of a bad idea, like the first sip of communion wine that was definitely not grape juice.

you turned your head, scanning through the haze of neon lights and sweaty bodies until you saw him.

“wait,” you said, freezing mid-step. “is that—”

you blinked through the crowd. tilted your head. no fucking way.

“dahlia?”

and like some kind of divine punishment, he looked up right as you said it. head tilted. curls a little longer now. smile the same. pretty as always, just older — more grown into himself. less sunday choir, more sunday morning regret.

you stared. he stared back.

and he smiled. slow. familiar.

“holy shit,” you mumbled. “literal church boy dahlia. the pervert.”

your friend turned her head, already halfway through her third drink. “the what?”

you grinned, cheeks flushed. “he used to moan during prayer.”

she choked. “you’re kidding.”

“senior youth retreat. i was there. it was dark.”

you didn’t mean to talk to him again. not really.

you were supposed to be getting more water — in the loosest sense of the word — and maybe scoping out the snacks before your roommate dared someone to dance on the dining table. but somehow, you ended up pressed near the kitchen counter with him, sipping vodka-disguised hydration and laughing a little too easily against the tune of an early-2000s party playlist.

like the past didn’t hum under your skin.

like you hadn’t spent whole years pretending you didn’t think about his lips when you closed your eyes.

“you still go to church?” you asked, voice looser now, a little slow from the alcohol. your eyes flicked down to the rosary slung around his neck, a glint of silver nestled above exposed collarbones. the chain dipped beneath his half-unbuttoned shirt — a silk one, of course, because dahlia didn’t know how to dress normally.

“every sunday,” he said, tilting his head, elbow resting behind you like he always needed to trap you somewhere. “confession, too.”

you raised a brow. “must be a long-ass session.”

he grinned. “only when i think of you.”

you choked. coughed. wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“you’re disgusting,” you muttered, trying not to smile. “jesus wept.”

“probably because you wore that skirt to sunday school.”

you gave him a look. “you wore fishnets to a baptism.”

“we all have our moments.”

you snorted, flicking his arm. “blasphemous freak.”

he leaned in, mouth close to your ear, voice low: “missed you too, sweetheart.”

you were about to recover — really — when a new voice cut in. higher, smoother, soaked in flirt and casual sin.

“hey,” someone drawled, “who’s your friend?”

you turned your head.

and immediately forgot how to breathe.

the boy standing there looked like temptation had crawled out of a lana del rey song and decided to make itself fashion. crop top riding dangerously high on his waist. eyeliner smudged like he’d fucked and cried in it. messy red eyeshadow painted over his lids like sin. earrings glinting with every lazy tilt of his head. thigh chains. layered necklaces. a smile like he already knew every filthy thought in your head and was ready to make it worse.

he looked at you like a cat watching something twitch.

“venti,” dahlia muttered beside you, voice already tight. “this is y/n.”

venti’s eyes didn’t leave your face. “oh. hi.”

your brain short-circuited.

he tilted his head, smile curling. slow. knowing.

your heart did a little skip. then maybe a cartwheel. maybe a confessional-level sin.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. you blinked, twice, trying to remember how words worked.

venti’s gaze dragged down and up in one unashamed sweep — not even pretending to be subtle. when his eyes met yours again, they sparkled. and then he smiled wider.

dahlia rolled his eyes so hard it looked like a prayer for patience. “she’s mine.”

you scoffed immediately. “she’s not,” you said, turning fully toward him — maybe too quick. maybe too flustered.

venti was still watching you, smug like he’d already won. 

your knees wobbled. traitors.

dahlia noticed. of course he did. he stepped in closer, hand ghosting over your hip like he had to remind both of you where you used to belong.

“you’re drunk,” he muttered, low.

“so are you,” you shot back, voice breathier than you wanted.

venti’s grin sharpened like a knife. “i’m sober enough to know i’d make her feel better than your holy hands ever could.”

he took a sip from his red solo cup, and when a drop slipped past his lip, he caught it with his tongue.

your soul left your body.

dahlia made a sound halfway between a scoff and a growl. “you’re going to hell.”

venti shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “with her? gladly.”

you exhaled. shaky. already fucked in the head. already thinking about what it’d be like to be ruined between them — choir boy and chaos incarnate.

you had a paper due monday. a hangover waiting to ambush you. a party full of strangers that wouldn’t notice you disappearing.

and god definitely wasn’t here tonight. 

“so,” venti said, stepping closer — dangerously closer — until your shoulder nearly brushed his. he smelled like wine and spearmint and something sweet you couldn’t name. “what brings a girl like you to a party like this?”

“roommate dragged me,” you replied, trying to sound casual. your voice came out thinner than expected. “i have an exam next week.”

“mm. you study hard?”

“i try to.”

he smiled like you just handed him ammunition. “you look like you need a break.”

“she doesn’t need your kind of break,” dahlia muttered, shifting beside you. his palm skimmed the curve of your waist, familiar and territorial.

venti, unbothered, leaned past you to grab a bottle off the counter — something green and half-empty — and poured a finger of it into his cup. he offered it to you with a smirk.

you didn’t take it.

“i’m already drunk,” you said.

“so am i,” he replied, “and yet i’m still making excellent choices.”

“this isn’t an excellent choice,” dahlia said, tugging you a little closer.

“what, sharing a drink or stealing your girl?”

you almost choked.

“i’m not his girl,” you said.

dahlia’s fingers tensed.

venti’s eyes glittered. “well, if you’re not his… can i have you?”

you blinked at him.

and maybe it was the alcohol. maybe it was the way he was smiling like he’d already won. maybe it was the ghost of dahlia’s breath on your neck, the memory of his hands under your skirt at sixteen, the fact that you felt so alive for the first time in weeks —

but you said it. blame the devil, the vodka, the look in venti’s eyes. you said it anyway.

“are you two gonna keep talking,” you asked, voice low, “or are you gonna fuck me?”

a beat of stunned silence.

then —

“dibs,” venti said, instantly, voice light but laced with something that made your spine straighten. “i call dibs.”

“you can’t call dibs,” dahlia snapped, sharp and bristling. “she’s not some fucking prize.”

venti only smiled, stepping closer with that same lazy, dangerous charm. “sure feels like i’m winning something.”

“i talked to her first.”

“you also tried to claim her like a parking space,” venti shot back, glancing at you with a knowing gleam. “she said no, remember?”

you blinked up at them, half amused, half unhinged, stomach doing flips and thighs already pressing tight.

“jesus,” you muttered, “this is the worst threesome negotiation ever.”

venti leaned down a little, voice dropping as he looked you straight in the eye. “oh, love. this isn’t negotiation. this is foreplay.”

you might’ve blacked out for a second. just a little.

then dahlia was suddenly behind you, crowding close enough for his chest to press against your back, one hand low on your waist, mouth right next to your ear.

“say the word,” he murmured, “and i’ll take you upstairs right now. don’t even have to look at him.”

venti hummed. “but she wants to. don’t you, pretty thing?”

you turned to look at him.

his tongue was running along the edge of his bottom lip, slow and knowing, fingers playing with one of his necklaces. he was watching you like a dare. like he already knew what decision you were going to make.

your mouth went dry. your body didn’t.

“you’re both,” you said, exhaling, “so fucking annoying.”

“but hot,” venti reminded, cocky.

“and talented,” dahlia added, already pulling you subtly toward the hallway. “you remember.”

venti’s hand was on your other wrist before you realized it, cool and confident. “i promise i’m better.”

you didn’t even know who led you up the stairs — one of them pushed the door open, the other tugged you inside, both of them crowding close as the music faded behind a slam and the click of a lock.

heat. hands.

someone’s mouth on your neck. someone else’s fingers at the hem of your shorts.

“dibs on her mouth,” venti said, already dropping to his knees, smiling like the devil as he looked up at you.

“you’re such a slut,” dahlia muttered — but he let go.

“i am,” venti grinned, tugging your hips closer. “and she’s about to be, too.”

you barely had time to breathe.

venti’s hands were already gliding up your thighs, warm and smooth, dragging your shorts and underwear down in one practiced, greedy motion. the grin never left his face. not even when he kissed the inside of your knee and said, in the sweetest voice you’d ever heard:

“hold still for me, baby. gonna make you sing.”

you almost said something smart — almost — but then his mouth was on you, and the words evaporated. tongue hot, slow, teasing. his thumbs held your thighs open with a surprisingly firm grip, and then he moaned into your pussy like he’d just tasted something divine.

your knees buckled.

“fuck,” you gasped, one hand shooting out blindly until it hit dahlia’s arm. you curled your fingers into his shirt. “oh my god—”

“told you she’d sound pretty,” venti murmured against your cunt, before licking another long stripe up the center and flicking your clit with his tongue.

“and i told you to shut up,” dahlia muttered, but his voice was hoarse. his hand found the back of your neck, thumb stroking the edge of your jaw as he leaned in to kiss your temple. “you like his mouth, baby?”

you whimpered, nodding helplessly.

“yeah, she does,” venti said smugly. “she’s dripping. such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

you would’ve protested — maybe — but then he sucked, lips wrapping around your clit and tugging just right, and the pleasure hit like lightning.

your hips jerked forward. dahlia caught you.

“venti,” you whimpered, “fuck—i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he said sweetly. “let go for me, pretty thing. cum all over my tongue.”

you did.

shaking, gasping, clinging to dahlia’s shirt like a lifeline while your thighs trembled around venti’s head. he groaned, licking you through it, hands firm on your ass to keep you steady.

when it was over, he kissed the inside of your thigh like a reward.

“so sweet,” he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “might get addicted.”

you were still trying to catch your breath when dahlia gently tilted your face toward his.

his eyes were dark.

“my turn,” he said.

you didn’t realize you were grinding against venti’s mouth until he groaned, loud and thrilled, hands squeezing your thighs to keep you there. your head spun. your hips jerked. he loved it.

“needy girl,” he gasped against you, tongue flicking quick and sharp. “use me.”

you whimpered.

behind you, dahlia cursed under his breath, pushing your bra up to mouth at your tits, teeth grazing your nipple just rough enough to make you jolt. “fuck, baby. so sensitive. you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you?”

venti pulled back just enough to grin against your skin. “she’s close.”

“she always was easy.” “she’s perfect.” “she’s mine.”

you gasped, nearly choking on your own breath.

“then why’s she whining on my tongue?” venti said, smug, dragging it over you again — and god, it was filthy the way he moaned like he’d been starved for this, like the taste of you was his favorite kind of poison.

you cried out, trembling hard enough that dahlia had to grip your hips tighter to keep you upright.

“venti—venti—fuck—”

“cum for me,” he said sweetly. “be good and make a mess on my face.”

and you did.

with a cry that split the air, you came hard — shaking, hips bucking, vision dark at the edges. venti didn’t stop. he ate it up, humming, licking through your orgasm like he was trying to memorize it. like he wanted seconds.

maybe thirds.

you barely had time to catch your breath before dahlia was spinning you, lips crashing into yours — rough, messy, starved.

“still mine,” he muttered against your mouth. “she might’ve got you first, but i get to fuck you.”

venti wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes shining. “we get to fuck her.”

dahlia didn’t argue this time.

you were dizzy, your knees barely holding, your pulse still too fast. but you didn’t care.

not when dahlia was walking you back toward the bed, pushing you gently down, stripping you slow like you were something precious and ruined all at once. not when venti crawled up beside you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your collarbone — every inch dahlia wasn’t touching.

“gonna take care of you,” venti whispered, fingers ghosting down your stomach. “you’ll let us, won’t you?”

you nodded. breathless.

“use your words, baby,” dahlia said, already undoing his belt. “what do you want?”

you looked between them — wrecked and warm and starving — lips parted, thighs trembling, mouth slick with spit and want and everything you weren’t supposed to be.

your voice barely came out a whisper.

“…both of you.”

venti beamed. radiant. unholy. like a prayer turned inside out.

“god bless.”

“god hates us,” dahlia muttered, already pushing your thighs further apart, climbing over you like he owned you. “and i’m about to make you forget every prayer you’ve ever known.”

your breath hitched. your whole body keened.

then came the first thrust — deep, deliberate — and the air punched out of your lungs in a messy, wrecked sound.

you didn’t even know whose hands were on you anymore. one gripped your throat just enough to make your vision blur at the edges, another curled around your hip, dragging you back against their pace like you were made for it. venti was saying something — words you couldn’t catch, not when your brain was sliding like honey through your skull — but his mouth was wet and hot and everywhere, his tongue licking into your teeth like he wanted to taste the exact second you broke.

dahlia growled in your ear, low and dark, his grip bruising.

“say it,” he rasped. “say who’s making you feel this good.”

“y-you both—” you gasped, hands scrabbling for anything to hold onto. “fuck, please—”

“aw, look at her,” venti cooed, voice syrupy, cocky, cruel. “can’t even think straight. how many times has she cum already?”

“four,” dahlia grunted. “maybe five.”

“mm. not enough.”

you whimpered as venti dipped between your legs again, tongue unrelenting, too much — too much — but god, you didn’t want it to stop. didn’t want to breathe if it meant they’d stop touching you like this, worshipping you like the altar you were never meant to be.

you moaned — high and helpless — when dahlia’s pace picked up, slamming into you like he was trying to fuck his name into your spine.

venti grinned up at you from between your thighs, lips wet and swollen.

“gonna make her forget the alphabet.”

“already did,” dahlia panted. “she went stupid after the second orgasm.”

you didn’t deny it.

you couldn’t. your brain had been fucked clean out of your head, scrambled like eggs, your only thoughts left were their names and the way they made you feel — raw, perfect, ruined.

and still they kept going. and you let them.

you let them, because you were already too far gone. because your body begged for more even when your mind shattered. because you’d never felt this good. this full. this taken.

because whatever sins you’d committed to get here?

you’d do them all again. twice. in heels.

god was gone. and you were still moaning.

it didn’t matter anymore. not with your legs trembling open, cunt puffy and dripping, drool sliding from the corner of your mouth as you moaned pathetically around venti’s cock.

“ohh, look at her,” venti cooed, breath shaky, voice teasing and airy as he fisted your hair. “baby’s all fucked out already, and we haven’t even finished.”

“slut,” dahlia muttered behind you, hands digging into your hips as he snapped his into yours. “you came again, didn’t you? just now. again. fuck—your pussy’s still squeezing like she wants more.”

you whined around venti’s length, eyelids fluttering. your arms couldn’t hold you up anymore. your thighs had given out ages ago. they kept you upright between them — barely — venti’s cock hitting the back of your throat while dahlia was still pounding into your soaked, overstimulated cunt like he was trying to fuck the brain out of you.

maybe he already had.

venti moaned, hips twitching as your lips hollowed around him. “you’re drooling, pretty girl,” he gasped. “so messy. god, i love it. she’s not even blinking, look—she’s gone, dahlia.”

“good,” dahlia growled, pace still brutal. “she wanted to act like she didn’t want either of us earlier. needed a reminder.”

venti chuckled, breathless. “she’ll forget her name at this rate.”

you tried to answer — to say fuck you or i hate you or please or more or something, anything — but your voice was gone, throat raw, thoughts mush.

“mm-mm,” venti murmured, noticing the twitch of your brows. “don’t think. just feel.”

you whined again — this time, deeper. desperate.

dahlia leaned forward, hand sliding up to wrap around your throat from behind. “you gonna cum again for us, sweetheart?” he rasped into your ear, hips still slamming into you. “gonna cream all over my cock like a needy little toy?”

you gasped around venti, tears finally slipping from your lashes.

venti groaned, tilting your head up to look at him. “god, she’s crying,” he whispered. “you’re so fucking pretty like this, y’know that?”

you made a wrecked little noise, drool sliding past your lips as you nodded.

dahlia grunted. “fucking knew she liked it. knew you were a dirty girl the second i saw you in that church dress.”

your cunt clenched violently.

“fuck—again?” dahlia moaned. “she’s—she’s gonna—”

you broke.

legs kicking, arms trembling, a scream caught in your throat around venti’s cock as your body convulsed, heat flashing white as you came hard — your sixth? seventh? you couldn’t tell — clenching so tight around dahlia it made him swear, hips jerking once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt with a groan.

venti whimpered. “ohh, fuck, baby—fuck—gonna—gonna—”

he pulled out just in time, coming hot and fast across your tongue and lips, his hand under your chin to tilt your face up, make you take it. you let your mouth fall open, drool and spit and come spilling messily down your chin.

“that’s it,” he gasped, voice sweet and fucked. “good girl. good fucking girl.”

you whimpered — barely conscious, twitching.

dahlia pulled out slow, watching your slick drip down your thighs. “fuck, look at that mess,” he muttered, thumb brushing your clit just to watch you flinch. “soaked the sheets. hope your roommate’s proud.”

venti collapsed beside you, sweaty and blissed out, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

you blinked at him, dazed. “mmnnh.”

he grinned. “no thoughts. just cock.”

“mission accomplished,” dahlia muttered, flopping beside you on the other side.

you weren’t even sure which of them kissed your shoulder.

you just knew your legs didn’t work, your soul had left your body, and if god had been here tonight —

he definitely left mid-threesome.

you woke up to the sound of someone snoring and someone else — singing.

acoustic. badly. with feeling.

“…living in a material wooorld, and i am a material giiirl—”

your brain hurt. your legs hurt. your entire existence hurt.

you cracked one eye open.

and immediately regretted everything.

venti was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in a blanket like some sleep-deprived prophet, strumming an actual guitar (???) you swore nobody had brought to the party. eyeliner smudged halfway to his temples, red eyeshadow still smeared across one cheek like war paint. his lips were shiny — glossy, even. god only knew why.

he grinned when he saw you awake.

“morning, sunshine! you moaned like a pornstar in your sleep.”

you blinked.

rolled over.

and immediately saw dahlia, shirtless, face buried in a pillow, groaning like he had just been born into suffering.

“kill me,” he rasped.

you sat up slowly, blanket clutched to your chest, realizing three things at once:

1. you were wearing dahlia’s shirt. inside out. 

2. venti was definitely wearing your bra like a headband.

3. someone had written “slut sandwich” on the fogged-up mirror in lipstick.

“what the actual hell happened,” you croaked, throat wrecked, dignity in shambles, and your legs about two steps away from quitting the entire concept of balance.

“sex,” venti answered brightly from the bed, still shirtless, still smug. “lots of it. possibly illegal in some countries.”

“definitely illegal in a church parking lot,” dahlia added, not even opening his eyes. “and probably a few states.”

you flipped them both off with shaky fingers as you stumbled toward the bathroom, every muscle in your body filing a complaint.

“don’t forget to hydrate!” venti called after you, far too cheerful for a man who’d literally begged to cum in your mouth five hours ago.

you grumbled something about exorcisms and shoved the bathroom door open, clinging to the sink like a war veteran. mascara smudged. knees bruised. bite marks blooming like artwork down your collarbone. you didn’t even want to check your hair.

you’d barely closed the door behind you when you heard:

“hey dahlia?”

“what.”

“did we actually high-five while spit-roasting her or was that just something i dreamed about?”

a pause.

“nah. we definitely high-fived. you yelled ‘teamwork makes the cream work.’”

venti wheezed. “oh my god. i’m hilarious.”

you slammed the bathroom door shut like it owed you money.

god, give me strength, you prayed silently. and maybe a therapist. and a gallon of electrolytes.

…also maybe another round after brunch. if they behave.

a/n: guys imma be honest this only got finished bc of @ventisslut <3 ily mother. bless 🙏 if it weren’t for u i’d probably still be staring at my docs unfinished and untouched (like me)

[gojoest]

BURDEN and REVERENCE — gojo satoru

MDNI, pregnancy freak!satoru, f!reader, established relationship (married + reader is expecting), pregnancy, lots of pet names (love, pretty one, baby, sweetness, my beautiful wife), fingering, humping, cumming in pants (<- hinted), wc: 1.5k, not proofread, dividers by @/cafekitsune

what your fingers can’t, your husband’s will ;)

“Stupid Satoru”, with a shaky breath you mumble under your nose. “It’s all because of you—", you whine to yourself.

Grabbing onto the sink in the bathroom with one hand to support yourself, you desperately try to make the other one work its way (and magic) between your legs, albeit ineffectively.

You can’t properly reach down and take care of yourself now — courtesy of the swollen belly that your very husband brought upon you. No matter how much you bend and shift, your baby bump is still in the way. Your fingers alone prove unable to make it to the spots in you that are itching to be touched right now.

“Stupid, idiot, bastard— “

“I love you too”, a familiar voice reaches your ears — the words are spoken with a smile that’s imbued itself in the timbre of it. “You look beautiful”

A sigh breaks past your lips. “In distress? — Sure”

Your husband — and the father of your unborn child, Gojo Satoru — stands tall at the bathroom entrance, looking at you with lovesick eyes, admiring your naked body with reverence. “I’m sorry”, he breathes.

It is not an apology for being late though.

Times like this one are the raw example of the changes he had forced on your body.

There are certain things you can no longer do by yourself now that your belly’s grown quite a bit, or you can — but at the cost of great discomfort, you must admit. Tying your shoelaces, reaching certain parts of your body when you shower that require you to bend down, or when you try to get off on your own — all those innocuous activities have suddenly become quite the challenge now with his baby growing inside you.

At times like this, you need him — and he is more than happy to help and serve you.

Truth be told, he bears a little bit of guilt for burdening you like this, but it is a guilt that he likes to let plague his conscience…

…because he’s completely enamored with this state of you — pregnant, swollen with his seed that is blooming in your womb like a flower, the you that is reliant on him to wash your feet, to rub your ankles, to paint your toenails, to fuck your depths your fingers can’t reach — now those are the parts of your body only he has access to; not even you.

You need him, and he loves that.

Slowly rolling his sleeves up, he inches closer to you. “Let me take care of you, my love”

To him, you look so beautiful in your naked glory on display. Leaned against the sink with a hand between your thighs, your swollen breasts like two open hands awaiting to be grasped by him, your round belly sticking out towards him — the view alone makes his cock stiffen in a heartbeat. Fuck, he mouths the word. The pressure in his groin is festering, really fast.

You free your hand now, knowing that he’s here to take charge of things, and once before you he takes a hold of it and brings it to his lips. Starting from the knuckles he paints your fingers with tender kisses, licking the remnants of your slick on them. “You should’ve waited for me”, he hums into your hand. “You know I love joining you — don’t keep this from me”, he pouts a little.

“I know, but…”, you knit your brows. “I don’t want to be a burden to you like this, all the time”

Maybe, you’re just having another hormonal episode. Maybe it’s just that, you think, because Satoru’s never given you a reason to feel like you are weighing on him.

Eyes squinting, Satoru tilts his head in confusion. His hips push forward, causing the erection under his slacks to rub against your belly — on purpose, to prove a point. “Do I look burdened to you, pretty one?”

You chuckle. A-ha— point proven, you see. “That looks like a huge burden if you ask me” — your remark drags a short laugh out of him.

“Mind if I share some of it with you then?”, he grins smugly.

“You say some of it, but you really give all of it to me”

“It’s ‘cause you take it so well, baby”

You slap his chest — Ah, what a dickhead — and smile at him.

His lips charge towards you and peck you softly on the forehead. “You are never a burden to me”, he whispers against you before he slowly starts to drag his body down — on his knees, in front of you. Kissing every inch of you along the way — the tip of your nose, your lips, your chin, the length of your neck, your breasts, your beautiful belly... “Sometimes I fear that I am the one burdening you — with my freakish desire of you, all the time”

“So you admit to being a freak”, you ruffle his hair softly as his cheek remains pressed against your baby bump. “You flatter me too much”

“No — I revere you”, he gazes up at you, his lips longingly kissing the skin on your belly as he takes both of your hands into his and places them on his shoulders. “Here — hold on, and relax your thighs”, his hands travel down between the plush of your legs and slide them open like they’re curtains. Your nails dig into his clothed flesh, earning a low hiss from him.

“Stay like this for me, love — stay open for me to reach you” — soft pecks on the flesh that separates his lips from his unborn follow each word that seeps from his mouth, as if to ease you into his finger prodding at your slit along with his thumb rubbing tender circles on your sensitive clit. His other hand rested against the bottom of your belly.

“Satoru”, you moan softly — but demandingly — at his touch. Clenching your cunt to try and suck him in — and you do, although not entirely. You force just about the tip of his finger into you. “I am ready”

…and you’re impatient, he smiles.

His middle finger tardily inches into you, urging his cock to twitch under his pants at your warmth and at the wetness soaking into his skin. Fuck, he curses quietly under his breath — his hips involuntarily buck forward with need, his clothed bulge pressing itself on the lower of your limb; he is humping your leg like a dog.

Fuck, he must be a sorry sight for you right now — he thinks. And here you are, being groundlessly anxious about burdening him… With what exactly? Have you ever seen a dog burdened by its owner? Isn’t it the other way around? — he ponders, while his finger sinks deeper into you.

“More, ‘Toru…”, you whimper. “Want m-more..”

Grunting at the way your muscles contract around his finger, Satoru slides it in further — repeatedly reaching in as far as possible, curling and drawing back. “More what, baby?”, he coos. “More depth—“, he rams his finger in, causing you to jolt and squeeze your hands harder around his shoulders, mouth hung open, voiceless and unable to even gasp. “Or more fingers?” — he pulls away, only to push back two of them in.

You gasp, barely able to draw in a breath of air, thighs squeezing around his hand. His fingers are thick, and they are long. Two of them almost feel like a cock inside you.

“Tell me, love — which one is it?”, innocently he asks, while his fingers maneuver inside you, not so innocently. A self-satisfied look on his face that you want to wipe off with the back of your hand, but all you can muster is a whimper of pleasure washing over you.

“Oh? Is it both, baby?”, he continues coaxing you smugly. “Is this how you were trying to fuck yourself? Is that it, baby? Am I doing it right for you, sweetness?”

“Fuck, S-satoru—“, you cry. Moving your hips in sync with his fingers, your round belly hits his face with each motion, clawing low grunts from his throat and desperate humps around your leg as he slides his throbbing bulge up and down on it. He was soaking his pants by now, but you were his sole focus. He’d clean his mess later, with you in the shower — but still, by grinding on you like a dog he wanted to let you know the effect you were having on him.

“I am, baby — I am fucking you”, he croons like a sweet addition to the squelching noises of your sopping pussy. “Cum on my fingers, my love. My beautiful wife — cum on your husband’s fingers”, his glazed digits pumping harder, hammering into you fast and filling the bathroom with echoes of labored breathing and loud smacks of his hand against your soaked cunt.

“C-cuming” — you manage to utter through rapid breaths, pussy pulsing and your walls grabbing more at his fingers as the wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your hands relax their grip and hug around his neck as you look at him with weary eyes, lips panting heavily still. “What a good girl”, he speaks to you. “Now come—”, his hand retreats from your folds, causing you to slightly flinch as he pulls away from your sore, sensitive cunt, “Let me clean you up, and maybe — burden you a little”

[sknyuz]

hi :)) i LOOOOOOVE your writing, you do all the boys so much justice. i was reading the intimacy one and saw you wanted requests for gotak 👀👀

this ideas been festering in my head so walk with me (or don't, that's also fine.)

new student!reader who comes to class and has a small run in with juntae (similar to how he bumped into sieun) and thinks he's adorable so they kinda just naturally becomes really close friends with him. gotak heard news about the new student and also started to hear juntae talk about them so he lowkey tries to swindle juntae into introducing all of them. juntae being the cutie (but also not naive!) he is decided to introduce them and gotak is taken back by how close they are and gets mildly jealous (for what reason 🤔😏).

sorry for the ramble and also that went no where but it's been in my head for sooooo long 😭😭😭

pairing — go hyuntak (gotak) x gn!reader (ft. bff!juntae) genre — fluff, comedy, f2l warnings — mild language, injury (minor sprain), sieun being an instigator, baku being a headass word count — ~2.1k

note: omg this took soooo long to post because of my break !! i finished this actually a week ago lol i just had lots of prior requests to get to so i never got around to posting it. alas, let us all welcome gotak’s debut on my blog !! the people have been waitinggggg and asking for this one !! and finally... !!

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

to put it simply, if you hadn’t turned the corner right at that moment, you don’t know how the rest of this school year would've turned out.

new school, new people, new everything. you had a map in your hand and maybe two brain cells left when someone rounded the hallway a little too fast and bumped straight into you. papers went flying. both of you froze.

“oh no—wait, i’m sorry, that was me,” he said, already crouched down to gather the mess like it was his life that had been scattered across the floor.

you blinked, surprised. he had soft eyes and glasses sliding halfway down his nose and this slightly panicked look like he thought you might cry.

“it’s okay,” you told him. “honestly, you might’ve saved my life. i was about to walk straight into a locked door.”

he smiled, awkward and kind. “my name is juntae. seo juntae. you’re new, right?”

you nodded. and just like that, he offered to walk you to class—it was the easiest decision you’d made all day.

juntae was the type of person who made space for you without ever making you feel like a burden. he brought you snacks during lunch and showed you where to hide out when the hallways got too loud. he also talked a lot about his friends, and one afternoon—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he said, “oh, you should meet sieun. you’d like him.”

you did. he was quiet and careful with his words, but funny in a dry way that caught you off guard. he’d glance at juntae like you really brought them here? but still offered you a spot at the table. he even let you steal a fry. so you counted that as a win.

after that came baku—loud, sunny, fast-talking. he practically tackled you into a high five and said, “juntae’s new bestie? you’re in good hands,” before dragging you into some debate about what counts as a sandwich.

somehow, you ended up kind of... just around. like a ghost that turned real. people knew your name before you introduced yourself. baku waved whenever he saw you. sieun always made room for you on the bench. and juntae, sweet as he was, forgot to formally introduce you to one person.

“yo,” gotak called, wiping sweat from his neck as he tossed the basketball to baku. “who’s that?”

baku looked up from tying his shoelace. “huh?”

“over there,” gotak nodded toward the sidelines, where you were doubled over laughing next to sieun and juntae. “they’ve been hanging around a lot.”

baku blinked, “that’s y/n.” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

gotak simply stared, as baku tilted his head. “you know them. don’t you?”

gotak looked back at you. you were teasing juntae about something, eyes crinkled, whole face lit up. juntae said something back that made you shove his arm, half-laughing, half-gasping.

gotak frowned, “i’ve never met them.”

baku paused. “wait. what? i thought juntae introduced you already—he told everyone else. dude. even sieun knows her.”

gotak narrowed his eyes. “so why didn’t he tell me?”

“damn,” baku grinned. “someone’s feeling left out.” as he threw the ball to his chest, a little too roughly to snap his friend out of it.

“shitty pass,” gotak muttered under his breath, passing the ball back to him.

baku snorted. “you sure you’re mad about the ball and not the fact that your bestie got a new bestie?”

gotak didn’t answer. but later that day, when he caught you waiting for juntae outside the gym, he slowed down.

you waved, and he waved back. maybe a little delayed, a little thoughtful.

maybe a little curious.

he hesitated like he was deciding something, then crossed the space between you with that awkward confidence some people carry when they’re not used to starting conversations but do it anyway.

he scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down before landing on yours. “hey. uh... y/n,”

you smiled. “hi.”

he nodded, like that helped him keep going. “i’m also juntae’s friend, in the basketball team. with baku.” you tilted your head. “oh yeah—go hyuntak, right?”

he blinked.

you shrugged. “baku mentioned you once. and you were on the court earlier.”

gotak looked a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t expected you to know his name. then his mouth twitched, the smallest upward curve. “...right. that’s me. call me gotak.”

you stood there for a beat, quiet.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said.

he glanced up, then back down, like he was working through a million thoughts at once. “yeah. you too.”

just then, the gym doors creaked open behind you.

“y/n!” jun-tae called, jogging out with his bag slung over one shoulder. “sorry—got caught up helping the coach—oh, hey gotak!”

gotak stepped back half a pace, nodding. “hey.”

juntae looked between you, confused for half a second. “wait—did i never introduce you guys?”

you and gotak both said, “no.”

juntae blinked. “...oops.”

you laughed. gotak didn’t, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he looked over at you again.

after that, he finally had an excuse.

or maybe it was just that now you were officially introduced—he started showing up more. like how he always just happened to walk by your classroom when it let out. or how he’d offer to carry your stuff from your locker even if it wasn’t heavy. he’d still act casual about it—mumbling something about "heading that way anyway"—but the look in his eyes always lingered a little longer than it used to.

you started showing up to practices more too. usually with a water bottle in hand. eventually, two.

then four.

baku started calling you their "hydration manager" and gotak rolled his eyes every time, but he’d take the bottle from your hands like it meant something, every time you handed him his bottle, your fingers would brush. lightly. deliberately. like a habit you weren’t in a rush to break.

he wasn’t loud about it, but as the days passed, he found himself looking for you more often than he meant to—your voice across the court, your laugh when juntae said something stupid, and the way you stuck around even when no one asked you to.

he didn’t say it out loud, but your presence became something he... liked. something that made the world feel a little softer when you were around.

and sometimes, when you laughed a little too hard at juntae’s jokes, gotak would glance over without meaning to. once, he got so distracted that baku shot the ball clean over his head and it smacked him right in the back.

“yo!” baku shouted, rushing over. “you good?!”

gotak muttered, rubbing the side of his head, “i wasn’t looking.”

“clearly,” baku huffed. “what were you looking at?”

gotak didn’t answer. just glanced back toward the sidelines, where you were sitting, completely unaware.

you weren’t exactly subtle either.

at first, it was just a glance. maybe two. maybe three, if you were feeling brave and he was too focused on the court to notice. there was something about the way he moved—steady, grounded, all quiet strength and furrowed brows. you’d never really watched basketball before, but suddenly it was your favorite part of the afternoon.

whenever he scored, you clapped a little louder. a little quicker. maybe even stood up once, under the excuse of stretching.

juntae caught you once. leaned over and whispered, “you cheer louder for him than for baku.”

you blinked. “no i don’t.”

he grinned. “yes you do.”

you smacked his arm. “shut up.”

but the next time gotak glanced toward the benches after a point, your hands were already mid-clap, eyes already on him.

he met your gaze.

just for a second.

you looked away first.

the more you saw of gotak, the more you saw him. it started with the little things—running into him by the vending machine after class, both of you reaching for the same pack of chips at the same time. you laughed, unsure of who should take it first.

“you can have it,” gotak said, smiling, though you could swear there was a flicker of something in his eyes. something that felt... not exactly like embarrassment, but not entirely casual either.

"no, it’s fine, you take it," you said, holding your hand out. "you reached first."

he paused, just staring for a second, before he gave a small shrug and grabbed it. “you sure?”

“yeah.”

you both took your snacks and stepped aside, awkwardly aware of how close you’d been. as you tried to avoid eye contact, you were almost certain your heart was racing. had he been looking at you like that... or was it just your imagination?

the awkward encounters started happening more often, though. a lot more often.

you’d bump into him in the hallway. near the library. at the school gates. suddenly, you felt like you were always in his orbit—and not just you. everyone noticed.

“you two are weirdly always in the same place at the same time,” juntae pointed out one day while you were grabbing lunch. “it’s like you’re following him around.”

you choked on your drink. “what? no. no, i’m not. i—he just happens to be there. i’m—just minding my business.”

juntae fixes his glasses, shrugging it off with a playful grin, though you could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. “alright, y/n. totally.”

and of course, baku caught on too. one day, while you were standing at the sidelines during practice, watching gotak and baku scrimmage, he glanced over at you, then at gotak, then back at you. then gotak. then you. he raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“hey,” baku said casually, tossing the ball to gotak. “you two are like, besties now, huh?”

gotak froze, looking at him, and then glancing over at gotak to avoid meeting baku’s gaze. “what? no. we’re not—”

“uh-huh,” baku grinned, spinning the ball on his finger. “sure, and i’m top of the class.”

during practice one afternoon, it happened.

gotak went up for a dunk, but his foot slipped awkwardly when he landed, and he crumpled to the ground with a loud thud. your heart dropped as you watched him clutch his ankle, wincing in pain.

“gotak!” you shouted, rushing to his side.

he grimaced, leaning against the floor, clearly in pain.

“dude, what happened?” baku called out, rushing over too. “you good?”

“i’m fine,” gotak muttered, trying to push himself up, but his face twisted in discomfort. “just sprained it, probably.”

sieun was quick to appear by your side, his usually calm demeanor shifting slightly as he assessed the situation. without missing a beat, he turned to you, a rare glint of something in his eyes. “maybe y/n can take him to the infirmary? we still have to clean up here.”

you blinked, unsure how to respond. “huh?”

sieun shot a pointed look toward baku, who was still oblivious to what was going on. his lips curved in the smallest, lopsided smirk. “baku doesn’t need your help right now,” he said, almost too casually, before giving a side glance at you.

you noticed baku didn’t catch the hint, just furrowing his brows at the situation. “wait, what? you seriously want y/n to drag him to the infirmary? you do realize that guy’s gonna crush ‘em under his weight, right? y’know gotak’s been having too much chicken—”

sieun’s eyes flickered with something that might’ve been amusement, though his expression stayed neutral. “go on,” sieun said, motioning to gotak, tone soft but firm. “help him out.”

you looked down at gotak, who was still struggling to stand, and it dawned on you that he was huge—much bigger than you. and the thought of dragging him all the way to the infirmary alone? absurd. awkward.

but you couldn’t exactly say no, not when everyone was watching and not when he was looking at you like he needed your help.

“you okay to walk?” you asked, kneeling down next to him.

“i think i’ll survive,” he grumbled, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

you offered him your hand. “come on, let’s get you there.”

he took your hand, and you tried not to notice how big his hand felt wrapped around yours. you both started walking, and although you tried to make it seem like a casual walk, every step felt like you were carrying the weight of his entire body.

sieun watched you both for a second, his gaze unreadable. the smallest of smirks tugged at the corners of his mouth.

the walk to the infirmary wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, though you were still struggling to act normal when you finally helped gotak sit down on the clinic bed. his ankle was already wrapped up, but he kept fiddling with his fingers, looking down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

you sat across from him, the silence stretching for a moment as you both just sat there, waiting.

“uh, thanks for this, y/n,” gotak mumbled, his voice quiet in a way that was almost unlike him. he kept glancing at you, then back at his hands.

you tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “no problem, seriously. i told you, i’m happy to help. anything for you,” you said, maybe a little more casually than you intended, your heart racing just a little.

he met your gaze then, eyes wide and slightly soft, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “anything?” he asked, teasing, but there was a hint of something more in his tone.

“well, yeah,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “you’re my friend. i’ve got your back.”

there was a beat of silence as you both just looked at each other. gotak’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers still fidgeting, though a little more nervously now.

“you’re…you’re a really good person, y/n,” he said softly, his eyes lowering to his hands again, as if he was unsure of how to put his feelings into words.

you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm at the sincerity in his voice. “thanks, gotak. that means a lot coming from you.”

the moment stretched longer than it probably should have, but neither of you seemed to want to break it.

finally, he cleared his throat, looking up at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “so, uh…if you’re willing to do anything for me…”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah?”

he shifted a little, suddenly a little more serious, though his usual playful grin still tugged at the corners of his lips. “you think you could—i don’t know—not make me fall for you?”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you swore you didn’t breathe. his words hung in the air, the playful edge still there, but there was something different about the way he said it. something that made your heart flutter in that puppy-love way that only people in the early stages of affection could understand.

“w-what?” you stammered, unable to hide the rush of warmth that spread across your cheeks. “you’re—you’re falling for me?”

he raised both eyebrows now, the teasing gone from his voice, replaced with something more earnest. “maybe,” he said with a small, sheepish grin, his gaze never leaving you. “maybe it’s too late for that. i think i’m already halfway there.”

you blinked at him, unsure how to respond, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. the air between you was suddenly thick with something you didn’t quite know how to define.

you broke the silence with a nervous laugh, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “well, i guess it’s not so bad to meet you in the middle if you’re already halfway there.”

gotak chuckled, his lips curving into that genuine smile you’d come to look forward to. “yeah, i guess it’s not, huh?”

if u liked this, a reblog would be greatly appreciated to help my work reach other people as well >><< !! thank u thank u

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[ellievickstar]

Bloodied Bonds

A/N: This was...fun. I wanted to fit it all into one part but it was getting too long sooooo yeah.....have fun :)

Summary: When hanahaki disease festers in your lungs, how will your family help you while you hide it from your mate?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Rhysand x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Elain slander, dying

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

There they were again.

Azriel smiled at Elain with those eyes…those eyes. And in your soul you felt the bond writhe with pain and clench in your chest. You remained still as you immediately brought your eyes to look at the ground beneath you. This hurt. This really hurt. A part of you wanted to deny it, wanted to believe that Azriel would remain faithful to you always, that he would stay true to the mating bond, something he desperately used to want before we got together.

Now, you were not so sure.

“Sweetheart…,” Cassian said from behind me, startling. He knew what you was seeing, saw it in his own brother’s eyes. Azriel may have always been a mystery to everyone else outside the inner circle, but his eyes — his beautiful hazel eyes — showed you everything you needed to know.

“I’m fine,” You waved Cassian off, bringing down shields on the bond, shutting out his emotions, the pain from it, and shutting yourself in as a stray tear slipped down your face, “I’m really fine,” You repeated.

Truth to be told, Cassian did not know what to say to you. After you had defended Azriel since you were kids, brought him to you and Rhysand’s mother, convinced her to take him in. Cassian did not know what could come over Azriel to internally betray you in this way. However as you began coughing Cassian was alarmed when you raced towards the kitchen sink and coughed out flower petals, one after another.

“What the hell-” He started, moving to pull back your hair as he observed what you had coughed out. Blood and petals coated the sink and as you choked them out one by one, slowly calming down, you waved your hand magicking it away. And it was then it hit him.

You were dying.

“Explain. Now.” He demanded. Looking away you mumbled.

“A few weeks ago after I first realised he loved her, I started coughing up flowers and my tears, my tears turned a gold colour. I asked Madja what was wrong. It’s a soul disease called hanahaki, caused by the betrayal of the heart and unrequited love. The tears were caused by the same thing, a unique symptom that is because of my magic due to being the High Lord’s sister. She said the flowers in my lungs will continue to grow until it suffocates me and I die. The star tears are just a symptom that causes physical pain, she doesn’t know if there will be any repercussions from it,” That’s all you managed to ramble out before you doubled over and heaved again, blood dripping out of your gaping mouth as you choked and coughed on the flower petals making their way up your throat.

Cassian was at a loss of words, on one hand he wanted to be angry, angry at you for keeping this from him, for not telling him sooner so he could beat the crap out of Azriel. On the other hand he was…devastated. You had always been like a sister to him, since he first met you as a kindred and fierce spirit when you were seven years old. The three of them had been twenty and Cassian had fell to his knees before the little girl with such a bright spirit, who dared to scream in Devlon’s face when he said females belonged in the kitchen.

Cassian had sworn to protect you.

And now, against a disease he felt helpless.

“Is there a cure?” He asked.

“Madja said there were two ways, either Azriel proves that he still loves me, which we both know won’t happen when he won’t stay away from Elain for more than a few hours, or I could have the flowers cut from their roots and removed, it’s a risky procedure and even successful all my feelings towards Azriel will be removed entirely, given the mating bond, she thinks it will be stripped from my soul. I….I wanted to wait.”

“So you either have your emotions robbed from you, make Azriel realise he’s an idiot, or die?”

You nod.

“Tell Azriel,” “I can’t!” You hissed, “We both know I can’t. He loves her, Cassian, I can feel it, I can see it, everytime he looks at her it’s like she’s the one who hung the stars and moon while when he looks at me that light dies!” You bang your fist on the table.

You point to where Azriel and Elain was far out in the gardens. His shadows no where to be seen, both blissfully unaware of what was going on inside with you and Cassian.

“He acts like she’s the one who went through countless of interrogation, of torture, when she got captured by enemies. He acts like she was the one who protected Velaris with Rhysand when she went under the mountain to be taken advantage of, when Amarantha held me down and tried to force answers out of me,” You let out another pained cry as you slid to the ground, “I have done everything for him, been through hell and back with him. And even after everything he still wants her, still wants to be with her, still doesn’t want me.”

Cassian brought you closer to him as he sat next to you and let you cry on his shoulder.

You cried and cried, and cried until there was nothing left. Cried until you couldn’t cry.

And when you finally fell asleep from exhaustion, Cassian glanced out the house to the gardens where his brother trailed Elain, and Cassian made a decision.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“You told my brother!?” You shrieked. Rhysand and Cassian was now sitting around you in Rhys’s study.

“You told Cassian before me?” Rhysand shot back. You rolled your eyes as you scoffed, “Oh please I didn’t tell him anything I was throwing up flowers in front of him, not much I could do except explain.”

Shaking his head, Rhys sighed as he glanced at Cassian and they both shared a look. Narrowing your eyes, the tendrils in your mind crept towards your brother and the general, and surprise coated your face when you realised they had shut you out.

“Let me remind you what I do is my choice.”

“Not when your life is at stake,” Rhysand retorted.

So he had decided something against your will already. Of course, your brother who wanted to help everyone, your brother who thought you were his responsibility, his burden to bear. Your brother who claimed to value your opinion oh so much but then never, not once, ever considered how you feel in anything that had to do with you.

“He doesn’t care. I haven’t even been actively hiding it from him, it’s just that he’s never around to notice,” You said bitterly, “Did you know he missed my birthday? You all did. Because usually he’s the one going around reminding everyone the week before. Did you know our anniversary passed and I had waited for him all day just to realise he was with her?” Stray tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to hold them back.

Crying meant that you were weak.

And you hated being weak.

That was when Cassian spoke, “Have Madja remove the flowers.”

Rhysand shot a look at him.

“She won’t survive otherwise. Even as we discuss this now she is running out of time, Rhys. Azriel’s infatuation with Elain is unforgivable and at least this way we can save her. Their relationship might never be the same but if Azriel is truly in love with Elain as she feels, then it is possible this way everyone wins.”

“I don’t want the male who almost killed my sister in my court,” Rhys bit out.

“Convincing Azriel that what he is doing is wrong will take too long. Maybe we should have interfered when it first started but now it’s too late. We can still save her, really save her. Not their relationship but at least she’ll live,” “And live with a bond that will eventually diminish into nothing?” “Maybe it’s better that way.”

Glancing between Cassian and your brother, your own inner turmoil seemed to be playing out in front of you as they discussed everything that you had not been able to come to terms with yourself. A part of you could still hardly believe that Azriel would do something like this, hurt you in this way when he himself swore that he would be loyal for eternity.

Mates.

A sacred connection that determined your equal, your partner in everything.

But your parents were mates too…and that did not work out well. So maybe it was time for you to let your mate go.

However, as you opened your mouth to agree with Cassian, to agree that maybe the best option would be to remove the flowers directly, the consequences of your feelings being stolen be damned, a cough climbed up your throat.

And as you coughed out bloody petals onto Rhysand’s office floor….everything went dark.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

It had all happened quickly, too quickly for Rhysand’s liking.

One moment he was debating with Cassian how they would save his sister’s life, the next moment as she was about to say something and he watched in horror as blood came out instead of words. Her eyes drooped and he raced to catch her from hitting her head on the hard wooden floors, and as his ears started ringing, holding his sister’s lifeless body in his arms, as he watched golden tears stream out of her eyes, he noticed there was someone screaming.

And it was not until his throat hurt, until his own throat burned, that he realised he was the one screaming, crying out loud for his sister who’s body seemed as lifeless as the one he had lost all those years ago.

“Get Madja!” He roared at Cassian, “Get her NOW!”

Less that a minute went by when Morrigan and Feyre came into the room, Feyre let out a horrified gasp as Mor took in the scene, freezing as she realised her cousin, her best friend, her only companion during the times after Eris and Keir, was in Rhysand’s arms, still and lifeless even as blood trickled out of her mouth and gold spilled form her closed eyelids.

Madja came shortly after, and Y/N’s body was moved to a different room for Madja to work, Cassian explaining what happened and the illness in Y/N’s body that was causing this. Morrigan took a few steps back, before she crashed into the wall of the hallway and let out her own sob.

And for the first time after Rhysand and Y/N had returned from the mountain, Morrigan wept.

Two days passed, and Y/N did not wake.

Madja estimated that they would have to make a decision within the week whether they would tell Azriel, or cut the flowers out.

And in those two days Azriel did not come.

It was only after Rhysand had asked him to meet, told him about Y/N did Azriel finally realised he had not seen his mate in days. That he had not even spent more than fifteen minutes with her in the past few months.

It was only after Rhysand said that Y/N was dying, did Azriel reach down the now cold and empty bond, and realise he had shut her out. And when he let his walls down, experienced the agony, the pain, the grief she felt even in her unconscious state, did Azriel regret.

“Why didn’t she tell me…” Azriel whispered.

“Because she heard you when I told you to stay away from Elain. I looked into her mind and I realised the day her disease started she went to find you, and you had been in my office, yelling at me that the cauldron had made a mistake, that you wanted Elain,” Rhysand laughed coldly. Even Rhys in all his beauty, his eyes were now red from sobbing, his voice hoarse from how he had cried, and cried.

“Good job, Azriel,” Cassian said from the doorway, “You got what you wanted. Your bond will no longer exist once she awakes…that’s if she survives even.”

“No….I don’t,” Azriel muttered, “Rhysand…what conversation?” Rhysand furrowed his eyebrows, “Are you really playing this game with me now? My sister is DYING! AND YOU WANT TO PRETEND LIKE YOU FORGOT WHAT YOU SAID!?”

Azriel’s eyes looked back and forth between his brother’s….when did he…when did he even get here?

Where was his mate?

Why did it feel like something just cleared from his head?

That was when Elain stepped in, holding a mug and what looked to be tea.

“Azriel, i heard your distress, drink this it will make you feel better,” She said softly, but as Rhysand’s eyes narrowed on the mug, it was Cassian who snatched it out of her hands, brought it to his eyes and shattered it on the already ruined hard wood floors.

“That was not just tea.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

And as Cassian lifted his head he declared, “As General of the Night court, I arrest you for illegal possession and use of aphrodisiacs. You are charged with attempted murder of the Princess of the Night Court. You are charged with manipulation and forced betrayal of the court’s spymaster,” And with a menacing grin Cassian said, “And you are charged because you bloody annoy me and you…what you have done today makes me want to rip you to shreds.”

A beat passed.

“That is….” Cassian continued as he glanced at Azriel, with each blink clarity seemed to return to the shadowsinger as he processed everything, as he remembered everything Elain made him do, as he remembered how he had hurt his mate, “That is if Azriel decides he doesn’t want to kill you first.”

Elain let out a scoff, looking down at the spilled tea and broken pieces of ceramic in disgust, “Azriel loves me. Azriel should love me not that disgusting slut of a female, she might be a princess but she is-,” “Mine.” Azriel interrupted.

“She was mine before you interfered. She was mine before you made me break her.” Azriel turned, no doubt to go find Y/N.

“Start counting your days, Elain, because now they are numbered.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Azriel taglist: @kemillyfreitas @going-through-shit @chessebookgirl

Part 2 here!!

Love, Ellie.

[anchovies-4-dinner]

Fairytale Syndrome I - Betrayal

Characters: Argenti The Little Mermaid, Luocha Rapunzel, and Ratio Snow White

Warnings: death, violence towards reader, failed attempt at exuding fairytale magic

a/n: This... did not turn out as romantic as I thought it would

The Little Mermaid

A long time ago, there lived a beautiful merman by the name of Argenti. He was sought by countless suitors who he would reject without fail. His father, the King, bemoaned to Argenti’s six brothers of his attitude. Overhearing this, the little merman swam out the palace in shame.

Eventually, he reached a wreckage and was drawn to a statue depicting a most beautiful person, and for the first time, he felt his heart flutter. He named it ‘Idrila’.

The merman would visit the statue bearing gifts, until one stormy night, he noticed a ship passing by. Argenti ventured up and saw you who looked exactly like the statue. Just then, waves upturned the ship and its passengers into the sea. Realising that you couldn’t swim, the merman dragged you to the shores.

He fled behind a rock once you roused. You searched for your saviour, and from what little human tongue his brothers taught him, he deciphered your spoken gratitude.

That moment, he concluded that you must have also fallen in love. He told his brothers the news - though sceptical, they were willing to make their littlest happy. Thus, as they distracted the King, Argenti visited the Seawitch:

“Seawitch, oh Seawitch, Make me a man of land and burrow my tail.”

The Seawitch replied:

“There is a price for every wish, You may walk land and be rid of fins, But you may never again sing.”

Argenti accepted this exchange. With a wave of her palm, his voice coiled into a spiralling shell and strung around his neck. Were it to be broken, he would turn into sea foam.

The next day, he sat on the same shore, body wrapped by his long hair. You found and brought him before your father, the King, thinking he was a passenger of your fallen ship. It was then that he learned of your true name.

Eventually, he got used to his slender legs and accompanied you everywhere. On the day you suddenly got engaged to another, you confided that you would much rather marry Argenti instead - that is, until you met your Fiancé, who wove lies about being your saviour. The merman was helpless and unable to speak the truth.

He was stricken with contempt which festered into the night of the wedding. He was alone on a balcony when your Fiancé intruded with a haughty air. In a fit of rage, Argenti pushed him onto the rocks below. In no time did the sea devour the corpse.

The palace was in chaos the next day. Your Fiancé’s family threatened action and civilian trust wavered. Your days were spent wallowing on Argenti’s shoulder. He believed that you would come to return his affections, however, one night he overheard you admit to the King that you would never be able to love again.

He fled to his room and cried out to the ocean, wishing to be a merman once more, but his voice failed him. It was then that his brothers surfaced with shortened hair and a dagger. They had witnessed the tragedy and made a deal with the Seawitch by cutting off their hair:

“There is a price for every wish, You may sing free and be rid of legs, But you must make their heart bleed as yours did beg.”

Argenti slipped into your room and raised the dagger above your sleeping body. However, your peaceful face weakened his resolution, so he carried you to sea until you were fully submerged. He would rather drown together than live on alone.

Awoken by the cold, you flailed, grabbing his necklace and crushing it - but it was much too late. The man dissolved into sea foam, guiding your body into the ocean depths and back to the statue where it calcified.

Many years have since passed, but when the light refracts just right, one may see the ghostly image of the little merman still embracing his first true love.

Rapunzel

Once upon a time, there lived a merchant weary from travel and pregnancy. She stumbled upon an abundant forest from which she feasted. Months later, her baby was born with golden hair. Her husband, furious at the child looking nothing like him, accused the Mother of infidelity and left. It was then decided that the child would be named after evil: Luocha.

The two lived from penny to penny, until one day, the child touched a sickly elder. In an instant, she was rid of ailments. For years many would gather for his 'divine' power, and to push the heavenly façade, the Mother forbade Loucha from cutting his hair.

However, there was a con to this power; plants bloomed on Loucha's skin after every heal. He feared for his life when they crowded one eye, and out of desperation, he tried to flee.

"Oh godless child. You dare abandon your purpose? I thought I had raised a grateful man, but you have deceived me nonetheless."

Luocha's days were then spent in isolation atop a tower. He would tend to an endless line of patients while his Mother horded their money.

It was inevitable that whispers of his miracles would reach Royalty; taken by curiosity, you rode to the tower alone just as the Mother locked the door and retreated to her distant abode. With no other way of entry, you called out:

"Loucha, Loucha, Let down your hair."

Luocha, mistaking you for another patient, denied your request. You introduced yourself as the King's spawn, yet he denied you once more. Finally, you asked for a conversation. Having had no friends, the idea enticed the healer, and he let down his hair.

Your nightly visits became frequent and Loucha more amiable, dreaming of the day you swept him away and wed him in the Capital. His dreams were shattered when you introduced a deathly sick man as your lover, begging for his life.

Luocha, simmering with jealousy, refused. You offered a handsome reward. He refused you once more. Finally, you threatened to never return. Luocha gave in, asking for your handkerchief in exchange.

The next day, the Mother came early to the man asleep with the cloth. Spotting your initials, she demanded an explanation and berated him for not accepting your monetary reward. Still angered from last night, Luocha spoke back. The Mother slapped his cheek but was grazed by a thorn; she shrieked in terror as plants tore through her flesh. Meanwhile, Luocha's dried and fell off to reveal his plush skin.

In horror, the Mother panicked and tripped over his hair, falling out the window and becoming paralysed. Her son stuffed her into a box before carrying out his duties. That night, he made sure to pass on his burden to the Mother once again before your arrival.

"Loucha, Loucha, Let down your hair."

You marvelled at his new appearance. The man soaked up your praise and tittered, gathering the courage to ask if this had changed your mind on marriage. You rejected his advances, announcing your unrivalled affections for your now Fiancé.

By the end of the year, Luocha was stricken from the overgrowth of flowers, and you were to move to your husband’s territory the next morn. He confessed once more. You refused him. Out of desperation, he pleaded for you to groom his hair one last time.

In the midst of brushing, a thorn snagged your palm. Plants sprung from your flesh while Luocha experienced the inverse. Overcome by pain and horror, you fell to your knees and begged the man to reverse the ‘curse’.

He refused you.

Thus marked your new life. Every day, you ensured the upkeep of the tower and health of his withering Mother. Then, in the eve, Luocha would return from his duties in the Capital and knock on your door despite holding the key, haunting you with words reminiscent of a better time.

“Love, oh my love, Please let me in.”

Snow White

In a kingdom far away, there lived a queen with unmatched beauty. However, as the Royal Advisor’s child, you spied her true nature when she stole the skin of a maiden with ebony hair. The Queen asked the Mirror:

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Who in this land is fairest of all?"

The Mirror answered:

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But there is another fairer than you. Your child blessed with red ruby eyes, Holds no need for thousands a disguise."

The queen raged with fury. You were quick to steal away her son, Ratio, into the forest, stopping at an abandoned cottage filled with harmless creatures. As the Queen was bound to notice your absence, you made haste and left him in their care, daring not to look back.

Years later, you assumed your late father’s role. One day, there was a commotion in the town square; a man of tall stature and striking red eyes sparked gossip as he announced teachings free of charge, accompanied by some familiar creatures. The Queen recognised him instantly.

Numerous hunters were sent yet all returned unwilling to fulfil her request. The burden consequently fell on your shoulders.

You followed Ratio as he retreated to his cottage in the forest. Having caught onto your presence, he stopped for a confrontation. It was then that one of his creatures recognised you as that same child from long ago. You were invited inside and faced an interrogation, easily tricking him through years of practiced deception.

The queen was enraged when even you returned empty-handed, but you convinced her to wait as citizens would talk if his high profile were to disappear. Planting false evidence against him would protect her reputation, to which she vehemently agreed.

Visits were a daily occurrence. He taught you many things, all stemming from materials the former cottage-owner left. However, he also confided in you his thinning students and the spiralling rumours. You offered shallow comfort and avoided the topic.

Eventually, he confessed his love, be it from fear of abandonment or genuity. Of course, you reciprocated, if only to lower his guard. But just as your new relationship blossomed, so did the Queen’s impatience.

Come noon, you gifted him an apple laced with sedatives. It was Ratio’s favourite fruit, unable to be grown in his flourishing garden, so he was none the wiser when he fell into a deep sleep. His now empty sockets were wrapped tight with bandages.

You doused his eyes in poison and returned to the queen. Once the doctor implanted the organs, her fate was sealed and you were crowned the new monarch.

Later, you visited the forest where the true heir lay still in bed. His garden was wild and overgrown with no creatures in sight, having fled out of starvation. Overwhelmed by guilt, you leaned down to give one final kiss - only for him to stir awake. He panicked at his lack of vision, eventually calmed by your glib lies and promise to wed him.

Ratio dedicated his reign to improving the country's education and health. He also insisted on wearing an alabaster to cope with his new disability, fuelling the rumours on which he conducted a private investigation. It didn’t take long for him to realise your crimes.

Your secret with the late Queen was unveiled and your once loyal subjects demanded for an execution. Ratio had other plans - red-hot iron shoes. They were a size too small as you were forced to dance, begging for mercy to the point of collapse.

Awaking to an empty bedroom, you crawled to the Mirror, and desperate to be rid of guilt, asked:

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Who in this land is cruellest of all?"

The Mirror answered:

"You, my monarch, are cruel; it is true. But there is another much crueller than you. And though he wishes not for your death, Know that he is not finished with you yet."

Yes I have favouritism how could you tell

[taeaura]

Serious question, because this might have changed the storyline of the tcm remakes. If Thomas ever had at least one friend, that ONE friend he managed to get from his upbringing. Possibly back from his childhood, too, let's just say that.

Would Thomas be possessive or a meek individual who would be desperate to keep them close. Like I'm talking about an extreme level of possessiveness that it would be considered sick. I think there's a word for that, I just don't know what it's called.

Because I can see Thomas becoming a stalker at one point and possibly following somebody close to him around if he needs to. Like a "threat" is close to his dear friend, and he's afraid that this person might take them away from him.

|Proprietorial|

GN!Reader x Thomas Hewitt 🫀

SUMMARY: You and Thomas have known each other since grade school. As the town of Fuller dies, so does your desire to stay. Feeling guilty, you decide to visit the Hewitts one last time..but Thomas gets possessive following your attempted departure..

_____

Thomas is and always has been desperate for connection. Genuine understanding - Not just acknowledgement. It's rare to be accepted when you're different - And it sure as hell doesn't get easier in a small, conservative town like Fuller. Luckily enough, he had found someone. Someone who didn't recoil in disgust - Someone who didn't laugh when he tried to speak. Someone his momma approved of.

That was back in grade school - Back when things in Fuller were "good." Though, were they ever really good?

When his momma told you about the slaughterhouse shutting down, you were nothing but empathetic. You even offered to help the family out with what little time and money you had. Luda Mae, being the prideful woman she was, declined your offer.

"Keep some for yourself, hun. Gotta do what it takes to survive out here...we'll figure out a way."

Everything got worse when you decided you couldn't stay.

--

One day, you stopped visiting Luda at the community center. No longer stopped by the slaughterhouse to see Thomas. It was like you were never there.

You had to tell them you were leaving - It wouldn't be right to abandon them all on their own..especially not Thomas. So, you packed up a small basket and headed over to the Hewitt residence. That evening, when you'd knocked on the door, Monty answered.

"Whadd'ya want?"

"I'm here for Ms. Mae..Luda Mae; And Thomas - Are they home?"

He squinted his eyes and weakly scoffed before opening the door further, letting you walk through. He then directed you to the kitchen where Luda Mae was; She'd been preparing dinner just as you walked in.

Monty swiftly knocked on the doorframe, grabbing her attention. As she turned, she scoffed "Monty, for the last damn time, I-" She stopped. Her expression neutralized as she saw you.

"Oh, ____, there you are! Gosh, I haven't seen you in so long; Where've you been?" - "Tommy's been worried sick about you.."

There it was. You'd made Thomas worry..which is exactly why you dreaded coming over; You didn't want to be reminded of the guilty feeling festering inside your stomach.

"Is he alright?" You asked, and Luda nodded.

"Oh, he's just fine, dear. Why don't you go say hi? He's in that damn basement again.."

You agreed, but quickly remembered the basket you brought.

"What's that?" Asked Charlie, he had been watching from the opposing doorway..unbeknownst to you.

"Oh..gifts..for you."

"Me?"

"Well, the family, yes."

"That's so kind of you, dear. What for?" Asked Luda Mae, grabbing the basket from you and placing it on the kitchen table.

"Just..felt like bringing some joy to this dying town."

"That's very kind of ya - Now go see what Tommy's up to, he's missed you like crazy" Charlie said, unimpressed. He sniffled before taking a swig of his beer.

--

You'd known the Hewitt house's layout well; It's not like Thomas would invite you over after school some days...The basement was across from the front door, it'd be hard to miss unless the archway was blocked. As you approached the ominous door, you took back your hand from the handle. What if Thomas didn't want to see you? What if he'd grown resentful of you? You sighed, closed your eyes and went to open the door. To your surprise, a loud screeching sound interrupted you as the door opened seemingly by itself -Except, doors don't open by themselves.

Behind the doorway, a tall, familiarly built man stood before you. His half-mask..muzzle of sorts was tightly wrapped around his head, strangling his neck and chin. He must've heard you - or his family, talking.

"Hi Tommy; I'm so sorry, I know I've been absent - It's not you, I've just been so stressed and confused and-"

You were rambling. He never seemed to mind, especially when you called him "Tommy." He never liked when just anyone used that nickname, it was special. You were special - To him, at least.

"I need to talk to you about something." The way you said that caused him to tense a little. Talk about what? Was it his job? Did he disappoint you?

"Listen, Thomas" Oh no, you were being serious, weren't you? "I love you and your family so so much, and I'm so grateful to have known you for this long..but..I can't stay here."

..What?

"I can't afford to stay here any longer, Tommy. I don't know how you folks are staying - I..there's no jobs, no resources out here, no nothing. It's all gone! I can't live a life like that, how do you survive out here? I'd..I'd love to stay but it's not sustainable for me. I'm so sorry, Thomas."

You're leaving me. After all we've been through together, you're leaving. Just as uncle Charlie said you would..

"It's not anything you've done. I swear."

You can't leave. I won't let you leave - I have nothing. I'll prove to you how good I am - How good I can be, I swear. You can live with us on this farm, just like momma always dreamed of. You're not leaving me; Not after you've met momma, not after the countless times you've saved me from callous assholes out here. No - I couldn't..

"Thomas?"

He had been so lost in thought that he forgot to respond. His expression had dropped immensely - He had been so excited to see you again but now all that excitement was gone.

He'd lost Charlie once. Came close to losing everything, everyone. He would never let that happen again. Especially not when it came to losing you.

"Thomas.."

He had to keep you. Keep you here; In the basement; In the barn; Maybe in a spare bedroom - His bedroom. It didn't matter. You could would not leave.

As he stared you down, you felt an emptiness surround you - A dark, restless entity caging you in. Just as you thought he'd lose it, a voice pierced through from the archway:

"Thomas? Thomas, what on God's green Earth are you doing?"

It was Luda Mae. You didn't know if she'd heard your "conversation" but you were glad enough that she'd come through.

"Now, Tommy, I know you're upset, but let's just..leave ____ to breathe a minute. Okay?"

You mumbled a meek "Thank you" before wiping an unknown tear from your cheek. You'd never seen him like that - Most definitely not with you.

As your anxiety curtailed, you made your way to the living room to sit, holding your head in your hands. You hadn't noticed Monty sitting in the armchair beside the couch; Hell, you hadn't noticed the TV playing either. It was playing some..random news station - One of the few you could get out here.

"So you're leaving us, huh?" He spoke in a rough, gravelly voice.

"You heard that?" You sniffled.

"With the way you were talking, the whole damn house heard." Shit..had you been loud? It didn't seem like it in the moment..

"Don't worry about Thomas, he's a big ol’ crybaby, ain't he?"

You refused to answer. Seeing Thomas so distressed, so..frightened by the idea of you leaving, it fed your already aggravated guilt. So many hours in his room, so many repetitive school days spent together, drawing in the back of the class. The days when you two used to spend hours at the creek, collecting all sorts of treasures. He even picked a wildflower-bouquet for you - Granted, it was all dirty and withered, but it was enough to signify how much he cared about you. How grateful he was to have you here.

You were stripped of your thoughts as you heard Monty groan and yawn, falling asleep in his chair. The TV had become background noise for the both of you. On the table, two glasses filled with murky water and a note; Folded and slightly dirty. You wiped your eyes again and picked up the note, unfolding it.

Don't leave.

Please.

_____

Guys this is ass should I log off

Anyway, if I didn't cover everything you wanted, please let me know and I'll update it!

[shadowkoo]

Visiting Hours

→ Summary: In the dimly lit conjugal room, Yeonjun finally has you. You’re soft, warm, and completely at his mercy. A year of pent-up hunger has festered into something darker, something filthier, a craving that only you can satisfy. Shackled by time, he intends to make every second count, to lose himself in the heat of your body, the sweetness of your surrender. Nothing else exists, just you. Every sigh, every moan, every blissful moment is his to claim. And when you unveil the sinful surprise he craves, nothing will stop him from devouring what’s his.

↠ yeonjun x f.reader | 3.1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, pwp, prisoner au, established relationship

→ Warnings: swearing, really brief mention of murder at the beginning, unprotected sex, period sex, blood play, blood kink, pain kink, scratching, marking, hair pulling, breath play, choking, size kink, cockwarming, creampie, begging, semi-public conjugal visit / fucking with guards standing watch outside the door, nipple play & biting, also biting in general, panty sniffing, yeonjun likes to say the filthiest fucking things but also calls you princess and babygirl, daddy kink, needy!yeonjun, desperate!yeonjun, possessive!yeonjun (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @lapydiaries @keopihaus @dove-net

→ Moodboard: view here!

→ Author Note: thanks to sevń @aaagustd for helping me come up with the title for this! this idea was haunting me until i brought it to life. i hope y’all enjoy it! this isn't edited so if there are mistakes...don't tell me LOL as usual, all likes, reblogs, & comments are much appreciated! this has been crossposted on ao3 here if you prefer to read there :)

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Two guards cuff Yeonjun’s hands behind his back, the metal cold against his skin. It’s a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his aching body. His pulse increases with each step, adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream like a drug. A volatile mix of electricity and something darker.

As they march him out of general population, two more guards fall in step behind Yeonjun, just in case he misbehaves. It’s a bit overkill. Then again, maybe not. He did slit a few people’s necks to land himself here. But honestly? He could probably take the guards; at the very least he’d get a few solid hits in before they tasered him.

Not that he’s stupid enough to try it. Not today.

They stop outside the conjugal visit room, affectionately dubbed the ‘Pound Pen’ by all inmates who’ve been granted access.

“I’m going to uncuff you now, Yeonjun. If you even think about doing something dumb, you won’t even get to look at that fine piece of ass waiting on the other side of this door. Understood?”

His jaw tightens. He hates the way they talk about you like you’re just another perk of good behavior. He considers slamming his knee into the smug guard’s balls, but that would be stupid. Really stupid, especially after three months of playing nice and kissing ass just for this moment.

It’s his first conjugal visit since getting sentenced. Over a year since he’s been inside you. And if he’s being honest? He’s fucking desperate.

Yeonjun gets one hour with you, and he plans to spend every second buried deep inside you, making up for lost time. His body is already thrumming with anticipation, every muscle coiled tight, every thought consumed by the need to touch you, taste you, ruin you.

The guards uncuff him, their rough hands roaming over his body in a thorough search, pressing into his ribs, sliding down his legs, patting every possible hiding place. He stands still, barely tolerating the routine violation, his jaw clenched, his patience razor-thin.

Satisfied, they step back. One of them cracks open the heavy metal door, and finally, his eyes land on you. The sight alone sends a fresh surge of heat through his veins, hunger tightening in his gut. It’s been too long.

You stand in the center of the small, lifeless room. Yet, you make it feel brighter, somehow softer. Dressed in a light green dress and a cream-colored knit cardigan, you look effortlessly beautiful. But as breathtaking as you are, his eyes settle on the one thing that means more than anything else.

The diamond ring sparkling next to the wedding band on your finger.

His favorite thing you’ll ever wear. His proof that despite the walls, the distance, and the time stolen from you both—you’re still his. Always his.

The room is probably similar in size to his cell; the walls are bare except for years of grime, faded stains, and the inevitable wear and tear of too many conjugal encounters. And the air is stale, tinged with bleach and something less pleasant, but none of that matters. Not when you’re here.

A twin-sized bed sits against the wall, a set of clean sheets hastily thrown over the thin mattress. But Yeonjun wouldn’t let your body touch that thing if his life depended on it. You’re too pure for that.

The guards linger just long enough to remind him they exist. One steps in after him, pointing out the panic button on the wall to you. As if you’d ever need it. As if you’d ever want this to end early.

They exit shortly after, but Yeonjun knows at least one, maybe two, are stationed just outside the door. It doesn’t matter. The moment they step out, the second that locks clicks into place, he’s on you.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s pulling you into his arms, his body radiating heat, his grip firm.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your breath warm against his skin, teasing, inviting. “Long time, no see… or touch.”

A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest. “I’ve fucking missed you,” he groans, his voice thick with hunger, roughened by restraint.

Yeonjun’s lips crash onto yours, desperate and claiming, making up for all the lost time. He swallows the gasp that slips from your mouth, his body reacting to the mewls that follow. Every sweet sound and trail of your fingernails across his scalp has his cock twitching, it weeps for your attention.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs to feel every inch of you to believe this is real. His tongue parts your lips, pushing inside, tasting you.

How the hell did he survive a year without this? Without you?

Your lips trail along his sharp jawline, pressing soft, teasing kisses down the column of his neck. Each touch sends a ripple of heat through him as he debates what’s the lesser evil.

Pinning you against the grimy wall, where years of sweat and filth linger, or letting your body anywhere near the well-used mattress? Either way, this room is a damn disgrace. They could’ve at least thrown a damn chair in here.

Fuck it.

With a low growl, he moves, dropping onto the edge of the bed, his grip firm as he pulls you onto his lap. His hands waste no time, roaming over your body, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s making sure you’re really here. Really his.

“Princess, I’m sorry about all of this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as your hips grind against his, your knees planted on either side of his waist. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you close, but his gaze flickers with something almost regretful.

“You deserve a night in a penthouse suite,” he continues, his breath warm against your lips, “spread out on silk sheets, worshipped properly in a king-sized bed. A bubble bath after. Room service. Just like our honeymoon.” His jaw tightens as he glances around the dingy room, his grip on you tightening. “Not a rushed, one-hour fuck in a room that’s already seen too many couples today.”

But as his hands slide up your back, pulling you impossibly closer, his lips brushing against yours, his voice drops to something darker, hungrier. “Still,” he rasps, “I’m gonna make every damn second count.”

Little does he know, the universe has handed you the perfect surprise. Not that you planned it, but fate seems to be on your side today. Your period started earlier, and if there’s one thing that drives him wild, it’s period sex and the raw, primal mess that comes with it.

“I have a surprise for you,” you purr, watching his hands slide up your thighs, hiking your dress higher and higher. The second his eyes land on the familiar logo on your panties, a brand you only wear during one particular week, his breath catches.

Desire flares in his gaze, dark and hungry.

“Are you happy?” you tease, voice dripping with amusement.

He exhales sharply, pupils blown wide as his fingers trace the waistband of your panties.

“Absolutely euphoric, baby girl.”

He rips off his shirt in one swift motion, tossing it beside him. Then, with a care that contradicts the raw hunger in his eyes, he helps you slip out of your panties, his fingers trailing down your thighs as he peels the fabric away.

But instead of discarding them immediately, he brings them to his face, inhaling deeply. The rich, metallic scent floods his senses, making his pupils dilate, his cock twitching in his pants. A low groan rumbles from his chest, primal and needy.

“Fuck,” he exhales, his voice rough. “You smell so damn good.”

His gaze snaps to yours, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

He tosses your panties onto his shirt, trying his best to keep them as far away from the filth of the room as he can. Even in his desperation, he refuses to let anything dirty touch what belongs to him.

Yeonjun reaches for you again. “I’m gonna ruin you,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “And you’re gonna let me.”

His words send a wave of heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly to the dark promise in his voice. A shiver rolls down your spine, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as you press down hard against his thickening length below you, desperate for friction.

He notices. Of course, he does.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as his hands find your hips, gripping them firmly. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Already so needy for me."

His fingers trail down, teasing along your inner thigh, just close enough to drive you insane but not enough to satisfy. He watches you squirm, drinking in every shaky breath, every flicker of desperation in your eyes.

"Tell me, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "How badly do you want me?"

“So fucking bad, daddy.” Your hands move down his tattooed chest, trailing the inky design down until you slip past his waistband, finding his thick length. You stroke him just the way he likes, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath his throbbing head. His breath stutters, hips twitching into your touch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “I’ve missed your touch.”

One of his hands dips between your bodies, fingers brushing through your slick folds before pushing inside, stretching you open. His forehead presses against yours, his lips brushing over yours as he breathes you in.

“But I’ve missed touching you even more.”

His fingers curl inside you, finding and pressing against that perfect spot that has those naughty little moans spilling past your lips.

Your mouths collide again in a feverish kiss full of hunger, a clash of need and longing. It’s as if you’re both trying to devour each other like this could be your last time.

When he finally pulls his fingers from your heat, he brings them up between you, admiring the deep red staining his skin. His tongue flicks out, tasting you for just a second before his other hand wraps around his cock, spreading your slick and blood along his length as he strokes himself.

“Mmm, you have no idea how fucking beautiful you are like this,” he hums, his voice thick with lust as his wild eyes rake over your body.

With his clean hand, he grips the front of your dress, yanking it down in one swift motion. Your full, perfect breasts spill free, just like he’s imagined in every lonely, agonizing night without you. The sight alone makes his cock throb in his other hand, the sheer reality of you nearly overwhelming after so long.

He guides himself to your entrance, rubbing his swollen, aching tip through your slick folds and coating himself in your arousal. But instead of pushing in, he pulls back, watching with a deep, guttural groan as your blood dribbles down his shaft, staining him in the most sinful way. The sight sends a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to his cock, making him twitch against you.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back in long, red streaks, marking him just as much as he’s about to mark you. Your hips push forward, desperate for more, for him.

“Quit teasing me,” you whine, your voice breathy, wrecked with need. “I need it so bad.”

Yeonjun grins, dark and devious, his grip tightening on your hips as he lines himself up again.

“Oh, princess,” he purrs, his voice dripping with filth as he thrusts himself into you, “You’ll always get what you ask for.”

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest as his lips move against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. Meanwhile, his hands roam your body possessively, fingers tracing the curve of your spine before one hand tangles into your hair.

With a sharp tug, he yanks your head back, exposing the delicate column of your throat to him. A shudder rolls through you as your back arches, pushing your breasts out and offering them like a feast for Yeonjun to devour.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he dips his head, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His tongue flicks over your pulse before he bites down just enough to make you gasp. He soothes the sting with his tongue before moving lower, capturing one of your pebbled nipples between his lips, sucking and nipping until you’re trembling in his arms.

“Damn, baby girl, I can feel your blood dripping onto my thighs,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he rocks you against him, slow and deliberate. His touch is controlling yet he savors every second of sinking into you as his hips arch up to meet yours, of feeling you stretch around him. He wants to take his time, to make love to you before completely unraveling. Before fucking the life out of you.

“You were made for me,” he rasps, his head falling back as he watches the way your body takes him so perfectly.

But the slow drag of pleasure soon turns into unbearable need. His patience snaps.

With a low growl, Yeonjun stands abruptly, keeping you wrapped around him as he presses you hard against the wall. The cool surface contrasts with the heat radiating off your bodies, sending a delicious shiver through you. His hands slide down between you, fingers dipping into your slick folds, collecting the mixture of arousal and deep crimson spread around your inner thighs.

A shudder runs through him as he brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean, groaning at the taste of you. “Shit, I’ll never get enough of fucking this tight little cunt of yours.”

Then, restraint gone, he grips your ass and slams into you, leaving bloody handprints smeared against the wall as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the small room, each thrust deeper, harder, desperate to claim you completely. To remind you that he’s worth waiting for.

You can see your lower stomach bulging slightly with each deep, brutal thrust of his cock stretching you open. The way he fills you so completely, claiming every inch of you, has you trembling in his grasp.

“F-fuck,” you cry out, your brows furrowing, eyes rolling back as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s too much, the intensity of him, the way he owns your body so effortlessly.

Yeonjun hisses sharply, the sound low and guttural, vibrating deep in his chest. The thought of the guards outside hearing every sinful moan, every filthy sound echoing off these walls barely even registers in his mind.

Let them listen. Let them know exactly how good he’s making you feel. Right now, the only thing on his mind is you—the way your body clings to him, the way you tremble beneath his touch, completely and utterly his.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but even that isn’t enough to ground you. Overwhelmed, desperate to hold on to something, you sink your teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard to muffle the broken cries spilling from your lips.

His hips stutter just for a moment before a dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. His grip on you tightens, his hands flexing on your ass as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“Oh, baby,” he rasps, his voice dripping with hunger and amusement. “You really do want to be ruined, don’t you?”

Before you can even gasp, his forearm presses firmly against your throat, pinning you against the cold wall. The pressure is intoxicating, just enough to steal your breath, to send your mind floating into a hazy abyss where nothing exists except him. The lack of air sharpens every sensation, making your body hypersensitive to his every touch.

His free hand snakes between you, fingertips gliding through the slick mess between your thighs before finding your swollen clit. A wicked grin tugs at his lips as he pinches the bundle of nerves, dangerously rolling it between his fingers. The sudden jolt of pleasure mixed with the delicious restriction at your throat sends a violent shudder through you.

Your walls flutter around him, gripping his cock like a vice, your body teetering on the edge of oblivion. The euphoric rush of oxygen deprivation mixed with his relentless touch turns your pleasure into something almost unbearable, so intense it borders on pain.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, his grip tightening just slightly. “You love this, don’t you princess? Being completely at my mercy? Come for me. I know you're close. Be a good little slut and come violently all over me.”

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, stars burst behind your eyelids as your body locks up. You can’t breathe, can’t think, only feel as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, groaning at the way you squeeze him so tightly.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, watching your face contort in pleasure, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You’re so fucking perfect when you come for me.”

Yeonjun isn’t far behind you. The way your body clenches around him, milking every inch of his cock, sends him spiraling into his own release. His abs tighten, muscles flexing as a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat. His grip on you turns bruising as he buries himself to the hilt, his milky seed spilling deep inside you in thick, hot ropes.

But he doesn’t move—not yet. He stays seated inside you, basking in the raw, electric aftermath, his forehead pressed against yours as he catches his breath. His lips find yours again, soft and lazy now, his tongue teasing past your lips in a slow, intoxicating dance.

With a satisfied hum, he shifts, keeping himself buried in your heat as he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you back toward the bed. His movements are fluid and controlled, like he owns your body, like you were made to fit against him like this.

He sits down, pulling you onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. A shiver rolls through you as his cock twitches inside you, still hard, still needy. You gasp at the sensation, your body instinctively clenching around him, a small whimper escaping your lips when the slightest accidental brush of his pelvis sends a spark of overstimulation straight to your core.

Yeonjun grins against your lips, his hands running up your back, savoring the way you tremble against him. His eyes flick up to the clock on the wall, amusement dancing in his dark gaze.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, his fingers ghosting over your hips. His grin turns wicked as he rolls his hips up, making you gasp.

“There’s still enough time for round two.”

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[lesbojournals]

Poly!Marauders x Slytherin!Reader

part one two four five

The answer is, the feeling didn’t go away. In fact, it festered and grew larger with every passing day.

It didn’t help that Sirius Black had it out now to tease you, especially pointing out in Potions that “You’d be far better off sharing the table with us, sweetheart. You really want to work with Snivilus?”

To which you rolled your eyes and apologized to your housemate, that you honestly didn’t even get along with that much. You would be having a better time in Potions with Sirius, Remus, and James.

Without even realizing it, the boys were slowly starting to become “the boys”, and not Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and James Potter. They were starting to feel like they were more than that.

You left the library that day with a heavy load of books in your hands, struggling to keep them steady as they towered over your vision. You heard footsteps approaching (much faster than your slow steady ones) and came to a halt. 

Deep brown eyes popped over the stack of books and looked down at you.

“Love, let me take those. Here.” With ease, James took your stack of books from your arms as if they weighed nothing. 

“To the dungeons?” He asked, gentle smile on his face.

You nodded, trying desperately (and failing) not to blush at how handsome he looked, and how charming it was for him to take the books, and-

“Wait, James, I can take them. I got it.” You insisted, and this time it was James who came to a stop.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I really don’t mind the walk-”

“Dolly!” Sirius exclaimed from behind, and you internally groaned. 

Having all of the boys around was nice, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed it a little too much. The feeling has your heart in a chokehold, and with each second more you spend with the boys it feels like it’s going to explode. 

You turned around. “If it isn’t Mr. Black. Oh, and Remus!”

Sirius put his hand up to his chest in fake hurt. “Why does he get the bashful, ‘oh, and Remus!’ while I’m stuck with ‘Mr. Black’.”

You didn’t have an answer for him, so you stuck out your tongue.

Remus shook his head, then looking between you and James. “Where are we headed? Dungeons? I know Jamie’s not picking up any extra reading with Quidditch.”

James took this as initiative to start walking. “Yep. Can you believe lovie tried to take all of these books herself?”

Sirius put an arm around you as you walked. “When will you learn that Jamie’s the muscle, dolly. Take advantage of it.”

You tried not to squeal at Sirius’ touch. He kept his arm around you as you walked. 

When you made it to the dungeons (with Sirius’ arm still around you) the boys turned to you. There was silence for a few seconds.

“Wanna meet us for dinner later, sweets?” James hesitantly passed the books over to you.

“Of course she does,” Sirius answered for you, taking Remus’ hand in his. “See you in the Great Hall dolly!”

Before you could respond, they walked away, Remus sending you a sheepish wave as Sirius began to talk to James.

You entered the common room slowly, already missing having James to hold your books. 

“You’ve been hanging out with those idiot Gryffindors a lot lately.” Lucius commented from his spot on the couch next to Narcissa. 

“I think it’s nice.” Narcissa defended you, and gave you a small smile.

“I think Junior was right about them being your new boyfriends.” Severus sneered from his spot across from Narcissa and Lucius.

You sighed, your books wobbling in your hands. “Can we stop commenting on them? And they’re not my boyfriends.”

Narcissa jumped to help you as your books wobbled more, and Severus rolled his eyes at you. “Whatever.”

In the dormitory, Narcissa helped you organize your books by your nightstand. You groaned and fell back onto your bed, loosening your green tie. 

“Something wrong?” Narcissa hummed, and didn’t take her eyes off the books.

You covered your face with your hands and grumbled. “I’m going to sit at the Gryffindor table for dinner.”

That brought Narcissa to turn to you with wide eyes. “Really?”

You turned your head away and groaned again. You didn’t want to talk about it–but the boys were consuming your every thought. You hated to admit that you were excited about sitting with the Gryffindors at their table. Narcissa didn’t ask anymore questions, eventually leaving you to stir in your emotions as the clock ticked closer to dinner.

At dinner time, you groaned loudly once again. Time to get up. You dragged your feet out of the dorm and out of the common room, opting to ignore the comments of your fellow housemates. 

At the Great Hall, you made eye contact with Regulus, who stared at you in horror as you walked away from the Slytherin table and towards the Gryffindor table.

“Hey!” James waved at you with elation, and a small smile grew on your face.

Sirius leaned back from beside James and smiled wide. “Darling! Come sit next to Rem.”

You glanced at Remus who had a welcoming aura about him. He scooted over so you’d have more room to sit, looking down at the spot and then back up at you.

You put your bag down and sat down next to Remus. “Yeah, sure.” 

[lilimonarch]

Battered and Bruised, but it’s still you - Ninjago Oneshot

WC: ~4228

When Lloyd had finally gotten a proper look at his friend, his mentor, his older brother, a pit sank in his chest. He eyed Kai, and how in the weeks which had gone by, it was hardly Kai at all. The older male was thinner, significantly so. His face was sunken, dark eyebags and soot decorated his skin, and a fresh scar was apparent on his cheek. Faint, but noticeable. Most prominently, Kai was exhausted.

Kai also had to grow up quickly, too quickly; with his parents gone at a young age, forced to handle the blacksmith and care for his sister, and then care for Lloyd as a protector, it was all too quick. Kai deserved to be the youngest once in a while, especially in his current condition. At least, just this once.

Or

When Kai finally arrives back at the monastery after the Merge, injured and exhausted, Lloyd does his best to take care of him. After all, time has changed them both.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65539879

As Lloyd saw an unfamiliar figure move throughout the bounty, his bounty, he felt no hesitation as his fists lit up with energy and he jumped towards the stranger.

The only thing which stopped him was the familiar scream from… Kai? Lloyd immediately paused his attack, stumbling on his own feet as the figure took off the mask.

“What the heck, Lloyd?” Kai shouted.

“Kai?” Lloyd stood in disbelief; the sight of Kai sprawled across the deck of the bounty from the mistaken attack enough to send shivers down his spine. Yet, the relief was even more fulfilling, his heart filled with joy after the initial moments of shock. “Kai! Sorry. I haven’t seen anyone in weeks,” the green ninja extended his hand out, the other seemed to take it rather quickly for someone as hot-headed as how Lloyd seemed to remember him.

“I can imagine,” Kai’s weight felt sunken and weighted as Lloyd heaved him off the ground. Yet before Lloyd could even attempt to let the feelings fester in his throat, to convert his worries into words of concern, Kai quickly wrapped his arms around the younger male and swung him around. “It’s so good to see you, buddy."

“You too!”

As the two separated, Kai took a step back, his gaze appeared distant. “Kai? Where have you been?”

The fire ninja’s face paled. “Er— A lot of places, I’m not too sure. Is this where you woke up? That’s lucky.”

“I guess so,” Lloyd shrugged his shoulders, his gaze lifted to the haunting red sky. He eyed his former mentor, his older brother (if anything), his teammate, and how in the weeks which had gone by, it was hardly Kai at all.

The older male was thinner, significantly so. His face was sunken, dark eyebags and soot decorated his skin, and a fresh scar was apparent on his cheek. Faint, but noticeable.

“Is the monastery nearby? I… it’d be nice to get home,” Kai muttered as he straightened himself up.

“Oh, right! Of course, It’s right here, the bounty just… showed up here, no idea how that happened, but it brought you,” Lloyd grinned with excitement as he grabbed Kai’s hand. “We should get going before a mergequake starts, though.”

Kai’s face lit up at the mention of the monastery before completely faltering at the other mention. “What? Merge what?”

“Mergequakes. It’s like a rift in reality. They aren’t too bad right now, but they are getting worse.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Kai sighed as his posture sagged, his voice went quiet and quivered. “Can we just get back? Please?”

Lloyd did not want to mention the desperation in his voice. “Yeah, let’s get you back into the monastery. Respectfully, I think you should sit down.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

As Lloyd stepped onto solid ground with a gentle jump from the anchor of the bounty, he felt his heart sink when he noticed Kai dragging his feet behind him. The two of them sat on the steps, the other much heavier than Lloyd. Lloyd wanted to talk, to check-in; it had been weeks since he had talked to anyone, and Kai (even though he was trying not to let on) looked halfway near kneeling over.

A rift had opened in the sky.

“Lloyd, what the heck is that?” Kai got up with a start, taking a defensive stance, as Lloyd did the same.

“One of the mergequakes. We got to go! Elemental powers close them!” Lloyd brushed the dust off himself and started running towards the exit of the monastery.

“And how did you figure all this out!?” Kai shook his head. “Lloyd!?”

“No time to waste, the longer we wait, the worse it’ll get till it starts sucking our world inside out! I’m getting the mech, you stay and blast it from here!”

~

In the mech, Lloyd felt the rush of the heat from the fire and the energy ceased as the rift shut, the machinery backing away just as he was used to it. “Phew, good thing you were here. We got that one quick,” Lloyd turned the mech around, aiming to have it start flying down but his hand stopped as he reached for the control when he caught sight of his comrade. “Kai?”

Kai has his back towards Lloyd, and although it is hard for the green ninja to make out the facial features, he can clearly see him half kneeled over, dizzy and heaving. “Kai? Kai!” Lloyd quickly landed the mech on the ground of the monastery, rushing over. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… yeah— it’s no worries, don’t—” Kai winced when Lloyd placed his hand on his shoulder, the blond quickly drew back at the response (he was unsure whether it was rooted in fear, injury, or a mixture of both). “It’s just been a long journey back. Can we head inside?”

“You look tired.”

“Lloyd, I’m—”

“We’re not teenagers anymore, Kai.” Lloyd frowned, his vision traveled from Kai’s face to scan the rest of his condition, the pure exhaustion evident throughout his body and the tan wraps poking out from under his gi… wait a minute. Are those bandages? “You look tired, Kai.”

Kai straightened his back, slowly but surely, and it was at that moment when the façade truly came undone. The posture he had been so desperately trying to keep as swift and sound faltered into a slouch, and even the ash in his ruffled hair seemed to become more prominent. “Well… I am tired. I wasn’t doing much sleeping where I landed after the merge… or anything of the sorts."

“Come on, I’ll help you get all cleaned up.”

“Er— it’s okay, Lloyd. I can do it myself—”

“I can see the bandages under your gi. If those aren’t infected already, I’ll clean them up properly.” Lloyd crossed his arms, his face went gentle and soft. “Just let me help? Please?”

With the mask fully undone, Kai’s walking appeared staggered, and each step was more haphazard than the last. Heavy steps from behind Lloyd quickly shifted to Kai leaning against Lloyd with almost his entire weight, the younger male brought his arm and swung it under his armpits to assist with the weight as best as he could. “Woah, I got you. Come on, inside, off we go.”

This was the first time in weeks that someone other than Lloyd had been in the monastery. It was odd… but nice.

“Yeah… I mean this in the kindest way possible, but you look wrecked,” Lloyd tried to lighten the mood as the pair made it into their living room, the monastery started to feel more like home once more as Kai practically collapsed into the couch.

“A little harsh, Lloyd,” Kai cracked a smile.

“Yeah, let me get you some tea. Then we can address… that—”

Kai raised an eyebrow. Lloyd pointed at his own chest, poking where the visible bandages appeared on Kai’s torso. The fire ninja nodded and turned away.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move,” Lloyd mentioned as he headed into the kitchen, quick to put the water to boil. The water never seemed to boil quickly enough as he sat in the kitchen, a brief pause taking place as he grabbed the tea leaves leftover from before the merge and tossed them into the kettle, cautious not to burn it.

He was still getting used to making tea on his own. He now had to get used to making tea for someone else, and for Kai of all people! Not bad, by any means, just never expected. Kai hardly got sick, always the least battered after battles, and well—

They were younger back then; they all have gotten older over the years.

When the tea finished and was successfully unburnt, Lloyd poured the tea into a small mug he had sculpted and glazed in his earlier years (it was miraculous even to him how the object survived the merge) for he knew Kai had taken a liking to it, at least back then.

“Kai?” Lloyd poked his head into the living room and quietly tiptoed his way deeper into the room. He set the mug on the coffee table and his face shifted into a frown full of concern, Kai asleep on the couch.

This was not a normal sleeping position for anyone by any means, and that was what caused the concern. Kai was not laying down with his head against the arm rest, nor was his head leaning back against the cushions of the couch. Kai sat almost straight, the only sag of comfort present in his posture was his head slightly tilted downward. “Kai?” Lloyd murmured as he cautiously lifted his hand to start reaching out towards him. He had to check for a fever, that would be the quickest sign of an infected injury and if he needed actual medical attention or—

Before Lloyd could set a hand on him, Kai shouted himself awake. It was all within a moment, Kai sat up fully with wide eyes, his right hand lifted up with a weak flame already flickering through exhaustion as he scanned the room while catching his breath.

“Hey, we’re in the monastery. It’s just me, sorry I had to wake you,” Lloyd apologized as he reached for Kai’s wrist, the small flame quickly going out before it truly got its spark, Lloyd set Kai’s hand on his legs.

“Sorry, Lloyd. I don’t know what came over me,” Kai stretched a bit, no invitation needed as he reached for the mug, slowly sipping on the tea.

He did know. Lloyd was sure of it.

“Don’t worry about it. Can you take your top off? I want to make sure nothing is infected.”

“Damn… and I just put these on.” Kai humored, setting the mug down briefly to take his shirt off, tossing it to the side. “It’s only a few scratches on my back, I think I patched them up alright,” he hummed as he picked the mug up once more, wrapping his hands around the warmed cup.

The bandages were wrapped tight yet haphazardly, multiple moments within the wrapping where pieces of skin were exposed due to the uneven spread. Lloyd’s fingers were cautious, nervous, he cautiously made his start. “Where was this from?” Lloyd asked as he started to unwrap the bandages, stained with ash, sweat, and the occasional splotches of dried blood, but no response ever came. “Kai?”

“Oh, I… I’d rather not,” Kai replied rather promptly, and Lloyd did not need to see the other’s face to sense the hesitancy.

“Don’t worry, forget I even asked,” Lloyd assured him, a few minutes went by, and Lloyd soon finished unwrapping the bandages around Kai’s torso and was forced to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from gasping audibly. The scars were not fresh by any means, but the scratch of a creature Lloyd did not want to even imagine did indeed bury itself deep in Kai’s skin. Not to mention, Kai’s skin appeared burnt. Not too burned, only minor ones, but the edges of where the wound had closed were… well— “They don’t look infected, so that’s good.”

“I cauterized it.”

The words were only the verbal confirmation of what Lloyd had suspected. “Yeah… figured,” cautiously, Lloyd traced the wounds and the burns against Kai’s skin from a faulty cauterization attempt on his own back. “You need to take a bath, for starters. It’s a good thing they are closed, but the dirt that’s stuck on you and the bandages isn’t ideal.” Lloyd paused; Kai slowly turned around to look up at him. “Was the tea good? I need to get you some actual food, but I figured that’s a start.”

“It was perfect,” Kai sighed as he cautiously rose from the couch, stumbling a bit on his feet. “Right… a bath, and food, that sounds great.”

“I’ll start something and then go help you,” Lloyd said, almost casually, Kai stopped in his tracks. “What? To make sure you clean the scars properly. There’s probably stuff buried in there, plus the burns, in a place you can’t reach. You’re not reaching that on your own, especially in the state you’re in.”

Kai raised an eyebrow.

“If you don’t want help, you can just say so. I’ll back off the second you tell me to.”

Kai pouted slightly. It appeared as if he was getting more emotional, but he never opened his mouth for a quick retort and instead turned away and started walking towards the bathroom.

“Fine.”

Lloyd smirked a bit as Kai walked off.

~

Lloyd had brought the soup he was working on to a gentle simmer, smiling at his progress. It was far from Zane’s cooking (how he missed Zane), but edible, and he was quite sure Kai currently would not have such a strong preference for what he ate. It would be done soon, and until then, he could make sure Kai cleaned the wounds properly and did not drown in the bathtub.

Lloyd made his way down the hallway, the old floors creaked with every other step. “Kai? It’s me, can I come in?” Lloyd knocked on the door twice. Of course, there was no reason for it to be anyone other than Lloyd, and thus no reason for Lloyd to declare it was himself as he entered the bathroom, but as Lloyd considered Kai’s reaction on the couch when he was disturbed, he felt the warning was more necessary than it appeared.

“Yeah, come in.”

Lloyd entered the room and smiled in satisfaction at the tub, which was bubbled up, and all parts of Kai’s body visible from above the water were covered in bubbles and mostly clean. “The water is warm by the way, just a heads up,” Kai said rather absentmindedly before he splashed his face with the water once more.

“No worries, I would hope you were using warm water if anything,” Lloyd stepped inside, taking in their situation before he kneeled beside the bathtub, but he paused at the sight of Kai’s further damaged skin.

It was much easier to see now that Kai had cleaned himself up for the most part, the dryness evident in patchy skin while blemishes which ranged from murky purple to pale green and yellow decorated his skin. “Are those bruises?” Lloyd asked with a frown.

Kai’s eyes widened a bit, but the other male simply shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah… they’re old though,” Kai hummed as he leaned forward a bit to make his back easier to reach.

“They’re bad though,” Lloyd sighed as he scrubbed Kai’s back with just enough force to clean it up effectively, but not to disturb any of the injuries, slowing down when he heard the occasional wince from the other ninja. “There, the actual cuts aren’t too bad.” Lloyd nodded, glancing at Kai. “You know, you should probably wash your hair.”

“That sounds like a lot of work; it’s just hair,” Kai murmured, he moved to rest his arm on the rim of the tub as he propped his head up. This was the statement that caused Lloyd to gasp, to know how deeply terrible Kai felt. “It’s been… weeks? It’ll survive until I get up tomorrow.”

Haha… Kai thinks he will wake up tomorrow given the condition he is in. Hilarious.

“I got you,” Lloyd reached for the shampoo bottle and poured a bit onto his hands; the way Kai’s face lit up was enough to make his heart melt. There’s that smile. “I know you like your hair, I got it. Just sit there,” Lloyd started to massage Kai’s scalp, the soap being taken in almost immediately.

“I don’t think you’ve washed my hair before,” Kai mumbled as Lloyd’s fingers danced through his hair, matted, and tangled, but still Kai’s all the same. Specks of soot were very quickly starting to wash out as Lloyd put more shampoo onto his head.

“You’ve washed mine though,” Lloyd smiled, rinsing out the shampoo before he continued. “Plenty of times.”

“No one’s ever washed my hair before,” Kai whispered, his eyes staying closed as Lloyd gently scrubbed his hair, soft melodic motion the way Kai did when they were younger. “I used to wash Nya’s when she was younger… I hope she’s okay.”

“Well, I’m glad I get to be the first,” Lloyd whispered in return as an attempt to end their short conversation on a lighter note. He started with the conditioner as he felt Kai slowly drift away from the land of consciousness. “Kai, I know you’re tired, but please don’t fall asleep in the tub. I don’t want you to inhale water or something.”

“I almost drowned saving you, I can deal with a little bath water,” Kai chuckled a bit, and even though the memory was traumatic for them both, Lloyd found himself laughing too.

Kai ended up falling asleep as Lloyd was on the second round of conditioner, and the green ninja did everything in his power to keep water or soap from going over his face as he sat in the tub, still running his fingers through Kai’s (now clean) hair. It was soaked, but regaining its softness that Lloyd was slightly familiar with, before the other drowned his hair in hair gel, that is.

He almost seemed peaceful, exhausted but peaceful. The eyebags were so deep, the skin underneath his eyelids appeared purple, and there was no amount of immediate intervention which could hide the hollowness in his face. Lloyd had watched the scars on Kai’s face grow as time passed, and he had gotten used to it, but the new scars seemed extra haunting, as they were scars Lloyd was unsure he would ever be able to understand their origin.

Those scars were between Kai and The First Spinjitsu Master himself.

Lloyd finished rinsing Kai’s hair and decided there would be no harm in drying it before he had to wake Kai once more, before he had to force Kai to leave the comfort of much-needed sleep to exit the tub. Lloyd reached for the small towel on the side of the tub before he began to tussle with the wet hair to dry it as best as he could.

Of course, this was the motion which ended up stirring Kai from his impromptu slumber. “Mm… Are you done already?” Kai yawned; he slowly blinked a few times before looking up.

“Yeah, basically. I was drying your hair off,” Lloyd continued with the towel until he was satisfied, he set it on the side with a smile.

“Did I really fall asleep in the tub?” Kai groaned, but he did accept the much larger towel Lloyd had handed him. “God… that’s embarrassing. Sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it at all,” Lloyd quickly reassured him, once more. You’re exhausted, more than I have ever seen you before, he wanted to shake the fire ninja till the message sank into his chest, till Kai believed it and let him look after him with no second guesses, just once. “I’m going to make sure the soup is done, unless you need help getting to your room.”

“It’s still here?” Kai’s face lit up as he exited the tub. “It hasn’t been destroyed?”

“Yeah, it’s still here.” Lloyd nodded. “The monastery remained mostly intact after the merge. Your stuff is right where you left it too.”

Kai smiled. Lloyd did too.

“I can make it there on my own,” Kai nodded as he practically hobbled down the hall, he held the towel around him like a lifeline, Lloyd was sure of it.

Lloyd felt himself filled with that childlike sense of urgency as he ran towards the kitchen to make sure the soup that was once simmering was unburnt. After weeks where his biggest priorities were saving his area from mergequakes and scavenging for any clues on the other ninja’s whereabouts after the incident, making sure soup for Kai was hearty and unburnt was a nice change of pace.

On a tray, he filled a glass with water and set a few pain medications on the side (that would do him good, for the aches), as well as the bowl full of soup (with extra meat, of course), and despite all his great accomplishments in the world, Lloyd felt especially accomplished with this.

He was deep into his twenties now, but always the youngest, always still desperately trying to grasp onto the childhood wonder he was so wrongfully robbed of.

Lloyd thought about Kai as he held the tray tight and cautiously made his way down the hall. Kai also had to grow up quickly, too quickly; with his parents gone at a young age, forced to handle the blacksmith and care for his sister, and then care for Lloyd as a protector, it was all too quick.

Even now, as Kai was so worn-out he would fall asleep in the oddest of places and he was too weak to even use his elemental powers continuously, he still tried to keep that strong front of an older brother, as he always did.

As Lloyd knocked on Kai’s bedroom door, he wondered and truly thought about it. Kai deserved to be the youngest once in a while, especially in his current condition. At least, just this once.

“I brought food and pain meds,” Lloyd found Kai topless as he sat in, in order to let the cuts breathe and heal, but also in his favorite fire-print pajama pants that he fondly remembered teasing Kai for in their short time as celebrities.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Kai commented, not wasting a second before he dug into the bowl.

“I know it’s not Zane’s food or anything, but I tried my best,” Lloyd chuckled, and even at the tail of the sentence, Kai was already halfway done with the bowl.

Lloyd decided he did not want to think about the last time Kai ate something.

“It’s perfect, don’t worry about it,” Kai quickly said in between a spoonful, with the most energy he has had since Lloyd had found the male. “Oh, it’s so good,” he grinned.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Lloyd chuckled. “And I’m glad it’s edible.”

Soon enough, the bowl was empty, completely empty. “Thank you, Lloyd,” three simple words which carried more meaning than he could ever imagine, Lloyd set the tray on the side.

“There’s more in the kitchen, but respectfully, you need to sleep and not wake up for a hot minute,” Lloyd smiled, getting a smile from Kai in return. “Is there anything else you need?” He asked as he adjusted the covers to make sure Kai was definitely not getting up any time soon. It was comforting, maybe for Lloyd as well to know that fact. He had just gotten Kai back, and he would not be letting him go any time soon. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m glad you’re here now—”

Lloyd had not even finished his sentence.

“Please don’t go, please, Lloyd,” from where he lay buried in sheets, with glassy eyes almost tearing up like a child but with a complete lack of that childhood innocence they lost all those years ago, Kai pleaded. That older brother front Lloyd had been gently combatting this entire time was through the window, exhausted amber eyes stared into him and wouldn’t drift.

“Alright, I’ll stay, but you have to actually fall asleep at some point,” Lloyd, instead of leaving, had gone to the other side of the bed and moved to lay down next to Kai. He hadn’t laid like this with Kai since he was a proper teenager, yet their position worked like clockwork as Kai lay rather still, Lloyd leaned his head onto Kai’s uninjured shoulder.

“Oh, I’ll have no trouble with that, just give me a few minutes,” Kai cracked a smile as a yawn briefly interrupted his sentence. “I just need a minute,” his breath paused, and he seemed to tremble slightly. “It’s been… scary the past few weeks. Terrifying, even. I was terrified I would—” his breath started to pick up, heart beginning to race as his eyes grew wide, tears threatening to pour.

Lloyd was all too familiar with the reaction, how it hit himself many times before. Quickly, he laid a hand on Kai’s chest, a way to snap him back to their temporarily safe reality. “Kai… it’s okay.” He spoke, words the way Kai and Nya used to tell him. “You can relax and rest up, you’re in the monastery, not where you were before,” Lloyd nodded. “You’re home now.”

Lloyd watched as Kai could not stop the tears which started to pour, they streamed down his face as soft whimpers changed into heavy sobs. Lloyd did not have the heart to break up the moment, only pulling Kai closer as he continued to cry, and cry, and cry. More than Lloyd had ever seen him before, he sobbed until it appeared there was hardly any energy left to do anything at all. Lloyd never let go of him, not even when Kai’s eyes much too suddenly fluttered shut through fatigued delirium.

As Lloyd readjusted Kai’s sheets and the other was out like a light, their fleeting thoughts were all the same.

We’re home now.

We will survive this.

[tired-truffle]

Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.2k

Part 2/17

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

“You poor thing. Sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do. It's already been done.” - Ethel Cain

Masterlist

Nothing killed the mood like the growling of one’s stomach. When was the last time you ate? Yesterday morning? No, you hadn’t been able to stomach anything after Sky’s…had she died only two days ago? And her spirit, once trapped in the Hexcore, had you truly managed to free her? Your magic was greedy, it stood to reason it wouldn’t want to let her go - but you hadn’t the faintest idea how you could figure that out.

The cupboards were bare, not a single crumb or drop of water left in the house, and you had quickly run into a dilemma; Viktor wanted to venture out to find food, and more importantly water, but your body was weak and uncooperative. Your legs gave out as you tried to descend the stairs, landing on your backside as you slid the rest of the way down. Mortified, you’d tried to stand again, only for your knees to buckle and send you back to the floor. Viktor had fretted over you, descending the stairs behind you at an alarming rate, and you were sure that he would follow your path. But his new body was improved in coordination and stronger than yours. Once he’d ensured you were alright, your magic already at work to numb any pain, it became clear that neither of you felt comfortable leaving the other alone. But the dry, sandpaper-like feeling in your throat reminded you that water was essential for survival. Damn it.

“It’s too dangerous for you to go out there alone,” you insisted as he helped you sit up, his arm under your shoulder. “We don’t know enough about what I did to you, what if you get stuck out there? I won’t know where you are.”

“I’m aware of my capabilities, Milá. I will be back before you know it.” 

“You don’t know that,” you pressed, your voice hoarse from dehydration, “we’ve seen how unpredictable my magic is. It’s too much of a risk.” 

Viktor sighed, his metallic fingers gently squeezing your shoulder. "Milá, we don't have much choice. We can't both go in your condition, and we can't both stay here and wither away."

You knew he was right, but fear clouded your judgment. The memory of Sky's fate was still raw, a festering wound. Not to mention you’d almost lost Viktor as well.

"There has to be another way," you insisted, your voice rising. "We just need to think—"

In your agitation, you waved your hand and as you did, a shimmering distortion appeared in the air before you, coalescing into a large pitcher filled to the brim with clear, cool water. It hung there momentarily, suspended by some unseen force, before gently settling onto the floor between you and Viktor.

You both stared at it, mouths agape, minds struggling to process. The pitcher sat there, a perfect image of innocence and purity against the backdrop of dusk and muck. It was almost surreal, as if it had been plucked from the lab and dropped into this unexpected setting.

“Did I do that?” You inched towards the pitcher, suspicion wrinkling the skin around your eyes. 

“It wasn’t me,” Viktor offered unhelpfully, and you shot him an unimpressed glare.

With a hesitant and careful movement, you reached out to touch the pitcher, quickly retracting your hand as though it might bite when you hit the smooth surface.

Viktor’s eyes were full of sparkling curiosity as he observed the mysterious object. “There is only one way to ensure its safety.”

“Which is?” You’d barely gotten your question out before Viktor had snatched up the pitcher and brought it to his mouth. His throat bobbed as he swallowed down a generous amount of the clear liquid.

“Viktor!” you shouted, panic crashing through you and the web of your magic pulsing its concern - a few squeals had you glancing around for those damned sparks, but they remained elusive.

He chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to clear away any lingering droplets. “Human experimentation may be frowned upon, but it’s an exceptionally accurate test,” he remarked. “That and I was very thirsty.” 

“That’s not funny,” you hissed, snatching the pitcher from his hands and holding it close to your chest, your bottom lip jutted out in a childish pout. 

“It’s a little bit funny.” The corners of his mouth curved upward into a sly grin, causing a flicker of irritation to flare up within you.

“What if it’s poison? Just cause it looks like water doesn’t mean it is.” You sniffed the pitcher, the smell of the porcelain the only scent you caught. 

“Given that I’m still breathing, it’s safe to say that it’s at least not a fast-acting poison. I also trust you not to summon a jar of poison.” He gestured towards the pitcher. “You should drink, Milá. It is important for your recovery that you remain hydrated.” 

You were well aware of that, given how many times you’d burned yourself. And you were incredibly thirsty, your lips dry and cracking, your tongue feeling like it was made out of sand.

With a quick glance at Viktor, and then back to the pitcher, you lifted it to your lips and let the cool liquid flow down your throat. The refreshing taste brought relief to your parched mouth, and even if it turned out to be poison, you didn't care anymore.

When you finally lowered the pitcher, gasping for air, you noticed a secretive smile playing on Viktor’s lips.

"What?" you asked, copying his motion from earlier and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Nothing," he replied, reaching for the pitcher. "I'm just glad to see you looking more…alive."

You rolled your eyes, though that didn’t stop the affection that spread through your chest. As Viktor took his turn drinking, you felt a sudden pang in your stomach. Right, you were also starving. Water alone wouldn't sustain you for long.

Your stomach growled loudly, causing Viktor to pause mid-sip and raise an eyebrow. "I suppose water isn't quite enough, is it?"

Embarrassed, you shook your head. But you had an idea; if you could summon water, why wouldn’t you be able to do the same with food? Focusing on the space in front of you, you willed a plate of food to appear just as the pitcher had. You pictured a steaming bowl of stew, some crackers, and maybe even a slice of pie for dessert. Your brow furrowed with concentration, but nothing materialized.

"It's not working," you grumbled, your fists clenching - and swiftly unclenching when a spasm of pain made it through your numbing barrier and up your arm. 

Viktor set down the pitcher and scooted closer to you. "Perhaps we're approaching this the wrong way," he mused, his analytical mind already at work. "What were you thinking about when you conjured the water?"

You thought back to that moment, trying to recall your exact state of mind. "I was…scared. Worried about you going out alone. And I wanted there to be another way."

Viktor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And now?"

"Now I'm just hungry. And annoyed that it's not working."

Viktor chuckled, soft and patient. "Ah, there's our problem. Your magic responds to emotion, not just need. When you summoned the water, you were feeling protective, weren't you? You wanted to keep me safe."

You nodded slowly, beginning to see where he was going with this.

"So," Viktor continued, taking your hand in his, "let's try focusing on positive feelings. Think about how good it will feel to eat, how it will help us both recover."

You closed your eyes, letting Viktor's words wash over you. You thought about shared meals in the lab, and late-night snacks as you pestered him with questions that he never seemed to mind, the simple joy of eating with someone you cared about. As you concentrated on those memories, you felt a tingling sensation in your fingertips.

"Milá," Viktor's voice was soft and you leaned towards him instinctively. "Open your eyes."

You did, and there before you was a small feast: a tureen of fragrant soup, a loaf of crusty bread, and even a modest chocolate cake. Not exactly what you’d had in mind, but wonderful nonetheless. The sight and smell permeated the mildew of the old house, making it feel a little more alive and welcoming.

"It worked!" you exclaimed, reaching out to touch the bread, just to make sure it was real. The crust crackled under your fingers, still warm as if fresh from the oven.

"Remarkable." Viktor leaned in to examine the food more closely. "Your powers continue to astound me."

You couldn't help but beam at his praise, a warm flush creeping up your neck. But the growling of your stomach quickly reminded you of more pressing matters.

"We can study it later," you said, already tearing off a chunk of bread. "Right now, I'm starving."

Viktor helped himself to some soup, and you found yourself momentarily distracted by the way his thick eyebrows furrowed slightly as he blew on the broth to cool it down. But your hunger would not be ignored for long, and you were quickly brought back to the task at hand.

You ate in comfortable silence, at the bottom of the steps, not bothering to move to a more suitable location - there really wasn’t anywhere else anyway. As the food hit your stomach, you found your sour mood vanishing beneath the warmth that rose at the sight of Viktor, alive and sort of well, eating with you on the floor of his childhood home. 

“I can’t believe you've been calling me Darling all these years and I never even knew.” You broke the quiet as you polished off the last bites of your meal, lightly nudging his foot with yours. “Who even does that?”

He smiled wide and brimming with affection, and you thought you may swoon from the sweetness of it all. “A besotted fool.”

A rosy blush spread across your cheeks and over the tips of your ears.

“Though, I must admit that I got a little flustered and used the wrong conjugation,” he said with a sheepish grin, a light red tinge running up his neck. “It should be miláčku, if I am using it to address you. Miláček would be used when talking about someone.”

“Oh,” you thought on it for a moment. “Well, that’s not too bad.”

He cleared his throat, finding a keen interest in the corner of the ceiling. “It is also, ah, a male term of endearment.”

You stared at Viktor blankly for a moment. Then, like a dam bursting, laughter erupted from deep within your chest. It started as a giggle, then grew into a full-bodied guffaw that shook your entire frame. Tears sprang to your eyes as you gasped for air between peals of laughter.

The absurdity of it all hit you in waves. Here you were, sitting on the dusty stairs of a dilapidated house, having just conjured a meal out of thin air, learning that the man you'd been pining after for years had been calling you by a male pet name this entire time. The juxtaposition of the profound and the ridiculous was too much to bear.

You clutched your sides, your ribs aching. You tried to speak, to say something witty or clever, but every time you opened your mouth, another bout of giggles overtook you.

Viktor's face flushed an even deeper shade of red. "I panicked," he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. "But it could have been worse; my mother called broučku."

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you managed to collect yourself enough to ask, “What does that mean?”

He grinned, finally meeting your gaze. “Little beetle.”

You gasped, your eyes widening with delight. "Little beetle? That's adorable!" A matching grin spread across your face, imagining a tiny Viktor scampering about. "Oh, I can just picture your mom scooping you up and calling you her little broučku!"

Viktor's brow furrowed, his lips pursed in a mock pout. "I'm not a teeny insect, thank you very much. I'm a respected scientist and inventor."

You giggled at his indignation. "Even if you were the world's smallest bug, I'd still love you," you declared. "I'd build you a terrarium and everything. It would have little beakers and test tubes, maybe a tiny chalkboard for your calculations."

"Well, I suppose that wouldn't be so bad," he conceded, his metallic fingers drumming a gentle rhythm on his leg. "Though I must insist on proper ventilation.”

“Only the best for you, my little bug,” you crooned with saccharine sweetness.

Viktor's lips quirked into a smirk. "I’m shocked to find out that you could hold such feelings for an insect. I better not see you cavorting around with any of the spiders in this house. Some have particularly large backsides that I cannot compete with."

The mental image his words conjured was too much. You dissolved into another fit of giggles, imagining Viktor sizing himself up against a portly arachnid.

"I don't know," you managed between gasps, wiping tears from your eyes. "Those spiders are pretty tempting. All those legs, you know? Very sexy."

Viktor's eyebrows shot up, a look of mock horror crossing his face. "Milá! How could you? Here I thought we had something special, and you're off fantasizing about eight-legged womanizers."

You leaned in close, your nose nearly brushing his. "What can I say? I like my men with an exoskeleton."

Viktor's laugh was rich and warm and you revelled in it. But as it subsided, a comfortable silence settled over you both. The mirth lingered in your eyes, softening into something warmer, more tender. You found yourself studying Viktor's face, tracing the lines of his jaw, noting how the fading light caught in his amber eyes.

“You can call me Miláček or miláčku,” you said. “I like both, even if they’re technically meant for men. It’s just my name, regardless of its meaning. I don’t think anything else would fit at this point.”

"I'm glad," he said, barely above a whisper. "Though I think I prefer miláčku. It suits you better."

His metallic hand reached out, hesitant at first, then gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The cool touch sent chills down your neck, but it wasn't unpleasant. If anything, it heightened your awareness of how close you were sitting, your knees almost touching.

“It seems silly now,” you leaned into his touch, “to let it go unsaid for so long.” 

His smile softened, and you scooted closer, knees knocking together, needing to be near him. “I didn’t want to burden you with my impending death more than I already had.”

You wrapped your arm around his waist, leaning into his side. “You have never been a burden, Viktor.”

“Still,” he doubled down, “it didn’t seem fair of me to confess my feelings. I worried I’d only hurt you more in the end. You deserve to live a long and happy life with whomever you choose.” 

You paused, the slight crease of a frown tugging at your lips as you tilted your head upward. Your eyes followed his gaze towards the door, noticing the tension in his jaw as he deliberately avoided looking directly at you. “Do you blame yourself for this?” 

He pursed his thin lips, sighing as he looked towards his feet. “You were hurt during the explosion at the council that I attended, and then, to save me from my body’s failings, you endangered yourself, used the Hexcore and almost—“ he cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut. “Now, you’re stuck in the abandoned slums of the Undercity because I brought you here. I fail to see how that is not my fault.” 

With a flicker of playful familiarity, you mimicked a move he had frequently used on you. Gently, your fingers grasped his chin and turned his face to meet yours, a slight dip of your head allowing your eyes to meet his downcast gaze. You smiled almost shyly as you brushed your thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the cracked texture beneath your touch. “It was my decision to save you and the rest of the council from the explosion, just as it was my decision to absorb the Hexcore to save you. And it is still my decision to be here with you. I don’t care where we are, as long as we are together. Don’t think for one moment that I regret getting more time with you. Besides, it’s not like either of us could go back to Piltover looking like this.” 

His lips parted, staring at you as though you hung the sun and the moon and scattered the stars across the night sky. “I appreciate you attempting to absolve me of my guilt, but I had a part to play in all this too.” 

He held your right hand in his, palm up as he traced the now healed - thanks to the Shimmer - burn scarring your skin. It had been the consequences of the first time you’d tried to heal Viktor with the Hexcore.

“Maybe,” you said nonchalantly, “but I don’t blame you for it.” 

“No, you blame yourself, which I would argue is not an improvement.”

“Then we will both have to work on absolving ourselves of guilt. It happened, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.” Easier said than done, but it was a start, if nothing else. “All we can do now is move forward and try to do our best.” 

“Wise words from a woman who only moments ago was pouting over potentially poisoned water,” he teased, brushing his nose against yours. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that little stunt. You owe me for the mini heart attack you gave me.”

Viktor grinned, promise glinting in his amber-hued gaze. “I’m sure I can figure out some way to make it up to you.”

Your heart fluttered at Viktor's suggestive tone, but exhaustion quickly dampened any amorous intentions. You settled for nestling closer, breathing in his familiar scent as your eyelids grew heavy.

The days that followed blended together in a haze of rest and recovery. You found yourself able to conjure food and water with increasing ease, though you couldn’t figure out how to choose what you got. One morning, you woke to find a steaming plate of eggs benedict waiting for you, complete with a delicate sprig of parsley on top.

You and Viktor fell into a comfortable routine. During the day, you’d talk softly about everything and nothing, exchanging tender kisses that left you breathless. At night, you curled up together on the hard floor, but you didn’t mind it so much as long as you weren’t alone.

Your strength returned gradually as you recovered, and you found yourself able to make the trip up and down the stairs. You were thankful that the bathroom was on the second floor, though it wasn’t ideal. The plumbing was no longer functional, but you’d made do with a bucket and tried not to dwell on the less-than-ideal situation.

The hallucinations persisted, though none quite as terrifying as that first night. Occasionally, you'd see Sky's ghost watching you from the corner of the room, hear Jayce’s laughter or whispers from the Hexcore. But they were fleeting, like echoes of a fading dream.

Your magic continued its mischievous streak. One afternoon, you sneezed and accidentally turned all the dust particles in the air into tiny butterflies. Another time, you laughed so hard at one of Viktor's dry jokes that you cracked the bedroom door.

But as you grew stronger, Viktor declined. His movements became slower, more laboured. Dark circles deepened under his eyes, and his skin took on a sickly pallor. You caught him wincing when he thought you weren't looking, his hand pressed against his chest as if to hold something in.

He tried to hide it, of course, brushing off your concerns with a smile and a quip. But you knew him too well to be fooled.

“Viktor,” you said one night as you lay together on the hard ground, your magic refusing to conjure up anything but food and water - incredibly frustrating when what you really wanted was a simple tube of lip balm. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what, exactly?” The words fell from his mouth with a practiced ease, but you weren't fooled by the casualness in his tone. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

You raised your hand off his chest, letting your magic poke and prod at the responding sparks that bounced off his metal skin. “The magic is fading, it’s not settling out. What I did was temporary, and the only way to do it again—“

“No,” he spoke over you, firm and tightening his grip around your waist. “I will not risk you like that.” 

“I will not let you die,” you countered. “Do you have an alternative?” 

His silence was answered enough. 

“Soraka said that if I pulled too much on the Hexcore her spell would unravel, but what if I only pull on it a little bit? I already fortified you, maybe it will only need some touch-ups.” 

He shook his head, and frustration rose like bile in your throat. “That is too dangerous. We don’t know the extent of the Hexcore’s influence; even a fraction of its power could be too great. And if it was fully unleashed, I fear the devastating effects it would have on you.” 

You flipped over, muscles tensing as you propped yourself up on an elbow and stared down at him with determined defiance. “And your death wouldn’t destroy me?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t finished. “I will not lose you, and I know you want to live too.” 

“I don’t want you to get hurt on my behalf again.” He reached for your cheek, but you slapped his hand away, your lips pulled back and teeth barred in a feral snarl. 

“No,” you growled, your eyes alight with a fury that may not have been entirely your own. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me. You promised.” 

“Miláček—“

“You don’t get to call me that when you refuse to let me help, Viktor.” You pushed yourself up, your knees pressing into the floor. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, following you, eyes wide as he struggled to find the right words to say. “Please, lay back down, allow me to explain.”

“No!” you shouted, surprising even yourself. The word reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, a mix of anger and desperation making it sound distant and close all at once. The buzzing in your ears grew louder, drowning out any rational thoughts as a surge of rage pulsed through your body, pounding against your skull.

With a quick, fluid movement, you stood up from the ground, your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. In front of you, Viktor crouched low, his gaze level with yours. His hand extended towards you, palm open, as if trying to calm a wild creature. When had he gotten up?

And when had that scorch mark on the wall behind him gotten there? 

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded, voice thick with tears and aching desperation. You felt like a child throwing a temper tantrum, unable to comprehend anything outside of the agony that swirled inside, left without a proper outlet to express it. “Please, I can’t go through that again.” 

“I know, lásko,” he soothed in a velvety whisper. His fingers gently wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer to him as if wanting to protect you from the world. You followed, mesmerized by the rich timbre of his voice and the warmth of his touch.

“You wish to help, and I don’t want to deny you this, but as you worry for me, so do I for you.” 

That made sense, didn’t it? It was a fair assertion, one you could understand despite the buzzing in your mind. Sinking back to your knees, all but crumpling into Viktor’s embrace, you swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape, pushing it past the Hexcore’s presence that sat lodged in your throat. “I have to try.” 

“We may discuss this more in the morning, but I make no promises. You are too precious to me, miláčku, if we are to do this, it must be safe for you.” 

And you would make no promises either, for you could already feel your hold on the Hexcore had loosened ever so slightly - enough for its power to start leaking out of its cage, like wisps of smoke escaping through cracks in a jar.

“Okay,” you agreed for now, hazy even as you settled against him. “I’m sorry,” you added, “I didn’t mean to shout earlier, I was just suddenly…loud, like everything else in my head.”

He brushed a kiss against your forehead, soft and tender. The gentle pressure lingered, a wordless promise etched into your skin. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. His fingers threaded through your hair, cool against your scalp.

Viktor's lips moved against your skin, not quite forming words. You felt the working of his throat as if he was trying to speak but couldn't find the right thing to say. Instead, he poured all his unspoken feelings into that single, lingering kiss.

Next Chapter

A/N: Sooooo turns out I've been using the Czech term for darling wrong, and I thought I should probably fix that. Special thank you to @veru-boom for helping me write it properly!

Let me know what you think so far! How do you feel about losing your mind 😅

Its probably gonna be a few days before I am able to update again, but wanted to get a bit more out!

Little broǔcku Viktor ❤️

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family B-Side (1)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell (on the way!)

This is part of a series of unrelated works entitled "Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually" and I think that title is fairly self-explanatory. If there are any other couples you think would be good parents for our Stevie boy, let me know and I'll take them into consideration!

Anyway, the B-Side thing is because this is like taking my Addams Family Steddie au and just flipping the cassette tape hfjsdk

This time, it's Steve that's the Addams and Eddie that's normal!

Anyway, blame @whatthemeepever for this one specifically cuz it's gonna spiral into a wild ride actually, so let's all pray for Eddie in advance

If you'd like a tag for any future parts, let me know!

And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't

-------

The moment Steve is born, his father sticks a light bulb in his mouth. When it glows, he jumps with joy and throws Steve into the air. The moment Steve's mother realizes what's happening, she slaps his father upside the head, throws the light bulb at him, and threatens to blow him up again if he sticks anymore into Steve's mouth before he starts teething.

She follows through on the promise exactly two weeks later, and Steve's parents (one smug and the other notably singed but delighted) rebuild their house next door to his father's brother.

Steve's mother chooses his first and last name (Harrington, a reference to some long-lost family friend or other), and his father is reluctantly given the freedom to choose his middle name. In the end, he is dubbed Steve Faustus Harrington, a name his mother is so surprised to find acceptable that she kisses his father as a reward.

And so begins Steve's life.

------

"I can't believe you got expelled," Steve's mother seethes, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white. "Again!"

Steve crosses his arms, sinking lower in his seat as he glares out the window. "It's not my fault they were shitty friends. They got what they deserved."

He hears his mother laugh, the sound strained and indignant and very quickly followed by his father turning to look at Steve from the passenger seat. His sunken eyes are filled with suppressed delight as he asks, "What did they do this time?"

A few seconds pass before Steve sighs. "They said they couldn't go out later because they had to study for finals. I mean, what kind of bullshit is that? Finals are three weeks away, and they can't spare one weekend for the funeral museum?" he says, scoffing as he looks at his father, grins, and adds, "So, I brought the funeral museum to them, coffins and cremations and all."

His father's eyes light up, sheer joy and pride dancing in them. And for the very first time in Steve's life, his mother pulls over to the side of the road and parks the car.

"Pumpkin?" his father asks.

"Fester," she says, her voice low and somewhere in the range of upset, "do you remember when I tried to kill your entire family?"

"Of course. It was a splendid attempt."

She nods and looks at him with a tiny, somewhat pained smile. Then she turns and sets her gaze on Steve. "Darling, what kind of grades do your friends have?" she asks. "Because if you're anything like me, and I know you are, you tend to befriend people who are significantly dumber than you."

Steve blinks, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, most of them were about to fail," he admits.

"Then, isn't it possible they really were studying for finals? Especially if they were close to failing at a school where passing is a requirement of attendance? Perhaps you could have suggested going to the...funeral museum after finals?"

A few seconds pass as Steve considers her words, a crushing sense of realization and guilt dropping on his shoulders and traveling to the pit of his stomach. It makes him feel nauseous, and he stares down at his lap. "I fucked up," he finally says, voice quiet and apologetic.

"Of course not!" Fester says, reaching out and ruffling Steve's hair despite the affronted noise from Debbie, "Your plan was beautifully conceived and masterfully executed. Perhaps you should just talk a little more before pulling out the urns next time."

"Incredibly, your father is right," Debbie says, looking pleasantly surprised before turning her gaze to Steve. She sighs and holds out a hand, squeezing Steve's when he takes it. "Don't get so blinded by a beautiful pair of shoes that you completely miss the sale two aisles over, Steve. At the very least, do a little more research before resorting to torture and murder. Personally, I'm very tired of calling the family's lawyer."

Steve snorts at the utter lie. Debbie loves calling the family's lawyer. She does so regularly just to double-check the state of Fester's stocks and bonds and deeds and general worth. "Okay," he says, nodding once, "I'll remember for the next school."

"You know," Fester says, looking at Debbie hopefully, "Pubert is a senior this year. Maybe Steve could go to high school with him."

Debbie hesitates, frowning slightly before saying, "Yes, but it's...public school."

"The best Gomez and Morticia could find! It was highly recommended by Margaret, and Pubert can make sure Steve adjusts and makes friends."

Steve can see the moment his mother agrees. She sighs, lets go of his hand, and fixes her already perfect bob. "Well, I suppose," she says before looking at Steve once more. "And you, Steve? Would you like to try...public school for your junior year?"

"Sure, might be fun," Steve says, thinking about all the movies he's seen that display public high schools as a zoo and the worst place on Earth. It sounds great, and if the place is still standing while Pubert attends, it must be somewhat entertaining.

------

"You've got everything you'll need?"

Steve looks up from lacing his shoes and smiles at his mother, earning a nervous grin in return. Her blonde hair is uncharacteristically frazzled, and Steve feels warm and fuzzy (like a mold growing over his heart) at knowing she's so worried as to appear less-than-perfect in front of him.

"Yes, I've got everything," he says, gesturing to the backpack on the stairs next to him. In addition to notebooks and his pencil case, Steve has also packed a travel mace, a miniature bomb (alarm clock detonator stored separately, of course), a tiny bottle of tequila, and his lucky lightbulb (just in case).

His mother nods once, takes a deep breath, and then turns her head toward the kitchen to shout, "FESTER!"

Something crashes, a cat (they don't have a cat) yowls, and Steve's father slides into the doorway. "Yes, Pumpkin?" he asks, eyes bright and happy and utterly stuck on Debbie.

"Is Steve's lunch ready? You made something normal, right?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

Fester glances at Steve, a brief look shared between them that's both sympathetic and endeared toward Debbie. "Of course," Fester says, disappearing for two seconds before striding over to the stairs with a pink lunch box decorated with black skulls (Steve chose the color, Fester chose the pattern, and Debbie gave them her stamp of approval). "A turkey sandwich, fruit, cookies, and juice."

"Fruit?" Debbie asks, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Apple slices!"

After a few seconds, Debbie nods, and Fester gives the lunch box to Steve, shifting some so Debbie doesn't see the conspiratorial wink that tells him the juice is definitely poisoned. Steve grins and shoves the lunch box into his bag. He finishes lacing his shoes and stands, holding his arms out so his mother can inspect him.

"You've done a wonderful job pairing your shirt and shoes," Debbie says, walking around Steve with an air of pride and approval. She rubs the sleeve of his pastel yellow sweater between her thumb and forefinger, nodding once. "The plum pants are a bold choice, but it pays off. And, as always, your hair is flawless, dear."

Steve grins, letting his arms fall to his side. "I tried that new mousse you gave me," he says, fingers twitching as he fights the urge to run them through his hair. "It works great."

His mother smiles even wider and kisses his cheek, pulling out a handkerchief and carefully wiping away the lipstick residue she leaves behind. "I knew it would," she says, inspecting Steve's face once more before nodding with approval.

"Pumpkin, it's time for Steve to go. Pubert is waiting."

Debbie huffs softly and gives Steve one last once over before nodding and hurrying him toward the door. "Have a good day at school, try not to blow anything up, and call me if Pubert tries to cut off your head with a rusty knife again," she says.

"What if it's a clean knife?"

"Well, that's fine. Grandmama will just sew it back on."

Steve grins and waves to both of his parents before hurrying toward the sidewalk where Pubert is waiting. His hair is parted down the middle and gelled down, his pencil-thin mustache is immaculate as ever, and he's wearing a three-piece suit. When Steve is closer, he pulls out two cigars and offers one.

"This isn't an exploding cigar again, right? I'm wearing a new shirt," Steve says, taking it and looking it over.

"Nah, that joke only works once," Pubert says, dragging a match against his palm to light it. He holds it to his cigar first, puffs a few times, and then does the same for Steve. "How long till you get expelled again, you think?"

Steve shrugs as he takes a puff from the cigar, letting the smoke linger for a moment before skillfully blowing it out in perfect circles as they walk. "I haven't been to a public school before," he says, tapping the cigar over the sidewalk, "so, hopefully, at least a year."

"Public school is fun," Pubert says, getting a wicked grin as he looks at Steve. "You can get away with a lot."

"And the other kids?"

"Well, they've certainly got a lot to learn. I mean, most of them can't even handle a little cyanide."

Steve scrunches his nose and takes another puff of his cigar. After a few seconds he asks, "Will we have any classes together?"

"You're a year below me, so maybe an elective or two. What did you sign up for?"

"I signed up for, uh, shop class, forensic science, and Gothic literature."

"We'll have Gothic lit together," Pubert says, flashing a smile before asking, "And you know what shop class is, right?"

Steve blinks, suddenly a little hesitant. "Is it not, like, something about shopping?"

"No. It's building things. With wood, usually."

"Oh! So, I can build anything?"

"I guess. I haven't taken it."

"Well, I'll find out. Maybe I can build Dad a catapult or guillotine or something."

As they get closer to the school, more students fill the sidewalks, but Steve notices that most of them seem to give him and Pubert a wide berth. They also stare, looking at Steve like he's some kind of puzzle to be solved, with more than a few flashing sympathetic smiles like he's trapped and can't get away. "You're popular," Steve notes, taking one last puff of his cigar before dropping it into a trash can.

"I would fucking hope so," Pubert says, finishing off his cigar and tossing it into the next trash can they pass. "I didn't flood the place with roaches and vermin to not be known."

Steve grins, listening as Pubert regales him with the tale only to cut it short when they get inside the school and pass the front office. "I need to get my schedule, but Mom said she made sure we'd have lunch together," Steve says.

Pubert waves him off. "Yeah, I'll meet you in the cafeteria. Have fun, cousin," he replies, mockingly saluting him before heading off down the main hall.

-----

Steve's first class of the day was AP Calculus, followed by AP Physics, Wood Shop, and AP U.S. History. When it's finally time for lunch, he surveys the cafeteria for a few seconds before finding a table in a dark corner that everyone seems to avoid. By the time he gets there, Pubert has sat down with a tray from the lunch line.

Steve sets his backpack on the table, sits down, and says, "For a place that's so lifeless, it's not even fun."

"Yeah, it's like that," Pubert agrees, poking some unidentifiable mush on his tray with a spork before spooning some into his mouth.

It's with a somewhat jealous expression that Steve pulls out his lunch box and removes a thermos of poisoned juice. "Is it bad?" he asks, nodding to the tray.

"Utterly repulsive."

Steve sighs and takes a sip from the thermos before pulling out everything else in his lunch box. "They made me wear safety goggles in shop. Safety goggles! It's like they don't know how fun splinters in the eyes are. And everyone is soooo scared of the saws, it's ridiculous," he complains, taking an angry bite of his sandwich.

"What about your other classes?"

"Physics would be better with more practical examples. I mean, who cares about apples when we could learn if a body falls faster than a cannonball?"

"From experience, no," Pubert says, "Anyway, you gonna join any clubs?"

"Maybe the swim team? If I'm lucky, I'll drown," Steve says, perking up a little at the thought.

"Best of luck with that," Pubert replies, stealing Steve's thermos to take a sip of his juice. When he places it back, he offers Steve a sporkful of the mush.

Steve lights up and happily tries it, wondering how something can be so perfectly undercooked and overcooked at the same time. "Impressive," he says, passing the spork back. "Is that freezer burn?"

Before Pubert can answer, a bang from the other side of the cafeteria cuts off all other sounds. Steve glances over to see a boy in heavy combat boots climbing onto his table with a mischievous grin. He's wearing a shirt with a devil head on it and "Hellfire Club" emblazoned above and a vest with spikes, pins, and patches. His hair is just below his shoulders and a little curly, and Steve can see from here the wild glint in his eyes as he stomps down the table while talking.

"I'm tired of the double standards of this lame school. If you're into science or band or some other 'uncool' interest, the administration couldn't give two shits! Oh, the choir room needs new risers so the current ones don't break any necks? Well, that's too bad, we've got to give the football team new monogrammed towels for the locker room!" the guy says, grinning when a group of kids to the side shouts their agreement. "And never mind that our Robotics team has won the school three trophies when the basketball team so valiantly scraped into third place last year for being kinda good at throwing balls into laundry baskets."

"Prick!"

Steve glances at the guy who shouted, taking in his letterman jacket before quickly dismissing him. He looks back in time to see the boy on the table sticking out his tongue and holding his hands to his temples to make horns. There's an even wilder look in his eyes now, a sheer glee at causing a scene and getting under someone's skin.

Steve doesn't realize he's smiling until the boy scoffs, shouts one more line about the school's unfair preference for "mediocre jocks," and hops off the table. He looks over at Pubert and asks, "Who was that?"

Pubert glances at Steve, studying him for a moment before swallowing another mouthful of mush and saying, "Eddie Munson. He does that once a week, usually."

"Eddie Munson," Steve murmurs, glancing over at Eddie's table again and smiling a little wider.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

i have the flu rn and keep thinking about jason todd taking care of you when youre sick, hes intent on just bringing you food cause red hood cant protect gotham if he has a cold. then he sees you, red nose, messy hair, a sniffling mess, and when you look at him like a sad puppy and mutter out, “please just stay for a bit” your voice sounding dry and weak. he cant do anything but oblige your request.

oh no! i'm sorry you're not feeling well--- have this silly little fic like chicken soup for the soul!

___

Okay, this will take five minutes. Easy, easy. Jason will be in and out, he swears.

He grips the to-go bag holding your chicken soup and grapples toward your apartment. You've been down and out with the flu for a few days, and had insisted he keep his distance so he wouldn't get sick too. "Can't protect Gotham with the sniffles," you had said on the phone. Even though he's wanted to take care of you, you'd held firm, so he'd stayed away.

It's not like you're wrong, he reasons as he makes his way over. He does have this festering, garbage dump of a city to take care of. Not like Bruce is doing enough on his own, anyway. He was right to stay away. If he gets sick, who'll protect the girls selling in Crime Alley?

He tries to convince himself all the way across town and onto your fire escape. Jason will just drop this off and leave. No biggie.

He knocks on your window. Peering into your living room, he sees a few small lights on and a pile of blankets on the couch. You're nowhere to be found, maybe you're asleep in bed.

Jason surveys the food. He could text you that it's here and just leave it, but then it'll get cold. He knocks again. A muffled groan sounds through the window, and the lump of blankets on the couch slowly sits up. Some of the blankets shuffle around until you poke your head out, blearily looking around your living room.

Jason grimaces to himself. You look like shit. He raps again on the window to get your attention, and you look over before slowly disentangling yourself from your nest, keeping one blanket swaddled around you. Rising to your feet, you shuffle over, coming close enough that your breath fogs up the window. "Hey, Jay." You cough horribly.

He waves, then gestures at you to lift up the window. You grunt as you do so, leaning away from the cold. "Jay. You can' come indide. You'll ged sig." You glare at him, expression ruined by your red nose and wild hair. "Go away," you sniff at him.

"Brought you some soup. Still hot," he offers, handing you the bag.

"Oh." You take the container out of the bag, holding it close to your chest. "Feels nice. Thanks, Jay."

Jason nods, hesitating. "You sure you don't want me to stay?"

You glare at him again. "I'm fghine!" Another cough overtakes you, and you almost drop the soup, Jason grabbing it out of the air.

"You sure?" he clarifies.

You look at him, eyes watery, pushing your lip out. "...could you stay for a bit?"

Thank god. Jason throws himself through the window, shutting it behind him with a crash. "Of course, baby. Here, go sit," he pushes you toward the couch. "Let me get you your soup."

You sway as you walk over, collapsing onto the sofa. "Jus' for a few hours," you warn, trying to look stern from your position face down on the couch.

Jason stifles a grin. "Sure thing, doll."

[cielito--lindo]

Game, Set, Match

It's been weeks, months even. You both agreed that the breakup was mutual, but that was mainly a story that your agencies shared to the press. In reality, it had been your idea. You understood the life of a pro-hero, you lived it every day. But recently, your schedules had never aligned and he started taking up more shifts, leaving you to wake to an empty bed. Whenever you brought it up, it seemed like he brushed you off with scoffs and dismissals. He didn’t think you were serious until he came home to find the apartment you both shared was void of your things. 

You took refuge at Hitoshi’s house for a bit. He and Denki had welcomed you with open arms, you were lucky to share an agency with a good portion of your friends and they weren’t blind to the issues you and Bakugo had been having. It felt like everyone knew before you, which wasn’t the best feeling.

Once you found your own place, it felt like you were finally getting back on your feet. Your days were filled with balancing the best parts of being a hero, but your nights were plagued by the worse parts. The people you couldn’t save, the piles and piles of paperwork, and an absence in your chest that felt like it was starting to fester. You weren’t heartless, leaving Bakugou was one of the hardest things you had done, but you knew it had been for the best. You thought he felt the same since he hadn’t contacted you since. Maybe that was the part that hurt the worst, you knew Bakugou fought hard to keep the things and people he loved close...maybe this whole time you weren’t a part of it. But that was something for your therapist to figure out.

After tossing and turning the majority of the night, you decided to just start your day earlier than usual, especially for paperwork day. You left your hero costume hanging and opted for something comfier, but still professional. After stopping for a coffee and sweet breakfast treat, you strode into your agency building, finding Jiro and Ochako hunched over a magazine. 

“Oo anything good?” You leaned over Jiro’s shoulder. Both heroes let out a yelp and tried to quickly stash the magazine.

“Y/N! Didn’t hear you there!” Jiro cringed at her own voice, lacking nonchalance. 

“You’re here early!” Ochako chirped up, face bright red.

You raised an eyebrow at their antics “The great Earphone Jack didn’t hear something? Oh, so the gossip is really good then.” You held out your hand for the magazine “Don’t keep me out of the loop!”

Jiro and Uraraka shared a look and matching grimace “Babes, I really don’t think you’re gonna wanna read it.”

You gave them both an eyeroll “I knew I shouldn’t have worn that outfit to the charity event, shoulder pads definitely haven’t come back in style.” Uraraka slowly unrolled the magazine and handed it to you. The flash of familiar blonde spikes made your blood freeze. You quickly snatched it from her and fought to keep your hands from shaking.

“Katsuki Bakugou steps out with beau!”

Your eyes were glued to the cover, reading and re-reading the headline over and over again. You willed them to look at the rest of the cover, Bakugou’s arm wrapped around a small waifish model that you immediately recognized. She was one of the main models for his parents’ design company. She smiled up at him as he returned a smile of his own. Fuck, I’m gonna be sick, you thought. 

Looking up, your friends wore completely different expressions. Jiro’s brow was furrowed in concern, making sure you were doing okay. Ochako’s, on the other hand, was practically murderous.

“So, we’re breaking her little chopstick legs right?” She immediately asked. Her comment caught you off-guard as you barked out a laugh. “Babe, I’m serious! He moved on too quickly!” 

You threw the magazine back on the desk and rubbed your brow “I’m the one who broke up with him, remember?” Taking a deep breath, you gave them a small smile “He’s allowed to see other people.” 

Jiro snorted “Yeah, so can you, you know.” She ignored the look you gave her “Look, I’m just sayin’! You haven’t been out with anyone else since the breakup, it’s definitely time to put yourself out.” She hesitated for a moment. “You know Momo told me that Iida’s back in town...”

Ochako’s eyes lit up “Shut up! Y/n this is perfect! You and Iida haven’t seen each other since graduation! This would be perfect, it’s definitely time for you to get back out there!” She was already reaching for her phone and typing furiously. “He’s back for a week and would be down for dinner tomorrow!”

“Wait, wait. What?” Your head was spinning. Uraraka’s voice became distant as you struggled to grasp what was happening. This was all too much, everything was moving too fast. Were you ready to go back out there? You felt your hands start to shake, Jiro slowly reached out and clasped your unsteady hands in hers. Your wide eyes met hers, they were filled with reassurance and understanding. These girls had seen you at your lowest, nights spent crying into glasses of wine, even helping you pack everything up when you decided to leave. 

“You don’t have to do this” Jiro murmured “Just because he’s out there doesn’t mean you have to be.” You nodded at her and gave her a small tight smile.

Looking at that magazine cover felt like a punch to the gut, but Uraraka was right. How much time were you going to hold out for him? To see if he truly cared and would fight for you. You survived a goddamn war. Katsuki Bakugou was simply just a man and you deserved to have some fun. Tenya Iida was always kind and patient with you, especially when you nervously asked him for tutoring help in Math. It also didn’t help that he was fuckin’ jacked and tall as hell. You could've easily caught feelings for him, if you weren’t daydreaming over Bakugou.

You rolled your shoulders back and steeled your nerves. You can do this! You’re still a bad bitch in there! “Give Tenya my number and tell him we’ll meet for dinner down at that new fancy restaurant downtown.” You quickly turned on your heel and strode to your office before you lost your resolve, leaving your two friends in shock.

“Well, well. This is gonna be somethin’” Jiro muttered, looking over and watching Uraraka’s fingers fly over her phone’s screen “Are you already posting in the group chat?!”

“Prepare to meet your match, Katsuki Bakugou” She giggled, a sinister grin on her lips.

Hi, y'all! So this is my first time writing a my hero academia drabble and actually my first ever reader fic! I'm not sure about writing a part two, please let me know if that's something you'd like to see!

[bwobgames]

“My father’s brother, my parents didn’t like him much, but he’s still family so he would visit us every once in a while.”

“To their disappointment, my uncle lacked any of their ambition”

“You might see me as lesser for this, Natalia, but I wasn’t born into riches. I was born in the middle of the way”

“My parents were very much set into escaping a low class life. They reached incredible heights for how little they had at the start”

“And of course, I was part of that plan as well”

“The best education they could afford. The best manners they could teach. The fanciest of talents they could think of. I was brought up a perfect little lady”

“We were going to live a good life, so we worked hard”

“My uncle did not follow that logic”

.

.

.

.

“Shouldn’t you be at home by now, little flower? Or were you out playing?”

“I was at Violin practice.

Are you drinking again, Uncle Jacinto”

“What? Of course not! Is your dad saying I’m some sort of alcoholic?”

“No…”

“So he is.”

“Mari, you shouldn’t get between mindless adult bickering, this is between your dad and me, okay?”

“He loves me at the end of the day”

“Are you sure?”

“Haha, you’re so mean!”

“My god, does your mother love tightening that hair. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“…It’s fine. It doesn’t get tangled that way.”

“So it hurts?”

“…I don’t want to wear braids instead…”

“Well, what if you could brush your own hair? And do your hair in the way you wanted?”

“You could dye it even!”

“The only people who paint their hair are unruly women and parasitic unemployed people”

“Oh wow”

“It’s alright baby, I know you have a heart in there somewhere”

“I’m polite!”

“You probably are! That’s good!”

“But I want you to know, if you ever feel like living a little, you will always have me a call away, okay?”

“You’ll introduce me to drugs?”

“I don’t do drugs!”

"At that point I merely brushed him off, my uncle is a low life who will never achieve anything and its not worth it, or so dad said."

"Uncle Jacinto is nothing but a bad influence. He will never be anyone in life. He will never be happy"

(“But then, why was his smile so bright?”)

"Before entering university, he died. A car ran him over when he was biking."

"I dyed my hair."

"Partly out of curiosity, a small desire I’ve been having. The need to experiment."

"Of course, I had to do a million excuses to my mom for it, it would make me stand out to my professors, it would make my intelligence contrast harder, it was only temporary so it’s really no big deal-"

"It was glorious."

"I looked at the mirror and couldn’t stop starring."

A mere impulse became a euphoria that she had never felt before

Unbeknownst to her, a feeling inside her had been growing. Festering wildly through the years.

A hunger.

She sees something in the mirror.

“Took you a while”

“Blue suits you, Little flower”

She likes blue.

She was never that close to her uncle, but at that moment, she felt a need for him.

A need for guidance, free of any hidden plans.

A need for warm words and a bright smile.

Someone to tell her she’s doing the right thing.

<-PREV START NEXT->

[favefandomimagines]

Storm’s Eye (t.o)

Request: @lonelyghosts-stuff “Helllllllo! I hope you are doing well! I was wondering if I could request a Tyler Owens x Reader enemies to lovers fic? I am such a sucker for that trope especially if it's like actually enemies who hate each other but then grow to care through shared experiences and learning about each other. Angsty and life and death stuff. Just super tropey lol”

AN: I’ve been trying a new writing style where I don’t write in the first person but rather the third person, but still using Y/N. Let me know what you guys think!

The sky was a bruised shade of purple.Tyler Owens was behind the wheel of his truck, eyes flicking between the horizon and the radar screen. He gripped the steering wheel, every fiber of his being tuned into the storm brewing in the distance. This was what he lived for—chasing the thrill, the danger.

Beside him, Boone and Javi were having a conversation about the best burgers in Oklahoma, but Tyler wasn’t paying attention. He was more concerned with staying ahead of the supercell that was beginning to form just over the ridge. His mind raced with calculations, predictions, and strategies, keeping track of the storm's trajectory in his head.

Then there was her.

Sitting in the backseat, quietly scrolling through the radar on her own tablet, was the new meteorologist Javi had brought onto the team. Y/N Y/L/N, the woman who had already gotten under Tyler’s skin.

“What do you think, Tyler?” Javi asked, peering over Tyler’s shoulder. “Y/N says we should head north and catch the storm as it loops back around.”

Tyler’s eyes snapped to the rearview mirror, catching Y/N’s gaze. Her eyes were sharp, confident—like she thought she knew everything there was to know about storms. It irked him.

“North?” Tyler scoffed, his voice laced with irritation. “We’re wasting time if we go north. The storm’s going to pivot east, not loop back. If you want to catch it, we need to stay on this road and head southeast.”

Y/N leaned forward, her expression calm but firm. “That storm’s got a hook echo forming. It’s going to swing north before it turns east. If we stay southeast, we’ll miss the rotation.”

“Miss the rotation?” Tyler barked a laugh. “I’ve been chasing storms for years, and I know this system. You’re just reading the radar. I can feel it.”

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t back down. “You think I’m just looking at a screen? I’ve been in the field, too. And I’m telling you, if we don’t adjust course, we’re going to be too far south to catch anything.”

Javi glanced between them, trying to keep the peace. “Hey, guys, how about we—”

“I’m the leader of this team,” Tyler interrupted, his tone hard. “We’re sticking with my call. We go southeast.”

Y/N crossed her arms, frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior. Tyler knew she was good at her job—Javi wouldn’t have brought her on if she wasn’t—but that didn’t mean he had to like her stepping on his turf.

“I’ll be here when you realize you’re wrong,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Tyler pretended not to hear, though her words festered in the back of his mind.

||

The next few days followed the same pattern. Y/N and Tyler clashed over nearly every decision—where to set up, what direction to head, even which equipment to use. The rest of the team, Boone, Javi, Kate, Lilly, Dani, and Dexter, watched their arguments like spectators at a tennis match, unsure of how to intervene.

“Maybe you should cut her some slack,” Boone suggested one evening after a particularly heated argument.

Tyler grumbled something incoherent and shook his head. Y/N was too smart, too stubborn, and way too sure of herself for his liking.

Later that night, while the others were fast asleep in the small roadside motel they were staying at, Tyler found himself unable to sleep. His mind was still buzzing from the day's chase, from the constant butting of heads with Y/N. He slipped out of his room and headed to the small, makeshift lounge area by the vending machines. To his surprise, Y/N was already there, sitting in one of the chairs with her nose buried in a weather report.

He hesitated, then finally walked over and sat down across from her. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the low hum of the soda machine.

Finally, Tyler broke the silence. “Where’d you go to school?”

Y/N glanced up from her report, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“I asked where you went to school,” he repeated, a little softer this time. “I’m just curious.”

She closed her report and leaned back in her chair. “University of Kansas.”

“Really? That’s a good program.” Tyler couldn’t help but be impressed, though he kept his tone neutral.

Y/N shrugged. “It’s close to home. My dad’s still there, and since my mom died a few years ago, I didn’t want to leave him alone for too long.”

The admission caught Tyler off guard. He hadn’t expected her to open up like that.

“He’s the one who made me want to be a meteorologist,” she continued, a small smile tugging at her lips. “When storm season would roll around, he’d stay calm. No matter how bad it got, he’d explain what was happening so I wouldn’t be scared.”

Tyler was quiet for a moment, processing her words. “That’s…that’s pretty cool.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes softer now. “Why did you start your YouTube channel? Seems like an unusual hobby.”

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to explain. “I started it because if it helps even one person know what signs to look for, where to take shelter, and it saves lives…that’s the goal. Storms are dangerous, but the more people understand them, the better their chances.”

Y/N nodded, and for the first time, Tyler saw something other than frustration in her eyes. They had more in common than he realized. “I was a bull rider before this.” He spoke. Not sure why that was the first thing that came to his mind.

“Really?” She questioned. “Yeah, I was pretty good for a while. But too many bulls to the head, I wanted to get out before I became a vegetable. When deciding what to do next, I remembered how I felt during my first tornado. I knew I was supposed to be scared, my aunt was freaking out in the driver’s seat. But I couldn’t help but feel excited by it. Remembering that feeling helped me decide to go back to school.” Tyler explained.

“I guess you’re not all bad, Owens.” Y/N teased. “You’re not so bad either, Y/N.” Tyler replied, a small smirk on his face.

||

Tyler thought that after their late-night conversation, things might start to smooth out between them. But when they were out in the field the next day, the old tension returned.

Y/N was insisting they head west, while Tyler was adamant that they stick to the eastern route.

“You’re not thinking clearly!” Y/N snapped, pulling out her map and pointing to the storm's trajectory. “The data shows the storm shifting westward. If we don’t move now, we’re going to miss the funnel!”

Tyler’s frustration boiled over. “I’m the leader of this team, Y/N. My decision stands. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and the effect was immediate. Y/N’s face fell, all the confidence and fire draining from her. Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t say anything. Just nodded and turned away.

As she walked back to the van, guilt gnawed at Tyler. He knew what he said had hurt her more than he intended. He knew the sting of being dismissed in a profession dominated by men, and he’d just done exactly that to her.

||

The storm that day was worse than any of them had expected. The winds picked up suddenly, driving rain slashing sideways across the open plains. They had barely made it into a small town when the tornado sirens began wailing.

“Get to the storm shelter!” Tyler shouted to the team over the howling wind.

Y/N was running beside him when something caught her eye. She stopped dead in her tracks, looking toward the edge of the street where a young golden retriever, still basically a puppy, was tied to a telephone pole barking frantically.

“Y/N, come on!” Tyler yelled, but she shook her head.

“I can’t leave him,” she shouted back, running toward the dog.

Tyler cursed under his breath and sprinted after her. “Y/N, you can’t—”

“I have to save him!” she interrupted, fumbling with the leash as the wind whipped around her, making it nearly impossible to untie the knots.

For a terrifying moment, Tyler thought they were both going to get swept away by the storm. Without thinking, he grabbed her hands and pulled them away from the leash, then used his pocket knife to cut it.

“Let’s go!” he urged, pulling her to her feet.

She scooped up the dog, and they ran together toward the storm shelter, barely making it inside before the worst of the storm hit.

Y/N collapsed against the wall, clutching the trembling dog in her arms. “Thanks,” she panted, a breathy laugh escaping her lips.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tyler said, though his heart was still racing from fear, not anger.

She just smiled weakly in response.

||

When the storm passed, Y/N was outside, kneeling beside the dog and handing out food and water to the town’s residents who had been affected. Tyler watched her from a distance, unable to shake the fear he’d felt when he thought she wasn’t going to make it.

He walked over to her, his voice softer than usual. “That dog’s not going to let you out of his sight now.”

Y/N smiled, ruffling the dog’s fur. “He’s our new team mascot.”

Tyler crouched down beside her, his tone serious. “I was scared. I thought you weren’t going to make it. And it made me realize…I’ve been awful to you because I liked you. I was scared of how I felt.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You liked me?”

“Yeah,” Tyler admitted. “And I think…I think I still do.”

Y/N smiled, her voice soft. “Well it’s a good thing that I have feelings for you too, Tyler.” Tyler let out a light laugh before leaning in ever so slightly

Just as they were about to kiss, Boone appeared out of nowhere, grinning like a fool. “So, what’s the plan, lovebirds? Heading back on the road or what?”

Tyler groaned, but Y/N just laughed, the tension between them finally gone, like the storm that had just passed.