#he is capable of violence and he is capable of BEARING violence in a way that makes him a lil scary at times

[kookiestarlight]

Lines of fate: 01 | jjk

➵ pairing: tattooist!jungkook x f. reader

➵ genre: apocalypse au, exes to lovers (?) dad!jungkook, survival, angst, smut

➵ summary: the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you—an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

➵ word count: 11.9k

➵ warnings: swearing (jk says fuck way too much), graphic depictions of violence and death, blood and gore, seizures, virus and zombies ofc, brief mentions of alcohol consumption.

➵ series masterlist

➵ a/n: it’s finally here!! <3 sorry this was postponed way longer than expected, all I can say is: life :,) anyway!! posting my writing again after years on hiatus definitely feels nerve wracking lol. this idea has been in my wips for literally years so I’m so excited to finally be sharing it with you all!! I would greatly appreciate your feedback and thoughts as it is something quite different from anything I usually write (it’s definitely been a kick in the ass) it’ll also really help me stay motivated to continue writing it. thank you for all the hype and excitement you showed for this fic before it was even released cause like hello?? that’s crazy to me😭 thanks for always showing my stories love and support🫶🏻 I’ve taken inspiration from all the zombie movies and videogames I’ve ever seen and played over the years (thanks dad). I should also mention, I had a very thorough plot for this planned out and it kinda went to shit in the process of writing so we’re kind of going off vibes only and 20% of the plot I had originally planned so yeah, bare with me🤪 I also want to say, updates on this will most likely be slow, but I will try my best to get them out as fast I can for you🙏 now that that’s over, I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am enjoying writing it!! this chapter is just the very beginning <33

The autumn sun filters through the large window with an amber glow as you take a slow sip of your coffee, the warm bitterness spreading in your chest as you attempt to chase some kind of comfort. But the loud hum of the city just outside and the muffled chatter of the bustling cafe are very much a grounding reminder of where you are — and where you really wish you weren't.

Your gaze travels down to your daughter sitting on the booth beside you, her little legs swinging off the seat contentedly as she picks away at her blueberry muffin. Completely oblivious to your ongoing little inner torment. Her big eyes flicker up to meet yours, brimming with glee. Brushing a crumb off her cheek, you force a little smile for her. 

Like a dull sting under your skin, you feel how little teeth of guilt gnaw away at you, not only because it’s been almost impossible to offer her a genuine smile in the past two days since you stepped foot in this dammed place, but because you simply wish you could share the same excitement as she does, and perhaps…feel more positive about this whole situation. For her.

But all you’ve been able to feel is guilt.

An incessant amount of it. Guilt and fear. Slowly brewing up inside you like some sort of poison that has had you feeling a little sick to your stomach.

”You’re spiraling again.” Hoseok pulls you out of your absentminded state, studying you over the rim of his half finished iced americano.

You blink. You often tend to forget how well he’s capable of reading you. Though you suppose that’s a skill acquired with nearly twenty years of friendship, and an unavoidable consequence of growing up constantly together, practically like siblings. 

Hoseok has been the only constant in your life for as long as you can remember, like a brother to you — conjoined at the hip as his mother always used to joke. It all began when you moved next door. With your parents always working late and often times far away from home, Hoseok's home slowly became your second one — the place you spent most of your childhood and adolescence and formed some of your fondest memories. A place where you were never alone.

You do suppose it’s no surprise the years and the unbreakable bond you’ve formed have given you exceptional abilities to know when something is off with just a simple glance. But it's never less surprising.

The corners of your mouth tug upwards into a tiny smile at his words, brows pinched in a pathetic attempt to hide your truth. “I am not.”

“You are. You’re thinking too much,” he stirs the ice in his drink with the straw, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. “Which if I may remind you, is one of your fatal flaws.”

You scoff, only slightly offended as you watch him take a slow sip. Pushing your sunglasses further up your head as you lean back. “Thinking too much is not my fatal flaw.” 

He’s may very likely be right about that, but of course, you’d never actually admit it.

Hoseok snorts, clearly unconvinced. His voice just above a whisper when he murmurs, “Right. Sorry. It’s definitely lying.”

Before you can argue, he leans forward to accept some crumbs of muffin Jieun is so eagerly offering him. The sight tugs at something deep in your chest, watching his expression soften to mush as he thanks her with that brightest, tender smile he only ever uses for her before he brings his attention back to you. 

“If it weren’t your fatal flaw, you’d actually be enjoying that overpriced coffee and oh—, maybe being reunited with your best friend again. I haven’t even seen you in like three months.” He shakes his head in utter disappointment, sitting back with a dramatic sigh.

“Hobi, I am so thrilled to be reunited with you, truly.” You roll your eyes ever so slightly and place a hand on your heart rather sarcastically as you say it, but deep down you hope he knows you’re only half joking. No one has done for you more than what hoseok has in the time you’ve known him.

You suppose all the change has got you in a rather sentimental state. But you bury it away. Hoseok deserves a nice time out with a friend for once too. He’s seen enough of your tears.

“Yeah?” he leans in, studying you with mock concern. Though not falling for it even a bit. "That's your thrilled face? You sure about that?” You almost laugh in response, but then, he shifts, looking more serious than just seconds ago. “You know,” he pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. “For someone who finally landed a nice new job and has everything working out, you don’t look all that thrilled to me, actually. That’s all.”

You press your lips together and glance down at your coffee, suddenly the truth a little too hard to face. You should be happy. He’s right. Because things really are starting to look up for you again. Everything you’ve spent the last few months wishing for has finally become a reality. And yet, you can’t shake the fact that there’s a deep buried sense of dread that seems to be getting in the way of that, a familiar fear that's been present for years, but only intensified since you stepped foot in Seoul again. 

Hoseok follows your gaze, watching you carefully, then nudges your foot under the table gently. “Come on.” He murmurs softly, eyebrows raised gently. “What is it?”

You suppose your real fatal flaw is your emotions showing up as flashy neon subtitles over your head apparently, or the fact you are simply terrible at hiding them, because Hoseok doesn't budge. He sees right through your little facade — always has. And as much as you know he is a great listener and that he genuinely cares to hear it all, always ready to give you a helping hand in any way he possibly can, you just don’t want to sound ungrateful. Not when anyone else in your position would be feeling over the moon right now.

Besides, you’ve never liked burdening him, or anyone for that matter. Never wanted to add more weight to the heavy things he already carries himself. He deals with so much of that at work already. So many problems significantly worse than your own worries. So you simply shake your head, putting on a small smile once again in hopes to appease him.

“I’m alright, Hobi. It's just…strange. Being back here. Overwhelming, I guess,” you admit, though only to half of the truth. “It’s so calm on the island. I suppose I got used to it. Everything here is just so intense. But that's all.” You cross your arms on the table as you gaze out at the busy streets. Hoping you don't sound as pathetic as you feel. Though in truth, this whole things isn't just strange. It’s all actually fucking terrifying.

In many ways it seemed like nothing here had changed since the day you left four years ago. The cityscape is as bustling as you remember – a stark contrast to the quietude and stillness of Jeju, where you had been building your new life up until now. People in suits rush back and forth and push into each other with no care, everything is always shadowed by a maze of buildings that don't seem to have an end. Cars weave through traffic like they want to crash into each other, and neon signs and billboards still flicker blindingly even in the daytime. 

The fact that everything remains the same, terrifies you. The rush, the stress, the chaos. That constant hustle and bustle that seems suffocating. It wasn't the reason why you left. but it was certainly a factor that made your life here something you wanted to escape from. It feels like stepping back into the life you thought you’d left behind for good. Like stepping onto a moving treadmill, when you no longer know how to run. Not sure if you’ll ever find your place here again.

Hobi hums in understanding, and the warmth in the familiarity of his smile helps lessen the knot that's been forming in your stomach all morning. And though you've only let out a tiny portion of what's on your mind, you already feel like you can breathe with more ease.

Sometimes, it’s not so bad that he can see right through you. Because you also tend to forget he’s the only one that truly gets you, understands you when even you struggle to understand yourself, and has never once been one to judge you, no matter how small or ridiculous it may be.

“Yeah, I get it. It can be overwhelming.” He nods slowly, letting the words settle. “But if I were you, I’d be damn proud of myself.” His expression is calm and his words full of sincerity as he speaks. “You did what you had to do, and now you’re doing it again. Making more big changes. Really tough decisions, and I know that’s not easy.” He pauses. “But you've always made it after all. This time won't be different. Besides, think about this, we’re close to each other now. I’ll be here for anything you guys need, you know that.”

Your heart softens at his comforting words, and the reassurance feels like it melts some of the tension off your shoulders. And for just a split second you feel that roar of confidence, thinking about everything you've accomplished, but it's not lasting, and deflates with the weight of your heavier thoughts.

You want to believe what he says — you really do. For your daughter's sake. Because this is finally your chance to start over and build something better. To give Jieun the life she deserves, something stable, a chance to thrive in a place full of new opportunities. 

A fresh start. 

After all, isn't that all you've ever been chasing?

You don’t want to allow your fears and the past to come in the way of that. But it's never so simple. At least, definitely not here — definitely not for you.

Because the truth is, being in Seoul again feels like roaming a haunted city. Tainted and plagued by shadows from the past, by who you used to be, and everything and everyone you left behind all those years ago when you ran and didn’t dare to look back. Being here now, you can’t shake the feeling — the apprehension and fear that everything you once left behind is lurking around the corner, ready to jump out and haunt you, making everything you've finally built up crumble to pieces once again. This place just gives you an indescribable feeling of…dread. Eeriness even. Enough for it to linger gut deep with a painful sense of discomfort that hasn’t eased since the day you arrived. As if you can never truly let your guard down.

But after all, it was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, even if it meant returning to the city you swore you’d never step foot in again. The offer came at just the right moment, a lifeline after months of uncertainty and dead-ends. After losing your job, and endless nights crying yourself to sleep with the heavy burden of becoming a failure of a mother and not knowing how to make ends meet. You practically cried with joy the morning you finally got the call, and ignored the pit that formed in your stomach when you heard where it required you to move to. It had felt like you were about to reach the peak of a mountain, only to drop all the way back down to the bottom. But it was a steady paycheck, and a chance to finally give Jieun some stability. It wasn’t glamorous or grand — a position in a small marketing firm. But it was enough to rebuild. The breakthrough you so badly needed to start over and secure a future for your little girl. 

How could you possibly turn it down?

That was your biggest and only goal in life.

There was nothing you wouldn’t do for her. So you knew in that very instant you had to take it. Even if it meant returning to the place that broke you beyond repair. So you packed up your life and now, here you are. Back where you never thought you’d be. So far from the tranquility of the home you had made for yourself in a secluded tiny seaside town four years ago. Where you were happy. Where you didn't live in constant fear.

“I know this is what I need right now,” you speak softly, more to yourself than anything. You reach out, gently brushing your fingers through Jieun's baby soft hair, watching as she focuses intently on her muffin, completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. “I just don’t want to mess anything up…the job, you know, our new life here. I want to get this right. I don’t want anything, getting in the way of that.” You swallow thickly, fingers tightening around the mug of coffee in front of you, and Hoseok knows exactly what you mean by that. You hesitate, letting out a quiet breath before speaking again. “I know there's so many opportunities for us here but…I was happy in Jeju. Jieun was happy.”

Hoseok nods, slow and understanding. “I know you were. A city like this takes some adapting to, you know that.” He reaches out and gives your arm a gentle squeeze, “but give it time. You’ll settle right back in.” He says warmly, reassuring. You return a tiny smile, more genuine this time.

“Seriously though. Change is good. New home, new job, meeting new people…maybe even someone special…” he adds.

You scoff, eyes widening, only half incredulous at how fast he swerved the topic there. So typical of him. 

“Yeah no, thanks. You can stop it right there.” You shake your head.

“What?” Hobi leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he waggles his eyebrows, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, completely unbothered despite your clear opposition. “I'm just saying,” he adds in, raising his hands in mock innocence, though he feels like your glare could actually kill him. “You’re young. You’re no longer in that tiny ass town full of old drunk married cheating men. Everyone deserves a little fun. It wouldn't kill you to-”

“Hobi,” you sigh, cringing internally at the memories of disastrous dates you told him all about over the phone. You throw a pointed look in his direction, but Hoseok just chuckles. “I’m done with all that. Seriously.”

“Come on,” he presses.

“No. No way. I told you.” You interject, tone firm, not even allowing space for the idea. “I’m a single mother, Hobi. That’s been off the cards for years. I have different priorities now.” You straighten in your seat, making a point to scoop Jieun's hair back and out of her drink. These are your priorities now.

Hoseok raises a brow, watching you carefully, but there's no judgment in his expression now — just silent understanding. He leans back in his chair again, smile dying down, tapping his fingers absently against his iced americano before his gaze drifts over to your little girl. His expression softens, fondness flowing in his eyes.

“I know,” he says after a moment, his tone a tad more gentle. “But I’m just saying…you’re allowed to let yourself be happy again, you know. You deserve that.”

Something uncomfortable twists in your insides. Happy. What a simple word, but what a complex thing. 

You lift your eyes to meet his, the sincerity in his gaze cutting right through. You could argue, explain that you don't agree, that romance is a door locked for good. Not only out of fear, but out of necessity. It’s no longer just about you. You don’t have the luxury of reckless choices or fleeting little flings like you did before.

There's simply to much buried history to let anyone new into your life.

And deep down, you don't believe you deserve it. But you don’t voice any of that. There's no need to explain. Hoseok knows your history better than anyone, the pain etched deep into you, the one you carry like a scar beneath your skin. He knows Jieun's father plays a big role in that, even though you don’t dare to mention him and haven’t in years. He knows his existence and every memory he’s involved in is something you merely refuse to acknowledge. And though Hoseok wants nothing more than for you to thrive, he knows better than to press on the matter. 

Still, he hesitates before speaking quietly. “I’ve been here four years, and I’ve never seen him again.”

He says it gently, in hopes the information is comforting to you, to maybe put you at ease, but instead it feels like a small jab between your ribs. You stiffen, for just a second. You feel your heart begin to race a tiny bit faster. And you wonder when the mention of him will stop having this goddamn effect on you.

Hoseok notices, and regret quickly flickers across his face. He realizes he might have overstepped, treading on thin ice that he fears may slowly be cracking beneath him.

But it doesn't. You take a deep breath, and you simply nod. It’s okay. You know you can’t avoid it forever. Besides, who’s to say he even still lives here? The thought should be reassuring, bring you some sort of peace, be relieving. But it isn’t. Because the thought of ever seeing him again makes your palms sweat, and your chest a little tight.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. “You’re right. Who knows.”

You don't mention how many late nights you've stayed up, haunted with thoughts like if ever did make it out of here. If he ever made it to the states and accomplished all those things he wanted. If he's perhaps settled down and started a family or if he's stuck right where he used to be, how he used to be. You don't mention that sometimes, you mind even attacks you with the intrusive thought of if he’s even still alive.

You don't dare mention any of it.

Hoseok exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just-” He pauses, voice lowering as he checks Jieun to make sure she's not listening, not that she would know or understand, but you appreciate that he does. “I know we’re not meant to talk about him–“

You push past it, giving a small dismissive shake of the head. Instead, you plaster on a small practiced smile, turning to glance down at the little girl beside you as well. It isn't something easy to avoid. But for the past four years, somehow, you’ve managed it. 

“Anyway. I am happy,” you say, voice softer now, steering the conversation elsewhere. “I get all the love I need from my little lovebug right here, don’t I?”

The little lovebug in question remains completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. Instead, her wide eyes are fixated on something outside, her eyes big and small fingers suddenly clutching your sleeve.

“Mommy, look!” She gasps, tugging desperately for your attention, she calls you again, tearing you away from your conversation. “The birdy!”

You follow her gaze, a small black bird just on the other side of the glass, and the simplicity of her joy softens you, eases the heaviness for a second. It really doesn't take much to amuse a child, and you’re glad to see at least someone enjoying her time here so far. “I see, baby.”

You smile with her, that is until, just a moment later, you notice�� the small bird is no longer pecking at crumbs on the pavement. It’s… acting rather strangely. Its head twitches sharply to the side, body jerking with twitchy erratic movements as it flaps it’s wings like crazy, then suddenly, it freezes, before twitchting again.

Your brows furrow, unable to take your eyes off it. What the hell? Something about it sends a strange chill through you, suddenly understanding what had Jieun so surprised.

“Oh, I think that poor bird might have gone a little coo coo.” Hoseok turns his head to take a look himself, and you both exchange a puzzled glance, to which Hobi just shrugs with a mildly disgusted expression.

“What, you know I hate birds.” he whispers, shrugging like someone just walked over his grave, and you swat his arm and shush him, suppressing a laugh. You wouldn't want your sweet animal loving daughter hearing that. 

“Isn't that so weird. I’ve never seen one do that before.” You say, and hoseok tilts his head, staring at it with a mildly grossed out frown. “Probably has some kind of parasite or something. Not sure.”

“It’s gonna die?” she looks up at hobi, her little face full of worry. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer.

“Not necessarily, bub. I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Hobi answers, trying to be tactful, however, Jieun doesn’t look convinced, but she nods sadly and resumes eating spoonfuls of her hot chocolate that's long gone cold. 

“Yeah, it’ll be fine baby.” You kiss the top of her head, as you glance out the window once again, only to see it’s no longer there. 

“So odd.” You shake your head, taking another sip of your coffee, and Hoseok nods and lets out a low hum, taking another sip himself.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day? Are you actually gonna start unpacking, or are you going to let those suitcases rot in your living room for another week?” He taunts.

You chuckle. “I’ll unpack eventually. This little girl and I have a long list of errands left to do today.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives you an unconvinced look, then looks at Jieun with a dramatic pout, cooing. “My poor little monkey. Prisoner to moms to do list. I remember that feeling.”

She giggles, and you speak up. “Shhh, she loves errands with mommy, don't you-”

Suddenly, a loud crash sound from the back of the café, startling you all.

The sharp clatter of metal rings out and you hear a young worker gasp, emerging hastily from behind the counter as the previous muffle of conversation begins to die down. Heads immediately start turning towards the scene unfolding before them. 

“What the hell?” you murmur as you hastily turn around yourself, pulse spiked from the jump.

Near the back of the cafe, a chair is knocked to the ground, a mans body hunched over on the floor, shaking and convulsing with an unnatural force that seems to take over him completely. The man sitting beside him instantly scrambles to the floor next to him, shaking his shoulders in a failed attempt to break him out of whatever is happening as he calls out for help in a trembling voice, panicked.

“Oh my god, Hobi-” You gasp and your stomach twists as you take in what is occurring, grip instinctively tightening around your daughter's hand, turning her away from the scene. One of the members of staff pulls out her phone, announcing that she will call an ambulance right away, the man on the floor now surrounded by two other workers that instantly made their way over to him.

Hoseok takes just a few seconds to register what’s going on. “Shit.” He mutters, “A seizure.”

Instantly, he’s up on his feet, leaving you and Jieun behind and rushes over to help, but before he can reach the man on the floor, a young worker steps in front of him, his hands raised. 

“An ambulance is on the way!” he blurts out, eyes darting between the unconscious man and the crowd gathering around him, Hoseok noticing his eyes full of panic. “Please, just give him space.”

“It's alright. I’m a nurse,” Hoseok urges, trying to step around him. “Please, let me-”

This time, there’s no resistance — only relief in the young man's panicked eyes as he steps aside, allowing Hoseok through to where the man is convulsing on the floor.

Jesus christ. On his one day off. He thinks internally.

Without hesitation, Hoseok drops to one knee. “Don’t hold him down,” he instructs the mans friend beside him as he proceeds to unbutton the first few buttons of the man's shirt to facilitate his breathing. He presses his fingers to his wrist as best as he can, taking a pulse. He attempts to roll him on his side, but he seizes with too much force, limbs jerking far too erratically for him to do so. 

“Has he ever had seizures before? Is he epileptic?” Hoseok asks without tearing his eyes away from the man.

The man's friend just shakes his head. “No…no- he was fine right before.”

“Ambulance is just two minutes away,” the barista yells, phone still pressed to her ear. Hoseok nods but keeps his focus on the young man. Face contorted in concertation as he's checking his pulse once again before tilting his head to ensure he’s breathing properly.

You sit speechless few tables away, watching the scene unfold, your heart erratic in your chest. But feeling so much relief Hoseok was here. Jieun's small hand holds yours tightly, grip strong. She shifts in her seat, trying to peek over the booth to the commotion, but you gently pull her in beside you. Pulling her close, you brush a soothing hand over her hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” your whisper. “That man wasn’t feeling very well. But uncle hobi is helping him. Isn’t that so good? He’s really good at helping people remember. It's okay.”

Jien nods slowly, though her brows are still drawn together in concern. She doesn’t fully understand, but she doesn’t doubt your word, or her uncle's abilities.

Across the large space, Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line, his eyes watching carefully as the man's convulsions finally begin to slow, the violent jerking finally seeming to ease up. But just as the worst seems to have passed…Hoseok stiffens. 

There’s a concerning, deep purplish hue creeping up the man’s neckline, peeking through the gap of his unbuttoned white shirt. Dark veins snaking against his pale skin, spreading like ink through thin cracks. Hoseok swallows hard, alarm bells ringing at the back of his mind. 

That…that doesn’t look right. His medical knowledge kicks in, a thousand possibilities racing through his mind, digging for the most fitting answer. Is it cyanosis? an undiagnosed vascular disease? Possibly an infected wound? blunt trauma?

His mind dashing for answers in an instant, but before he can take a better look and unbutton his shirt completely, after what feels like a lifetime, the piercing wail of sirens cuts right through his thoughts, and just moments after, paramedics burst into the café, pushing past the gathered crowd near the Hoseok and the patient on the floor. Hoseok quickly regains focus, stepping back to allow them to take over. 

“He had a seizure. Approximately a minute long. His breathing is stable but—“ He hesitates for a second, then presses on, giving them a brief diagnosis and rundown. “I think he may have another underlying condition. Possible hypoxia.”

The paramedic beside him nods, wasting no time as they swiftly load him onto a stretcher. He stands back, his jaw tight, fingertips tingling with the urge to do more, watching as they wheel him out through the entrance. The murmurs of the coffee shop begin to start up again, confused and concerned looks turning left and right, but Hoseok can’t shake all the questions in his mind. 

He just hopes the guy turns out to be okay. The same way it goes with every patient he sees. You have to do your part and let go. That's how it works. but this time, he's left with a weird feeling bubbling inside.

After a few minutes, Hoseok turns back to your table. The moment his eyes meet yours, you’re already standing and asking, “God, is everything okay? He’s okay, right?”

“It’s alright,” Hoseok reassures you, though his tone is softer than usual. “They've got it under control.”

His gaze flickers toward Jieun, who’s still clinging to you, her small face twisted in worry as she glances between the two of you. She tugs your sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mommy…what happened to the man?”

“The ambulance people will take care of him and take him to the hospital so they can help him.” You say gently. She blinks up at you, then glances toward Hoseok, as if waiting for confirmation.

Hoseok lips form a small smile, crouching slightly to be at her eye level. “Your mom is right,” he says carefully, patting her head. “Sometimes when people don’t feel well they need a little help. That’s what doctors and nurses are for Jieun. It’s okay.”

Jieun watches him for a moment, and gives him a slow understanding nod. He then straightens and exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back toward the road in front of the entrance where the ambulance is now setting off.

You nod, now feeling a weight of unease in the crowded space. It would probably be best to give them space to handle the situation, and to get some fresh air after that. So you retrieve Jieun's little pink puffer vest from off hobis chair and gently help her arms into, zipping it up snuggly to keep her warm from the afternoon chill, before taking her hand in yours.

As the three of you finally step outside, you're grateful for the crisp autumn air that lifts some of the heaviness off you. God, that was stressful. The distant sounds of the city hum around you, and life moves as if nothing happened.

“God, I hope that guy is okay.” You say quietly only for Hoseok to hear, taking your daughter's hand as you let out a slow breath. “First that weird bird and then that poor guy.”

Hoseok hums in agreement and gives a small reassuring nod, pushing his concerns aside. But you know how hard it is for him to switch off. How even when the emergency is over, his mind replays it again and again, analysing— wondering if he could have done more, if he could’ve done better. Even when he deals with stuff like this everyday, it’s never been easy.

“Jesus Christ. What's that saying, bad things always come in two’s? Three’s? ” He chuckles, letting out a huff. “I told you, there’s never an uneventful day out here.” Hobi shakes his head, forcing a smile to lift the mood. But his body still buzzes with tension. Then, in one swift movement, he scoops Jieun up, swinging her into his arms. “Now, time for ice cream?”

Jieun giggles loudly, kicking her feet excitedly at his words, all her earlier worries forgotten. “Yes!”

“Hobi, she just had a hot chocolate. Do you even have space for ice cream, Jieun?” You say, trying to sound stern, but the sight of them giggling together pulls a real smile out of you. And something inside already tells you you’re going to give in.

“She’s with uncle hobi now, there’s no rules.” He sing songs, walking ahead of you with your daughter in arms, all smiles as she squeals at his gentle tickling. The spitting image of joy if you ever saw it.

And for just a moment, you try to push away the nagging feeling that’s been pressing at the back of your mind. 

Because maybe, just maybe, this time, everything will be just fine after all.

Jungkook steadies his hand, a quiet hiss of pain getting lost in the low thrumming of the tattoo gun that fills the quiet studio, lulling him into that comforting sense of calm he knows so well. It’s a fairly big piece, he’s been here hunched over for hours now, that familiar dull ache creeping up his back, but he barely registers it. Because all that matters is the art taking form beneath his touch. 

Here, in these moments, it's when the feels most himself. Distracted, at peace, In control. Something he’s never found that easy outside of these four walls.

Every stroke, every line falls exactly where he intends it to. In a way, the rest of the world seems to fade away — no worries, just ink and skin, art coming to life. And it grants him a satisfaction nothing else can quite offer. And if there’s one thing Jungkook prides himself on, it’s his work and dedication. He built this place with steady hands and relentless effort, and he knows damn well he’s good at what he does. Confidence hasn't always been second nature to him, but time and experience have definitely sharpened him.

He leans back slightly to take in the work before him, his disheveled strands of dark hair falling over his eyes as he uses a paper towel to wipe up some excess ink from the client's forearm before glancing up. “How are we holding up?”

The young guy shifts in the chair, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Let’s just say I felt that last bit there.”

Jungkook nods, noting the slight sheen of sweat on the guy's forehead. He’s just glad he’s not a squirmer. That shit makes his job so much harder than it needs to be. 

His own body is the canvas of plenty tattoos. All colours, shapes and sizes. He's more than numb to the pain now. But he gets it.

“You’re doing really well. I won’t torture you much longer. We’re almost done with the worst part.” Pressing the pedal again, he feels the familiar vibration travel up his arm, he tongues with his lip piercing, a habit that signals his concentration. His hair is dusting over his eyes as he continues with the last bits of shading and does the final touch ups of all the smaller details. Another forty five minutes pass, broken by lighthearted conversation here and there. Though Jungkook never used to be one for making conversation before, he has long mastered the art of letting his mouth wander while his hands and precision remain steady and focused.

“Alright, and we’re done,” he wipes down the fresh ink one last time before setting the tattoo gun aside, letting out a silent exhale as he wheels back, peeling off his black gloves to grab the aftercare instruction sheet, ready to spew his usual little lecture he knows most people don’t even pay much attention to.

“Sit up slowly.” Jungkook instructs.

When the guy finally stands, he marvels at his tattoo in the mirror. Jungkook feels a flicker of pride swell in his chest. No matter how many times he does this, seeing the completed, polished work and his client's expressions of amazement never gets old. “Looks sick man. Better than I imagined.” He beams, twisting his arm under the light, his smile spreading all across his face.

“Good choice with the design.” Jungkook replies with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He then places the protective film, gives him a quick rundown of the aftercare and hands him the sheet. “Take care of it. Follow the aftercare instructions and it’ll heal nicely. And you know, any issues just come by or give me a call and I’ll check it out.”

“Will do. Thanks man, it’s perfect.”

As the last client of the day slips out with a final wave and he hears the bell over at the entrance ding, Jungkook finally feels the exhaustion set in — the kind that only comes after hours of steady concentrated work. Fuck, he really does need to work on his posture. He stretches his back, then cracks his knuckles, stretching his toned, inked arms over his head. But despite the tiredness, he feels no rush no rush to get back to his empty apartment.

He never does.

Instead, he takes his time wiping down his station, tidying all his clutter and ink in the methodical and organized way only he understands — something Yoongi always grumbles about when borrowing his space. But this is his sanctuary. He makes the rules. And yoongi may complain, but he accepts it.

When he's done cleaning up, Jungkook emerges into the entrance area of the studio, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his hair at the nape.

Yoongi stretches in his chair behind the front counter, arms lifting above his head as he lets out as wide yawn, smacking his lips as his eyes land on the younger. “Christ, I thought you were dead in there,” he says deadpan, watching as Jungkook attempts to roll out the tension coiled in his shoulders, stifling a yawn himself. “Or are you? I genuinely can't tell.”

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, slumping onto the leather couch with an over dramatic sigh, throwing the back of his arm over his eyes as he lets his body sink into the plush cushion. It’s moments like this he’s really fucking glad they invested in a good sofa. He wants it to swallow him.

“Sure you can survive the schedule tomorrow? We’re fucking packed.” He says.

Jungkook’s brows knit together as his eyes dart over to Yoongi, eyeing the printed schedule in front of him as he rubs his jaw. “What? You think I can't handle it?”

Yoongi shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He coughs into his fist, a rough dry sound that echoes through the quietness of the now empty studio. “I know you think you’re some kind of machine,” he gives the younger a pointed look, “but let me just remind you that you are, in fact, very much not.”

Jungkook's lips quirk. “Woah, woah. I’ll be fine. Unlike someone who sounds like they've caught the plague.” Lifting his arms from his eyes just enough to peer at Yoongi, he swings his arm as if to push him away. “Stay away from me with that. I can’t afford a day off anytime soon.”

Yoongi scoffs, waving a dismissive hand as he coughs into his fist again. “Relax, it's just the dust. Or if you’re lucky enough I've caught that shit going around. Won't be on your case anymore for at least two weeks. That's if I survive.”

The sound is muffled by his arm as Jungkook lets out a tired chuckle, but his eyes remain closed. “Now you’re just trying to get out of work tomorrow, hyung. I know your little tricks.”

“If anyone should be trying to get our work, it should be you. Admit your running on fumes.” Yoongi drops the piece of paper to the desk and crosses his arms, looking right across to Jungkook, his eyes squinting lightly.

Jungkook feels his heavy gaze, but he's not in the mood to face one of Yoongis lectures right now. He can’t exactly argue that. Because he knows Yoongi is not entirely wrong. 

He's working six days a week, morning till night, barely stopping to take a breath. Hell, it would've been the entire seven days of the week if Yoongi hadn’t raised hell the day he suggested it. Jungkook had tried to reason with him, insisting that Yoongi would still get his days off as usual, that he’d open up the studio alone on weekends and get everything sorted for the week ahead. But it was never about that, and he knew it.

Jungkook has always had a knack for picking up self-destructive tendencies. A slow brewing kind of self destruction, pushing himself way past his limits, working himself down to the bone until he can barely function. And Yoongi simply wasn't going to stand back and watch it happen all over again right in front of his eyes.

Most days, he only eats because it’s Yoongi who shoves food his way, whether he wants it or not.  Prepping meals and stashing them away in their mini fridge in the back room where Jungkook can find them, labeled with a little note in his unmistakable messy handwriting that reads “eat.”

Because behind his serious facade, Yoongi had always tried his best to care for him. 

From countless nights of dragging his black out drunk body home back in college, and many times after college as well. To picking him up from the streets at 4 am after he got into a nasty fight, bruised and bleeding and sobbing his heart out alone on an empty sidewalk. Yoongi didn’t question it back then, didn't hesitate. He never does. He just helped quietly with no second thought, allowing him to sit with his silent sobs on the car ride home. He had always been there, offering him a home when he had nowhere else to go, offering everything he had if it helped Jungkook from drowning.

It was Yoongi that had seen the potential in him and had patiently guided him to finally see it for himself, helping him build this studio from nothing — helping him build every piece of furniture, putting up every shelf, painting every wall, making sure Jungkook finally had something to call his. 

And now, despite all the hardships, he’s come further than they both could have imagined.

Yet deep down, Yoongi knows no amount of help can stop Jungkook from being who he is, not when he has it so deeply rooted in himself to self sabotage in every way he possibly can. It's simply how he’s wired. Yoongi has long accepted that some things are simply beyond his reach, and that Jungkook won’t ever fully change. And he may never admit it out loud, but somewhere in his heart, as the eldest, he’s always felt an unspoken weight of responsibility for Jungkook. That's why he tries relentlessly to guide him towards better choices.

Even though Jungkook has matured and come a long way from his troubled past and the reckless kid he used to be, he’s far from eradicating his bad habits entirely. He knows he’s working himself down to the bone. He knows it's not healthy. Unrealistic for him to sustain in the long run. But he doesn’t like himself when he’s unoccupied. 

He doesn't like the quiet.

Because when there’s silence, there’s space for his mind to make noise.

So that’s what he does. He works, works until he can exhaust himself to the point of passing out, too drained to even feel. It means no thoughts can haunt him when his head hits the pillow. And he’s okay with that.

Besides, he loves his job. That's a fact. The only thing he’s passionate about. All he’s ever found himself to be good at. He doesn’t need anything or anyone else. 

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Fumes are still fuel,” Jungkook shoots back. He reaches behind his head to grab an old vintage manga off the small side table, flipping through the pages without really reading.

Yoongi studies him for a moment, his sharp gaze softening just a fraction. He shifts in his seat, resting his elbows on the counter, zeroing in on him as if he were ready to throw out a serious scolding, like he did back when he was a kid. But his next words are nothing but gentle. “You know, if you wanna keep up with that schedule, you’re gonna need sleep. I can close up if you wanna head out first.”

Jungkooks expression falters — just a flicker. But he covers it with an exaggerated groan. It does get on his nerves ever so slightly, just slightly. What is it with everyone always underestimating him? Treating him like he's not capable of making his own decisions. But his tongue toys with his lip ring as he continues flicking through the pages, feigning nonchalance. “I’m good. I wanna sketch out a few new designs first. Got some ideas ratting around.”

Yoongi squints at him, clearly unconvinced. “You do know that old couch isn't a substitute for a bed, right? and you could just…do that at home.”

Jungkook tosses the comic aside as he shrugs, already bored of the conversation, his inked fingers drumming relentlessly against the worn red leather. “I focus better here.” Is his simple answer, but before Yoongi can speak, a loud siren cuts through their conversation, blaring jarringly as it flashes by across the street. Almost instantly another follows, and then another.

Instinctively, both of their heads turn towards the window, though it only gives view to a small glimpse of the larger front street, most of their view blocked by the building across from them, all they can see is the bright lights flashing as they rush past.

“The hell’s that about,” Yoongi mutters, straightening in his chair.

Jungkook furrows his brows, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look outside. But from what he can see, everything seems normal enough — cars passing by, people going about their night and a few students heading home from late study sessions. Nothing in particular out of the ordinary.

The studio is located on a fairly quiet smaller side street, on the outskirts of the city, just a little further from the booming heart of Seoul. It’s never as busy or chaotic here, much quieter.

“Accident, maybe?” Jungkook guesses, a tired breath slipping past his lips. It’s still Seoul after all. When is it ever completely quiet? 

Yoongi hums in agreement, but as if on cue, another set of sirens blares through the streets, overlapping with others as the noise grows, this time it’s police cars too, wailing violently and urgently before fading into the distance as they speed away. Jungkook glances at Yoongi, who meets his gaze with an equally puzzled expression.

“Must be pretty bad.” Jungkook says.

Yoongi just pulls out his phone to check the time and sighs. “Well, whatever it is, I'm not sticking around to find out.” He pushes himself to his feet, patting his back pocket to pull out his dented pack of cigarettes before reaching for his jacket draped over the back of the chair.

A slight sense of uneasiness crawls up Jungkook's spine. That was about four ambulances and three police cars if not more. That’s….that’s a lot. But he soon brushes it off. “I’ll check the news later.” He mumbles, letting his heavy body drop back against the soft cushion, with no energy or intention to move.

Yoongi tugs his jacket on, tossing him a small glance. “Well, if you’re gonna stay here, at least don’t fall asleep on that damn couch again. You drool, and it’s gross.”

Jungkook chuckles, though it's half hearted. “I won’t ruin your sacred couch, hyung. Don't you worry.”

“Good.” Yoongi deadpans, heading toward the door. He flips the neon sign to closed before turning back to Jungkook once more, his tired features softening just a touch. “Don't stay too late. Tomorrow is fucking packed and you’ll regret it when youre half dead in the morning. And don’t forget about that girl you booked in at 9.”

He presses his eyes shut for a moment, letting out a breath. The girl needed some touch ups to her tattoo but had a busy schedule and no time to visit any other day or at ay other time. So Jungkook did the favour, and offered to book her in before opening time. But fuck. He really does need to stop bending his schedule for people.

He knows he’s going to regret it.

Jungkook just waves a dismissive hand, already getting comfy on the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave soon.”

Yoongi doesn't believe him, but he doesn't argue, just pulls out a cigarette from the pack and raises his hands in surrender before he pulls open the door. “Alright. See you tomorrow.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement. “Rest up, Hyung.”

The studio fades to dead silence once the door closes. Though sirens still echo faintly in the background.

Stretched out on the couch, Jungkook stares at the ceiling a little longer than necessary. His limbs feel heavy, exhaustion pressing down on him heavily. He wants to work on those sketches, he wants to push his limits a little further. But his body seems to know what's best for him. And within minutes, he’s passed out.

When Jungkook’s eyes crack open, it’s to the gentle sound of rain pattering against the windows. But it’s not rain the noise that woke him. Distant voices shout over one another, and the erratic wailing of car alarms and sirens blast in a near distance, sounding like he’s still stuck between consciousness and a dream. Jungkook blinks, then suddenly, screeching tires follow into a loud crash, something heavy and metal hitting the pavement. His heart spikes, and his body jerks up instantly before his mind can register what the hell is going on. The sudden movement makes him lightheaded, blinking as he tries to shake the disorientation fogging his mind.

Shit. How long had he been out?

He curses under his breath, his head throbbing. Did someone just fucking crash their car outside? In his dazed state his fingers fumble for his phone in the front pocket of his jeans. He squints, the bright screen glaring back at him painfully in the darkness of the studio.

11:48 PM.

The first thought that comes to mind is drunk people causing a ruckus. It certainly wouldn't be unusual for Friday night. But then… he stops to listen. Are they breaking in? then his mind steers more towards the possibility of some petty street fight, or some idiots causing trouble. It’s the only conclusion his sleepy can come to.

But then, he hears it. 

Raw, panicked, screams erupting from the streets outside. It sounds close. Really close.

What the fuck? 

Jungkook feels a sickening pit form in his stomach.

Because that's definitely not the drunken shouts of a fight, not the sound of some petty fight or a car accident. It’s the kind of scream that crawls under your skin. And Jungkook knows the sounds of panic when he hears it. He feels his heart beating in his chest now, fast and strong. Something isn’t right. Before his mind can think  further, he pushes off the couch and yanks his leather jacket from the armrest, pulling it on in a swift motion, feeling a little dizzy as the room slowly begins to spin from getting up so fast. 

Behind the front counter he crouches, reaching for his motorcycle helmet. But his grip isn't steady, his palms suddenly feel a bit sweaty. The air in the room slightly suffocating.

His mind scrambles as he finally strides for the door, all he knows something is telling him he needs to get out. He’s ready to leave and check on what's happening outside, but just as his fingers brush the cold metal door handle—

A loud bang crashes into the large front window of the studio.

The impact rattles the entire front window, the glass shuddering violently as something smacks right into it with bone crushing force, causing large cracks to expand from the center like a spiderweb, blooming outwards across the glass. The helmet drops to the ground with a loud thud and Jungkook stumbles back in the darknesses, almost crashing back into the front counter as his breath gets stuck in his throat.

Jungkook freezes. His entire body completely paralyzed as he watches a thick, dark gush of red begin to trail down the ruins of the window. His eyes slowly follow it upwards and then…then he sees it.

A face, wedged between the shards of glass.

Jungkook sees the face of a man...except, it can't be. The skin is unnaturally pale, sickly white, dark veins bulging beneath the surface, tiny pieces of glass wedged everywhere into its flesh. Blood coats its entire mouth, dripping to the floor beneath — but it's the eyes… They send a shot of terror right down Jungkook's spine. 

They’re clouded and gray, almost white and eerily vacant, yet somehow, they’re locked right onto him.

Jungkook feels like he can’t take a breath, his chest tight as his eyes grow with complete shock and confusion.

Then, it moves.

Its head twitches in a slow agonized form before it seems to fully register Jungkook's figure standing right across. It cocks his head towards him completely with a grotesque sound of craking and lunges forward, slamming its hands against the glass with inhuman strength. Giving it all his power to break inside. It lets out another groan, a guttural broken sound as it reveals a row of blood stained teeth, the deep red liquid dripping from its mouth.

Jungkook swallows hard. If he moves will it move too? Will it...chase him? He feels like no oxygen is reaching his lungs, or his brain, his mind struggling to even process what he is seeing. That…that can't be real. It can’t be human. All he can do is watch as his heartbeat pounds like a hammer in his chest, louder than the sirens and screams growing outside, louder than the animalistic banging against the window.

That…thing is trying to kill him. It’s going to kill him.

It doesn’t stop. It claws at the glass, smearing the blood, desperate, mindless — growing more violent as it seems to realise its stuck. But the glass creaks more with each hit, trembling under the pressure of each movement, and Jungkook realizes it might not hold up much longer. He has no time.

Move.

He has to move.

Like a spring snapping, his body finally kicks into action. He stumbles backwards, feeling glass beneath his shoes as he tries to hold in a breath, his eyes fixed on the creature as he tries to back away with steady steps. After a beat, he sprints towards the back of the studio, running as his body pushes through the beaded curtain into the back room. 

His hands fumble frantically in his pocket — keys, keys, keys — but his hands are trembling too much to grip them. Fuck.

Jungkooks mind races with a thousand questions colliding all at once. But none of them make sense. None of them are even remotely rational.

That thing. It wasn’t human. Then what the hell was it?

Another jarring bang echoes in the studio, followed by a loud screech. But Jungkook doesn’t look up. He doesn’t have time. His only thought is to get out of here. Fast. He needs to get away from whatever the fuck that is. He needs to get to his motorcycle. He needs to get the police.

His fingers finally curl around cold metal. The keys. With a sharp inhale, he yanks opens the heavy back door leading into the tiny side alley and slams it shut behind him as he rushes out.

It’s dim, lit only by a flickering street lamp near the end, casting eerie shadows across the brick walls. The air is cool and damp, the smell of rain fresh on the damp asphalt and the sound of sirens and shouting voices in the distance become even clearer than before. But Jungkook can't see the one thing he’s looking for. His gaze darts around frantically and he feels a dreadful realization claw at his throat. 

His motorcycle is gone. The spot where it’s always parked is empty. 

Jungkook panics, his hands coming to his hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. As he looks around helplessly, his breath only grows more erratic. He finds no other option but to run, so he runs to the end of the alleyway, running right towards the screams and tumult, and when he reaches the end, the scene unfolding before him almost kicks him to his feet.

The once quiet street had turned into a horrifying scene. People mindlessly running away from something. But what his eyes land on almost immediately is on a young woman in the middle of street, clutching her neck with both hands, her body swaying as she chokes out for help before she drops to her knees, her body shaking. Jungkook watches in horror as someone else runs right past her, coming from the same direction, white button up shirt soaked in something dark as his features display a kind of terror he’d never witnessed before. Across the street, an older man is pulling down the storefront gates as he locks himself inside, letting two kids in high school uniforms scream and kick as they beg to be let in, screaming and crying.

“What the fuck...” the words escape involuntarily in a quiet mumble to himself, his hands coming to his head.

Jungkook blinks repeatedly, completely aghast. But he doesn’t think— just moves, bolting down the street. His thick leather boots slam against the wet pavements as he runs, his dark hair blows in the air, his skin covered in a layer of sweat as he weaves past a fallen trash can and then a body, his breath ragged as he tries not to slip on the broken glass. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins too strong to even feel his body protesting.

Rounding a corner, he nearly collides into another person, but his hands instinctively come up to push them away, almost knocking them to the ground. He doesn’t have a space in his mind to think about it or time to dwell on it. His body acting on autopilot. The more he runs, the more people seem to be running in the opposite direction. Away from something. His legs burn as he sprints faster, but coming off onto the main street of Jongno, he comes to a halt as he takes in the state of the streets, pupils blown as something terrible dawns on his expression.

The city is in shambles.

Everything.

Chaos.

Cars sit abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors flung open, some have crashed into street lamps and traffic signs, into each other at intersections, even buildings, the smoke clouding up into the dark sky. Blending with the red and blue of wailing sirens. People are everywhere. Hundreds of people are running in all different directions — some screaming, some covered in blood, some sobbing and some seemingly unmoving on the ground. Pushing and tripping against each other, running, but most don’t even know what they’re running from, simply following the crowd. 

How many more of those rabid people were there? How far had this spread? 

He wants so badly to be wrong, but something deep inside him tells him this is something big.

He stills for an instant, trying to orientate himself. He scans the street hurriedly for the best route to avoid getting stuck in a crush, to avoid more of those things…but all he sees is the panicked chaos spreading by the second. 

Jungkook feels like he’s outside of his body, like this is a dream, a nightmare he’ll wake up from any second now. He closed his eyes for a second and inwardly prays for it to be just a bad dream. But the air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, and the pounding in his chest is too real. The world around him still screams, set aflame.

This can’t be real.

This…this can’t be happening.

Just a few meters away from him two figures wrestle on the ground — except one of them isn’t fighting back anymore, and the other is hunched over them, their head buried in the victim’s throat. Jungkook staggers back, his stomach lurching at the gut wrenching sounds of someone being mauled alive, bile burning the back of his throat when he watches infected pulls back, large chunks of flesh dangling from its bloody mouth, dripping crimson.

The truth slams into him, but his mind is till fighting to accept it.

People are killing people. Eating people. Except…they're not people. They’re monsters.

Jungkook scans the crowd for an escape route, desperate. After a moment, he catches sight of the least crowded street, it's right on the way to his place. He takes a sharp breath and runs, runs non stop down a dozen blocks. But as he navigates the frantic roads, he spots something as he runs past a small street. Stopping him in his tracks. He notices a tiny figure huddled up alone at the beginning of an alleyway, wearing bright pink, shoulders trembling and hands pressed over her ears as she sobs violently. 

A child, no older than three or four if Jungkook had to guess. He halts, heart pounding as he registers her small frightened face, streaked with tears. 

He should keep running, he knows he should. His body is urging him to just keep moving, his insides shaking with adrenaline. That’s not his responsibility. He hasn’t stopped for anyone. But the burning images of what he’s just witnessed flash fresh in his mind. And something deeper roots him in place. Something inside him twists, snaps almost, an unfamiliar instinct that overrides his own confusion and fear.

Ah, fuck it. 

Before his mind can catch up with what he’s doing, he rushes into the alley, approaching the child cautiously with slow steps as he gets closer. He crouches down to her level, looking over his shoulder nervously. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is gentle but hurried as he searches her face. “Where are your parents? Are you lost?”

The small girl just looks up at him with large, wet eyes and a trembling pout, her hands balled into tiny fists. She doesn’t answer, just stares, whimpering and hiccuping softly, like she’s been warned to not talk to strangers — especially not ones clothed head to toe in black, covered in tattoos and piercings like himself. He glances around, hoping to see someone rushing towards them, any sign of this child's parents so he can just hand her over and run, but there’s nothing, just the crowd at the end of the alley pushing past in frantic waves and yelling, no one stopping to even look in their direction. 

He has to do something.

“Do you…where did you see your parents last-” a loud metal bang echoes in the distance, making Jungkook and the child flinch, a heavy breath escaping him. Fuck, his mind races as he realizes she’s truly alone. The girl just sobs more and he curses under his breath, eyes pressed shut as his mind scrambles for what to do.

He can’t just leave her alone in whatever the hell this is. But what the hell is he supposed to do?

“Uh, alright,” he coughs, throat dry, and speaks softly but hurriedly, trying to mask his unease as he reaches out his hand. “Come with me. It’s not safe here. I’ll… I'll help you find your parents.”

He’ll take her home, get her out of danger and call the police. That’s what he should do. 

It’s the right thing to do.

Okay. 

He hopes she knows he’s only trying to help. God, his pulse races every second he’s standing here still. They need to move. Now. She just stares at him, uncertain, then slowly reaches out with her tiny fingers, clasping his much larger hand with a surprising grip. She must see past his intimidating exterior, or be so terrified that she’ll take up any offer of being reunited with her parents, either way, her innocence makes Jungkook's heart sting a little. He can't just leave a child out here, he has to help her before something terrible happens to her or she falls into the wrong hands. He doesn't know what the hell to do, all he knows is they have to run, run right now and get away from this, and-

Suddenly, a piercing, desperate voice breaks through the havoc of noise, loud enough to catch Jungkook's attention.

“Jieun!” 

The sound makes his entire body lock up, his heart jumping in his chest as he turns toward the voice. 

Running towards him, just feet away, eyes filled with worry and tears, he sees you.

Jungkook feels the blood drain from his face. 

For a split moment, the world seems to fall silent. The noise, the screams and chaos, the sirens — all of it blurs into a distant hum in the back of his mind. He feels like the air is knocked straight from his lungs as he slowly takes in your face, a slightly more matured version of a face he once knew every inch of, a face he’d buried away along with every memory he’d tried so hard everyday to annihilate ever since you disappeared from his life. A face he could never forget, not even after four painful years.

It can’t be.

No, no, no-

But it’s real, because there you are. Lunging forward and arms out reaching for the little girl beside him with thick tears of relief flooding from your eyes. The child lets go of Jungkook's hand instantly and her tiny feet pat across the concrete as she launches herself into your embrace, leaving him behind to watch, frozen and stone cold like a statue. 

“Mommy!” She cries.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop. He thinks he's going to throw up.

He must’ve heard that incorrectly.

Mommy? That child is…

He feels like he can’t move, blood cold as he watches you crumble to your knees, gathering the little girl into your arms with a grip that looks suffocating, as if she might disappear into thin air again. Your whole frame trembles as you hold her close, relief pouring from you in loud, choked sobs, your fingers getting tangled in her wet hair as you comb though it desperately.

That’s.. your child?

“Jieun, oh my god, baby. You’re here, you’re okay,” your voice cracks with all the pain your body just underwent, whispering against her temple. “Are you hurt? You’re not hurt are you, baby?”

The last thing you remember is being in the convenience store when the chaos began. When you walked out you had no choice but to run into the crowd. How Jieun was holding your hand and in the blink of an eye, her hand slipped from yours. You turned back, screaming her name, but she was gone, just another small figure lost in the stampede of a city falling apart.

By the time you fought your way out of the crowd, Jieun was nowhere in sight. Your heart is still hammering loudly between your ribs, mind stuck on the past horrifying minutes since she disappeared from your side.

But as you finally look up… all your relief shifts, eyes darkening with shocking realisation that mirrors the expression in the man standing just feet away when you. Heart hammering in your chest as if it recognized him before your eyes do.

You blink once, twice to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Completely distraught.

If Jungkook thought he was stuck in a bad dream before, he’s certain now this is all a cruel, sick and twisted nightmare. He feels his stomach churn. The weight of clashing emotions and utter disbelief thrown over him. So many questions he can’t yet voice crashing into him like a bucket of ice cold water, making his blood run cold.

This has to be some kind of sick joke. 

All of it. 

“Jungkook?” Your voice trembles, barely a whisper, as if the sound of his name out loud might shatter you to pieces.

He’s standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, his wet dark hair hanging messily in his face — so much longer than it used to be. He has new piercings on his face, and his features have definitely matured. He looks…different, yet somehow exactly how you remember him. His big dark eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you feel your world stop. 

“Y/n?” His voice cracks slightly, like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Wh…what are you doing here?” but there’s no anger in his voice, just confusion, and perhaps, a hint of something painful. His words hang heavy between you, getting lost in the sounds of the burning city beyond this tiny street, and you feel a paralysing weight on your chest. Your mind reeling beyond comprehension.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to say something, anything. But you feel like you’ve forgotten how to form words. So you close it again, no words come out. His eyes flicker from your face to the little girl clutching your side, and you feel a pit sinking in your stomach. God, please no.

This can’t be happening — not here, not now. 

Not like this.

You want to bolt, to run and not look back like you always do. You wish the earth would just swallow you entirely. But all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding faster in your chest, mouth dry.

You try to step around him, desperate to move forward, to escape this horror. But before you know it, his hand catches your arm. He grips you gently, but with a force that indicates he won’t let you slip away again. His touch almost makes you fall to your knees.

“Come with me.” 

Your body stiffens at his words, and you swat your arm loose of his grip. You lift Jieun into your arms instinctively, fingers curling around her small body as if the mere act of holding her can shield you from everything. From him, from all the pain, from all of this living nightmare.

“No,” you say, the word coming out broken, like your breath is caught. “I can’t go with you. I need- I need to get hobi-” 

“My apartment isn’t far,” he cuts in, not giving you space to say more. “We need to get off the streets.’’

You hesitate, watching his gaze scurry between you both again. Everything in you is telling you to just run, to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Jungkook. Willing this conversation to die before it can even begin. Before he can start asking questions you’re not ready to answer. Before you have to face things you’ve already buried deep. Before it’s too late.

You need to leave. But Jieun is shaking, clutching onto you for dear life as she whimpers against your chest, and the sounds of screams still ringing in your ears. And there’s infected everywhere. You’re stuck in the middle of a warzone, and you have no idea what to do, no idea where to go.

All you know is you need to get Jieun out of this. Away from danger.

“Have you not seen what the fuck is going on? People have gone fucking insane!” His tone grows harsher now, trying to knock some sense into you. “We need to move.”

A gut wrenching scream echoes from somewhere beyond the alley, closer than before this time. Too close. 

Jungkook swears under his breath, running a hand through his hair, torn between a storm of brewing emotions and the immediate danger closing in. His jaw tightens as he looks behind him then back to you. “Y/n, we need to go. Now.”

You shake your head violently, and you can feel hushed tears burning behind your eyes. You can’t breathe, can’t think clearly. All you can feel is Jieun trembling in your arms.

“Please-” his voice drops, raw and desperate. Almost a plea.

And don’t know when or why it happens, but the next thing you know, your feet are moving. You’re running with everything you have left in you.

Somehow, the world is ending, and you’re allowing yourself to be guided by Jungkook down streets devoured by chaos, heading to the only safe place around you. 

His home.

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[dollfacefantasy]

IF I WAS A RICH GIRL PT.2 ♡

pairing: bodyguard!jason todd x fem!reader x bodyguard!dick grayson

summary: you, jason, and dick have grown closer in the time since their little competition. now that dick has been officially added to your case, new feelings crop up, and the three of you try to figure out what the next month together will really mean.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, oral sex (all receiving), fingering, threesome, nightmare, mentions of past trauma + violence, daddy issues

wc: 11.1k

a/n: hii everyone. sorry this took me so long. i'm still not sure how i feel about it, but i'm happy to finally have it out. bear with me because this chapter is leading into the rest of the story, and this will be my first multi-chapter fic. as of now, i have seven parts outlined. all that i ask is that you guys not pressure me between chapters cause that makes me feel really burnt out lol. they'll be out when they're out i promise. anyways reblogs + comments always appreciated <3

part 1

Just as he had one week ago, Dick currently stood in the small elevator cabin watching the numbers above the door light up from left to right. With his car keys in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other, he waited for the now-familiar chime of arrival to ding.

It came only moments later. This trip felt much shorter than the first. He wasn’t buzzing with anticipation or running scenarios through his mind to prepare for what lie ahead. This time around, he knew what waited for him inside the apartment, and it wasn’t anything that caused him anxiety.

The sleek exit parted and allowed him into the penthouse. His keys jingled as he walked through the entrance hall to the double doors at the end. They were open now. From the living room, he could hear some grunting, Jason, and some laughter, you.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. You two had been going at it when he woke up this morning, and after he joined in, for a couple hours more. He couldn’t even really be irritated that you were still doing it while he was gone. Instead, he just wondered about what kind of super stamina the both of you possessed that made it possible to be rubbing up against each other all this time later.

Though, it wasn’t like this came as a surprise to him. Since the morning of the little competition last weekend, you and Jason fucked like you used to fight. All the time you spent glaring at him and stamping your feet, now found you with your eyes rolled back as you bounced on his cock. Your pouty huffs morphed into giggly smiles and pitchy moans. And Jason’s tense demeanor had melted into the more casual one Dick was familiar with.

This seemed like the best case scenario. Compared to other jobs, this one came closer to being a vacation. Presented with this situation out of context, it would honestly have seemed more like a fever dream to Dick than anything that could have been real. Sharing a girl with Jason wasn’t something he ever really planned on, but it just kind of fell into place here. There weren’t any rules or schedules. The three of you just took it moment by moment, and so far, that worked.

He had no complaints. He still got plenty of time with you too, and he no longer had to play mediator 24/7. It was a bit amusing, how simple the solution to all Jason’s strife really turned out to be. If only he had started with this, maybe he could have saved himself that first week’s worth of headaches.

Dick entered the living room, expecting to catch you bent over the back of the sofa or spread out across the dining table, but he saw no such thing. In fact, he didn’t see you or Jason at all. He almost paused. A quick bolt of worry shot through him. Realistically, he knew the two of you were fine. Jason was more than capable, and he heard your laughter. But after years of protection orders, he still hadn’t found a way to suppress that instinct to find something wrong.

It was only seconds later he spotted you over on the other side of the room beyond the end of the couch. Your head popped up and down into his line of sight. Relief coursed through him in a rush. Crossing the wooden floor, he walked a few paces closer to see what was happening.

And he did find you on top of Jason, just not in the way he anticipated. Instead, you were parked on the younger man’s back while his body rose and fell in a set of push-ups. A grunt slipped from his lips with every flex of his biceps. From behind, you played with his hair. He’d been going at this a while if the sweat trickling down his temple and staining the collar of his t-shirt were any indicators.

“Hey, you two. Whenever you feel like getting off the floor, I brought your food,” Dick said, raising the plastic bag and giving it a light shake.

Your head zipped in his direction, eyes sparkling impossibly brighter at the mention of your dinner’s arrival. You hopped up off the muscular back supporting you. Despite wearing a cute, pink workout set, not a drop of sweat coated your skin.

Jason, meanwhile, rolled over with a quiet groan. He ran a hand over his face to wipe some of the perspiration away. “Be there in a second.”

You pranced up to Dick and wrapped him an excited hug. After nuzzling into his chest for a second, you tilted your head upwards.

“Did you get the extra rangoons?” you asked, batting your lashes at him as if there was any way he could have forgotten your special request that you’d repeated at least ten times before he left.

“Of course. Think I would’ve left the car keys behind before driving away without your rangoons,” he teased.

With a small cheer, you swiped the bag from his hand and headed in the direction of the kitchen to deal out the food.

“Wow, not even a thank you?” Dick called after you while trailing behind.

“Thank you, Dick!” you chirped.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, coming up beside you at the marble countertop. Red containers appeared one by one across the sleek surface as you unloaded them from the bag. Leaning in, he planted a gentle kiss on your cheekbone. “Bodyguards, workout partners, takeout delivery, and now teaching you manners? You got us working a tall order here, babe,” he murmured.

“I didn’t ask for all that. I think you guys just like doing extra stuff for me cause you know I make it worth your while,” you shrugged with a little smirk on your face as you placed the last box of noodles on the island.

Your haughty display was fast interrupted though as two thick arms snuck around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You squealed as Jason twisted around and placed you out of the way of the meals.

“Did I hear you say you don’t ask for any of that stuff? What were you doing earlier then?” he mocked as he stepped up to the counter and popped open a small container.

“Hey!” you pouted, trying to shove him over so you could have access to all the food again. Your feet slid on the smooth floor as you floundered against him. It took Jason literally no effort to resist your pushing. His large frame did the job all on its own. “I didn’t ask you for anything. You just wanted me on top of you.”

“Mhm, sure. I must have imagined every time you said ‘Jason, what are you doing?’ ‘Jason, I’m bored,’ ‘Jason, let me help,’” Jason imitated before shoveling a forkful of garlic-glazed beef into his mouth

You huffed and circled around to the other side of the counter to grab your bag of rangoons. “Whatever. I still didn’t ask you for anything,” you grumbled.

“Did you really need to when you took the initiative and just climbed on my back?” he mocked.

You scoffed, but both of them could see hints of a smile pulling at your lips. Since you’d become closer to them, winning or losing a minor argument didn’t have an effect on your mood. It was the mere attention that got you going.

In the midst of your back and forth, Dick grabbed the now-empty takeout bag. The plastic crinkled as he crumpled it between his hands on the way to the trash.

Jason glanced over at him. “How’d the meeting go?” he asked, playfulness fading from his expression as work became the topic of conversation.

“Good,” he nodded, reaching for a small box of his own, “We’re all set. We’ll both be assigned here for the remaining four weeks.”

“You managed to convince the old man she needs two people on babysitting duty? How’d you pull that off?” Jason asked with a raised brow.

“You’ll really both get to stay here?” you asked from your side of the island. Your eyes gleamed with hope rather than excitement, as if you still couldn’t believe it was true.

Dick answered you first with another nod before responding to Jason. “I just explained that given her eventful social life and… willful temperament, it would be more convenient on our end to have two people on her case.”

“And he believed you? He didn’t get suspicious?” you checked.

“I think he bought it. He really didn’t ask anything that gave the impression he thought something was off,” he reassured. 

To his relief, you, like your father, didn’t question his vague statements either. If you did, he’d have to figure out how to dance around the exact details of the conversation. He wasn’t really eager to rehash how your own flesh and blood spoke about you.

He thought before arriving at the Senator elect’s office that this would be an uphill battle. Those who didn’t want to use the word controlling would describe your father as protective, but no one would call the man stupid. He knew the reality of this situation just as well as Dick and Jason. There was no party in this arrangement who believed you were in real danger. So why on Earth would he agree that you needed two full-time guards when the one you already had barely did enough to justify his presence?

But the silver-haired man greeted Dick with an election-winning smile and firm handshake. He nodded along to each piece of what he said about you, as if he was absorbing every word like it was law. And when Dick reached the part about your aforementioned attitude and packed schedule, it went off without a hitch.

He eased into it, starting tentatively and bracing for pushback. “She’s adjusting now. Her and my partner are getting along, and we haven’t had any other issues since those first couple days, which is normal. Everyone takes a bit to get used to a second shadow,” he said in an attempt to keep things light. “I was only thinking she might benefit from having a detail of two since she has a few events to attend over the next few weeks and she can be… very set in her ways.”

Your father chuckled while leaning back in his leather chair. “Oh, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know how she can be. I love my daughter, but there’s a reason she doesn’t live with me anymore.”

Dick blinked in response at first. Logic would point to the fact that you were an adult aged into her twenties as a potential reason you might live alone. However, he figured that defending you would have aroused suspicion, so he kept his mouth shut, smirking and nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, uh… she’s something else.”

Your father nodded with a knowing laugh. “She knows how to bitch and moan till she gets exactly what she wants better than just about anyone. Think she learned it from her mother,” he sighed in a way that almost sounded fond. “You’re the expert, so if you think you need two guys to deal with her, have at it. You won’t hear any complaints out of me.”

Two guys to deal with her. Have at it.

If only he knew.

You pulled him out of the recollection with a bright smile. “Oh my gosh, this is great!” you cheered. “This is like the nicest thing he’s ever done for me. Not that he knows it. If he did, he probably woulda said no.”

Jason moved on too, going right along with your happy mood. “Great, huh? This the same girl who was doing everything she could to get me out of here just last week?”

“Yes. You’re the one who’s different. You’re someone I actually like having around now. Kinda,” you responded with a coy eyes.

For whatever reason, Dick just couldn’t share the same playful attitude. This was probably the one time in their lives that Jason had him beat on the front of being pleasant. He couldn’t pin down the exact cause, but seeing you now, with your sweet little smiles and muffled laughs after hearing someone who was supposed to protect you paint you as nothing more than an airhead, dug a dent of sadness into his normal nonchalant temperament. He knew your father wasn’t winning any awards for his parenting. However, bearing witness to his casual dismissal struck deeper than he expected.

But you and Jason continued to banter back and forth without a care in the world, so he tried to appear lighthearted for the remainder of dinner.

The three of you talked and ate in the way that had become routine after only a week. Things weren’t tense and argumentative anymore. Now that frustrations had been dealt with, it was easy to riff with one another about music you liked or movies you hated. They’d tell you the occasional story about an old case while you divulged past drama.

After the supply of food across the counter began to dwindle, the three of you worked in tandem to clear away the trash and put away any leftovers. With their help, the surface was clear in no time. You leaned back against the island, your palms flat on the smooth surface with your shoulders angled outwards.

“So…” you started, mischief swirling in your eyes as you looked between them. “What do you guys wanna do now?”

It was no secret what you were after. Your stance gave the two of them a nice view of your cleavage in that tight workout top. And how you looked between them through your lashes left no question about what kind of activities you were hoping would come next.

Jason shook his head. His face held a similar sense of trouble, only it lacked the lustful charge that motivated your own. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m gonna take a quick shower before anything else,” he said, already stepping in the direction of the stairs.

A scoff came from your lips. “What? No fun,” you said and started after him. “At least let us join…”

You reached out to touch his bicep, but Jason’s larger hand grabbed your wrist, preventing you.

“Your shower’s big but not enough for three people,” he said. “Plus, you got a bad case of wandering hands, princess. I want a quick shower. If I let you come with me, we’ll be in there till we’re both waterlogged .”

“But-” you started, your voice already getting a tad whiny.

He clicked his tongue at you, hushing you like an owner would do to their pet’s whines. “You’ve been with me all day. I’m sure Dick can take care of you for a little bit,” he said.

It was a gentle rebuff, but it was sincere. You tried one last attempt at pouting to no avail. He let go of your arm and headed off.

Your sad puffy lips tightened into a more resigned line. You were clearly intent on remaining unaffected. Only a beat passed before you turned and pranced over to Dick.

“He’s no fun,” you said as you snuck your arms around his waist for a hug.

You could be so touchy, but that wasn’t a problem for him. One of his arms slung across your shoulders while his other hand rubbed the curved space just above your ass.

“Sorry you have to stick with your second choice,” he said with a small pinch to your waist.

He meant it as a joke and nothing more. Even though you had been a bit clingier to Jason as of late, he felt no jealousy over it. It was understandable, chasing after the one who made a chase necessary. But if your face was any indication, the teasing nature of the words didn’t fully come across.

You tilted your head upwards, looking at him with a hint of real concern woven into your furrowed brows.

“You’re not my second choice,” you corrected. “I don’t have a favorite or anything. I like both you guys equally. I just know you’ll hang out with me if I want, so I don’t have to ask.” 

Your arms curled around him tighter like a pair of hungry vipers. You put your head against his chest again, right over his heart. His hand continued its gentle motions on your back while he looked down at you. He was content to leave your explanation as it was, but he could feel the unsaid words prodding at you, almost nudging at him by extension.

“I was just joking, babe. Promise,” he said and planted a kiss on the top of your head.

You glanced up at him once more. “…I just don’t want you guys to like… feel like it’s a competition or anything. I like both of you a lot, and I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“You’re not messing anything up,” he reassured without thinking about it. You seemed oddly vulnerable about this, and after earlier, he didn’t want you to have any reason to feel insecure with them. He pressed you right up against him and squeezed your shoulder. “I was just making a stupid joke. If I had a real problem, I wouldn’t be holding you like this, alright?” He smiled a little to further his point.

“Alright…” you said, nodding against his chest.

He pecked your forehead as if to punctuate the words. “Good. No more worrying about anything like that. Let’s go find something to do while he’s showering. I’m sure when he’s done he’ll be sniffing around you again.”

You smiled back at that. Rising onto your tiptoes, you stole a quick kiss from him before dropping your hand to grab his and pull him in the direction of the stairs.

“Oh my goshhhh. He’s taking FOREVER in there,” you called out, saying the last bit loud enough so that it’d be audible through the bathroom door.

For someone who claimed they wanted a “quick” shower, Jason was taking his sweet time in your bathroom. At least by your standards anyways.

Your bedroom ended up being the place for you and Dick to hang out while waiting for the third member of your trio. You preferred it for obvious reasons, but clearly so did Jason since he chose to freshen up in the ensuite rather than the bathroom down the hall.

Dick didn’t mind it either. It was the largest of the three bedrooms. The windows had the best view, showing off how the nearby river twinkled under the sunset. And at night, anyone inside got a good look at the sparkling skyline. The bed was the softest and the biggest, but best of all, it was totally yours.

Objectively, the other two were comfortable, but in here, everything smelled like you. Every surface was your favorite color. He could almost imagine you picking out each fine detail. Stepping into this room felt like stepping into a little world of your creation.

His eyes drifted around it now. After the conversation with your father earlier, he could almost see it in a new light. Everything from the elegant curtains to your glamorous vanity in the corner said you didn’t pay for it on your own. He wondered if you had to “bitch and moan” to get it the way you wanted. Or maybe you picked things based on what you thought would be acceptable. Or perhaps because it was something that brought you joy, he wasn’t involved at all.

A little huff from you brought him out of his thoughts.

“What’s he doing in there? Shaving his legs?” you grumbled, sinking back into the mountain of plush pillows behind your head. You crossed your arms and kept your eyes on the TV ahead. It played a random episode of one of your favorite shows, just something meant to be background noise.

Dick chuckled at your persistent impatience and snuck an arm around your shoulders. “You know, I doubt letting him hear how riled up waiting makes you is going to convince him to go faster. As much as you’ve gotten him to soften up, he still likes to annoy you,” he teased.

He kept you tucked to his side, his fingers running up and down the smooth skin of your thigh. You had changed out of your tight workout clothes in favor of something looser to relax in. While not as form fitting, the tiny pajamas you chose left just as much of you exposed to his eyes. His digits danced with the hem of your shorts every time they brushed the silky fabric. 

“I bet he’s jerking off in there,” you said suddenly, ignoring Dick’s statement completely. You glanced at him and then back at the bathroom door. Your eyes bore into the white wood like the mere possibility had insulted you personally.

He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think he’s wasting time with his hand when you’re out here,” he said.

“Maybe… Or he’s doing it just to spite me,” you said, feigned accusation still present in your words.

Dick’s gaze lingered on you even after you’d settled into reluctant patience again. You met his stare with a questioning look. “What?” you asked.

He blinked, batting those lashes across his pretty blue irises. “What?” he said back.

Narrowing your eyes, you poked his cheek. “You’re being weird. You’re all quiet and staring… It’s suspicious.”

“Maybe I was just looking at how cute you are right now, all puffed up cause you can’t be patient,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes and leaned into him a bit more, as if he could provide relief from getting flustered. “Nuh uh. I look cute all the time, so that’s not it,” you said. “You just look like something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me. I’m fine,” he reassured you.

“Are you sure?” you asked, clearly not satisfied. Then it was as if two little wires connected in your head. “It’s nothing about earlier, is it? My dad didn’t tell you something stupid or embarrassing and scare you off, did he?”

He shook his head with a breathy husk of a laugh. “No, nothing like that,” he denied. With how close you were to hitting the mark, he could only wonder how long ago it happened before.

“Ok... just… You know you could tell me if something was wrong. Even if it wasn’t about work or whatever. I know we’re not like friends… and we haven’t known each other that long. But you could always talk to me about real stuff if you ever needed to,” you offered.

“I know that. But I swear, nothing’s up, alright? Do you ever have one of those days where you feel more stuck in your head than usual? I think it’s just one of those,” he said with a kind smile.

You nodded, willing yourself to accept the answer. “Jason must be having one of those too. He’s been gone for like forever and a half.”

“He probably just needs a moment of peace. You are pretty insatiable, and you’ve been all over him all day, climbing on his back and grabbing his arm,” he murmured with a couple playful squeezes to your own side and arm.

Your body twitched and squirmed in response to the little grabs. The sight drew a huffed laugh from him. He’d never met someone as responsive as you. Your body would light up from a few of the most simple touches.

“I’m not worse than you guys. You both are ready to go like all the time,” you said and slid your hand into his lap, trying to find a bulge.

“There’s a difference between being ready to go and being the one who instigates,” he said, grabbing your wrist and moving your hand onto his abs instead.

You didn’t resist the adjustment. Your fingers traced the rigid muscles in his stomach. You’d felt them so many times already, seen them just as much, but they still brought you a sense of wonder. Both of their bodies did. Before them, you had limited experience, and none of it took place with people who resembled divine beings so closely.

He chuckled at the look in your eyes. “You’re too easy, baby.”

Your cheeks heated up. You tried pulling your arm back to shove his head, but he kept it right where it was.

“It’s ok. You know Jay and I think it’s cute,” he said, continuing to gently mock.

He pecked your cheek, smugness found in his every feature. Leaning in closer, he laid a few soft kisses on your throat. Your breath hitched before you tilted your head to allow him more room. The near-instant compliance with his touch had him grinning against your neck. Even while being stubborn, you wouldn’t deny yourself any attention. And to be honest, he couldn’t see himself ever in a situation where he’d withhold it from you.

He took a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with your air. His arms tightened as his mouth parted and closed against your sensitive skin. The tip of his tongue swirled around your pulse point in the way he had come to learn you liked. Your hand pressed down on his abs a little harder just as a tiny moan escaped you.

In the same way that his body put you in awe, you cast a spell totally your own over him. Being so close felt like willfully submerging himself in aphrodisiacal quicksand. You were so soft and so warm under his hands, your flesh so malleable, practically hypnotizing to grope.

His palms glided over you with reverence. They moved slowly, but with enough pressure to exemplify his growing desire. You writhed under his hands as they smoothed from your back to your hips, over your ass and then down to your thighs.

You allowed your own hand to go lax on his torso, slowly bringing it further South. The place you’d searched for a bulge before rewarded you with one now. You could feel the semi-hard outline under your fingers.

He hissed at the lazy rubs you gave it through his pants. “Always so eager for more,” he mumbled.

While he was still very much wrapped up in the feeling of you, going further tempted him just as much. He dropped one of his hands to the elastic waistband of your shorts and shoved it underneath. His fingers ducked below your panties next with the same precision. The middle one slotted between your puffy lips, seeking out your clit.

Already, you’d started to get a little wet. Dick dragged the pad of his digit through the collecting slick, relishing the clicking sound that came with it. His finger then ventured back to your little bundle of nerves. He gave it a few rubs to which your hips jerked and a whine spilled out of you.

Then the bathroom door opened. Neither one of you had even heard the shower turn off while distracted with each other. Steam poured out into the bedroom. Along with it came Jason. He stepped out, baby pink towel low around his hips, stray beads of water trickling over his scars down to his v-line. His eyes immediately landed on the two of you.

“See? So needy before, but I knew you’d have fun with Dick just fine,” Jason said. He shook his hair like a wet dog before advancing further into your room.

“Shut up. You took too long,” you whimpered, rolling your hips into Dick’s hand.

“You think so? You should’ve said something. I could hear you complaining through the door, but I don’t think it got the point across all the way,” he mocked.

He headed over to the door leading back out into the hall, and suddenly, all traces of your attitude vanished. “Wha- Where are you going?” you asked, turning your head to give him puppy eyes. Dick took advantage of the new angle and attacked your neck with his mouth again.

“Where do you think?” he asked.

Of course, you knew where he was headed - down the walkway and into the guest room with his duffel bag. Most of Dick’s stuff had migrated to your bedroom, but Jason still kept his separate. It really didn’t matter to you though; here or there, you did not want him getting dressed either way.

“Nooooo,” you whined, reaching out towards him with one grabby hand. “Don’t put clothes on.”

He almost laughed at your little display. A smile settled on his lips, and he took a few steps back in the direction of the bed. His pupils scanned over your body again, taking in the way your back arched and your heels slid against the blankets. He watched the outline of Dick’s hand pump beneath your shorts.

“I don’t know… I think Dick’s got you covered, sweetheart. Doesn’t look like you need anyone else,” he taunted, running a hand over your head.

“Need you,” you said, whimpering as Dick rubbed a little star onto your clit. “Need both of you.”

“Greedy,” Jason tutted. But he didn’t stop petting your head.

“Nuh uh,” you denied. Your gaze fell down his body, specifically to his waist where that towel remained tucked around him. It would be so easy to reach out and just…

“No?” he said and cupped your jaw, directing your eyes back to his own. “You don’t think you’re acting spoiled?”

You shook your head before looking down at his stomach again. This time you couldn’t help yourself. You extended your arm, hooking your index and middle finger over the fluffy edge of the towel. It barely took any force to tug it free.

The plush fabric vanished, pooling around his feet. Now, at your eye level, his cock hung, thick and heavy. Your pupils all but morphed into little hearts while staring at it.

He didn’t stop you from grabbing the shaft. Your fingers curled around his length and gave it a gentle tug, beckoning him closer to the mattress. For once, he went along with your desire free of protest. He boosted himself up a bit with one knee on the foamy surface. You continued stroking in time with Dick’s fingers caressing your pussy.

His cock rose to life between your digits. It grew stiffer with every twist of your hand or swipe of your thumb over the tip. You watched in amazement as you did every time, and he watched you. Something deep inside of him went wild for that innocuous fascination that would come over your face in moments like these. Jason was well aware that you weren’t a saint by any means, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to corrupt you.

On the other side of your body, Dick’s head popped up from the crook of your neck, looking up at him with lidded eyes. “Would there even be a point in putting your clothes on when she’s gonna pull ‘em off as soon as you get back?” he joked.

You didn’t even register the little joke or how Jason responded because you were so laser focused on giving him a hand job. Your own movements nearly hypnotized you. With every flick of your wrist, desire gnawed at you, begging you to get more. To take more.

“Can I suck on it?” you asked abruptly.

Jason’s hand paused on your head. He looked down at you again, taking in your dilated pupils and parted lips.

“You want me in your mouth?” he checked.

You nodded.

“Do you think you deserve me in your mouth?” he asked next.

Exasperated, you whined. “Jasonnnnnnn. Come on.” You stuck your lip out to add to your plea.

“Alright, hush,” he said, sweeping his hand around to cup your jaw. “No whining. If you want it so bad, then open up.”

The rough pad of his thumb pressed down on your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth into a cute little o. His cock throbbed as you looked up at him so sweetly. Your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, and your lids drooped slightly under the weight of your lust.

He shifted his hips forward to guide his length to your awaiting orifice. You tried to reciprocate, leaning towards him as much as you could while still Dick’s grasp.

“Ah ah, lay your head back and let me give it to you. You’ll crane your neck otherwise,” he grunted.

Shockingly enough, you obeyed without issue. You sunk back in Dick’s direction, allowing the pillow behind you to support your head. Jason continued on. His tip nudged the seam of your lips. Droplets of precum smeared on the plump skin.

It took no force to push into the wet warmth of your mouth. Your saliva coated his length, making the shaft shimmer as it slid in and out of your mouth. He could feel your tongue lazily flicking and laving against him. It was cute. Such small efforts as you laid there for him to use.

Dick continued rubbing your clit beneath your shorts, but as Jason found his rhythm with shallow thrusts, he maneuvered his fingers around to prod at your entrance instead. The slender digits applied some light pressure before slipping inside. A mewl erupted from you around Jason’s cock, but your body didn’t protest or try to shut him out. You remained lax with the sensations, allowing him to fuck two between your pulsing walls with ease.

He kissed underneath your earlobe. “Such a good girl, sweetheart. Just relax for me. We’ll keep you all filled up,” he whispered.

You whimpered at the electricity his hushed voice sent down your spine. It was all so overwhelming in the best way. You were full of them in every sense of the matter. Not only were they inside you, but they claimed each of your senses as well. Dick’s lilted voice crooned in your ear while Jason’s scent clouded your nose. You got the taste of him all over your tongue as every nerve ending on your body lit up for them.

All of it made your head spin. Your eyes drooped, and your jaw got a little lazy. Before you knew it, Jason was squeezing your cheeks to grab your attention.

“Keep it nice and wide for me, little brat. Don’t want your teeth scraping me up,” he teased.

“Sorry…” you tried to say, but with a mouthful of cock, it just came out garbled and incoherent.

However, the need to apologize fled your mind fast. The creeping sensation of release replaced it. It started to simmer as Dick curled his fingers within you, finding that sweet spot you never reached on your own.

Your hips started to quake. You rocked up and down in a desperate search for release. They both chuckled as they saw it, knowing all your signs by now.

“Are you almost there, pretty girl?” Dick cooed.

“Mhm,” you whined around Jason.

“Yeah? You wanna cum?” he goaded, coaxing you further along.

“Mhm,” you said again; this time louder, more desperate.

His fingers kept thrusting into you. Wet squelches echoed from between your thighs as your peak got closer and closer. You could see it just in front of you, within reach, the sweet, shimmery heat already lapping at you. But just as your body got ready for the final ascent, Dick pulled his digits out.

You bursted with displeased whines and agitated whimpers. In a second, you backed off Jason’s cock so you could grab at Dick’s arm.

“Whyyyy?” you pouted, trying to glare at him. Though, with your eyes all glazed from pleasure, it didn’t come off as any kind of intimidating.

“What?” he laughed, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He slid them inside and sucked them clean while maintaining eye contact with you all the while. “You know you’re still gonna get to cum. You just make it too fun to tease you,” he said once he’d pulled them back out.

The explanation did little to quell your discontent, but before you could voice any of it, a hand wrapped around your ankle and tugged you downwards on the mattress. 

Jason had walked around towards the foot of the bed in the midst of your distraction. He crawled over your legs towards the rest of your body, caressing up your calves as he went. His thumb hooked under the hem of your shirt to boost it up. As he moved, his head ducked down to lay some kisses along your belly.

“Have we left you unsatisfied so far, sweetheart?” he asked, gazing up at you through his lashes.

It was a leading question. Of course, the answer that came from your lips was a soft “no.”

“Exactly. So quit whining. You know Dick and I are gonna take care of you.”

His fingers looped over the waistband of your bottoms next. He yanked them off your legs. Tossing them to the side without a second thought. You watched his movements carefully, having a pretty good idea where he was headed. It just wasn’t something you were used to quite yet.

“Lemme return the favor for you, princess. While I’m doing that, you can do the same for Dick.”

“For what? Not letting me finish?” you huffed.

The fingers belonging to the man in questions landed on your forehead and nudged you back, putting your skull flat on the mattress. He smiled down at you stroking your cheek. 

“No one can ever say you don’t know how to hold a grudge,” he teased.

A little scowl curled on your lips. At the same time, Jason got in position between your legs. You felt his hand cup one of your thighs then the other, placing each on either one of his shoulders.

There was really no time to brace yourself before he dove in. In seconds, that petty expression was gone, wiped clean by parted lips and furrowed brows. Your back curled inward, your body coiling in response to the sudden burst of stimulation down there. Dick watched. It was obvious from the look in his pretty blue eyes that he greatly enjoyed seeing the moment the pleasure took you.

“No, she wants people to think she can hold a grudge, but she’s not as tough as she lets on,” Jason taunted, sounding almost affectionate.

That was the last you heard out of him. Before you had the chance to go back and forth, his lips were on your pussy again. He flicked his tongue over your clit, back and forth, back and forth in quick succession. Your hips bucked while your legs flailed fruitlessly, but Jason was more than strong enough to keep you in place.

A broken whine trickled from your lips. Your heels dug into the firm muscles that spanned over his back. You figured he liked it. The harder you pressed, the more fervor he seemed to have with his mouth.

Beside you, Dick shimmied down his pants and pulled them free. His cock was hard, more than ready for some attention. He gave it a few tugs. Just simple jerks of his hand to the sight of you unraveling under Jason’s skillful ministrations.

As you squirmed, your head tilted in his direction. Your eyes fell on the veiny shaft before you. You remembered what Jason had said. To take care of Dick while he took care of you.

“You ready for me, baby?” he checked, voice hushed as he pet his free hand over your head.

You nodded and opened your mouth into the same shape you had before. He did the work for you just like Jason did. Angling his hips, he tapped his tip against the corner of your mouth before pushing it in. Like usual, he was more gentle than Jason. Despite it being the same action, he handled you with more care.

He got just as much pleasure though. A hearty groan came out of him as you started to suckle on the tip. Your eyes fluttered shut. Having something in your mouth gave your attention somewhere else to go. It acted as a distraction from the bursting bliss between your thighs.

You couldn’t see it, but Jason’s eyes flitted up to your face. He watched you take Dick’s cock while his tongue drew mini figure-eights from the bottom of your slit to your cute little bundle of nerves above. Something close to obsession danced at the center of his green irises. When you weren’t looking, he didn’t bother trying to hide it.

Little whimpers still squeaked from your mouth around Dick, but Jason wanted more. Tiny sounds he had to strain his ears to hear weren’t enough. He stopped licking at you, stopped grazing his tongue across your clit. Instead, he maneuvered the wet muscle lower. He prodded it at your opening and sunk it into you. That got a nice, low moan out of you.

He fucked his tongue in and out, pressing it against your silken walls as you pressed your own against the tender ridge of Dick’s cock. He was hissing too then. The three of you created a chorus of ecstasy, a neverending feedback loop of hissing and squirming.

Jason ground his hips against the mattress as you rolled yours towards his face. He was still holding you down, but your movements got him off. Seeing how desperate you could get, how eager you were to writhe into the pleasure, it had him leaking sticky white pre onto your pretty, pristine sheets.

You could feel that burning hot peak building up inside you again. Your toes curled, and your back started to arch. You knew Dick was getting close too from the way he was panting. That and how his hips were starting to jolt forward a little more frequently.

Jason pulled his tongue out of your slick hole and put his mouth on your clit again. He wrapped his lips around the tiny bud, giving it a harsh suck. You yelped around Dick’s cock. Your whole body jerked, and your head snapped back, his saliva-coated length falling from your mouth.

“J-Jay,” you whimpered. Your hand flew down to grab at his damp hair.

He didn’t answer with words, but the feeling of your digits against his scalp got a groan out of him. His tongue continued to dance over your soaked folds. With everything he had, he worked to bring you to the edge. His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs hard, almost bracing himself as he humped the blanket under him.

Gentle as ever, Dick guided your head back in his direction so he could slip his cock between your lips again. You accepted it happily, sucking it like you had been before being interrupted. Your lips rested right against the ridge. Every little vibration from your squeaks of pleasure reverberated through him.

Those small buzzes were enough to get him to the finish. Dick came first. He sighed and tilted his head back. His hand pressed on your head, keeping you close as his shaft twitched against your tongue. Warm spurts of cum bursted into your mouth, and you had no problem swallowing all that he gave.

In the midst of Dick’s release, you hit your high as well. Just as his was coming to end, you felt something snap inside of you. A loud whine bubbled up inside your chest and left your mouth as you slowly eased off. Waves of bliss coursed through you, your body rolling in trembling waves.

Your thighs squeezed around Jason’s head, and that was when he lost it. 

He continued to devour you through it, not pulling away as euphoria surged through him. You cried out when overstimulation began to set in. Your hands weakly pushed at his head.

In a rare reversal, he listened to you. He pulled back from the junction of your thighs, departing with one final kiss to your clit. His jaw shimmered with remnants of your arousal.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes raked over him. Your small pupils drank in every detail. His tousled hair, his lidded eyes, his puffing chest, his softening cock between those thick thighs… But as your vision drifted down, your gaze landed on the mess he’d left on the plush fabric of one of your blankets.

Sitting up quickly, you grabbed it as if to inspect the sticky patch. “Jason,” you whined, accompanied by a glare.

He snatched it back. “Zip it,” he hushed as he climbed off the bed. “I’ll put it in the wash. It’ll be fine. And if not, I’m sure you can afford a new one.”

You narrowed your eyes at the tight-lipped, mocking smile he gave you. “I can, but I don’t want to. That one’s like the best.”

“Then I guess you’d just have to find better than the best,” he replied before stepping out of your bedroom.

A pouty huff came from your lips, but your eyes lingered on the door. You weren’t actually mad, of course. The wash would get the mess out, and even if it didn’t, what he said was true. You were more concerned with trying to figure out whether or not he was coming back.

On your other side, the mattress lifted with the absence of Dick’s weight. He rose from the bed and stretched his limbs out. Your head snapped in his direction, your hand reaching for his wrist.

“Where are you going?” you asked with a little pout.

He eyed you curiously. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a leak - if that’s alright with you.”

Your grip on him loosened as you realized you should probably reign these feelings back in. “I just was wondering like if you were coming back, or if you wanted to do something else.”

“Like?” he asked.

“I just didn’t… want you to feel pressured to like stay in here or anything. I know we all mess around and stuff, but you guys can still sleep in your own rooms if you ever want to,” you said.

His eyes narrowed. He leaned in a little, cupping your chin to direct your eye line. “Would you want us to sleep in the other rooms? Are you getting sick of sharing your bed?”

“No…”

“Do you think I want to sleep in the other room?” he asked.

That prompted a longer pause than the other two questions, but after a few seconds, you shook your head.

“Ok then. No need to worry about it. No one’s annoyed with you. If Jason or I wanted to sleep in the other rooms, we’d tell you that,” he said, leaning down to peck your lips.

With that, he walked off to the bathroom and nudged the door shut behind him. In their collective absence, you dragged yourself out of bed. You took the brief period of free time to put yourself back together and get the bed in order again.

Just as you finished putting your pillow into place, Jason strolled into the room. Without a care for all the organization you’d just done, he came over and flopped down onto your mattress. The blankets wrinkled to his shape, and the pillow you just placed toppled over. You pursed your lips in response before hopping up too and lightly slapping his bicep.

“That’s two times you’ve messed up my bed tonight,” you huffed.

His lips spread into a grin. In a flash, his arms looped around your waist as he playfully wrestled you down onto the mattress. You squirmed around, acting as if you were putting up a fight, but only a matter of seconds had gone by before he had you pinned.

Looking up at him now, you almost forgot the man you met on that first day. His green eyes appeared so much softer. His features seemed way more relaxed. He looked as unbothered as Dick sounded. Maybe you didn’t need to worry.

“We could mess it up again, you know. Maybe before Dick even comes back. I can be fast,” he teased, pecking your cheeks.

“Not fast enough,” Dick’s smooth voice cut in from behind.

That made you smile a little bit. The bathroom door clicked shut again, following it came the soft padding of his feet across the carpet. You brushed your fingertips across Jason’s cheekbone before nudging him off you.

He rolled to one side of your bed while Dick settled on the other. This was how it went most nights. You squished in the middle of their two muscular bodies.

Shifting around a bit, you grabbed the remote. Your head leaned onto Dick’s bicep while your leg overlapped with Jason’s. You could already feel sleepiness creeping up on you, but there was one more thing to decide before letting yourself drift off. Really the only thing that still caused arguments as of late.

“So… Do you guys wanna watch something?”

A few hours later, the tv was still on, broadcasting flickering patterns of light across your bedroom walls. The volume stayed low, the words of the characters on screen inaudible. Not that it mattered. You, Jason, and Dick were all fast asleep by now.

Each of you laid in the positions that had become normal to you now. Dick slept supine with one arm up, you curled into his chest, and Jason latched onto your smaller frame from behind. 

The first time this happened it was almost overwhelming to you. You’d spent the vast majority of your nights up until this point alone. The one boyfriend you had in adolescence had never been allowed to sleepover, and the few flings here and there didn’t bother to really spend the night. You were used to the spacious loneliness that came with the mattresses thrice your size.

But since Dick and Jason had taken up residence with you and divided your king sized bed into three sectors, you didn’t think you could ever go back. Without Dick’s strong heartbeat thumping below your ear, something would feel missing. The absence of soft puffs of Jason’s breath against the back of your neck would leave you cold. In only a handful of nights, you’d become acclimated to sleeping with tangled limbs and limited moving room.

Besides the barely audible chatter of the television, your bedroom was always silent at night. The penthouse was so high up, the sounds of the city below never disturbed your slumber. Cars honking, people shouting, trucks huffing. It was all so distant and muted. None of it could penetrate the peaceful haze of your dreams.

Tonight something else was responsible for that. Not just sounds, but something physical that roused you from the depths of unconsciousness.

It started as simple rustling. Just the sheets shifting against each other, the blanket being pulled from beneath one person’s weight to wrap around another’s. And then grunting followed it. It was quiet and uneven, accompanied by heavy breaths.

You didn’t wake from just that though. Only when you heard mumbling and felt more forceful movements did your eyes flutter open.

Jason’s nose wasn’t nestled against the base of your neck. That was the first thing you realized. 

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes while sitting up. Your movements came slow at first, bogged down by your body’s desire to go back to sleep. It took a few seconds to register what was happening. The glow of the tv disoriented you as your mind tried to fit everything into place.

But you soon realized the mumbling and squirming was coming from Jason.

Glancing over at him, you saw him curled up facing the opposite of you. The muscles in his back looked tense, as if bracing for some kind of impact. His legs kicked at the covers, not with their full force since he couldn’t give all his effort but still pretty hard.

You furrowed your brows as you observed for a few seconds. At first, you didn’t understand what you were looking at. But then you heard him more clearly. You could make out words like “no” and “stop” and “get off.” He made a noise that almost sounded like crying, and that was when it clicked.

He was having a nightmare.

Instantly, you scooted closer, kneeling behind his back. You brought a gentle hand down on his bicep and tried waking him with a combination of soothing strokes and weak shakes.

“Jason?” you whispered. You didn’t want him to get pissy about being woken up, but you also didn’t like watching him upset by his dreams.

He didn’t wake up from your cautious touches or quiet call, so you tried a little harder. You shook him with some actual dedication and leaned in closer.

“Jason. You’re dreaming. Wake up,” you said. Your voice remained caring and tender, but you said the words clearly. His eyes stayed shut though so you went for one more attempt. “Come onnnn. Wake up. Don’t make me get some water-”

The pitchy whine snapped his eyes open; only he didn’t awaken with the relieved gasp or tiny jolt you were expecting. Instead, he snapped at you like you’d nudged him with the barrel of a gun rather than your fingers. He flipped around and lunged. One of his hands wrapped around your throat, the other slammed your shoulder down to the mattress.

You squeaked at the blur of motion. Of course, you knew Jason was strong. It was obvious from the way he worked out and the muscles padding his body. You’d just never really felt how strong he was first hand.

This was a different kind of strength from when he fucked you. His fingers didn’t dig in just enough to mark, their pressure against your skin acted as an unspoken threat. He slammed you down with way more force than when he was just manhandling you. In a position like this, you realized how powerless you really were against him, how easy it would be for him to snap your bones or severely maim you if he felt so inclined.

You stared up at him with widened eyes. Your body trembled with a mixture of fear and confusion. Earlier, when he was on top of you, looking all soft and sweet, it seemed hard to compare him to the facade he wore around strangers. But right now, he had morphed into another creature entirely. That quick temper you saw from day one became so much more severe under pressure. It sharpened into something looking to puncture. You didn’t even want to speak his name to try and calm whatever sort of reaction you’d triggered in case the mere sound of your voice would set him off further.

Luckily for you, being throttled onto the bed had been enough to wake Dick too. He came to his senses faster than you had. The second he saw your predicament, he was up. He grabbed Jason’s shoulder and tugged him back without fear. Maybe he’d done this before.

You sat up, rubbing your throat as you scooted back to lean against the headboard. There was no internal damage that you could feel since he hadn’t actually choked you, but the sting of forming bruises along the base of your throat lingered.

“Hey, hey, hey. You were dreaming, man. No one’s here. You’re alright. She’s fine,” Dick murmured to Jason at the end of the bed.

He definitely had done this before. You could tell. The way he positioned his hands on his shoulders and made him look in his eyes. The tone he spoke with, intentionally grounding and firm without being harsh or scolding. It was practiced, tried and true. You wondered for how long had Jason needed this kind of help. For how long had he struggled with whatever caused him to lash out.

It only took a couple moments for Jason to come back down to reality with the both of you. You could nearly see his features relax back into the shape you’d grown accustomed to. His eyes softened, and although his chest still heaved with rough panting breaths, his posture relaxed. He rubbed a hand over his face before his gaze shifted to you.

For a second, he appeared almost sheepish. Though a stoic mask quickly came up to conceal that.

“Are you alright?” he rasped. “I didn’t…”

“I’m fine,” you reassured quickly. “You just startled me a little, but I’m not hurt or anything.”

He nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “That’s… um that’s good,” he said. But he still wasn’t settled. Instead of returning to his previous place next to you, he made his way off the bed. “I’m sorry. I- It- I’m just gonna take a minute,” he mumbled.

“Jason, wait. You don’t have to-” you started, but he was already out the door without looking back.

Your head turned to Dick who was coming to sit next to you again. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to scare him like that. I just touched his arm and-” you tried to explain.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t your fault. You’re ok,” he said. His hands gently maneuvered your jaw around to get a look at the markings on your throat.

“Is he?” you asked. “He seemed really upset. I don’t want him thinking I’m mad or something…”

“He doesn’t think you’re mad. Promise,” Dick said softly. Once he was satisfied with his inspection of your neck, he leaned back against the headboard next to you.

You wrapped your arm around Dick’s, leaning your head on his shoulder. The two of you sat in the silence of the bedroom for a couple seconds. You hesitated before speaking again.

“Why did he get so freaked out?” you asked, voice quieter than before. You knew there was a risk you were prying into something that was none of your business, but didn’t you have a right to know after getting choked-slammed as a result of it?

“Jason… He…” Dick started, clearly contemplating whether he should share or not as well. “A few years ago, he was on a case. One of the last ones at our old firm. He was serving a protection order for this girl. And anyways, the details aren’t too important, but it didn’t go well. He got hurt. The client… she didn’t make it out.”

Your eyes widened. Suddenly, guilt for all the shit you’d given Jason upon meeting him hit you like a truck.

“I… Is that what he dreams about?” you asked.

Dick shrugged. “He’s never told me exactly. I’ve only seen him like that a few times before this, on different cases, but I didn’t think he’d had one in a long time,” he said.

“Does he blame himself for what happened?” you said.

“Of course,” he said, smiling a little despite the words. “Any time something goes wrong on a case, you blame yourself. But there was no way he could have done anything different. We had a leak within the agency that sold out their location. No one knew until it was too late.”

You frowned. This story didn’t get any better the more you learned. You tried to piece this information together with your already existing perception of Jason. Part of you just wanted to imagine what he would have been like before any of that. He probably would have been around your age. Maybe he’d be carefree like you or have a sense of humor closer to Dick’s. It didn’t really matter though. Contextualizing what was real was more important than imagining a life that would never exist.

“Should we…?” you said, tilting your head towards the door.

“No. He likes to be alone afterwards,” he answered.

Your frown worsened. Likes didn’t seem like the correct word here. You doubted he liked any of this. He was probably in his room or downstairs, moping around, feeling ashamed and isolated, wanting company and not knowing how to ask for it.

But Dick was already laying down again, so you followed in suit.

“Just give him till morning. He’ll be ok,” he told you, kissing your forehead before relaxing into the mattress again.

You did not plan on giving Jason till morning.

After lying there for a couple minutes, worry for him still nagged at you. There was no way you were gonna fall asleep like this, thinking of a new scenario every few seconds, all of which involved him lonely and in anguish.

You just waited until Dick fell asleep before creeping out of bed and slipping into the hall. Quiet as could be, you padded down the lofted walkway. You peeked into his room on the way, finding it empty and untouched except for his open duffel bag. He must have been downstairs then.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you found the living room and kitchen empty too. A few more paces in, however, you spotted his figure out on the balcony. He leaned against the railing towards the corner, head hanging forward. His dark hair blew to the side in the breeze outside.

Even though you knew it’d be cold, you opened the door and stepped out. A little shiver overcame you as the chilled air hit your skin. He didn’t look. Either he didn’t hear the door, or he was hoping you’d cut your losses now and go back inside.

But of course, you didn’t.

“How do you not get dizzy doing that?” you called softly as you approached him.

He glanced over in your direction. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights too, little brat?” he asked. Despite the nickname, his voice came out almost hollow. As if someone had carved out his usual mirth.

“Well kinda… I don’t come out here too much,” you admitted with a shrug.

In contrast to your slight aversion, you took up the place next to him, placing your forearms on the frosty steel rail.

“Why do you live in a penthouse if you don’t like heights?” he said.

“I didn’t really choose the floor,” you started. You intended to say more, but a low hum from him cut you off.

“That’s right. How could I have thought otherwise?”

He said it in the way he talked to you before, when you were just a client. When you were just a pest. It hurt a bit, you couldn’t lie. But you didn’t let it push you away. You knew he wouldn’t be in a good mood before you came down here. The time alone probably only hardened his feelings and aimed them more at himself.

“Are you ok, Jason?” you asked, soft and quiet. You reached to touch his arm; however, he put a stop to that by inching away.

“Don’t,” was all he said.

“I just-” you tried.

“I know. You just want to help. But I’m telling you don’t. I don’t need it,” he maintained.

Maybe you should have stopped there. It might have been better to just stand there with him, offer comfort by not letting him be alone even if it had to be through silence. But to be honest… the short tone and the way he interrupted your point pissed you off. You took a deep breath and gripped the railing a little tighter.

“You look like you do,” you said, trying to remain non-confrontational. “You’re out here all alone while it’s freezing.”

“Like I said, I don’t. I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

“But you don’t have to! You can tell me stuff, you know. Like real stuff. I know I’m not like your best friend or anything, but I wanna actually know you. I can listen and maybe help if you let me,” you said, starting the same spiel you gave to Dick earlier.

Only Jason didn’t want it.

“I don’t want help from you.”

Your cheeks burned at the targeted nature of the statement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want help, apparently. No. Just that he didn’t want it to be yours.

“You know you have your right to privacy, and if you really don’t wanna tell me how you feel, fine. But don’t act like I’m a goddamn stranger,” you said.

“Oh, that’s a bad word. You sure daddy lets you say that one?” he retorted.

And that stung. He’d made cracks like that before, of course, on the day you met and those that came after. Right up until that morning where you’d given him all of yourself. That was why it hurt so much when he said it now. It was why your throat tightened a little and your eyes started to sting. You thought that things were different. That he at least understood you even if he didn’t respect you.

“Why are you being such a jerk? I was just trying to help you. Just because you’re too scared to let me in, you don’t have to be rude,” you defended.

He let out a bitter laugh at that. “Oh scared? Is that what I am? You’d like that wouldn’t you?” he taunted. “Because then you’d get to be the one to fix me, and you could finally prove to me that you’re capable. You could get my approval for doing something worthwhile because you know it’ll never come from your daddy.”

The breath vanished from your lungs. You had to actively try not to cry now. Crying would only make you look more pathetic in front of him, and while he may be winning the argument, you’d be damned if you proved him right in any way.

“You barely even know me! How-” you forced out, trying to hide the way your voice cracked.

“If I barely even know you then why the fuck would I wanna talk about this stuff with you?” he said.

Your argument shriveled up on your tongue because, technically, he had a point.

“I was just offering because I thought…” you trailed off. A combination of losing and not wanting to share held you back now.

“I’m not telling you anything because I know you,” he continued. “I know you wouldn’t understand, and you never will. You’ll never know what real pain is. You’ll never have to deal with actual guilt. And I know for a fucking fact shame isn’t a thing in your life.”

You stood there, taking it all. This was the first time he was actually mean to you. Everything in the beginning had been a simmer, but now his temper was heating up. You didn’t even know what to do when he was done. You didn’t want to cower and run off with your tail between your legs, but you also didn’t want to agitate him more.

“Ok, Jason, I get it,” you said. Now yours was the voice that had been hollowed out. This was probably his first time hearing you speak without some form of whining or teasing.

He looked away, and you could tell he realized that he went a little too far. He wanted you to leave him alone but not permanently. But what was said was said. There was no way to unhear his words.

“Look…” he started, but you honestly couldn’t take any half-assed apologies right now.

“It’s fine. Just forget it,” you said, barely more than a whisper, before walking back inside.

The air in the living room was objectively warmer, but the emptiness of the place made it seem chilled. You skulked back upstairs and into your room, slipping into bed with Dick again as if you never left. Your head landed on his chest and your palm rested on the center of his abdomen. You shut your eyes in an attempt to let the sound of his beating heart drown out Jason’s words that were still bouncing around in your skull.

It didn’t really work, but one positive came along with the sadness. It suppressed your anxiety. The pain left you wanting to avoid Jason, so you weren’t at all concerned about whether he was coming back to your bed or not.

You accepted the fact that he’d probably be back in the guest room for good.

[phantasmique]

Synopsis: You're pregnant by the King of Curses, but as violent as he is, there might just be some gentleness beneath it all.

Warnings: Mentions of cannibalism; a tiny, tiny dash of blink-and-you'll-miss-it spice; murder (it's sukuna).

Part two.

There were many things to consider as a consort to the King of Curses. His proclivity for violence, his cold indifference towards humanity. He's crushed thousands of lives beneath the palms of his hands, spilt blood and sliced flesh beneath his talons simply because the urge had struck him. He's cut down women just like you, for something as simple as breathing too loudly.

It hardly comes as a surprise whenever you wake in the morning, long before the sun has crested past the horizon in shades of gold and lilac, only to learn that another one of your fellow concubines has fallen to your lord's ire. Slain for reasons that you have longed since elected to ignore. They mattered little in grand scheme of things, and they often came down to small, tedious motives: She took too long to respond to one of his questions, she stuttered when she responded to him, she gazed at him for too long without permission.

You've learned long ago not to care. You've snuffed that part of yourself out. Crushed it underfoot as easily as one would do to a troublesome insect. Empathy will not ensure your survival in the King of Curses courts, and you've done well to persist after all of these years.

To nod when expected, to keep your eyes leveled to the floor unless ordered otherwise, to speak only when spoken to even while the urge to berate him burns at the tip of your tongue like something molten. A hot ember in your mouth, but you refuse to spit it out.

You learned how to read him. To see the subtle ticks and expressions that would show on his face, using them as a guide for his fickle moods. You knew your place. You knew how to survive. And as exhausting as it was, it was manageable. All was well, until it wasn't.

❃ "You're pregnant." It was clipped, blunt, detached. Said so candidly, as though he hadn't said something that had your heart plummeting down into the pit of your stomach like a stone. You had looked up at him then, wide eyed and openly gawking from your place posted at his feet with something like a scoff threating to spill past your lips. Your mind had scrambled, crawling for an explanation, longing for an answer.

That isn't possible. Curses aren't capable of reproducing. You know that he was human once, a long time ago, but that bit of his humanity must have long since perished. Right?

Pregnant. That shouldn't be achievable for you to produce a child with a curse. That had been a small shred of peace, a truth that you had clung to. That you had kept close to your chest, knowing that regardless of how many times he'll take you, carving a place in you for his pleasure, that you'd never have to bear his heir.

You do love your lord, in a twisted sort of way. He isn't merciful, or kind in any capacity. The brutal, corrupt entity that he is. But he does provide a safety that you might not otherwise had, a home and leniency towards your village that others have not been afforded; thus, a grace extended to your family.

Still . . . someone like Sukuna as a father. Was he even capable of such a thing?

It's true that your time of the months was late, but that had been easy to excuse. Your monthly blood had been overdue before. Delayed by stress and anxiety. And with Sukuna as a lover, you would not dare to sleep with another man. Not that you'd want to, anyway.

But surely he was lying. That wasn't possible. You couldn't be pregnant. Not by a curse. Not by him.

Your mouth had opened, lips parting to speak. To gasp or to deny his claim you weren't sure, but he had silenced you before you could even attempt to force a word out. Lazily lifting a single hand while all four of his eyes slipped down to settle on you, glaring red and piercing in the dark of the shrine.

"I wasn't a question." His nose twitched just the slightest, as though he's caught the scent of something odd, but you were certain the there was a smile nudging at the corners of his lips. As though some part of him was pleased.

Your voice was snagged. Dead in your throat. You had to draw in a tight, shaky breath to even attempt to form a sentence. "That's not pos-"

"I can smell it on you." He answered. Still lounging on his throne. Undisturbed while your world crumbled. " It's practically wafting from your pores. Make no mistake woman, you're carrying my heir."

❃ You had expected a swift death after that. There was no way that the King of Curses would ever entertain the notion of a lowly human bearing his offspring. Tainting his blood line. But the killing blow never came. It nearly made your unease worse. You aren't ignorant to his diet. His taste for human flesh. For the blood of women and children. It made you feel like a pig for slaughter. Meat being preserved for a feast. You've always been a prisoner here, a slave to his wiles, but now you were an animal, a brood mare. You've only ever had to try and save your own skin. To worry for your own life, but now you weren't afforded the luxury of selfishness. You had an unborn life growing in your belly and it had terrified you.

❃ But instead of shunning you, Lord Sukuna was showering you with a sense of possessiveness that you have never experienced from him before. Sure, you were used to the marks. The blotches of plum and blue and crimson that he would scatter along the flesh of your neck and breasts, the tender pink lines that he would mar along your skin, branding your hips and thighs from his talons. But his greed extended little beyond that. You were free to wander the courtyard with the other courtesans at your side. Small moments of serenity that you were all given in between your duties. Free to gossip, and read, or nap beneath the Sakura and plum trees; admiring the petals as they fall and glide across the currents. Carried off far past the shrine walls.

Sometimes, you'd imagine that those petals were you.

Now those small blessings are a peace that you are no longer extended. Guards now follow your every move. Stalking behind you closely like shadows. Silent, constant, and close. Always looming. Always there by Sukuna's decree to monitor and scrutinize you.

❃ You were no longer ordered to sit along the steps, posted at his feet like a loyal dog. He had you perched on his lap instead. Cradled on his thighs. Constantly gripped by at least one of his hands in some compacity. He had become keen on holding a palm to your stomach whether he fully realized it or not. Keeping it flat on your abdomen as though he was shielding your unborn child from the world, with the massive height of his body pinned along your back. Keeping you clutched to his chest as he was waiting for a threat to try and snatch you from him.

He'd keep you there for hours, seated between his massive thighs while peasants and aristocrats alike would get on their knees at the base of the throne's steps, bowing on their knees and begging for mercy and exemption from his slaughter. All while you were in something that was suspiciously close to an embrace. Not that you would voice such a thing to him. Not even with the safety of carrying his child offering some sort of immunity. Not at the risk of invoking his anger. But with how tightly he kept you secured in his arms, his chin raised over the crown of your head, there was little else to call it. And you loathed how much you were beginning to find comfort in it.

❃ Of course, he'd always find ways to shatter that sense of delicate security, whether or not he truly meant to. Namely when he had a servant executed. All because the young man had paid you too much attention; foolishly asking you if you needed any assistance navigating the gardens given your "delicate condition" as he had put it, offering his hand for you to take in the means to help you in your steps. All it had taken was for his fingertips to brush along yours.

In second he was there. Living, breathing, rosy cheeks and a kind smile. And then red. A crest of blood fanning out from his neck. And those gentle eyes. A brief flicker of life in them, and then dull. Muted like a set of worn marbles.

His severed head met stone with a heavy thud, rolling and rolling softly until its traction was halted by grass and moss. His body followed only moments later. No longer held up by spirit and blood, it gave beneath its own weight; knees buckling to collapse like a felled tree.

Despite the balmy nature of the breeze, gentle and humid, you felt frozen. As though your veins had been rushed with chilled water. You couldn't breathe as you stared at his body, disconnected and lifeless like a child's toy that's been carelessly broken and discarded.

"Pathetic vermin. He should know better than to touch things that don't belong to him." His shadow stretched over you then, eclipsing you from the light as the moon does the sun. His cursed energy prickled over your skin, seeping past the barrier of your garments to brush over your flesh, locking your limbs in place.

"A simple warning would have sufficed," you mumbled. Forcing your words out past the heavy feeling of your tongue. They feel broken and hushed all at once, but you can't stop looking at the way the rich maroon seeps out across the fresh green of the lawn, mixing with the morning dew.

His voice slips out into your ears then, a low rumble, possessive and unyielding. "I don't do second chances."

❃ You could hardly call a being like Sukuna soft. He was all hard edges. Harsh. From his brash, unyielding attitude to the rigid planes of his body. Taut muscles and serrated talons. Violent teeth that were honed to tear through flesh and snap bone, but it was undeniable that something in him had relented. Turned malleable by the sight of the bump peeking out from the layers of your skirts. Not quite tame, but . . . tolerable.

❃ He had requested - ordered - that you sleep with him in his quarters from that point onward. A command that split through the haze in your skull like the snapping of a neck.

Your brain was still cloudy. Fogged over and drawn blank by an intoxicated thrum, limbs lax and exhausted after he had drawn orgasm after orgasm from your body. Tipping you over the edge and under a rush of pleasure with a sadistic kind of delight; a sharp, wolfish smile had been split across his face.

The mere idea of getting up from your place on his bed and shuffling your way back to your sleeping quarters on wobbling legs, smeared with cum and sweat had seemed horrendous, but you knew what was expected of you. It had been muscle memory when you nudged your body up from the bedding, slipping your legs over the edge as you scanned the floor for your tattered jūnihitoe; ripped and torn in his fervor to have you naked. Discarded somewhere carelessly.

Then a hand was gripping you. Holding you tightly by the nape of your neck as one would scruff an untoward cat. It had a cold dose of fear skirting beneath your flesh, shivering down your spine and locking you in place as easily as the grip on your neck.

"You're to sleep here from now on."

It was firm. Final. No room for you to argue. And you didn't.

❃ It's lead you to an unexpected discovery. The King of Curses can purr. You had hardly believed it when you first heard it. A low, repetitive hum that had roused you from your sleep in the night. A guttural noise right beneath your ear, breaking periodically in between the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It had caught you entirely off guard. So much so, that in the moment, you assumed you were imagining it. A hallucination brought on by sleep. But the longer you stayed awake, forcing your eyes to remain open as you lifted your head to stare at the slumbering King of Curses, it was unmistakable - he was purring.

Like a kitten would. A soft, gentle sound that juxtaposed horrendously with an entity like him. It nearly made you laugh, but you had just enough wit and self-restraint to contain the sound before it could bubble up to the surface.

You aren't certain how long you had remained that way. Slightly propping yourself up to admire him in the dark, tracing over his face as the light of the moon poured into the room, painting over his skin in hues of blue and soft white; painted by the night.

His scowl softens in his sleep. The furrow between his brows fading into something placid, that arrogant grin - more of a snarl, really - now neutral. He almost looks harmless in moments like these. No glinting teeth or glaring, burning eyes. It's here that you can imagine that he isn't a possible threat. That he won't place you between his fangs and bite until there's nothing over left except for scraps and shards of bone.

❃ He's kind in his own way. A thought that you never once expected yourself to have. Not in regard to him, at least. But he tries, in his own way, to be gentle. When walking with him in the past, you were always expected to trail after him by a few paces, never at his side, but now he makes an effort to guide you at his side. Keeping a hand secured to the small of your back so that you don't fall behind. Now he he's forgone that all together and has taken to totting you around all together as easily as if you were made of feathers and cushion.

It's become a chore to move. Your sense of balance has been altered for the worse, thrown off by the weight of your belly that longs to tip you forward. And the swelling of your feet does little to help, smarting and uncomfortable. You're a stranger in your own skin. Sluggish, as though you've been packed in tight and tugged down by stones.

He's rushed you before in the past, glaring down at you from over his shoulder without a shred of sympathy. He appeared as though he was possibly considering in finally smiting you down, inconvenienced by your lumbering as you willed yourself to follow after him down the corridor in a sluggish waddle.

"Walk any slower and you'll truly be testing my patience."

On any other occasion you could have brushed it off. Ignored it as simply as the other comments he's made at you before, but your ability to control your temper has become poor as of late. Turned brittle and weak by the changes in your body. It's made your tongue loose and sharp, and without thinking you had snapped:

"My apologies for my current state, my lord, but this is just as much your doing as it is mine. So unless you intent to assist me, I suggest keeping your comments to yourself."

As soon as you blurted it out and registered the sound of your own voice, you fully expected to have you head struck clean from your shoulders. You always imagined that the last thing you ever see would be the carmine flash of his eyes before your vision went dark.

His eyes are indeed on you. Still observing you from over his shoulder. They narrow, thinning down into a familiar scowl, and you're certain that this is the end of line for you. It's fallen silent. The world drawn to a hush as you count down the seconds till your death. It's involuntary when your hands drift down to cover your stomach, fingernails clinging at the silk as though it might possibly protect your child.

But the killing blow never comes.

"You're a testy thing today. I'll ignore it - just this once." The rumble of his voice is the only warning you get before he's shifting on his feet to face you. A pair of hands fasten around your hips, a single strong arm slipping around to support your spine as you're suddenly lifted from the ground to be held to his chest. It happens so suddenly that it nearly disorients you. A complaint rises up from your chest, but as soon as you register the relief that melts over your feet at the absence of carrying your weight, it has you falling silent. Settling to sit complacent, and at ease in his hold.

❃ He's come to tolerate your defiance. No doubt pardoning you because of the heir you carry. But there were many instances where he would not relent, no matter how stubbornly you tried to remain in your opinions. Namely in regard to the denial of indulging in a very particular craving.

Initially you had thought nothing of it when Masami had tripped. Somehow stumbling on her skirts and collapsing down onto her knees in a nasty fall. You had rushed to her as quickly as you could, some of the other girls following in suit to crowd around her.

She had raised her hands then, facing them up towards her face so that she could inspect the skinned flesh there. Inflamed pink and riddled with small red abrasions that marred the heels of her palms.

Small wounds in the grand scheme of things. Something that you yourself have obtained throughout the years, but not once has the sight of it achieved such a response. You're certain that you could smell the blood beading past the parting of the skin. It wasn't a scent that you've learned to associate with blood, all pungent and iron. This was pleasant. It was rich, enticing, melting along the summer air like something buttered and warm. It made your mouth water. Suddenly your stomach was too hollow. Famished.

Your focus narrowed down, and you couldn't help but to admire how the sunlight glinted delicately along the red. Glittering faintly like flecks of gold on the seeds of a pomegranate. You wondered then, what it would taste like to run your tongue along her palm. To have the blood spread into your mouth.

It wasn't until someone said your name, loud and sharp, that snapped out of your daze. Jerking in place as though you had been stung. It wasn't until you met Masami's stare, her eyes wide and a little panicked that you realized that you had been staring. Focused intently on her wounded hands with the same hunger of a dog eyeing a slab of meat.

Sukuna had found out, of course. He had eyes and ears everywhere, shadows tucked into every corner; and no matter how quietly one might whisper in the amongst themselves, he always manages to hear.

He had shocked you honestly, when he had taken to approaching you about the topic rather than opting have Uraume slip human flesh into your meals. Still, you had refused. This was something that you could not possibly get yourself to budge on. The thought of it made you nauseous, it had your stomach turning despite the hunger pinching at your gut.

Reduced to a complete stranger in your body as the child in your womb altered it into something unrecognizable. Riddling it with twisted urges that made you want to run away from yourself. Haunting you with a hunger that would keep you awake at night, fantasizing about a craving that should make you fall ill. That should have you trembling with dread, and yet your mouth would only water at the thought.

The stare that he had leveled you with unamused. Arresting as it fixed you in place and forced you to still. As motionless as a statue as he looked down his nose at you, all four of his eyes latched onto your form in glints of searing red; a glint of fangs showing past his curled lips.

"Do not forget that it is my child you're carrying. Denying your hunger is only prolonging the inevitable. You'll cave eventually."

And he was correct. He typically dines alone, but since your pregnancy he's taken to having you accompany him for his meals. He had respected your demand that you were only served human food. Though you never missed the almost arrogant way that he would observe you as you plucked rice into your mouth. Like he was relishing in yourself induced suffering. Like he was waiting for you to break. The curiosity in his eyes always present, but like a challenge you tried you hardest not pay attention to the scent of cooked flesh permeating around the dinner table.

Try as you might it wasn't long until you had all but stolen a cut of meat from his meal, cooked rare and bleeding. And like some sort of ravenous animal, you had scoffed it down, clutching it with trembling fingers that shoved it in your mouth quicker than you could fully chew. Unable to pay your guilt, or the delighted expression on his face any mind as the famished pit in your gut finally felt something close to relief.

❃ As much as you love your child, there are times where it's already begun to display too many shared characteristics with their father. Namely the ability to disturb you and ruin your sleep. They get restless in the night; like clockwork, tossing and turning in your belly and battering the inside of your stomach with a near constant stream of kicks.

They weren't even born yet, and already they seemed to be throwing a tantrum. Pitching a fit as though they were demanding to be released.

It would force you awake, keeping your eyes wide open while sleep stung at them, weighing them down with the temptation to slip closed. But as soon as you would begin to nod off, it's as though the baby in your womb knew, and they'd make sure to punish you with a harsh nudge of their little foot. It's a wonder how something so small can deliver such a harsh strike. Enough to have you wincing; the air hissing sharply through your teeth while you glare up ceiling like you might find salvation in the shadows settled there.

"Are you determined to interrupt my sleep, woman? Why do you keep whining and huffing?"

As enticing as you usually find the sound of his voice, the sudden sound of it rumbling across the quiet is only grating. Your annoyance flaring, worn thin by the bout of kicking that's being delivered to the tender stretch of your stomach.

It had your voice cracking out with equal irritation. Unrestrained in your ire. "That's because your child won't stop kicking at me."

You can't stop yourself from turning your head over to glare at him, meeting his scowl, finding the intense red of his eyes in the dark.

"How annoying." He grumbles, face pinching into a peeved grimace. It makes you tempted to try and climb up from the bedding and leave his quarters all together. Perhaps you could take a walk around the estate until the baby settles. Sometimes if you speak to it, or hum lowly in those old lullabies your own mother had sang to you as a child, they calm down. Soothed by the sound of your voice.

It's as though Sukuna can sense your intent, and in a blur, he's gripping you by the torso to tug you up to his chest in a grip that's uncharacteristically gentle. Nestling you against his body as though you could possibly break.

He's done it before and yet it always manages to shock you into silence. To have you fall quiet and motionless lest you break whatever spell has fallen over him.

It makes you wonder if this is what it would feel like to be a rabbit drawn in to slumber with a wolf. Nestled against its fur, expecting a flash of snarling, drooling teeth, but only finding comfort and warmth instead.

"Troublesome, aren't you?"

There's the desire to retort. To give some sort of scathing remark in defense of yourself. To remind him that the child in your belly is very much his doing just as much as it is yours. Then one of his hands is slipping across the swell of your stomach, smoothing over the skin in a gesture that should be too soft for a man like him.

Using the same hands that are covered in blood from slaying thousands, sorcerers, men, women, and children, to cradle where your child rests. It clicks then that he isn't talking to you.

You dare to glance up at him, and it quickly confirms that his attentions are pinned down on your stomach. The expression on his face is tired, exasperated, but you swear that you can see something almost tender melting at the irritation there.

You wince when the baby lands another kick just beneath your belly button, directly where Sukuna's palm sits, as though they can feel the pressure of it.

"Restless, are you?" He muses, caressing his thumb along the bump. "There's plenty of time for all of that later. There will be many a sorcerer for you to torment once you're older, but for now it's time to rest. Let your mother sleep."

It's so conversational, the way he speaks to them. Talking as though they might possibly answer, and with how strange a being like Sukuna is, you truly wouldn't be surprised if he revealed to you that he could communicate with your unborn child in some manner.

You can feel the baby shifting, some part of its body brushing against your stomach as it moves. And act of defiance possibly, and you half expect to receive the sting of another kick, but it never comes.

You're practically holding your breath as you await another strike, yet there's nothing. Only calm. Only the dim sound of your steady breathing and the soothing hush that's fallen over the dark of the room.

Finally, there's peace. The warmth of Sukuna's body seeping into your back like the steam of a hot bath and just as easily it has your limbs unwinding. The weight of sleep engulfing your body, causing your eyes to fall heavy, the lure to slip shut falling over you like the comfort of a blanket.

His voice purrs out then, low and hushed, thrumming along your shoulders while he whispers a delicate command.

"Sleep."

But that time, you're certain he was speaking to you.

[comatosebunny09]

preface [ un ] | sylus

summary: he reluctantly agreed to let you be bait. ‘you’ll be fine,’ he tells himself. you always are, more than capable of holding your own. you wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. his jaw tenses. doesn’t make him worry any less. he just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. and hopefully, the other girls they’d taken from their families are with you, too.

warning(s): alcohol use, adult themes, profanity, kidnapping, mild violence

now playing: champagne cool - jackson wang

tagging: @athanasia-day @falon-fen @queen-serena88 @karespocketboyfriends @mrswanel @readerxyourfave @world-of-hearts @sunsets-and-crows @antonneva

notes: preface for limerence. | part 2

He doesn’t like to share.

He’s slowly coming to terms with that fact. Not that you’re property. A snack he’s meant to go halfsies with on the playground. But he won’t deny seeing you ride the mechanical bull like that with all those people watching. Well…

It does something to him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighs for the umpteenth time, the six screens meshed together in the security room of his penthouse flashing over his features. You’re having a good time. Doing your thing, riding it like it’s no one’s business. Garnering the attention of almost everyone in his club like you always do.

Bull be damned.

He’d bought the damn thing at your behest. You were so cute about it. Pushed your chest against his bicep, squeezed his hand, gave him those beseeching eyes. A farce you put on to get your way. But Sylus and the twins knew better. Knew what truly lurked beneath that glitter and glam. Yet he still fell for it.

He always does.

You reasoned the bull would be a nice add-on. Something to dress up Lux’s so-called drab decor. And sure, it was an interesting addition. A contrast of cowhide and worn colors amid the lush, crimson curtains framing the stage and gilded columns stretching high towards a yawning ceiling. In your words, it was meant to bring in new clientele and keep regulars coming back. Something to expose the seedy underbelly of the city. Lure out his enemies. After all, who could resist a pretty thing like you on a bull? 

Lux is one of Sylus’ many business ventures. A posh little club settled in the city’s heart where innocents and lowlifes frequent alike. Most come for the atmosphere, the unrivaled drinks, and the pretty dancers. Some stay for the promise of something more intimate. Backstage performances, one-on-ones with the lavish women who work there. 

Too bad some of the people who come seeking respite never check out. 

He’s hauled back to the present by cheers of varying degrees. Whistling and not-so-innocent words hurled at the stage. All at you. 

Sylus pitches himself forward to perch sturdy hands on his desk. Shakes his head, exasperation inhabiting his person. 

You’re giving everyone a show of your chest—boasted by the tight costume he had custom made for you—when you lean back like that, your spine level with the saddle. Smile sultry and bleeding sin. He swears he catches you winking at him, thoroughly aware of the many cameras littering his club. 

You’ll be the death of him one day. He’s sure of it. 

He taps the earpiece nestled in his ear. Prepares to lecture you for showboating like that. You’re laying it on too thick tonight. And he feels like a concerned dad about to scold his daughter for wearing something that bears too much skin. But before he can fix his mouth to reprimand you, the whisper of an errant breeze catches his attention.

He cants his head. Doesn’t have to look to know Luke is there behind him, haloed by the shadows. Bowed slightly at the hip with a fist pressed to his chest in greeting. 

“Speak,” Sylus orders, his voice rough with disuse. He pushes down the vexation fizzling in his veins. 

“He’s here, boss,” Luke states.

It’s a simple enmeshment of words, yet it’s enough to shift the atmosphere of the security room just the slightest. Sylus’ jaw tenses, the tendons in his neck flexing. His nostrils flare, and he pushes off the polished oakwood to stuff his hands in his pockets.

The real reason why you’re peacocking about like this has just arrived. And Sylus feels his hackles raise, his lips twitching with an impulse to scowl. The tendrils of his Evol threaten to make themselves known, but he tamps down his quiet rage, trading it for level-headedness. It won’t do him any good to lose his cool now. Not until he’s extracted all the information he needs to make his move tonight.

Sparing a final look at the CCTV footage, he appears composed as he snatches his coat from his leather rolling chair. Drapes it over his shoulders in customary fashion, stepping past his subordinate. Kieran appears at his side as if summoned from thought alone, never missing a beat.

“Keep an eye on her,” commands Sylus over his shoulder to the other twin. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything…reckless.” 

Luke complies with a curt bow before the door of the security room clicks shut. Left to his own devices, Luke chuckles. Rubs the chin of his mask in thought, studying the blue flicker of the various screens, all displaying you.

“More reckless than usual?” he quietly queries, amusement surfing in the undernotes of his voice.

—

Sylus is a businessman through and through. He built his empire granting favors, trading weapons, and other nefarious deeds. Despite how much he radiates murderous intent, he’s cordial as he shakes his guest’s hand. Dons a foolhardy grin, motioning for the man to sit across from him in his private office.

The gentleman’s bodyguards flank him when he takes his seat. Four of them standing in good form behind him, their bodies taut with the need to shoot if necessary. All for little old Sylus?

Sylus sits back in his plush, red leather seat. Crosses his legs, tapping his fingers together. Kieran stands not too far off behind him. All the muscle he needs. “Mister Fate,” Sylus acknowledges, finding it too easy to fall into such an affable role. He’s done this too many times. “It’s been too long.”

The man seated across cracks a smile. The years haven’t been kind to him, wrinkles and sunspots littering his face. “It has,” Fate agrees, twining his fingers in his lap. He hides his intent behind dark lenses. But Sylus already knows what’s genuinely driven him here to his club. Knows what lurks beneath that amiable mask of his.

“Can I offer you a drink?” asks Sylus, ever the trained actor. By the time he’s finished asking, Mister Fate’s attention is elsewhere, focused on the ceiling-high, one-way glass window beside them. A knowing smirk crooks Sylus’ lips. 

Beyond the window stretches his club below. Bodies writhing, merriment filling the air. And then there’s you, the focal point of the stage. Standing on the bull like a surfboard, that pretty smile canting your lips as you tilt your hat. You make it look so easy. His office is soundproof and shrouded in dim lighting. But he knows you’re dancing to your favorite song, basking in the attention. The limelight. 

Serving as the perfect distraction. 

And Mister Fate’s hooked. Tugs on the round of his tie, his mouth growing dry. He can’t look away, taken by your beauty and charm. You always play your role to a T. The pretty femme fatale that everyone wants a chance with but is rarely awarded your time. Your attention. 

Not like Sylus. 

And he doesn’t know what’s washing over him when his fingers twitch on the armchair, and his brow ticks towards his hairline. But he suddenly doesn’t like how Fate’s watching you like a prime cut of meat waiting to be seared and consumed. Had it been any of the others, would he still feel so defensive? “Mister Fate,” Sylus tries again after clearing his throat.

The gentleman in question finally tears his ironclad stare away from the window to look at Sylus. Like he’s been caught doing something naughty. It’s normal to stare. Sylus sometimes finds himself, too, falling prey to your allure.

Sylus motions to a whiskey decanter and two glasses on the coffee table before them. “Can I interest you in a drink? Something to wet your whistle?”

“Y-Yes, of course,” the aging man replies, bringing a shaky hand to his face to stroke his mustache. It’s comical how sweat collects on his forehead and between the thin hairs bordering his lip. You really are something dangerous, aren’t you?

“Such a beautiful girl,” Fate notes, more-so to himself whilst the slosh of viscous fluid poured into a glass fills the quieted room. Sylus slides the man his drink, and he’s not at all surprised to find him peering out the window again. “A very lovely girl.” He speaks as if he’s in a trance. Fallen prey to your spell, just like Sylus knew he would.

Sylus raises his glass to the man to toast but to no avail. He’s found what he’s looking for. And you’ve served your part well. And Sylus most certainly does not bristle as he leans back in his seat, dumping the contents of his glass down his throat, the acrid sting serving to ground him.

“Mister Fate,” he tries again, attempting to redirect the subject. He’s becoming increasingly sensitive when it comes to you these days. Doesn’t know why the thought of you makes his chest pull where before, you were something of convenience. 

There’s amusement in Sylus’ voice as he puts back up that arrogant front. “Did you come here just to ogle my dancers, or are we going to get down to business?”

Fate, as if remembering himself, quickly wipes his mouth after taking a sip. Sets his glass down, leaning forward with his elbows resting in the pockets of his thighs. “Ah, yes! Of course!” 

Sylus spares one more look out the window. You glance up as the crowd you gathered erupts in applause and praise. Like you sensed your boss’ scarlet eyes on you. And with a knowing lift of your brow and an unnoticeable nod from Sylus, he starts digging for what he’s truly after.

Information. 

—

Fate talks in riddles, but Sylus is good at reading between thin lines. 

They’re halfway through a game of chess when Sylus’ earpiece crackles to life for the first time in nearly an hour. And it’s your voice pouring through, dipped a few octaves down. Amused.

“Woah,” you chuckle, the click of your heels slowing to a stop. “Is that a gun in your indigo pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

There’s a rigidness to Sylus’ movements as he sets his rook down on the chessboard. The world melts away around him, and he finds himself trained on the hang of your voice on the other end. 

He tries not to show it, adrenaline spuming through his body. You said the code word. Indigo. Something to signify you’re about to be captured. You’d lain yourself out as bait to further Sylus’ agenda. You always did. Always served him well, the brawn and beauty. 

You’ll be fine, he tells himself. You always are. More than capable of holding your own. You wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. His jaw tenses. Doesn’t make him worry any less. 

This is a dangerous game you’re playing. The both of you. One wrong step and he could lose his diamond. He’s spent years hunting Fate down. Knew it’d be a matter of time before he bared himself, the greedy bastard. All thanks to you.

“Mister Sylus,” Fate interjects, tapping the clock on the side of their chessboard. Sylus glances up to see his lips crooked with a smile. Something omniscient. Smug. “It’s your turn.”

Sylus rights himself. Poises his hand over the next piece, prepared to make his move. He tamps down a rush of epinephrine when he hears a gruff voice grouse, “Yeah right, bitch, get in the car,” in his earpiece.

You laugh, the sound of it rich and complacent. “What? Not gonna buy me dinner first?”

There’s a brief scuffle taking place in his ear, followed by the sound of something blunt being jammed against bone. And then, there is but the sound of exertion. Orders being barked, car doors slamming. A shriek of feedback and then cold silence.

They’ve more than likely knocked you out. Found your earpiece and disposed of it.

He has faith that you’ll survive long enough to get to the auction unscathed. At least until he can track you to its location. 

—

“It’s been a pleasure, Mister Sylus,” says Fate once the game ends, shaking his hand a little too firm. “Maybe next time I’ll beat you.”

“You almost did,” Sylus counters on a double entendre. Fate regards him with a quirked brow, still holding fast to his hand, rooted to the spot. He scrutinizes Sylus a little longer before one of Fate’s bodyguards approaches him from his side, murmuring something into his ear. It’s hushed, but Sylus picks up on keywords and uses context clues to piece everything together. 

The package has been secured. 

That package being you.

The blood in Sylus’ veins turns to ice. He keeps up the mask of indifference as Mister Fate smiles at him a little too knowingly. Bordered by his men, he excuses himself from the Sylus’ office, taking his egotistical aura with him. 

He feels the twins standing behind him. Stuffs his hands in his slacks’ pockets, studying his feet, the tendons in his jaw pulling. 

“We found her, boss,” Kieran cautiously states. “Looks like they haven’t discovered the tracker in her brooch. You were r—”

“Alive?” Sylus interrupts. He knows you’re fine. But he steels himself against the worst outcome just in case.

“Looks like it.”

A glimmer of something indiscernible fleets over Sylus’ visage. Atta girl.

He signals for the twins to get moving over his shoulder. And when they clear the room in a gust of wind, he’s already sinking into the inky, feathery shadows of his Evol, prepared to find you before they’ve sold you off to the highest bidder.

He just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. And hopefully, the other girls are with you, too.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 .

# with eustass kid.

absence makes the heart grow fonder. in kid's case, it all but made his cock grow harder; more famished. rest assured, he’d have his cum spell his name on your insides soon enough.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day fourteen. smut (mdni!). breeding kink. cockwarming. dry humping. nipple sucking. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2k.

eustass kid was a man of restless character, molten fire etched on his soul; an ever-eternal burn that thrummed with every beat of his heart. he was insatiable, starved — for prestige; power; respect. certain loss had led him to a state focused on immediate reward, on the guarantee that his dreams would no longer be laughed upon. a fortitude of a man crafted throughout the decades, whose temper and rage were supported by said strength. height and length a mingled alikeness; muscles themselves capable of cowering a foe. kid was a powerful man, somewhat blessed in terms of figure. bearing such natural vigor, yet with the passage of time, the perspective of not passing those genes ahead was pitiful.

the second he had your walls wrapped around his cock, kid knew it’d be but a matter of time until he stuffed his load into you; until he lost the strings of control and milked your insides without second-thought. many had struggled to take-in his shaft, oftentimes ruining the complete experience or offering a half-assed fuck that left him twice as frustrated; brief orgasm that did nothing to soothe his aching desire. perhaps kid was a god-chosen, for amidst his bitterness, you were found — cunt made to shelter him. of course, by assimilation, that meant your womb, too, was made to be a solage for his children.

with the chaotic lifestyle led, he was forced to suppress the urge to cum inside. those damned condoms who were never a perfect fit. your stomach and ass and breasts, whose sight stained with his load was not as exciting as, he presumed, would be to witness it dripping down your hole. for a man with his absence of patience, it was a miracle for him to have waited that long; perhaps a doubled effort for the sake of your health. regardless, within the instant at hand, the time proved to be far more proper to claim you. and you were not there.

kid grunted for the uptenth time that evening, failing to lose himself amidst tools and pitiful excuses of creations. the crew got separated three days prior for the stupidest reasons, and their return to the docked ship was gradual. were you not paired up with killer for the island’s scavenging, kid would have rioted at your delay and left the ship to drag you back himself, but he doubted that would be fruitful; the territory was enormous and best-case scenario, kid would find you in four to five days. his metal fist met the table’s surface, destroying it with a single punch out of frustration. his cock was twitching; had been for the past seventy-two hours. and though he spent hours fisting his cock with utter violence; gripping the flesh until it grew crimson and abused; his high would not come. his hand was too big; too scarred. it did not hug his shaft the way your cunt did, it was neither warm nor moist. the fact that the images that guided his masturbation were of you, stuffed full, belly round, did not help him whatsoever.

kid needed you, not a half-assed masturbation session. hence why, the second his observation haki wrapped itself around your presence, he tore the door open, out-of-breath at the sight of you — a bit shocked; amused. your eyes observed the state of his workshop, and you hummed with certain delight.

“what has that poor table done to you?” you inquired with certain humor, yelping when he threw you over his shoulder, smacking your ass with his metal hand — if only to make it hurt.

“you made me wait,” he snarled, sitting on a random, overall uncomfortable chair.

“killer and i fell straight into a cave and it was a living hell to crawl out of it, besides—”

“i don’t give a fuck,” he snapped, pressing your ass against his cock. “how wet are you right now?”

you were startled, at last recovering enough to settle yourself better on his lap. kid pushed your front to meet his own, groaning the second your nipples brushed against the bare surface of his chest. the metal hand on your ass constricted your movements, and he pinched it to tether your attention to him.

“not much,” you confessed, to which he scowled. “but i can get there.”

“the hell you waiting for? move,” kid snapped, evermore demanding due to the accumulated desire.

he forced the roll of your hips, glance anchored to the sight of your cunt dragging itself on the fabric of his pants. your hands gripped his shoulders for further equilibrium, ever-growing whimpers falling past your lips once kid strained the muscles of his thigh to tease your clothed intimacy. he clenched his jaw, growing impatient at the lack of contact.

“kid,” you warned, wary upon the realization of his sudden movement.

he ignored your voice altogether, raising his hips to remove his pants. his tip was of a violent pink; leaking essence; the visible twitch of a vein. his fingers toyed with the button of your shorts, the devil-fruit powers claiming it whatsoever. the fabric slipped once the said button met the back of his metallic hand, and his other one did quite a decent job at tearing the jeans off your figure.

“push those aside,” he demanded, eyeing your underwear. “before i rip it, too.”

kid grinned gradually, observing your shrinking figure as you did as you were told. the brief dry-humping had not been enough for a proper lubrication. when one was to consider his length, preliminaries were crucial to a shared pleasurable experience. if kid was a better man, he’d keep that in mind. but he was everything but. he was selfish; demanding. his was the fist that maimed the earth, would it dare not give him what he wanted. and that was a fact he never once hid, showcasing the despicable character to those with eyes to see. you were well-aware of the man with whom you laid, so when kid positioned his tip at your entrance, dragging it through your folds, you all but had your eyes closed, shuddering in anticipation.

kid grunted as he sank you into his cock, the tip sent straight into your unprepared cervix. inches of his base stretched you out — a painful addition; a famished viper. he placed a hand on your thigh, gripping it as though his life depended on it. the sensation of your walls, clenching around his erection; gradually soaking his flesh; had him struggling to contain the tide of his cum. kid threw his head back, maiming the flesh of your ass with the metal of his fingers; leaving perceivable marks. his breathing grew labored, self-restraint leaving him altogether when he caught the sight of his tip on your stomach, lodged so deep into you, prepared to take-in all he had to offer.

you required a set of precious seconds to get used to his size, at last prepared to move. a temptive roll of your hips; the threat of a bounce. kid hissed, gripping your waist to stop you from moving. tear-stained cheeks; confused glance.

“stay still,” he snarled, observing the spot where your intimacies mingled; the entire length of him buried deep within.

he had your g-spot at reach, velvety walls embracing him; a greedy lover, clenching and teasing him to the edge. kid sat upright ever-so-slightly, burying his nose on your neck, reclaiming the scent that had vanished for an insufferable period of time. you mewled at the sudden movement, his cock tearing you in half. he felt his flesh give-in under the pressure of your nails, and had to stop himself from thrusting into you out of instinct. he felt your yearning; the throbbing around his cock. your figure trembled on his lap, his girth shoving itself deeper — and he stuck out his tongue, greedily sucking on a covered nipple, soaking the fabric of your shirt. his teeth all but chewed on said bud, and you arched your back at the touch, unable to move.

kid was an erratic lover. he had neither the time nor the patience for a slower fuck. whenever he felt the urge to have his shaft pushed inside your walls — whether it was your abused pussy or butthole — he’d strive to have you bent and bare on a table. a faster pace meant countless orgasms drew from you, and that was not a thing he was willing to abdicate. yet, as his eyes drowned into the sight of you, kid noticed how much he had been missing due to such ruthless tendencies. tears sticking to your eyelashes; the scrunch of a brow; trembling lips; a light moan born from the briefest movement of his hips.

he could see your strained obedience; how much you held back, despite craving for more. trusting that he’d be the one to handle your desperate figure and tend to the incommensurable desire. it was in the shift of your expression; your heaving breath; the wild fluttering of your heartbeat. when kid’s teeth tore through the shirt to have a closer contact to your swollen nipple, you whimpered and tugged at his hair. he had never seen a prettier sight.

“kid, please,” you pleaded, eyelids fluttering after a harsh bite. “move.”

kid’s cock twitched, and he grasped your ass; forced your hips to move ever-so-slightly as a source of relief. excruciating pace that did nothing but to punish the pair of you, and you tried to grind down despite his obstinate grip. hooded eyes failed to find a focus as your walls squeezed him twice as much as usual, increasing his pleasure and leaving you under the impression that he got bigger. kid felt as though a pathetic virgin, close to his release at the merest act of having himself lodged inside your cunt; perhaps the absence, too, had heightened the need and sensitivity. regardless, you seemed to share such a state, for your toes curled; your throat produced feeble whimpers and pleas.

kid snapped his hips, thrusting himself into you, no longer able to keep himself still. his entire length was felt at each movement, cock parting your walls from the base to the tip. kid dragged his mouth up, latching it on your neck, tasting the increasing sweat. he slammed himself harder, sensual thrusts shifting into wilder, sharper ones; your figure bouncing on his lap from how viciously he was fucking you.

“i’m going to cum inside,” he rasped, kneading your ass. “fill you up—ngh with my load.”

you moaned, nodding your head. your body jolted, the thick shaft making your eyes roll back. kid forced you to bounce deeper on him; to have your pace meet his own halfway. ever-growing ring of white adorned the crown of his tip, pale flesh lighter with the mixture of both of your essences. kid had to contain a moan at the image of you — filled to the brick with his babies; uterus carrying his legacy. he hammered himself deeper; faster; canines digging into your flesh.

“will make you a mommy,” he continued, voice muffled. “you want that.”

it was neither a question nor a proposition, rather a convicted statement. you would be the one to shelter his children, for that was what he wanted — and kid always found a way to get what he wanted.

“and if it doesn’t work, i’ll cum inside again,” kid grunted, shaft abusing your g-spot as your moans increased in height. “again, again, and again. until your goddamn blood turns white from my load.”

“please,” you cried out, holding him tighter. “please, kid, i want to cum.”

“say it,” he snapped, gripping your chin in order to force you to face him.

“i’ll be a mommy,” you sobbed, fucking yourself on his cock. “i want to have your babies, i want—ah!”

all thoughts of taking it slow had vanished from his mind as kid thrusted his girth into you with a strength enough to make you shriek. his balls constricted before he found himself cumming, the sound of your name a poison that dripped from his tongue. kid was lost in the haze of his own orgasm, ruthless pace; unrelenting movements of his hips. he had half-the-mind to caught on the feeling of your own, warm essence drowning his member, mingling itself with his load.

“too much,” you shouted, but his mind was wrapped itself in the thought of his cum, traveling inside; striving towards your — for now — empty womb.

kid pushed your back on the broken table, figure falling forward until he hovered above you, cock still secured inside.

“you’ll take it, brat,” he smirked, his palm applying pressure on your stomach. “you’ll only leave this workshop once i’m sure you’re pregnant — and unable to walk.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : kinktober is super fun (im feeling like the white rabbit looking at his clock and running and screaming while shouting I’M LATE I’M LATE).

[hatsbuckets]

You know cuteness aggression? Okay I've got to post about this because auhsdfkjahdg

So. I think it is so funny that I get cuteness aggression with my military contract buddies who at this point are these like, six-foot guys who eat like bears and have the metabolism of a, well, 20 something year old man who's going into the military. And they all run laps around me when we work out. Could easily send my ass flying. They're attractive men, strong, capable, intelligent. I've seen them mad, and I've seen them goofing off. TLDR: big strong masculine guys, in my head, adorable little guys who just :)))

Anyway, that but with the 141. because they've all seen the HorrorsTM, but like they're adorbs. cod headcanons

Price: The kind of man who walks into a room and everyone straightens up—even ghosts. That voice alone could make a grown man confess to a crime he didn’t commit. He commands respect, strategy pouring off him in waves, like he’s always two steps ahead and already thinking five moves past that. But then he calls someone “son” or ruffles Soap’s hair with a fond grunt, and your heart does a stupid little backflip. He's got that small little smile that makes his nose scrunch and his eyes wrinkle. He looks like he gives warm, solid hugs that smell like tobacco and rain. He’s the kind of dangerous that comes with deep, quiet love. You see him smirk at a teammate’s dumb joke and suddenly your brain screams, “You’re too powerful. Too cute. Sit down. I need to wrap you in a blanket, squeeze that lovely waist, and make you tea before I scream.”

Ghost: Unsettling by default—calm in a way that is more threat than comfort. He moves like smoke and has the stare of a man who’s seen things (he has), a man who's crawled through hell and back to the light of day… he has this subtle, dry humor that sneaks up on you. You’ll catch him giving Soap the side-eye while sipping coffee like the long-suffering lieutenant that he is. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, he just slides a protein bar into your hand and mutters something like “Didn’t eat today, did you?” in a way that makes your chest hurt. The mask doesn’t hide his warmth, it makes it more intense when it shows. You’ll be minding your business and he says something quietly caring and suddenly you’re thinking, “Oh my god, I’m going to tackle you. Bite you. I’m going to hug you so hard and bury my face so deep into your chest it counts as a threat.”

Gaz: Gaz is quiet competence and sharp eyes, the guy who notices everything and makes it look easy. He cares so deeply, wants it to be right. Wants to do good with a passion something fierce. Kills and moves and learns and fights. Protects. He’s got your back without asking, pulls you out of danger with a firm hand and a quick, “I’ve got you.” He fights like a soldier and jokes like a best friend, charming without trying and always ready to remind someone to hydrate. But then he grins, full and bright, like sunshine through storm clouds, and you’re left staring like an idiot. He calls you “mate” in that soft London accent and you consider violence, affectionate violence, because how dare he be so good at everything and sweet? You’d trust him with your life—and also want to flick the brim of his cap for making your chest feel all warm and weird.

Soap: Johnny is the walking embodiment of chaotic sunshine strapped to a rocket launcher. He’ll laugh mid-gunfight, throw out a bad pun after a breaching charge, and wink like he didn’t just take out a sniper two clicks out. He’s got that devil-may-care grin—but then he says something insightful that shows he’s been watching, listening, really caring, and it knocks you on your ass. You’ll watch this strong, agile, tactically trained man do a parkour move off a wall and immediately trip over his own shoelace, and all you can think is, “I will kiss your forehead and strangle you and tug on that stupid mohawk and squish your cheeks.” He is somehow every golden retriever in a tactical vest and you love him for it.

Anyway, okay byeeeeee

[cosmos-coma]

My Sun, My Star

A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6756

Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??

Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

________________

Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat. 

You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.

“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him. 

“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup. 

“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.” 

You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.  

‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’  you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send. 

“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held. 

“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.

Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner. 

----

Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation. 

“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?” 

“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again. 

“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“SAM.” 

“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”

No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.

He should’ve listened. 

It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried. 

“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.  

“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms. 

“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet. 

They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten. 

He should have listened. 

Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung. 

At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn. 

“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake. 

“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over. 

Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.  

“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”

Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him. 

“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.” 

Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be. 

But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.

“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.

The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click. 

As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.

“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend. 

However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.

---

The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead. 

His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.

The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence. 

The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.

With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door. 

His door.

Your door.

The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.

A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?

“Hmmph”  

His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached. 

The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise. 

His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.  

“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.

Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour. 

With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently. 

“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.

His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.

His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question. 

A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.

“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.

 You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.

So much for that

Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.

Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away. 

With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more. 

Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal. 

Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body. 

But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin. 

His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning? 

“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.

“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him. 

“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better. 

“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.

A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.

His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin. 

“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.

But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission. 

Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not. 

“Oh. I-” 

CRASH.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere. 

Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on. 

Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?

“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands. 

“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.

You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, 

His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way. 

He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”

Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room. 

“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden- 

BANG.

“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet. 

You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways. 

Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid. 

You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again. 

“No…!”

A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air. 

Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.

“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team. 

“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.

“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again. 

“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”

“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.

“Sol-”

“Мое солнце  [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive. 

“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive. 

“I can’t do this without you…” 

The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.” 

A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].” 

You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague. 

Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get you two to the tower…” 

----

The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab. 

Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.

“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work. 

“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly. 

You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.

"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.

“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.

You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.

He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.

He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?

"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.

But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."

Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."

The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.

Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.

A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.

"Yes?"

“Is it time…?”

You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.

You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.

He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?” 

Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.

 It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss. 

But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….” 

-----

You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head. 

“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…” 

“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”

You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you���re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.

Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye. 

Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.

“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.

He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began. 

You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry. 

“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.

“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.

Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”

_____________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)

It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 19 - Yandere!Fallen Angel!Yunho + Possession & Size

@whatudowhennooneseesyou Said: Can I pls request- Stalker/yandere Yunho (however far you want to take it) Possessiveness (duh) + size kink (also duh it's Yunho) You can turn the Yunho request into a fallen/corrupt Angel AU if you wish! A/n: In my defence, I wasn't expecting this to get this long lmaoo Also, peek the hint that OC might not be all human, too 👀 Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Yandere, Possession, Monstrous Features, Mention of Violence, Blood, and a bit of Angst to start Word Count: 4,550 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

Months. 

It’s taken him months to get where he is now with you, and oh, how sweet it all is. He knew his patience would be rewarded, and now, nothing shall ever come between you again. After all, they took everything from him. Everything but you.

You were his last salvation; his saving grace in a world that turned its back on him long ago. He wouldn’t let them take you, too. He couldn’t.

The fall only made him stronger. No longer was Yunho bound by the same morals and laws that governed him when he was one of the sacred. Now, he was free to do whatever he pleased, and he was not afraid to let himself indulge.

There was no limit to what he might do, especially when it concerned you.

Of course, you only saw the best parts of him at first. The good behaviours he specifically curated to make you fall for him, just as he had fallen for you long ago. There was no way he would shroud your world in darkness, let alone be the cause of it. You only saw what he wanted you to see, and he would never show you just how red his hand have been stained for you.

You, and only you.

No, Yunho would never hurt you. He would rather face a thousand more falls from grace only to have his wings finally torn out than lift a single finger against you. However, that’s not to say he’s not above influencing your perception of him.

Alas, beautiful facades can only last so long, and Yunho found this out the hard way. He never intended for you to catch him that night, but all good things must come to an end.

Only… it didn’t.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have pictured what had happened next.

Instead of running away from him in fear, you walked closer. Your shoes left bloody footprints imprinted on the stone, leading all the way up to the alter where Yunho had been frozen in fear. His eyes were wide, chest barely rising and falling as his heart pounded beneath his ribcage.

Not even his fall from grace was as painstaking a moment as this.

White feathers littered the pews, stained red with blood. Viscera and chunks of flesh torn asunder littered the once polished wooden floors, stained glass shattered all around.

A tear of blood streaked down the stone cold cheek of Mother Mary, mirroring the way a single tear cut through the blood and grime splattered on his own. Your name but a broken plea upon his lips.

“Yunho.”

His name was deafening. A condemnation from the only person he’s ever loved. The only person he will ever love.

He closed his eyes, unable to bear witness to the devastation that was surely about to befall him once more.

The moment he felt your gentle hands cup his cheeks, brushing his tears away, he flinched.

“Look at me.”

It took him a moment, and a little more coaxing from you, but he finally cracked his eyes open to meet your own.

Yunho had not experienced fear like this before. A being such as himself was not capable of it, nor has he ever cared enough to bother with something as trivial as paranoia. Remorse and regret have also never crossed his mind. Every action was always his own to make, and he readily stood by each, fully prepared to face the consequences.

The instant he looked into your eyes, he broke.

“I’m sorry.” The words were but a wail upon his lips, falling to his knees as he clung to your hands for support. Sobs wracked his whole body, resting his forehead upon the backs of your palms as he begged for forgiveness. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

A frown briefly furrowed your brow. “End?”

“I never wanted you to see me like this.” His voice was barely above a whisper, clinging to you for dear life as if you may disappear at a moment’s notice.

“Like how?” Your head tilted curiously. “The real you?”

His throat worked as he swallowed thickly.

“Yunho, if I had been worried about seeing the real you, I wouldn’t have followed you here.” Carefully, you brush some bloodied strands of hair out of his face.

He lifted his head, the most dangerous of emotions shining in his eyes.

Hope.

“You-“ He swallowed thickly once more. “You’re not scared?”

“You know… sometimes when you stare into darkness,” a small, knowing smile had pulled at your lips, “It stares back.”

Yunho’s breath had caught at how dark your eyes had gotten then, his heart fluttering inside of his chest. The fact that you had found him like this, had seen the worst parts of him, and stayed, only made him fall that much deeper for you. Finally, someone had accepted him. All of him. 

It was then that he decided that if he couldn’t have you, then no one could. After all, how was he to know that instead of turning away from him, you would embrace his darkness with your own?

No longer did Yunho have to hide himself from you. No longer did he have to monitor how he presented himself, or hide how willing he always is to do anything and everything for you.

Now, you will always know the full extent of his love. You will understand just how far he is willing to go for you. How far he’s always been willing to go.

You are his, and he is yours. Nothing - no one - will ever come between.

Yunho is a very passionate being. Nothing is done half-heartedly, giving his all to you at every opportunity. Never does he want you to doubt where his loyalties lie. You own his heart, just as he is sure to own yours.

There are many events in which excite him. Events which cause his heart to race and his eyes to fill with that undeniable hunger and darkness for you. A craving only you can satisfy. Yet, no feeling is as glorious as having you pinned beneath him, his massive wingspan flared out and blanketing you both in shadows.

His body looms over you, lips pressed against your own in a passionate kiss as he settles between your thighs. The moment you wrap your legs around his waist, he rolls his hips into your own, chest rumbling at the whimper you let out.

Your one hand is tangled in his hair, the other pressing against the skin of his bare back in order to pull him in closer to you. Red lines begin to mar his flesh, wings fluttering as you scratch your nails harshly down his back.

His own touch is neither gentle, nor slow, hands slipping beneath the material of your shirt and pushing it upwards. His fingertips dig into your skin, making quick work of your clothing as he tears the offending fabric from your body. 

A pleased growl echoes around the room as he pulls back to take in the sight of you, naked and exposed, beneath him. His eyes shine with that all too familiar darkness, a primal sort of desperation hiding within.

His chest heaves, gaze raking over your body eagerly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he towers over you, hands still gripping you firmly and ensuring you cannot escape him.

Not that you’d want to, anyways.

“You’re fucking perfect, Angel.” Yunho’s voice is but a low drawl as he slides his hands down your thighs. “Fucking perfect, and all mine.”

A soft moan parts your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you revel beneath his heated gaze. Subconsciously, your hips jerk against his, aching for him to touch you where you need him most.

“Yunho-” You choke on a whine, beginning to squirm as you watch his wings twitch above you. “Yunho please.”

“What is it, My Salvation?” He hums, almost mockingly. Tilting his head to the side, the corner of his lips quirks upwards. His thumbs trace soft circles over your thighs, hands stilling as he stares down at you. “Is your pretty pussy aching for my cock?”

A whine escapes you, back arching lightly from the bed. Your hands immediately find purchase around his wrists, holding onto him in attempts to pull him back into you.

“Ah-ah,” He tuts, his eyes shining in glee. “You know the rules.”

Another whimper escapes you, clenching around nothing in desperation.

Almost instantly, Yunho catches the movement, a smirk settling onto his features.

“Please, Yun,” Your nails dig into his skin, continuing to try and pull him in closer to you. “I need you. I need you to touch me. You, and only you.”

A pleased hum escapes him, his fingers slowly sliding upwards and along your inner thighs.

“Keep talking.”

Again, you squirm beneath his touch, heart fluttering as you see his wings flare out behind him.

“Need your fingers in this tight little pussy,” You whine, tilting your head slightly as you put your whole body on display for him. “Need your thick cock buried deep inside me and splitting me in two.”

His fingers tease at the innermost part of your thighs, gaze locked onto your cunt. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, cock twitching as he watches you drip down your ass just from the mere thought of him touching you.

“And?” Briefly, his gaze flicks up to meet your own, hands sliding down beneath your ass before pushing your thighs up towards your chest.

Your breath hitches slightly, letting out a small whine in the next moment. Your eyes are pleading, toes curling lightly in anticipation as you clench hard at the position you now find yourself in.

“Yunho-“

“Come on, Angel. You know better than that.”

Each movement is precise as he lowers himself between your legs. His hot breath brushes over your core with every exhale he makes, but still, he keeps his distance.

“Yunho-“ Your voice boarders on a whimper, hands desperately covering his as he holds you open for him. “Baby, please.”

His brow quirks, amusement shining in his eyes. The corner of his lips pull upwards as he noses along the inside of your thigh.

“What’re the magic words?”

You clench once more as you feel him flick his tongue out against your skin. Already, your chest heaves, rising and falling dramatically with every breath as you squeeze your eyes shut. Taking a stuttering breath in, the admission you know that he’s been patiently waiting for finally falls from your lips.

“My pretty pussy is all yours to ruin.”

The grin that stretches across his face is nothing short of predatory.

“Good Girl.”

A tender kiss is placed onto the skin of your inner thigh before Yunho finally closes the distance between you. He wastes no time nuzzling against you, nose parting your folds as his tongue flicks out to taste that sweet nectar that pours from between your legs.

Eagerly, he drinks you in, moaning at your taste. His eyes never once leave your own, tongue dipping between your folds before shifting to flick against that swollen little nub. Not even a moment later, he wraps his lips around your clit, suckling at you as his fingers dig into your skin.

His hands hold you open, pushing your legs towards your chest as he buries himself in you. Nothing but primal lust and love can be seen in his gaze as he watches you toss your head back onto the pillows, greedily pulling you in closer to him with every sound you make.

Languidly, his tongue circles over your clit before placing a few chaste kisses against that sensitive little bud. A pleased hum escapes him as he laves his tongue back down to your entrance, groaning at the feel of you clenching around him. Already, he can feel you dripping down his chin, pushing in closer to thrust his tongue as deep as he can into your tight little cunt. 

The way your hips begin to grind against his face has him growling in content.

Your hands cling onto his own over the backs of your thighs, right beneath the crooks of your knees. Loud, keening moans escape you as your back arches lightly from the bed. Each flick of his tongue against your clit has your eyes rolling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Already, you feel like you’re about to tip right over the edge.

“Yunho-“ Your voice catches as you choke on a moan. “Fuck- just like that, Baby.”

A pleased hum against you is all you receive in response, his tongue delving between your folds and swirling lightly against your entrance. His dark eyes drink in your every reaction, wings flaring out over you and covering your body in a soft canopy of the deepest void.

He laves his mouth over your cunt, as if he were kissing you, suckling every drop of you that you provide. His tongue eagerly parts you, wrapping his lips around that pert little bud of yours before he starts to suck on your clit. Hard.

Cries of ecstasy fill the room as your back arches from the bed. Your eyes roll, orgasm crashing into you as your whole body shakes. His name is all you can say between your whimpers and whines, his mouth unrelenting on your pussy as he flicks his tongue over your clit.

Your walls continue to spasm as he buries two of his fingers deep inside of you without warning.

Yunho’s eyes flutter in bliss, feeling the way your wet warmth squeezes so delicately around his fingers as he curls them inside of you. He’s barely given you any time to recover from your previous orgasm, his eyes sharp as they glint hungrily beneath the darkness of the room.

He needs to see you fall apart for him again.

Him, and only him.

“More.” He growls out against you, letting your legs fall to rest over his shoulders.

The way your thighs instantly threaten to close around his head has his wings twitching, feathers rustling as they dance above you.

By now, his one hand has found purchase on your waist, pulling you into him as he pumps his fingers into you. The wet squelch he can hear every time he sinks his digits deep within your precious cunt has his cock throbbing against the mattress. 

Slowly, he begins grinding his hips in time with the movements of his fingers in you.

Nothing but incoherent whines and moans fall from your lips, eyes glazing as the pleasure flooding through your veins begins to consume you. Somehow you still manage to tangle one of your hands in his hair, pulling him in even closer as you chase that second high building just beneath the surface.

A feeling that you know only he can provide for you.

A feeling you only want him to provide.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you bring your free hand up to muffle your cries, cheeks heating at how loud he’s making you from the simplest of touches.

Something within him snaps, and a sharp smack is given to the skin of your upper thigh. His fingers still as he parts from you, lips curling over his suddenly sharp teeth.

“Don’t you dare fucking cover your mouth.” He snarls, black pupils nearly melting outwards and bathing the whites of his eyes in the darkest void. “I want to hear every fucking sound I elicit from you.”

Your eyes go wide, never having experienced such an intensity from him before. Without thinking, you nod your head, lowering your hand back to your side and gripping the sheets firmly between your fingers.

Yunho hums, curling his fingers gently within you. “That’s My Girl.”

The way you clench around him only makes him chuckle.

“Oh? What’s this?” He hums, taking his time to massage your inner walls as his thumb comes up to circle your clit. “Does My Girl like it when I call her mine?”

Shamelessly, a moan tumbles from your lips, clenching around him once more.

“Good.” Yunho licks his lips, pumping his fingers languidly in and out of you. “Because I love getting to call her mine.”

Another moan slips passed your parted lips, chest heaving as you attempt to catch your breath.

His wings flutter above you as he holds your gaze.

“My Pretty Girl.” He coos, turning to nip at the skin of your thigh. “My Perfect Salvation.”

His fingers press a bit firmer against your walls, lips curling upwards as he sees you twitch beneath him when massaging over such a tender spot inside of you. His thumb circles over your clit, pressing firmly over that sensitive little bud as his fingers continue to work at that spot.

“All for me.” His voice deepens, bordering on a low growl. “Only ever for me.”

“Yours.” You manage to get out, hips beginning to grind against him in time with his movements.

A pleased coo fills the air, his chest rumbling as he begins to trail kisses up your thigh.

“That’s right, Angel.” He nips at your skin. “You’re mine.”

The moment he says those words, that pressure within you snaps. Your back is arching off of the bed once more, whole body shaking as your release washes over you. Nothing but desperate moans escape you, crying out his name in bliss as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your chest heaves with every breath, attempting to ground yourself while your head drowns in bliss.

Slowly, Yunho stills his fingers within you, his thumb stopping over your clit. The smile he wears is nothing short of pleased, his eyes hooded as he watches you succumb to the ecstasy he provides. The ecstasy he is more than willing to always provide.

More kisses are placed against your thigh as he slips his fingers from you, humming contently as he watches a string of your release cling to his skin. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he’s eagerly sucking his fingers into his mouth, eyes fluttering as he tastes you on his tongue.

“Fucking perfect.” He groans, wings shaking in bliss as he settles them behind his back.

A soft moan is all you offer him in response, eyes hooded as you watch his every movement. Finally, your breathing is starting to even out despite your mind still being in a blissful haze.

Blinking a few times as Yunho shifts to remove his pants, you finally feel as if you’ve come back to your body. Humming, you push yourself up, admiring the work of art before you as he stands in front of you. The way he languidly pumps his leaking cock after kicking off such offending material that sought to hide him from you has you licking your lips.

Your lips quirk upwards in the corners as you push yourself onto your knees, crawling towards him slowly.

Immediately, Yunho recognizes that look of hunger in your eyes, and he cannot help but to chuckle. His hand strokes over his cock as he stands at the end of the bed, watching on with nothing but amusement as you settle before him on your hands and knees.

Flicking your gaze upwards, you meet his eyes before darting out your tongue against the tip of his cock.

A low moan escapes him, his one hand reaching out to cup you beneath your chin.

“Not tonight, Angel.” His thumb gently traces over your bottom lip. “If I don’t bury myself inside of you in the next thirty seconds I may just go insane.”

A soft giggle escapes you, whole body heating as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Fine.” You sigh dramatically, pulling away from him with a playful roll to your eyes. “I just wanted a chance to claim My Man.”

A visible shudder travels up his spine, and you notice how he has to close his eyes to calm himself.

The corner of your lips pulls upwards in a smirk.

“Go sit in your chair, Angel.” You motion to the corner where his large leather antique chair resides with your head. “I want to watch you fall apart beneath me.”

Something primal flashes within his eyes, his chest rumbling with a pleased groan. He doesn’t even need to think twice before he begins backing himself towards the chair without even looking at where he’s going. No, his gaze is fixated on you.

Always, only ever you.

Slowly, you stand from the bed, loving the way he rakes his gaze over your body. You revel in the way he licks his lips, falling back into his chair and watching as his wings flutter out behind him. The best part is how you can see his stomach tense, cock twitching as you stalk towards him.

The moment you settle your thighs on either side of him, his hands are on your waist. His fingers dig into your skin, eyes locked on your figure as he pulls you in closer.

He licks his lips.

Lovingly, your fingers trace over his shoulders. You can feel him shiver beneath your touch, a pleasant hum escaping you as you slide your hands down his chest, admiring every inch of him before you.

“So handsome, Yuyu,” You coo, teasingly scraping your nails over his skin as you settle yourself directly over his cock. The way that you’re already dripping onto his cock has him twitching against your core. “So handsome, and all mine.”

His hips jerk upwards, a low moan escaping his lips. 

“All yours, Angel.” His breathing deepens, eyes hooding over as you begin grinding yourself lightly over his lap. “I’ll always only ever be yours, as you will always only ever be mine.”

Another pleased hum escapes you, sliding your hands up to settle back on his shoulders. Your fingers dig into his skin, steadying yourself over him as you lean in. Your noses brush, lips barely touching as you finally wrap your arms around him.

“I will always only ever be yours.” You breathe out, pressing your lips to his.

Immediately, Yunho is leaning into your kiss, desperate to feel all of you against all of him. Your one hand tangles in his hair, tugging at the locks as the other slides down his chest. His hands squeeze your hips, sliding down to grip your ass as he feels you grab his cock, pumping him a few times before lining him up with your entrance.

Slowly, you begin to sink down on his cock.

The moment his tip slips passed your folds, he moans, fingers tightening on your ass. His nails dig into your skin, wings surrounding the both of you and creating a safe haven for just the two of you.

Nothing but darkness surrounds you as you fully sheath him inside of you, moaning at the stretch. Your walls clench around him, stomach flipping pleasantly as you feel him filling you, the tip of his cock pressing so delicately against such a sensitive spot inside of you.

“So fucking big, Baby,” You coo, lashes fluttering as you feel him buried within your cunt. “Fits perfectly every time.”

“You were made for me, and I for you.” He breathes out, lifting you gently over his cock only to help you sink back down over him in the next second.

A strangled moan escapes you, clenching hard around him as you begin to move over him with his help. Your one hand tugs at his hair, the other coming up to cup his cheek as you press your forehead to his.

“Mine.” You whimper, setting a steady pace as you begin to bounce on his cock.

A pleased snarl escapes him, leaning further into you as he squeezes your ass.

“Yours.” His one hand trails up your back, pressing you flush against him as his wings begin to shake around you. “Always, all yours.”

A shameless moan of his name falls from you, eyes rolling as he fills you to the brim each time you sink down on his cock. His words make your head spin, the ravenous hunger behind his dark gaze causing your walls to flutter each time you look at him.

That familiar pressure begins building in your lower abdomen, drowning in his touch as he helps you bounce on his cock. You can feel him twitch deep inside of you, deep moans and growls escaping him as he watches your every expression closely. The way he throws his head back in pleasure briefly captivates you, just as you always captivate him.

You whimper, the head of his cock hitting that special spot deep within you each time.

Something within himself snaps as he watches you keen above him. In an instant, you find yourself pinned beneath him on the bed. His hips set a brutal pace, wings flaring out behind him as he traps you beneath his large form.

“Who do you belong to?” His voice is but a guttural snarl, hands pinning your wrists above your head.

“Yunho-“ The gasp you let out gets caught in your throat as he buries himself deep within you with each thrust. A crazed and desperate look shines deep within his eyes, only causing you to clench hard around him, already feeling yourself leaking down your thighs.

“Who?” His voice booms out, the whole house shaking around you.

A scream of his name tears from your throat, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your back arches, chest pressing firmly against his own as you squeeze around his cock, your orgasm flooding your veins and drowning your very being in ecstasy.

“You!” Your whole body shakes as you writhe beneath his touch. “I belong to no one but you!”

The moment those words escape your lips, Yunho is burying himself deep within you. He stills above you, flooding your cunt with his own release. His wings flare out behind him, guttural moans and groans of your name filling the air as he collapses on top of you.

Lazily, he grinds himself into you, loving the way he can feel your combined releases dripping out of your tight hole. He buries his face into the side of your neck, wings wrapping around you both softly as he releases his hold on your wrists.

Instantly, your arms are around him, one hand stroking over his back while the other combs lightly through his hair. Your chest heaves, attempting to catch your breath as you ground yourself to him. The way he wraps his own arms tightly around you makes you smile.

A tender kiss is placed directly over your pulse. “I love you.”

A soft hum escapes you, hugging him to your chest. “Love you, too.”

Happily, Yunho nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. His own arms tighten around you, ensuring that you cannot go anywhere for the time being.

“Mine.”

A soft chuckle shakes your chest, fingers continuing to thread gently through his hair. Shifting slightly, you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead.

Yunho’s chest rumbles in contentment, turning his head to peek up at you lovingly through his lashes.

“Yours.” You smile. “Always and forever, yours.”

[helvegen-s]

step by step

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: After a devastating crash, Oscar Piastri’s road back to F1 is anything but smooth. Stuck with Mandy, his stubborn physiotherapist, he’s forced to face pain, fear, and emotions he never expected. Racing was always his dream—but now, she’s part of it too.

Word count: 12k (wtf)

TW: graphic depictions of injuries, medical procedures, strong language, emotional distress and trauma, disability, sex (not explicit)

A/N: god, I love oscar (even tho i make him suffer like a bitch in this one...) again, i promise it has a good ending, just bear with me

masterlist

Oscar Piastri was living the best moment of his career.

McLaren had made an incredible leap in performance, and though he wasn’t the main title contender, he was constantly fighting for podiums and key points. The season was a dream come true—strategies were working, his confidence in the car was absolute, and the team supported him every step of the way. There was nothing better than feeling that rush of adrenaline when lowering the visor, hearing the countdown on the radio before the start. Everything in his life revolved around Formula 1, and at that moment, nothing seemed capable of stopping him.

It was a race weekend at Spa-Francorchamps. The track, legendary and imposing, always demanded the absolute maximum. Rain had been a constant threat, and the race had started under mixed conditions, with the asphalt in that tricky in-between state—neither fully wet nor fully dry—that tested a driver’s instincts to the limit. Oscar felt in control, managing the tires with surgical precision, confident in every move.

Until he wasn’t.

The crash happened in an instant, a blink that changed everything. An unexpected touch, the car losing control, the barrier approaching at impossible speed.

The impact shook him like a rag doll. The crunch of twisted metal, the deafening crack of carbon shattering, the sheer violence of hitting the barriers—all of it collapsed into a single second of absolute terror.

And then, silence.

He didn’t lose consciousness. He wished he had.

The world slowed down, as if time itself refused to move forward. The pain didn’t come immediately, as if his body hadn’t yet figured out how to process what had just happened. But when it did, it was a burning wave that consumed him entirely.

His leg.

He tried to move, but he couldn’t. Something was wrong—very wrong. With difficulty, he turned his head and saw it. His right leg… bent at an impossible angle. His stomach lurched. He felt bile rising in his throat but could barely breathe. The blood darkened the bright orange of his suit, sticky, hot. His mind screamed, but his body didn’t respond.

“Oscar! Oscar, say something!” His engineer’s voice came through the radio, sharp and desperate.

He tried to answer. Tried to tell them he was there, that it hurt like hell, that he couldn’t move… but his throat made no sound. He could only gasp, feeling the pain expand, the panic grow with every beat of his heart.

“Oscar, respond! Can you hear me?” this time, he heard Zak’s voice.

Every second of silence only made the desperation on the radio worse. He knew they were all watching from the pit wall, that the cameras were on him, that the entire world was waiting for a sign.

But he couldn’t give them one.

Fear hit him harder than the impact against the barriers. His career, his life, everything he knew… was it over?

A violent spasm of pain made him clench his teeth so hard he thought they would break. His vision blurred. He heard noises around him—the screech of the safety cars, the hurried footsteps of the marshals running toward him, the sharp ringing in his ears.

“Oscar! We’re on our way! Don’t move!”

The emergency team arrived in seconds, though to him, it felt like an eternity. Firm hands touched his helmet.

“Oscar, breathe. We’re here.”

Breathe.

He tried, but the air came in ragged, shaky gasps. His chest rose and fell too quickly, like he was hyperventilating, but he couldn’t control it. Everything around him was a whirlwind of noise, flashing lights, faces he couldn’t focus on.

They pulled him from the car with the utmost care, but every movement sent unbearable pain through him. A strangled cry escaped his throat, and the voices around him became even more urgent.

Then the helicopter.

He felt it before he saw it. The pounding of the rotors in the air, the deafening roar that made his skull vibrate. He shut his eyes tightly. His body was shaking—he wasn’t sure if it was from the pain, the adrenaline, or pure terror.

Someone placed a mask over his face.

“Oscar, count to ten for me.”

One.

He thought of his wrecked car.

Two.

Of the leg he might never use again.

Three.

Of everything that was at stake.

Four.

Of the fear—the real fear—that maybe, just maybe, he would never be a driver again.

Five.

Darkness.

The days blurred into one another, indistinguishable, trapped in an endless cycle of pain and emptiness.

Surgeries followed one after another. Some days passed without intervention; on others, he woke up to the news that another operation had been scheduled—another attempt to save what was left of his leg.

It was absurd.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him how severe the injury was. He had known from the moment he saw the way his leg had been left in the car, from the instant he felt the indescribable pain as they pulled him out, from the way the doctors spoke in urgent terms, as if every second mattered.

Each surgery was a battle he had never asked to fight.

They administered anesthesia, his body sank into unconsciousness, and when he woke up… everything was still the same.

The same pain, the same feeling of being trapped in a body that no longer responded as it once had.

The same damn certainty that maybe, no matter how many operations they performed, he would never be the same again.

Sometimes, he woke up from the anesthesia feeling confused, disoriented, his mouth dry and his stomach churning. They tried to make him eat, but everything tasted like nothing. The food remained untouched on the tray as he simply turned his head away, unable to even attempt it.

The pain was a constant, a searing presence that settled deep in his bones and refused to let him breathe. The painkillers barely helped, and when they did, they left him in a lethargic state where reality and dreams blurred together in an unpleasant haze.

The only certainty was the passing of the days, marked by the doctors’ visits, by the sound of his own pulse in his ears, by the way night fell without him feeling like he had moved forward in any way.

Nothing.

That was the word that defined his existence now.

Nothing to think about, nothing to do, nothing to look forward to.

Only pain. Only uncertainty. Only the echo of a future that, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure still belonged to him.

The hospital clock marked time with cruel precision, each second dragging by like a silent sentence. Light filtered through the window at different times of the day, casting shadows on the white walls, but he never looked away from it.

Looking at anything else meant facing reality.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

His world had shrunk to that sterile room, to the machines beeping around him, to the soft murmurs of doctors coming and going, to the sound of doors opening when someone came to visit.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t look.

He didn’t have the strength to.

His mother had tried to talk to him at first. So had Lando. His childhood friends, the McLaren mechanics, Zak Brown… they all came in with the same worried expressions, with the same look of someone who wanted to say something but didn’t dare to.

He never looked at them.

He couldn’t do it without feeling a raw, burning anger in his chest. He couldn’t listen to them without the frustration building up like a knot in his throat. He couldn’t bear the weight of their concern, their pity.

Because if he did, it meant this was real.

It meant his career was in danger.

That his life was no longer his own.

That he was trapped in a bed, unable to move his own leg without feeling such unbearable pain that sometimes he wished they would put him to sleep and not wake him up until it was all over.

He clenched his jaw every time sharp, stabbing pain shot through his body, every time his leg—or what was left of it—reminded him of his own fragility. The doctors spoke of progress, of successful surgeries, of rehabilitation plans, but it all felt distant, irrelevant.

He knew that at some point, he would have to face it. That eventually, someone would force him to move, to try, to do something other than just lie there, feeling himself wither away.

But not today.

Today, he only stared out the window, lost in thoughts that ate away at him from the inside.

He replayed every second of the accident, like a broken film looping in his mind over and over again.

Could he have avoided it? Could he have turned sooner? Braked differently?

His brain tortured him with every possibility, every alternative, every little thing he could have done to not end up here.

To not be… this.

To not feel like a useless, broken piece of flesh.

And then she arrived.

The first time he saw her, Oscar barely lifted his gaze.

He heard her voice before he saw her—clear, firm, with not a hint of hesitation.

"Oscar, I’m Amanda, your physiotherapist. From now on, we’ll be working together."

He didn’t respond. He had no intention of doing so.

But then she stepped closer, placed a few papers on the table next to his bed, and waited. Not with endless patience, not with the forced sweetness he had noticed in other visitors. She simply waited.

And when he didn’t react, she continued.

"I know you probably hate me. Everyone does at first."

That, at least, made him look at her.

She wasn’t what he expected.

She wasn’t the image of an older therapist, hardened by years of experience. She wasn’t someone who radiated the wisdom of decades in the profession. She was young. Incredibly young to be standing there, to be the one McLaren had hired to fix him.

But she didn’t seem uncertain. Not even for a second.

She didn’t smile, didn’t try to soften her words. She simply looked at him with an impenetrable professionalism.

Oscar didn’t know what he had expected from the person who was supposed to give him his life back, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

It wasn’t someone who introduced herself with that much confidence, who spoke with that much honesty.

It wasn’t someone who, with complete calmness, made it clear that the worst was still ahead.

The sessions started the next day.

And within hours, she became the embodiment of his worst nightmare.

The pain was unbearable.

Oscar thought he knew physical suffering. He had felt it after minor accidents, after grueling races, after brutal training sessions. But this… this was different.

This had no purpose. No satisfying end. It wasn’t the consequence of something great, but of something that had taken everything from him.

“Move it.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I. Can’t.”

“Oscar.”

He hated the way she said his name. As if she had absolute certainty that he would succeed. As if she knew more about him than he did himself.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried, unsuccessfully, to move his leg. A single centimeter felt like a monumental task, and every time he tried, the pain blurred his vision.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t offer empty words of comfort. She didn’t try to minimize his suffering.

She just waited.

Waited for him to try again.

And when he did—when he managed even the slightest progress—she nodded ever so slightly, as if she had expected nothing less.

She never praised him. Never told him he was doing a good job.

As if, to her, getting better wasn’t an option, but an inevitable fact.

Oscar hated that. He hated the certainty with which she believed in his recovery, because he didn’t believe in it himself.

But more than anything, he hated how, despite it all, every morning when he woke up, she was still there.

Always there.

Always with that same determined look.

Always with that same certainty.

Oscar didn’t know what was worse—the pain or the feeling that, somehow, she had no intention of letting him fall, when all he wanted was to let go.

When Oscar left the hospital, he didn’t feel relief.

He had expected that being back to his home in England, near the McLaren headquarters,would make everything easier. That the air wouldn’t smell of antiseptic, that his days wouldn’t be dictated by visiting hours and surgeries, that he could find some peace in the familiarity of his home.

But reality was different.

Being home meant facing life outside the hospital, and that terrified him.

His mother was there with him, helping with everything he needed. She never complained, never made him feel like a burden, but that only made things worse.

This place had once been his sanctuary. Now, every corner felt like a reminder of what he had lost.

Especially the garage.

He had turned that space into his personal gym back when he would spend hours training relentlessly. Now, that same space had been transformed into his rehabilitation room. The weights and machines were covered in dust, replaced by support bars, resistance bands, and a therapy table.

And Amanda—Mandy, as his mother insisted on calling her—was there every day.

She entered with the same energy she had at the hospital, unfazed by his silence or his bad mood. She greeted his mother with a smile before dragging Oscar’s chair to the garage, waiting for him to start the session.

And he did, because he had no choice.

The exercises were unbearable.

The pain burned.

Every time he tried to move, his leg felt like someone was driving a red-hot iron through it.

And Mandy showed no mercy.

“Up,” she ordered, arms crossed. “One more time.”

Oscar gritted his teeth and glared at her.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Mandy, for fuck’s sake…”

“Oscar, for fuck’s sake.”

He let out a sarcastic laugh, incredulous.

She didn’t budge. She never did.

At night, when he dragged himself back to bed, exhausted and aching, he swore he hated her.

But no matter what he did or said, the next morning, she was always there.

Waiting.

But without a doubt, what he hated most about rehab were the days when Mandy helped him lie down on the therapy table, his right leg lifted, pink scars in plain sight.

Oscar hated these moments.

Not because they were the most painful—he reserved that for the rehab sessions where Mandy made him sweat until his muscles trembled—but because they left him completely exposed.

The massage sessions were necessary. He knew that. His leg had been through too many surgeries, too many stitches, too many hours of immobility. The skin was tight over the scars, the muscles stiff, and every movement reminded him that he wasn’t the same as before. Mandy said they needed to work on elasticity, circulation, pain relief. He listened to her say it in that neutral, almost dispassionate voice, as if she were talking about any other patient.

But that didn’t change the fact that it hurt like hell.

At first, he tried to endure it in silence. He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and held on. But the longer the session went on, the more unbearable it became. Mandy wasn’t exactly gentle, and even though she used oils and her hands were firm and skilled, she didn’t hold back when she needed to press on the tension points.

So, without thinking too much about it, Oscar started talking.

“You know Eau Rouge has a 17% incline?” he blurted out, his jaw tight.

Mandy didn’t stop but responded calmly. “Doesn’t surprise me. Spa is a brutal circuit.”

Oscar winced as her fingers ran over an especially sensitive scar.

“Technically, the corner isn’t just Eau Rouge. It’s part of Raidillon, but people say it wrong.”

“Mmm. Fascinating.” The lack of emotion in her voice told him she didn’t care at all.

But that didn’t stop him.

“Did you know Formula 1 had its first season in 1950? And that the world championship only had seven races?”

“Oscar.”

“Did you know Niki Lauda won the title in ‘84 without taking a single pole position all season?”

“Oscar.”

“Did you know—”

“Oscar.” This time, Mandy stopped, pressing his leg a little harder than necessary. She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re trying to distract yourself, aren’t you?”

He frowned but couldn’t deny it.

Mandy smirked and went back to work, massaging his leg with precision.

“It’s fine. Keep going. Surprise me.”

Oscar eyed her warily. “You don’t mind me talking?”

“I’d rather you talk than start yelling at me. Besides, I’m learning a lot. Like, what was that Spa incline again?”

“Seventeen.”

“Uh-huh. Good to know.”

The irony in her voice made him click his tongue, but for some reason, his initial frustration faded a little.

The conversation continued in a disjointed rhythm. Sometimes, Oscar complained about the pain; other times, he got distracted enough to forget why he was even talking so much. When Mandy pressed on an especially tight spot, he let out a grunt and muttered,

“I hate you.”

She didn’t even blink.

“You’re not the first to tell me that.”

That response, so unexpected and casual, made a laugh slip past his lips. Almost immediately, Oscar regretted it. He didn’t want to laugh with her. He didn’t want to like her.

But the truth was that, for the first time in a long while, the session hadn’t been just pain and frustration. And deep down, that terrified him.

The months passed, and though Oscar hated to admit it, he was starting to see results.

They weren’t huge, not yet. He wasn’t running, not even walking, but every day, there was something new. A little more mobility, a little less pain, a small victory that Mandy celebrated as if he’d just won a Grand Prix.

And the worst part was… he appreciated it.

The anger was gone. He no longer spent his days hating his leg or cursing his luck. Now, all that remained was frustration. The unbearable, slow, agonizing frustration of not being able to do what his body had been programmed to do for as long as he could remember.

But Mandy was there. Always.

And somehow, she had become the most constant thing in his life.

“Well, Piastri, today we’ve got a new set of exercises.” Mandy flipped through her notebook with a nonchalant air. “And by ‘new set,’ I mean you’re going to suffer.”

Oscar let his head fall back against the wheelchair and groaned.

“Why do you enjoy torturing me?”

“Why do you enjoy complaining?”

“Because you give me reasons.”

Mandy laughed and patted his good leg. “Come on, up.”

The sessions were exhausting. But Oscar had learned to tolerate them, partly because Mandy had stopped worrying about keeping up a strictly professional façade. Now she messed with him, made jokes at his expense, gave him ridiculous nicknames.

“That’s it, champ. You’re an inspiration.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously. Netflix probably wants to make a documentary about you. The Rebirth of Oscar Piastri.”

“Mandy.”

“One man, one mission. To reclaim his leg. But first, he must survive his physiotherapist.”

He scowled at her, but the amused glint in his eyes gave him away.

That was the other part of the equation: Mandy knew when to push him and when to let him breathe. There were days when, instead of doing the scheduled exercises, she simply pushed his wheelchair to the park behind his house.

She was sitting on a bench beside Oscar’s chair, the cool breeze on his face, and he took a deep breath.

"You know I want to come back, right?"

Mandy stared ahead, arms crossed over her chest, enjoying the warming sun.

"I know."

"You know I will come back."

She took a moment to respond.

"I know you want it with everything you have."

"That’s not the same."

Mandy turned to him, her expression serious.

"Oscar, if anyone can do it, it’s you. But I won’t lie to you. I don’t know how this is going to end. No one does."

It was the conversation he dreaded most. But it was also the one he needed the most.

"And if I can’t?" he asked quietly.

Mandy was silent for a moment. Then she sighed and nudged him lightly.

"Then you’d find another way to be happy."

Oscar glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Easy for you to say."

"No, it’s not. But it’s the truth."

They fell into silence.

Oscar thought about everything that had changed in the past few months. About the person he had been before the accident and the person he was now. He thought about Mandy, her laughter, her persistence, how she had become one of the few people he could truly be honest with.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to consider that maybe he wasn’t so alone in all of this.

The moment came without warning.

One day, after months of grueling exercises, of falls, of frustration, of pain, Oscar stood up.

It wasn’t heroic or cinematic. His legs trembled, his breathing was ragged, and every muscle in his body screamed in protest. But he did it.

With a crutch in one hand and his heart pounding in his ears, he took his first step without completely relying on someone else.

When he looked up, Mandy was watching him with a smile that held no trace of mockery.

"You’re a damn beast, Piastri."

He let out a shaky laugh, dropping his head forward as he tried to catch his breath.

But the victory was short-lived.

Because as soon as the news reached McLaren, so did the calls.

"How long do you think it’ll take for him to get back in a car?"

"What does his physiotherapist say?"

"Next season is already on the horizon. The sponsors are asking."

Oscar had lost count of how many times he had heard the word "normal" in the past few days, but every time he did, his stomach twisted.

He convinced himself that all of this was helping. Pressure had always been his fuel. If he worked harder, if he gave everything, if he pushed his body to the limit, maybe he could come back faster.

Maybe he could be himself again.

But what he refused to acknowledge was that, when left alone with his thoughts, the idea of coming back terrified him.

It wasn’t just the physical recovery. It was the uncertainty, the insecurity of not knowing if his body would hold up. If he would hold up.

And that was when the invitation arrived: an event at McLaren’s headquarters, with sponsors, staff, executives… Oscar had the sinking feeling they had invited him to reassure people. To put him on display, to let everyone see. "Look at him, he’s fine. He’s still alive. He has both legs."

The last rehab session before the event started like any other.

Mandy had set up a series of stability and mobility exercises. Nothing new. Nothing he hadn’t done before.

But at some point, everything started to fall apart.

The attack came without warning.

Oscar was standing, one hand gripping the crutch, the other pressed against the wall for balance. He had done this before, hundreds of times over the past months. One step, then another. Control the breath. Keep the posture.

But this time, something felt different.

First, a slight dizziness, a sharp pang of weakness in his injured leg. Then, his heart started pounding too hard, too fast. His skin felt hot and cold at the same time, a cold sweat running down his back.

He tried to take a deep breath, but the air wouldn’t fill his lungs.

No. Not now.

He couldn't breathe.

Panic hit him like a clenched fist to the chest. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, his hands trembled, his muscles tensed as if his entire body were in high alert.

Oscar staggered, and Mandy saw it before he could even get a word out.

"Oscar." Her tone changed in an instant. Firm, but concerned.

He tried to lift his gaze, but the room tilted around him. Everything was moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

"Oscar, sit down."

He didn’t know if she helped him or if his legs gave out on their own, but in the next instant, he was sitting on the bench against the wall, his head in his hands.

Everything was spinning.

He couldn’t breathe.

Each gasp of air got stuck in his throat.

“No… I can’t…”

His voice sounded strange, broken, like it didn’t belong to him.

Mandy knelt in front of him, hands on his shoulders, trying to ground him.

"Oscar, look at me."

He tried, but his vision was blurred, his chest so tight it felt like he was suffocating.

“Breathe with me, okay?” she said, taking his hand without hesitation. Her fingers were warm and steady around his. “Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.”

Oscar trembled, his whole body shaking with chills, with the unbearable tension making him feel like he was about to fall apart at any moment.

“No… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Mandy didn’t budge an inch. Her voice, though calm, held a note of urgency. “Listen to me, Oscar. You’re safe. You’re here with me. You’re not alone.”

You’re not alone.

Those words shattered him.

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears came anyway, burning as they slid down his cheeks.

Months.

Months of holding everything in.

All the pain, all the frustration, all the anger, all the fear.

Months of pretending he was fine. Of smiling at the doctors, of enduring the pressure, of telling himself he had to be strong, that he had to keep going, that he had no other choice.

But there, in that moment, with Mandy holding onto him, with his ragged breathing and trembling body, everything broke.

Oscar gripped her with both hands, without even thinking, burying his face in her shoulder.

And he cried.

He cried like he hadn’t since the accident.

His body shook with every sob, every uneven breath. Mandy didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop him or brush it off. She just wrapped both arms around his back and let him fall apart.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the nape of his neck in an instinctive gesture of comfort. “I’m here, Oscar.”

He could only nod against her shoulder, because words wouldn’t come.

Everything he had buried crashed over him like an unstoppable wave.

The fear of never being the same.

The pressure of the entire world waiting for his return.

The terrifying possibility that, even if he came back, maybe he’d never be enough.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Only that, eventually, his breathing evened out, his grip on Mandy loosened a little, his head no longer felt like it was about to explode.

And she was still there.

She didn’t tell him to be strong.

She didn’t say everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

She just stayed with him.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were still wet, but the storm inside him had quieted, at least a little.

Mandy handed him a tissue without a word.

Oscar took it, wiping his face with a tired, embarrassed laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a list of clients who’ve cried in your arms.”

Mandy smiled, but her eyes still held concern.

“No, but you’re officially my most dramatic case.”

He let out a shaky chuckle.

She sighed, studying him with a sharp, assessing gaze.

“You don’t have to go tomorrow.”

Oscar looked down, twisting the tissue between his fingers.

“Yes, I do.”

Mandy didn’t argue.

She just placed a hand on his injured knee, steady as always.

“Then we do it your way. Not theirs.”

He didn’t answer right away.

But this time, when he looked at her, he felt like he could breathe.

The morning of the event arrived too fast.

Oscar looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt with trembling hands. He had spent months preparing for this moment. To prove to the world—and to himself—that he was ready, that he could come back.

But now, with the weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt felt too tight against his chest, like an invisible noose.

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Ready to dazzle the media?" Mandy peeked her head in with a half-smile.

Oscar exhaled sharply, letting his shoulders drop.

"If by ‘dazzle’ you mean not falling flat on my face in front of everyone, then yeah, I guess I’m ready."

Mandy stepped inside, crossing her arms as she looked him over.

"That’s not going to happen. You’ve worked too hard for this." She moved closer, automatically straightening his tie. "Besides, I’ll be there."

Oscar blinked.

"What?"

"I’m going with you."

He frowned, confused.

"Mandy, you don’t have to—"

"I’m not here because I have to," she cut him off, her tone firm, the one she used when she wasn’t taking no for an answer. "I’m here because I want to be."

Oscar didn’t know what to say.

There was something different in the way she looked at him now, something softer, warmer. It wasn’t just the professional watching over her patient. It was Mandy, his Mandy, the person who had seen him at his worst and never once backed away.

So instead of arguing, he just nodded.

"Thank you."

And this time, he didn’t just mean for the event.

The McLaren conference center was packed. Journalists, executives, sponsors—everyone was waiting for Oscar Piastri’s return.

Camera flashes flickered through the air, and voices blended into a constant hum. For a second, Oscar felt dizzy, the grip on his crutch making his knuckles turn white. Then, he felt a hand on his back.

Mandy.

"Breathe," she murmured next to him, so quietly only he could hear.

He did.

Every step he took was deliberate, measured, the cane clicking against the floor. He knew every eye in the room was on him, assessing him.

But he wasn’t alone.

Mandy walked beside him—his shadow, his anchor. Not in an obvious or overprotective way, but just enough for him to feel steady.

They approached the small stage where Zak Brown and Andrea Stella were waiting. The McLaren executives smiled at him, and though their words were encouraging, Oscar could feel the pressure behind every question.

"When will we see you back in the car?"

"How are you feeling physically?"

"Are you ready to compete again?"

Each question was a reminder of everything expected of him.

He smiled. Answered calmly.

"I’m working really hard on my recovery. I’m focused on coming back as soon as possible, but I want to do it right."

It was the right answer. The answer everyone wanted to hear.

But deep down, his chest tightened again.

The press conference went on, and while Oscar kept his composure, Mandy knew him well enough to notice the stiffness in his posture, the subtle clench of his jaw every time someone mentioned his return to normal.

When it was all over—when the cameras were lowered and the executives drifted into side conversations—Mandy stepped closer, leaning in just enough so no one else could hear.

"How do you feel?"

Oscar didn’t answer right away.

He looked around at all the faces expecting something from him. Then, he glanced down at his crutch—the constant reminder that he wasn’t where he wanted to be yet.

But when he lifted his gaze again, the first thing he saw was Mandy.

She wasn’t looking at him with pity, but with confidence.

And something in his chest, something that had been too tight all day, loosened just a little.

"Good," he finally said, with a half-smile. "A lot better because you’re here."

Mandy smirked.

"Of course I am."

And though Oscar knew he still had a long road ahead, for the first time in a while, he felt like he didn’t have to walk it alone.

The afternoon of the event passed in a blur.

After the press conference, Oscar endured the conversations with executives, the unwavering smile on his face, the pats on the back, and the promises of a bright future. He handled every question with the patience of a saint, but when he finally stepped outside, with Mandy beside him, he felt like he could breathe again.

They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, neither in a rush to leave.

"Alright," Mandy said, crossing her arms. "On a scale of one to ten, how unbearable was that?"

Oscar huffed.

"A fourteen."

She laughed—that soft sound that always did something to his chest—and shook her head.

"You survived."

"So did you," he replied with a slight shrug. "You had to sit through all of it with me."

"I always do," she said, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.

Oscar felt a tingling at the back of his neck. Not discomfort, but… awareness.

Suddenly, he was more aware of her than ever before. Of her presence, the way the breeze lifted a strand of her hair, the ease with which they talked, as if there was no longer any barrier between them.

Oscar cleared his throat and looked away.

"Are you hungry?" he asked suddenly.

Mandy raised an eyebrow.

“Are you asking me out to dinner, Piastri?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “I mean, yes. But… as a thank you, you know? For being here.”

Mandy looked at him with amusement.

“A thank you, sure.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Dinner started with the same relaxed energy as always.

Mandy didn’t sit across from him but beside him, in the corner of a small Italian restaurant that smelled of basil, garlic, and freshly baked bread. It was a cozy place, unpretentious, the kind of spot where people talked loudly and steaming plates of homemade food kept arriving at the tables.

“You do realize this is technically a date?” Mandy commented lightly, flipping through the menu without looking at him.

Oscar scoffed, taking a sip of his water.

“No, it’s not. It’s a thank-you dinner.”

“So you’re thanking me with food?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that sound exactly like what someone does on a date?”

Oscar slowly turned his head to her, narrowing his eyes.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Mandy shrugged, but the amused smile on her lips threw him off.

“That depends. Are you paying?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, it’s a date.”

Oscar huffed but couldn’t stop the smile that twitched at his lips. Mandy had this way of turning any conversation into something light, of pushing him just a little outside his comfort zone without him realizing it until he was already laughing.

When the food arrived, Oscar leaned over his plate of pasta with the hunger of someone who had spent too much energy pretending to be fine all day. Mandy, on the other hand, picked up her pizza with a calmness that could only be described as irritating.

“You know,” she said, chewing thoughtfully, “if you were as fast on track as you are when you eat, you’d be unstoppable.”

Oscar froze, fork halfway to his mouth, staring at her in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re always complaining about recovery being too slow, but at this speed, you should be running marathons.”

Oscar set his fork down with an exaggerated thud on the table and turned to her, feigning outrage.

“Are you challenging me, Mandy?”

“I’m just saying what I see, Piastri.”

“Fine.” Oscar picked up his glass and took a slow sip, not breaking eye contact. “Then I say your pizza choice is terrible.”

Mandy placed a hand over her chest as if she had just been stabbed.

“What?”

“Pineapple, seriously?”

“Oh, please, we’re not starting this debate.”

“There is no debate,” Oscar said with a shrug. “Just facts. And the fact is, you’ve committed a crime against Italian cuisine.”

Mandy shook her head, laughing.

“You know what’s worse? I’m helping rehabilitate someone with a child’s palate.”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Says the one eating pineapple pizza.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Of course, it is.”

“No, it’s not. But that’s okay, Piastri. Not everyone can have good taste.”

Oscar shot her a look of disbelief before shaking his head, a reluctant smile breaking through.

It was strange. Unexpected. But it felt good.

Easy.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the weight of recovery on his shoulders. He didn’t feel the pressure to become the driver everyone expected him to be again. He was just there, with Mandy, eating at a small restaurant, joking about nonsense.

And for the first time in months, he allowed himself to enjoy it.

The weeks passed, and their dynamic only continued to evolve.

Mandy was no longer just his physiotherapist.

She was the person who showed up at his door with extra coffee when she saw he’d had a rough night.

She was the one who sat on the floor with him when he got frustrated in sessions, saying nothing, just staying there until he was ready to talk.

She was the one who called him an idiot with the sweetest smile when he tried to push himself harder than he should.

She was the one who made him laugh when he thought he couldn’t anymore.

And without realizing it, Oscar started looking forward to seeing her more than he wanted to admit.

He started noticing the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about. He started remembering little details about her without meaning to—how she liked her coffee, how she scrunched her nose when she was focused, how she had a particular way of tilting her head when she was about to give him advice.

And worst of all… he started realizing she was looking at him differently too.

There was something in the way she watched him now, a softness in her gestures, a tenderness in the way she touched his arm to support him, in the way she whispered, “You’re doing amazing” after every small progress.

One night, after a particularly exhausting session, Oscar collapsed onto his couch while Mandy packed up her things.

“I hate you,” he muttered without conviction.

Mandy smiled, not even looking at him.

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence before Oscar spoke again.

“Would you stay a little longer?”

Mandy turned to him, surprised.

"What?"

"You don't have to. But… I don’t want to be alone tonight."

She looked at him for a moment, evaluating him. Then, without a word, she set her bag on the floor and dropped onto the couch beside him.

Oscar didn’t know what that meant.

But he didn’t feel the need to ask.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something else, something deeper, as if a silent understanding had settled in that brief moment.

Mandy didn’t ask why Oscar didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t need to. She didn’t tell him everything would be okay because she knew that wouldn’t help. Instead, she just stayed.

Oscar turned his head toward her, noticing how relaxed she looked on his couch, as if she somehow belonged there. It was strange how Mandy, who had once been just his physiotherapist, had now become a part of his life in more ways than he could fully grasp.

"Do you want to watch something?" she asked suddenly, pulling out her phone.

"If it’s another video of cats trying to jump and failing, I’ve already seen them all."

Mandy scoffed.

"Don’t underestimate my ability to find quality content."

Oscar let his head fall back against the couch and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Prove it."

Mandy wasted no time playing a video. It was a compilation of funny falls—people slipping on ice, dogs miscalculating their jumps, kids getting scared by their own reflection.

And against his will, Oscar ended up laughing.

At first, just a small smile. Then, a quiet chuckle. Until finally, he let out a real laugh—the kind that rumbled in his chest and left him breathless.

Mandy glanced at him from the corner of her eye, smirking.

"Well, looks like you do have a soul after all."

Oscar wiped away a tear from laughing, his eyes still shining.

"And what about you? Are you going to admit you have a heart?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Who says I don’t?"

"You hide it well."

Mandy smiled but didn’t reply. She simply leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest.

The silence returned, but this time, it felt different.

Oscar felt the urge to speak, to say something important, something he had been trying to understand for weeks. But instead, he just exhaled slowly and said,

"Thanks for staying."

Mandy didn’t look at him, but her voice was soft when she replied,

"Always."

After a while on the couch, Mandy stretched her arms and stood up.

"Alright, I think it’s time I eat something. And you too."

Oscar groaned from his spot.

"I'm not hungry."

"I don’t care. You’re eating."

Oscar shot her a look of feigned exasperation as Mandy walked toward the kitchen like she owned the place. He had seen her move around his space so many times over the past few months that it didn’t even feel strange anymore.

"You do know this is my house, right?" he said, dragging himself off the couch with the help of his crutch.

"I know," Mandy replied without turning around, rummaging through the pantry. "But someone has to make sure you don’t starve to death."

Oscar huffed but didn’t argue further. He followed with unsteady steps, still slow, but more confident than he had been weeks ago.

"What are we making?"

"Something simple. I don’t want you collapsing halfway through the recipe."

Oscar rolled his eyes but leaned against the counter as Mandy pulled out ingredients. They ended up cooking together, at their own pace. Mandy did most of the work, but she let Oscar help where he could—stirring the sauce, chopping a few things with effort.

It was a ridiculously domestic scene.

After everything they had been through, after months of rehab and pain, cooking together in his house felt like a line he hadn’t expected to cross.

When they finished, they sat at the table with steaming plates of pasta in front of them. The dim kitchen light cast an unexpected intimacy over the moment. Oscar watched as Mandy took the first bite and nodded approvingly.

"Not bad, Piastri. Maybe you’ve got a future in cooking if this F1 thing doesn’t work out."

Oscar smiled, tired but genuinely warm.

"Maybe I’ll open a restaurant. ‘The Cripple’s Pasta.’"

Mandy burst out laughing, and he was surprised by how much he liked the sound.

After a while, Mandy set down her fork and looked at him.

"How do you feel?"

Oscar lowered his gaze to his plate, idly stirring the leftover pasta with his fork.

"Tired. Sore."

Mandy said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

He lifted his eyes.

"But… good."

She tilted her head slightly, intrigued.

"Good, huh?"

Oscar swallowed.

"Yeah. Because I’m here. With you."

There was a moment of silence. Mandy looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Something soft, something that made his throat tighten.

"You’re an idiot," she said finally, but there was more fondness than anything else in her tone.

Oscar smiled.

"I know."

Mandy sighed and stood to clear the dishes, but Oscar stopped her, his hand gently wrapping around her wrist.

She froze, surprised by the gesture.

Oscar wasn’t sure what he was doing either—only that he didn’t want this moment to end just yet.

"Mandy…"

She waited, her gaze locked on his.

He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers.

He could feel the line between them blurring more and more.

Mandy didn’t move. She didn’t pull her hand away, didn’t make any gesture to tell him to let go of her wrist. She just looked at him, expectant, as if she knew he had something to say but wouldn’t pressure him to say it.

Oscar swallowed. His mouth was dry.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mandy smiled, but there was something in her expression—something softer, more intimate.

“You won’t find out,” she said quietly.

Oscar stared at her. Something tightened in his chest.

That was when he realized how close they were.

How close they had been for months.

Only now, for the first time, he truly felt it.

The warmth of her skin, the way his breathing matched hers. The way his thumb, without thinking, traced the lightest touch against the skin of her wrist.

Mandy noticed.

And she didn’t pull away.

“Mandy…” he whispered.

He didn’t know what he was going to say next. He wasn’t sure of anything in that moment, except that he wanted to stay there. That he wanted her to stay there.

Mandy exhaled softly. Her fingers moved against his in the slightest motion—a touch so faint it barely registered, yet enough to make something inside Oscar go taut.

“Let’s watch a movie,” she said suddenly, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Oscar blinked, disoriented.

“What?”

Mandy gently pulled her hand away and started gathering the dishes, as if nothing had happened.

“A movie. You need it. And I don’t want to see you overthinking anything else tonight.”

Oscar watched her move around the kitchen, trying to process what had just happened.

But, for some reason, he didn’t feel disappointed.

Because Mandy hadn’t run.

Because he didn’t want to force anything.

Because this—whatever this was—made sense.

So he let out a soft laugh, shook his head, and got up to follow her to the couch.

The movie played on the screen, but neither of them was really watching.

Oscar tried to focus, tried to follow the plot, but his mind was elsewhere. On the way Mandy sat beside him, on how their bodies seemed to drift closer without either of them making a deliberate move.

Under the shared blanket, their legs brushed every now and then, and each fleeting touch sent a shiver down his spine. The first time, Oscar thought it had been accidental. The second, he wondered if he’d imagined it. But by the third, the fourth, the fifth—he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore it.

And then he felt her hand.

Just a touch, the lightest brush of fingers, but it was enough to make the air between them feel heavier, charged. Mandy didn’t move away, and neither did he. Somehow, their hands remained still under the blanket, their pinkies barely touching, neither of them daring to be the first to move.

But Oscar felt every heartbeat like a drum, each passing second unbearably slow.

The tension was almost tangible.

Mandy swallowed.

“This movie is kind of boring, isn’t it?” she murmured.

Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been paying attention.”

Mandy turned her head to look at him, and Oscar felt the exact moment the air shifted between them.

She felt it too.

Her gaze flickered down to his lips for the briefest second, barely noticeable.

But Oscar noticed.

And that was all he needed.

His hand slid under the blanket until his fingers intertwined with hers, and Mandy didn’t pull away. On the contrary, her grip tightened slightly, her thumb tracing a small circle against his skin—a gesture so intimate and silent that Oscar instinctively leaned toward her.

Their faces were only inches apart.

He could feel her breath, her perfume, the warmth of her skin so close to his.

The moment stretched.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Oscar wouldn’t be able to say who closed the final distance. Maybe him, maybe her. Maybe it had simply been inevitable.

But when their lips finally met, when the kiss sealed with the sweetness of something held back for too long, Oscar knew there was no turning back.

The kiss started soft, hesitant, as if neither of them wanted to break the fragile bubble they had enclosed themselves in. Mandy was the first to react, tilting her head just slightly, parting her lips, giving Oscar the answer he hadn’t dared to ask for out loud.

And then, there was no more hesitation.

Oscar cradled the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her closer, losing himself in the warmth of her mouth. Mandy moved without doubt, her fingers tracing his cheek, his jaw, before tangling into his hair.

It was everything he had wanted, everything he had ignored for weeks.

The brush of their lips deepened, grew more intense. Oscar felt his chest expand with a sensation he didn’t quite recognize, something intoxicating that left him insatiable. She was fire and calm all at once—a refuge and a storm.

Mandy pulled back for a moment, breathless, her nose brushing against his.

“Oscar…”

There was no doubt in her voice, but there was something else—something that felt like a warning. As if she were giving him the chance to stop.

Oscar met her gaze, darkened by something he could feel echoing in his own body.

He didn’t want to stop.

So instead of answering with words, he kissed her again.

Mandy smiled against his lips before matching his urgency, her fingers tracing a slow, torturous path over the fabric of his shirt. Oscar shivered when she pressed her palm against his chest, feeling him beneath her fingertips, sliding her hand lower toward his abdomen with a boldness that made his pulse race.

The blanket slipped from their bodies as Mandy shifted onto his lap—carefully, with a near-imperceptible gentleness, as if she knew exactly how far she could push his limits without causing him pain.

Oscar buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent, whispering her name against her skin. Mandy let out a shuddering sigh, and he felt satisfaction ripple through him.

For the first time in months, Oscar didn’t think about his injury.

He didn’t think about his rehabilitation, the pressure, the fear.

He only thought about her. About the way her body fit against his as if it had always been meant to be there.

And how, for the first time in a long time, he wanted more.

The atmosphere had shifted. Desire still burned between them, the electricity was undeniable, but amidst the urgency, the hungry kisses, the clumsy touches, there was something else. Something much deeper, much more intimate.

Oscar barely registered how they got here, how their clothes started to disappear. He only knew that at some point, Mandy slipped off the couch, kneeling in front of him with effortless ease, helping him remove his pants with the same delicacy she always treated him with.

And then, everything stopped.

Oscar felt the cold air against his skin, against the scarred skin of his leg. He tensed, the instinct to hide, to pull away, flaring inside him like a reflex. He felt ridiculous for thinking about it—Mandy had seen his scars countless times, had touched them, had studied them.

But Mandy didn’t look away.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t make any expression of pity.

Instead, she placed her hands on his leg with a tenderness that completely disarmed him.

Her lips, warm and soft, traced over every scar, every mark that told a story of pain and struggle. She didn’t skip any, didn’t avoid a single one. She took her time, as if she wanted to memorize each line, each ridge, each imperfection.

Oscar didn’t know when his throat started to burn, when the pressure in his chest became unbearable. He only knew that before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek.

He didn’t understand why.

It was affection, it was tenderness, it was sorrow. It was everything at once.

Mandy lifted her gaze, and their eyes met. She didn’t say anything, but her look spoke volumes. Of acceptance, of devotion, of a love without cracks.

Without moving her hand from his leg, she reached up to his face, brushing the tear away with her thumb, unhurried.

Oscar leaned toward her and kissed her.

It was a slow kiss, deep, filled with everything they couldn’t put into words.

When they pulled apart, Mandy rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You’re incredible,” she whispered. And Oscar didn’t know if she meant his body, his recovery, his strength—or just him.

But it didn’t matter.

Because, for the first time since the accident, Oscar Piastri didn’t feel ashamed of what he was.

The night continued with an unexpected tenderness. There was no rush, no urgency. It was just the two of them, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and whispers, tangled in kisses and caresses that seemed endless.

Oscar had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed—and yet, so safe. Mandy touched him as if every part of him deserved to be cherished, as if his scars were testaments to his strength, not reminders of what he had lost.

When they finally rested, their bodies intertwined beneath the blanket, Oscar felt something new settle in his chest. Something that had nothing to do with passion or desire, but with peace.

Mandy traced lazy circles on his arm, her breathing slow, steady.

“What are you thinking about?” she murmured, her voice still drowsy.

Oscar took a moment to answer.

“That I don’t know how we got here.”

Mandy let out a soft laugh.

“If you need me to explain it in more detail…”

He rolled his eyes, laughing against her hair.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words.

“When I first met you, I hated you.”

“I know,” Mandy replied with amusement.

“No.” Oscar propped himself up on one elbow to look at her better. “I mean it. I thought I’d never be able to stand you. You were too stubborn, too optimistic.”

“Guilty.”

“But then…” Oscar exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Then you became the only thing keeping me sane.”

Mandy looked at him in the dim light, her expression softening.

“Oscar…”

“No.” He cut her off, feeling that if he didn’t say it now, he never would. “I just want you to know. That without you, I…”

He stopped, swallowing hard. Mandy reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, making him hold her gaze.

“I know,” she whispered.

And Oscar knew, with a certainty that scared him a little, that she really did.

That Mandy understood him better than anyone.

That if there was a way to truly heal, it was with her by his side.

Oscar remained silent after that, his mind caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. Mandy was resting against his chest, her breathing steady, but he couldn’t fully relax.

“Mandy…” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the dark.

“Mhm?”

“Is this okay?”

She lifted her head slightly to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

Oscar hesitated.

“Us. What just happened. The fact that you… you’re my physiotherapist. Or at least, you were. And that we’re crossing a line.”

Mandy watched him in silence for a moment before sighing with a small smile.

“Are you worried I’ll get you in trouble?”

“No, I’m worried you’ll get fired,” he answered honestly. “That this isn’t allowed in your contract or that—”

Mandy interrupted him with a soft touch to his cheek.

“Oscar, my contract ended weeks ago.”

He blinked, surprised.

“What?”

“McLaren only asked me to get you to take your first step. That was my goal as your physiotherapist,” she explained calmly. “After that, your physical trainer was supposed to take over.”

Oscar was speechless.

“So…?”

“So I stayed because I wanted to. Because I wanted to keep helping you. Because this was never just a job for me.”

Oscar felt something inside him crumble. All the doubts, all the insecurities, the nagging thought that maybe she was only there because she had to be… vanished in an instant.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Mandy smiled, that infuriatingly calm smile of hers.

“Because I know you. If you had known, you would’ve pushed me away. You would’ve said you were fine just so I wouldn’t feel like I had to stay.”

Oscar couldn’t deny it. Because it was true.

“So…” he said slowly, intertwining his fingers with hers. “This whole time…”

“This whole time, I’ve been here because I wanted to be.”

Oscar swallowed.

“And now what?”

Mandy rested her head on his chest again, tracing light circles on his arm.

“Now, you sleep. And tomorrow… we’ll see.”

But Oscar knew that, no matter what happened, she was already a part of his life.

And he didn’t want that to change.

The air in the garage feels heavy. No one talks much. The team of engineers and mechanics works around him with meticulous precision, preparing him for the private test. It’s just a test—no media, no spectators. But for Oscar, it’s much more than that. It’s his ultimate test.

Mandy stands to the side, arms crossed, watching him closely. She’s not supposed to be here—officially, her job ended months ago—but that hasn’t stopped her. And Oscar hasn’t tried to stop her, either.

When he finally sits in the car, when he feels the pressure of the molded seat against his back, when the cockpit surrounds him, when the steering wheel is in his hands and the tires are ready to hit the track… it happens.

The memory strikes like thunder.

A flash of light. The impact. The raw, metallic sound. The pain.

He can’t breathe.

He’s not here, in this garage. He’s back on that day, in that moment. He’s trapped in the wreckage of the car, the smell of fuel filling his nose, his leg crushed under the destroyed chassis.

He feels the same sharp pain in his leg. Almost two months without feeling it, and suddenly, it’s as if the injury is fresh. As if it just happened.

Someone says his name, but he doesn’t hear them. His breathing quickens. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. His eyes lock onto the halo, the carbon fiber, the chassis that isn’t broken, the helmet protecting him. Everything is fine. Everything is fine.

But it’s not.

Sweat beads on his forehead. A ringing starts in his ears. He wants to move, wants to get out, but his muscles won’t respond.

A hand touches his arm.

Oscar blinks, as if snapping back to reality.

Mandy is there. She’s reaching for him from.above the car, her hand firm on his forearm. Her eyes, dark and steady, find his.

“Oscar.”

Her voice is low, calm, but not condescending. She doesn’t treat him like he’s fragile, like he’s going to break.

“I’m here,” she says, and those two words cut straight through him.

He doesn’t respond. He can’t. His breathing is still uneven, his heart still racing.

Mandy watches him for another second before moving her hand to his. Her fingers slide over his, carefully loosening his grip on the wheel.

“Look at me.”

Oscar lifts his gaze.

“You’re here. Not there. You’re in 2025, in this garage, in this car. And you’re okay. That was a year ago. You are okay”

He swallows hard. His jaw is clenched, his mind still filled with ghostly images.

“I don’t have to do this.”

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

Mandy nods.

“No, you don’t have to. But you want to. And that’s different.”

The team is still waiting. The mechanics pretend not to look, but Oscar feels their eyes. He knows they expect him to start the engine, to go out on track, to do what he does best.

But it’s not that simple. Not when fear is eating him alive.

Mandy squeezes his hand once more.

“You can step out right now, and no one will say a thing. It’s okay. But if you want to try, just try. Don’t think about anything else.”

Oscar closes his eyes for a moment. Takes a deep breath. Tries to find the ground beneath him, even though he’s in the car.

When he opens them, he sees her. She’s holding his hand, but she’s not keeping him there. She’s just there.

And that’s enough.

Oscar nods, slowly.

His fingers wrap around the steering wheel again, but this time, with control. Mandy releases his hand and steps back.

The mechanics get ready. The engineers check the data.

The garage fills with the roar of the engine as he starts it.

The fear is still there, like a weight in his chest. But now, there’s something else, too.

Oscar focuses on that.

And he drives.

The roar of the car echoes in his chest, a familiar vibration running down his spine and seeping into his blood. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and for a moment, doubt whispers in his mind.

What if he's not the same? What if he never will be?

But then he presses the throttle.

The tires bite into the asphalt, and suddenly, the world makes sense again. The wind slams against his helmet, the colors of the circuit blur around him, and adrenaline surges through his veins like an unstoppable force. The first corner comes faster than expected, but his body reacts before his mind does—steady hands, precise turn, clean acceleration on exit.

It’s like breathing. Like remembering who he is.

Every lap is an affirmation. Every brake, every change of direction, every fraction of a second shaved off the clock.

He is where he belongs. He is home.

When he finally returns to the pits, the echo of the engine still thrumming in his chest, Oscar allows himself to close his eyes for a moment.

He feels no fear. No doubt.

Only relief.

Lando is the first to reach him, landing a hard smack on his helmet before ruffling his hair once he takes it off.

"Seriously? After almost a year out, and you set a faster lap than me on your first run?"

Oscar smiles, taking a deep breath.

"I try."

Lando scoffs, but there's pride in his expression.

Zak, Stella, and the rest of the team surround him in seconds, congratulating him. Even a few drivers from the grid have come to see him, asking McLaren for permission just to be there. George pats his back, Alex and Charles can’t help but pull him into a hug. Even Colapinto is there, planting a loud, wet kiss on his cheek.

But there’s one person Oscar searches for among them all.

Mandy stands at the back of the garage, not intruding, but with a small smile on her lips. Her dark eyes scan him up and down, as if making sure he’s truly okay.

And he is.

Later, as the sun begins to set, the two of them sit on the empty grandstands of the circuit. The roar of the engine is gone, but the day’s echoes still vibrate in the air. Mandy rests her elbows on her knees, gaze lost on the track.

"I saw you at Turn Five," she says suddenly. "There was a moment when you hesitated."

Oscar lowers his head, smirking.

"Yeah. But it passed quickly."

She nods. A long silence stretches between them, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Until Mandy sighs and says, "McLaren offered me a contract."

Oscar blinks, turning to her.

"What?"

"As the team's physiotherapist. They were impressed with my work with you and thought I could be useful."

Oscar stays silent, waiting for her to continue. Something in her tone tells him there’s more.

"I turned it down."

He frowns.

"Why?"

Mandy wets her lips, as if searching for the right words.

"I didn’t want my work to mix with… this. With you."

Oscar feels something warm in his chest. He can’t quite name it—gratitude, relief, something else—but it’s strong.

"So… you turned down McLaren?" he repeats slowly. "The team that treated you so well, gave you access to the best facilities, let you work with the most prized gem of their lineup?"

Mandy blinks.

"You?"

"Obviously."

Mandy laughs, shaking her head.

"You’re insufferable."

"And you clearly made a terrible decision."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Because tell me, which team signed you now?"

Mandy stretches with satisfaction before answering.

"Ferrari."

Oscar frowns, his brain processing the information.

"Ferrari?"

"Ferrari."

"Maranello’s Ferrari?"

"Unless there’s another one."

Oscar blinks.

"So now you’re going to be one of those people who speak Italian all the time and say ‘Forza Ferrari’ every five minutes?"

Mandy smiles, almost wickedly.

"Forza Ferrari."

Oscar looks at her with feigned disappointment.

"Mandy, for God’s sake, you haven’t even started yet and you’re already lost."

She laughs, giving him a gentle shove on the shoulder.

"Come on, it can’t surprise you that much. After all, someone has to be in the paddock to make sure you don’t do anything stupid."

Oscar watches her with a half-smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Oh, I see how it is. You didn’t stay because you like red—you just can’t live without me."

"Definitely not for the red. It’s hard to match."

"You’re not denying you can’t live without me."

Mandy rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips.

"I’m going to request to be assigned to Charles just to spite you."

Oscar places a hand on his heart, feigning a stab wound.

"Betrayal!"

Mandy bursts out laughing, and before she can reply, Oscar turns to her with a sly grin.

"You know what? It doesn’t matter. Everyone in the paddock knows you love me more."

Mandy raises an eyebrow, amused.

"Oh, really?"

"Of course. And if they don’t know yet, they will as soon as they see us together."

Before Mandy can throw back another sarcastic remark, Oscar leans in and kisses her. It’s warm, with the night breeze around them and the thrill of the day still running through his veins.

When they pull apart, Mandy exhales softly.

"You know what? Maybe red does suit me after all."

Oscar smiles, resting his forehead against hers.

"Forza Ferrari, I guess."

And Mandy laughs, kissing him again.

Throughout the season, Oscar and Mandy’s relationship had become an open secret in the paddock. Not because they had been careless—on the contrary, they had done everything possible to keep it private—but in a world where every gesture was scrutinized, some things were hard to hide.

Photographers had never caught them together outside the circuits, and in the paddock, they always maintained a professional distance. Mandy was disciplined about it, ensuring she never gave him special treatment in front of others, making sure no one could accuse her of favoritism at Ferrari for being with a McLaren driver. But inside the garages, in the hallways, in the small interactions away from the cameras, something was building between them—something any keen observer could notice.

Those closest to them—Lando, Zak, the McLaren team, Ferrari—knew. Lando had thoroughly enjoyed teasing them in private, dropping hints whenever he could, like when he caught Oscar glancing sideways at Mandy on the grid or when she walked past the McLaren mechanics and Oscar pretended to be engrossed in telemetry.

Their dynamic was simple: Mandy didn’t treat Oscar like a driver but as himself. She didn’t care about his lap times, his points, or championship statistics. She cared about whether he was sleeping well, whether the pain in his leg returned after grueling races, whether his mind was calm before he put on his helmet.

For Oscar, that was invaluable. In a world revolving around competition, having someone who saw him beyond the driver was a breath of fresh air.

Sometimes, when race weekends became too intense, they found themselves in the quieter corners of the paddock—a back hallway, the furthest spot in the Ferrari or McLaren hospitality, anywhere they could share a few minutes without cameras surrounding them. Mandy always had a sarcastic comment ready, and Oscar would respond with his dry humor, their back-and-forth banter momentarily making them forget the pressure.

And on tough days, when things didn’t go well on track, she was there. Not with empty words, not with forced motivational speeches, but with a hand on his back when no one was looking, with a quick message after a disappointing race: “I’m waiting at the hotel with ice cream. Don’t argue.”

That’s how it had been all season—care, attention, and a love woven in the margins of F1, in moments beyond the reach of headlines.

On the other hand, Oscar’s comeback season was exceeding expectations. He had returned stronger, more consistent, racking up podiums nearly every weekend. But the long-awaited first victory since the accident still eluded him. Despite it all, he didn’t feel frustrated. He knew it was only a matter of time.

But now, they were in Spa-Francorchamps. And with that came the second anniversary of the day everything changed.

Before practice sessions, interviews, and the inevitable noise of a Grand Prix weekend began, Oscar made a decision. He wanted to go to the crash site. To the exact corner where his life took an irreversible turn.

The rain was relentless as he set off. It was nearly nightfall, and the paddock was slowly emptying. People were retreating to their hotels, seeking rest before the intense day ahead. Mandy, however, stayed.

“You can still go back to the hotel. It’s cold, it’s raining, and I don’t want you to get sick because of one of my whims,” Oscar murmured, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the wet ground.

“And miss a dramatic moment of personal development like this? Not a chance. I’m about to witness a canon event,” Mandy teased, giving him a light shoulder bump.

Oscar let out a quiet chuckle, but his steps slowed as they neared the corner. It was strange how, after two years, his body still reacted to the sight of it. The memory of the impact, the pain, the fear—it all returned with chilling clarity.

He stopped a few meters from the exact spot, a tingling sensation running through his bad leg. Almost unconsciously, he tapped his thigh as if trying to shake off the feeling. Mandy glanced at him from the corner of her eye before intertwining her fingers with his, squeezing firmly.

“What are you feeling?” she asked softly.

Oscar swallowed hard.

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Like I can still feel it. Like I can see everything again.”

Mandy nodded, waiting to see if he needed to say more. But he just stood there, eyes locked on the track, the sound of rain filling the silence.

Finally, Mandy spoke, her tone light yet sincere.

“You know… in a way, we should be grateful to this corner.”

Oscar turned his head, frowning.

“What?”

“Well,” she shrugged, “if you hadn’t crashed here, McLaren wouldn’t have hired me, we wouldn’t have spent so much time together, and we wouldn’t have fallen madly in love with each other. So technically, if you think about it, Eau Rouge is the real matchmaker in this story.”

Oscar let out a genuine, warm laugh that cut through the cold night air.

“That is, without a doubt, the most twisted and optimistic way to look at it.”

“Better than being stuck in a pit of trauma and existential despair? Absolutely.”

Oscar shook his head, but the smile didn’t fade. He turned to look at Mandy, watching how the rain made her skin glisten under the dim glow of distant floodlights. He had no words to describe how much he loved her in that moment.

So he didn’t use any.

He simply leaned in and kissed her, with the rain falling around them, with memories losing their sharp edges little by little. Because Mandy was right. Eau Rouge had changed his life. But not just because of the accident. Somehow, it had also led him to her.

On Sunday, Oscar rounded the final straight for the penultimate time, each lap bringing him closer to something he had dreamed of but never imagined quite like this. The rain had eased, the track still damp but stable under his tires, and the McLaren was responding with surgical precision. From the first corner, he had dominated. He knew this day was his. No one could touch him.

His engineer’s voice came over the radio, filled with barely contained excitement.

“Last lap, Oscar. Last lap.”

Oscar took a deep breath. The roar of the engine, the vibration of the steering wheel beneath his hands, the feeling of the car as an extension of himself. It was him, fully. No doubts, no fear. Just speed, precision, victory drawing closer with every meter.

In Ferrari’s garage, the atmosphere was electric. With Leclerc securing second place, mechanics had their arms raised, team members were jumping, and in the middle of it all—Mandy. Her nails dug into Alex’s jacket, Charles’s girlfriend, both of them on the verge of losing their voices from screaming so much. Her faith in Oscar was absolute. She knew how this was going to end—she had known since the first lap.

When Oscar crossed the finish line, something inside him shattered and rebuilt itself at the same time. The radio exploded with the team’s cheers, his engineer repeating his name over and over, but he could barely hear it. Laughter escaped him uncontrollably, mixed with tears and a relief so deep it made him feel breathless.

He had won. He had won in Spa.

His hands trembled on the steering wheel as he slowed down for the cool-down lap. He looked around—the grandstands on their feet, flags waving under a gray sky that threatened more rain. It was poetic, perfect, as if the circuit itself was giving something back to him.

“Yes, Oscar! Yes, yes, yes!” Zak Brown shouted over the radio, and in the background, he could hear the McLaren garage erupting like they had won a championship.

Oscar let go of the wheel for a second, running his hands over his face, still in disbelief. He had dreamed of this moment, visualized it a thousand times, but now that it was real, it was overwhelming.

When he finally parked the car in parc fermé, his body moved before his mind could catch up. He unbuckled his harness clumsily, climbed out of the car, and jumped into the sea of McLaren mechanics. He let them hug him, shake him, pat his back—but his eyes scanned the crowd, searching.

Mandy.

And there she was.

In her red Ferrari polo, still wearing the team’s headset around her neck, eyes shining and lips trembling with a smile.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed through the McLaren crew, dodged the drivers climbing out of their own cars to congratulate him, and reached her where she stood with the Ferrari team. It didn’t matter who was watching, it didn’t matter if there were cameras, the press, or social media.

He grabbed her by the Ferrari polo, stretched over the barrier, and kissed her.

With the raw emotion of someone who had fought against the worst version of himself—and won.

With the certainty that, in the end, she had always been there.

As the world roared around them, Oscar leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathless, both of them smiling like idiots.

"You know," Mandy whispered, her fingers still curled around the collar of his suit, "if you wanted to kiss me that badly, you could've just asked."

Oscar huffed a laugh, his hands firm on her waist. "Figured winning was a more dramatic way to earn it."

Mandy tilted her head, pretending to think. "Mm… I don’t know. Might need a few more wins before I’m fully convinced."

His smile widened. "Challenge accepted."

She kissed him again, softer this time. "Good. Now go collect your damn trophy, Piastri."

@smoooothoperator

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[nathanbatemanfucker]

Fault Lines Ch. 2

request: wanted to know if you could write something where the reader is a ex-winter solider (just like bucky, but maybe she doesn't lose her arm) and how she struggles to accept Joaquin. An overall angst to fluff.

pairing: joaquin torres x ex-super soldier!f!reader

contents: canon typical violence, illusions to abuse and torture, ptsd and other mental illness, enemies to lovers, angst

wc: 1,383

an: this series is based off of this request here! this is definitely a slow burn/fluff if you squint type beat so just bear with me <3

fault lines masterlist

The safe house is quiet, save for the low hum of the overhead light and the occasional rustle of movement from Joaquin as he leans against the wall opposite of you. He knows better than to box you in—that’d only make you more restless than you already are.

Post-meal and shower, you sit on his cot, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere past him like you’re already planning your exit. The space smells of antiseptic and metal despite the warm paint and comforting art. Someone had tried to make this as home-y as they could and failed.  

He doesn’t doubt that you are.  And you are. You’re on edge, always hypervigilant for the worst. That the two men in front of you that promise to stand on decency and honor are liars just like everyone else you’ve ever encountered. 

There’s only one door and a few windows, but you had immediately noticed the door under the rug in the bathroom. Its doable.

Sam’s outside, making calls, searching for loopholes to clean up the mess you’ve already made. That leaves Joaquin with what he does best—talking. But tonight, that skill is failing him.

Something about you is making the words sticky in his throat, unable to flow as usual. He doesn’t know what to say to you to make you understand, to make you change. Though he’s not really sure that’s his goal given what you’ve suffered.

“You look like you wanna be anywhere but here,” he observes, arms mirroring yours.

“What a shocking observation, baby bird,” you mutter, voice steeped in sarcasm.

Joaquin exhales through his nose, tilting his head. “Ok, ouch. But let’s be real—you could’ve run already. Hell, you could’ve fought harder. So why are you still here?”

Your fingers curl in your lap, like the truth will slink into your hands if you don’t force it out; it isn’t something you're ready to touch. You flex them once before stilling. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I trust you,” you say eventually, voice quieter, more measured.

“Fair.” Joaquin watches you, gaze steady. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you unless he has too– he chalks it up to your dangerous capabilities and nothing more. “No one’s asking you to, querida. But you want something. You can tell me what that is, I won’t use it against you.”

Something stirs at his pet name, something you thought was dead and rotted. Its easy to shove it back down in the wake of what you see is a lie. He would use it against you, that’s what everyone does. If he didn’t then Sam would. You know the game. 

You let out a breath, eyes meeting his. “You’re after Hydra and so am I. But I don’t trust that you’ll actually do what needs to be done. In fact, I know you won’t.”

Joaquin frowns. He knows what you mean but asks anyway, “And what’s that?”

“You tell me,” you challenge. “You really think you’re gonna dismantle them by playing by the rules? By arresting a few low-level pricks and calling it a day? Hydra isn’t just an organization—it’s a disease. One that’s smart enough to outmaneuver every cure. You cut off a limb, and another grows back.” Your voice lowers, darkens. “I go for the heart.”

Joaquin studies you. The shadowy certainty in your tone. The way your hands have curled into fists, nails pinching into your skin before you even realize it. He should be alarmed, maybe even afraid of you and what you can do with those hands. But mostly? He just feels tired for you and all the baggage you have to carry. He wishes there were more he could do more for you, but he knows the oath he’s taken. His values, his morals—they won’t be compromised.

“I get it,” he says, voice softer now. “You think we’re a waste of time. That we’re too soft.”

“You are,” you say, like it’s obvious and with no remorse. “Your Captain? He’s trying to lead a world that doesn’t even know what to do with itself. One that hardly wants him. He’s gotta play politics. Me? I don’t have to play anything. I owe nothing to no one but myself.”

Joaquin shakes his head. “That’s not a life. That’s a war you never get to leave. That darkness won’t let you go.”

Your jaw tightens, and you look away. You don’t deny it.

For the first time since bringing you in, Joaquin feels like he has something solid to work with. You know that your past is controlling you but you won’t let it go. With their help, you could finally be free. He lets you sit with his words, grabbing a water from the mini-fridge before settling across from you on Sam’s bunk.

Silently, he offers it. Begrudgingly, you take it, careful not to touch him.

“Look, I know what it’s like to be made into something you didn’t ask for,” he says. “To be trained to survive, not to live. And I know that once you start thinking like that, it’s almost impossible to stop.”

Your fingers tighten around the bottle, the plastic nearly giving out under the pressure. The sound brings you back to the present and you loosen your grip letting the bottle fall to the ground. Joaquin says nothing, letting you be.  When your eyes meet again, he can see that you recognize that. That you believe him when he says that he understands. You let it fade away as quickly as it appeared.

Joaquin presses forward anyway. “You don’t trust us? Fine. But what if we can help? What if we can end this without you burning yourself out trying to do it alone?”

You shake your head. “God, baby bird, you don’t fucking get it.”

“Then make me fucking get it,” Joaquin challenges, matching your energy. He hopes that in doing so you'll level with him.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The space between you is heavy with something unspoken, pressing down on your chest. Your breath is too sharp, and his is too shallow, like being stuck in each other's gaze has sucked all the air out of the room before either of you could even think. You exhale sharply, pulling back, re-centering yourself just as another presence fills the doorway.

"There's a name," you mutter, almost reluctant. "One of the last remaining heads of Hydra. He’s been running a black ops division off-grid. And if you think what was done to your precious boy was bad, what they’re doing is worse."

Joaquin barely has time to process before your gaze flicks past him, landing on Sam, now standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

The two men exchange a look. “How do we know you’re not leading us into a trap?” Sam asks.

You scoff. “I’m not like them and you thinking I would walk you into a trap is like them. If you don’t believe me, I can happily do this on my own. And I wouldn’t have either of you slowing me down.”

Sam meets Joaquin’s gaze again; its pleading, laced with the idea of giving you a chance. A long beat of silent communication passes between them.

Sam rolls his eyes, exhaling reluctantly. He knows what its like to be an advocate, the one who’s seeing more than others. He’ll let Joaquin take his chance on you. “You’re lucky he likes you,” he mutters, jerking his chin toward Joaquin before turning back toward the door. “We’re wheels up in an hour. Try not to make me regret this.”

Joaquin looks back at you, and you could swear that you see some warmth in his cheeks. “That makes two of us.” He barely catches it—the slight quirk at the corner of your mouth. It’s smug, not quite a smirk, but it’s something. An attempt at humor. He softens again, seeing the effects of what Hydra put you through.

What had they done to you where you can’t even smile? Laugh? See yourself as more than just their pawn? The thought makes him sad, yes, but it also makes him angry. You deserve better than that.

“Three of us.” You shake your head, pushing to your feet. You’re tired of being cooped up. “Guess we’ll see.”

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> ch. 3

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twenty-seven: margot

word count: 4.5k

warnings: the chapter contains violence and gore. reader discretion is advised.

twenty-six | twenty-seven | twenty-eight

It had been twenty-four days.

It wasn’t meant to be a big deal—twenty-four days wasn’t much, not really. Less than a month. A stretch of time that could pass without much fanfare. But when you were used to someone being a part of your every day—quietly, seamlessly—three and a half weeks felt like a shift in orbit.

She didn’t let herself dwell on it too much. People got busy. Work piled up. Life did what it always did—moved forward whether you were ready or not.

Still, her mornings felt slightly off. He’d been around long enough that she’d stopped checking the street before heading out, stopped glancing over her shoulder, stopped carrying that low buzz of unease she used to ignore. He’d made her feel safer without making a point of it. That absence hung in the air now—not threatening, not ominous. Just… noticeable.

Life had picked up again—there were essays to finish, coffee orders to mess up, the unrelenting rhythm of the city around her. She’d made it this far without needing him. Whatever space he’d carved into her routine, she was clearly capable of patching over. Even he could be temporary, inconsequential.

It’s not like she was waiting for him, or something. She wasn’t. And yet…

She still half-glanced at every black car that slowed by her building. She still paused outside cafés without knowing why. Still unlocked her phone more often than necessary, only to scroll past the name that used to light up her screen.

Once, a barista drew a little bear in her foam. She smiled, took the photo without thinking, thumb hovering over the send button—before locking the phone again and tucking it deep into her coat pocket.

She didn’t want to be dramatic about it. She didn’t want to chase someone who clearly wanted space. So, she adjusted. She wasn’t going to be the one to reach out, not again. Not after that.

If he wanted space, he could have all of it. 

Lando noticed the silence long before he was ready to admit it.

No more photos in the middle of the day. No blurry videos of a latte she’d screwed up or some dog she thought looked like him. No sarcastic commentary about a book she swore he’d hate.

His phone had gone quiet. And it should’ve been a good thing.

He’d told himself he needed space, and now he had it.

Still, his eyes flicked toward his phone more often than they should. He kept it face-up now, just in case. Some nights, muscle memory had him opening their messages, stopping short of replying to any of them. He’d drafted something once. Deleted it before the second sentence.

He worked more. Stayed later at the office. Picked up meetings he would’ve normally sent Logan to handle. He trained harder. Sparred longer. There was no time to think when your knuckles were raw and your lungs were burning.

He worked until his eyes blurred, until emails bled into contracts and contracts bled into calls, until the hum of exhaustion drowned out every thought that threatened to claw through the haze of being on autopilot.

Lando was still waiting.

Not actively. Not desperately. He wasn’t weak like that. But some part of him—a stubborn, half-wounded part buried somewhere behind all the noise—kept waiting for a sign. A text. A photo. A “hey, remember this?”

But none came.

Instead, his phone was quiet. He turned the notification volume up one night, for no reason at all. Just in case, a voice had whispered in the back of his mind. Then he turned it back down the next morning, cursing himself for being so fucking soft.

He boxed more often now. Longer, harder, sometimes until his hands went numb through the wraps. Logan kept his distance, especially after the reassignment. Lando had said it was a logistics thing. No one believed him, but no one pushed.

The others didn’t bring her up anymore. And Lando made sure to keep it that way.

She was a distraction. He’d removed her. 

Everything was fine.

Well, except the mornings. The ones where she used to sit in his car with sleepy eyes and a sarcastic joke. Or the nights when he’d find a stupid meme from her just as he was ready to lose his mind over work. Or the way silence used to feel rare—earned—and now just felt like it was swallowing him whole.

Lando shrugged it all off.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even—

Whatever. It didn’t matter. 

He had his reasons, and he sure as hell didn’t owe anyone an explanation. It was cleaner this way. Simpler, certainly.

He was back in control, and everything was exactly how it used to be.

Before, they’d somehow inadvertently ended up spending almost every day side by side, without realizing how tightly they were stitching themselves into each other’s lives. Now, they moved through their days like strangers—living separate lives in the same city, thinking of each other too often and pretending not to.

It was easier to believe things were different.

They were never that close. She was probably just bored anyway. He’s just been busy. That’s all. Life goes on. People move on.

They persuaded themselves with tiny reassurances, built a quiet wall of denial brick by brick. She got used to not reaching out. Told herself she was being respectful, not overstepping. Told herself that it was better this way—less confusing, less messy. He had things to do. He didn’t need her cluttering up his life with dogs and coffee and half-baked thoughts at midnight.

And Lando told himself she probably didn’t even notice he was gone. That she had a full life, people around her. That he’d been the one stepping into something that was never meant to include him.

So they moved on.

But sometimes, when she walked past a coffee shop and smelled the roast he’d once insisted was undrinkable, she smiled without meaning to.

And sometimes, when he leaned against his desk and took a moment to peer out the magnificent windows and saw the skyline—the one they’d once admired as they sat side by side, wrapped in silence and something that almost felt like peace—he remembered her voice so clearly it made his throat go tight.

But they were fine.

Everything was fine.

The café was unusually slow for a Thursday morning. Rain tapped against the windows, soft and steady, blurring the outside world into a watercolor gray. It had been a quiet morning. The kind that made you forget things had ever felt complicated.

The café hummed with its usual rhythm—steam hissing from the espresso machine, the soft clink of cups stacking, the bell above the door chiming every few minutes with the gentle regularity of breath. It smelled like brown sugar and coffee beans and the damp pavement outside each time the door opened momentarily. Y/N’s apron was slightly stained with oat milk, and her hair was frizzing near her temples from the steam, but she didn’t mind.

Margot had just made some offhand comment about a customer trying to flirt his way into a free muffin, and they’d been laughing about it. That easy, familiar kind of laugh. The kind you only share with someone who’s seen you bone-tired, crabby, half-soaked in a fridge leak, and somehow still loves you.

She stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, steam rising from the milk pitcher as she worked on a cappuccino. Margot stood beside her, elbows propped against the edge, peeling a clementine with the lazy ease of someone who’d lived three lives. Perhaps nine.

“You know,” Margot said, voice low, “I was going to give you grief for coming in early again. But then I saw the bags under your eyes and figured—ah. Boy trouble.”

She snorted, pretending to focus on the drink in her hand. The latte art she’d been practicing ended up looking disfigured anyway – like a foamy blob instead of the elegant dove she’d intended for it to be. “There’s no boy. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Mm. Didn’t sleep well,” Margot mocked, her words teasing as she automatically handed her a wedge of orange. “Back in my day, that was code for heartbreak.”

She took the piece, popped it in her mouth. “Maybe I just drank too much caffeine.”

Margot gave her a look, eyes sharp over the rim of her glasses. “You’ve been drinking too much caffeine since you were sixteen, or perhaps since birth. What is his name, hm?”

“No one.” She tried to smile. “It’s not like that.”

Margot didn’t push. She just reached over, tucked a stray curl behind her ear like it was nothing, like she’d done since the first day they met.

“Alright. No man. Just… promise me you’re eating. And not just those old pastries. Mange un légume ou deux, veux-tu?”

She nodded, throat suddenly tight. “Oui, I promise.”

Margot patted her shoulder. “Good. Now go check if we’ve got any more of that rose syrup. Those girls from the yoga studio will riot  if I tell them we’re out again.”

“On it,” she said, grateful for something to do. She pushed through the backroom door, humming under her breath. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered and half-labeled. She tiptoed up, scanning the top rows.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, stretching for the box.

“Top shelf, right side,” the elderly woman yelled, as if somehow magically able to tell. “Don’t break your neck.”

The stockroom was dim and tight, cold air from the walk-in leaking under the door. She scanned the shelves, fingers brushing labels. Maple, rosewater, the weird chili one no one liked…

And then—

Sharp, but distant. A car backfiring, maybe, or something falling.

What?

Then, a second one.

This one was closer. Inside. Her chest tightened and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The bottle of syrup slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. Her heart stopped, then slammed back into rhythm, hard and chaotic.

The air changed. The silence after the sound was worse than the sound itself.

Another one.

Then two more, fast. The fifth and sixth were unmistakable.

Gunshots.

Her breath caught in her throat. Instinct took over, pulling her down behind a stack of inventory before her brain could even process the sound. Her hands trembled where they clutched the edge of a box. Cold air from the fridge brushed her spine, but her skin was burning.She pressed herself back against the metal shelving, heart hammering so loud she was sure it would give her away. 

Something told her they stopped, but between the ringing in her ears and the hammering in her chest it was difficult to be certain. As soon as some semblance of silence settled, however, her mouth went dry.

Margot.

Her heart lurched.

Margot had been there. Margot had been standing just a few feet away. Hadn't she?

Without thinking, she moved. Her legs moved before logic could get in the way. Her hands gripped the backroom door, pushing it open with a force that sent it banging against the wall. She burst from the storeroom, shoes skidding against the tile floor. Her eyes searched, the café hazy now, her vision narrowed from adrenaline. The door had been blown inward. One of the front chairs was knocked over. And Margot—

No.

No.

There was so much red.

Margot was on the ground, crumpled awkwardly, like someone had cut the strings holding her upright. Blood pooled too fast, too dark beneath her.

It soaked through the elderly woman’s apron, smeared across the floor like someone had tried to wipe it away. Her glasses were crooked, one lens cracked. She was breathing—barely. Each inhale a wet, rattling sound.

“No—no, no, no,” she gasped, falling to her knees. “Margot. Hey. Hey, look at me—fuck—look at me.”

Y/N’s heart punched in her throat. She was already moving forward, fingers shaking as she kneeled beside Margot, blood soaking her fingers the moment she touched her. 

There was so much blood. Too much.

Pressure. That’s what you were supposed to do, right? 

She had no clue how this worked. She just remembered some basic first aid crap she’d learned ages ago, something from an infomercial, or was it a book?

So she pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding, but—

Why was there more blood?

Her breath came too fast, her hands trembling like a leaf in the wind as she tried to find something—anything—to slow it down. She could feel the warmth of it, see the way it spread. Her fingers slipped as she pressed harder, praying for a miracle.

No. No, no, no. 

Her stomach lurched.

Margot? Margot, please.

Her fingers were slipping through the blood now, and her head spun, breath ragged. She felt useless. Why wasn’t it stopping? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady herself, but it was impossible.

“No, no. Please, no—”

Margot blinked a second later, but slowly, like it took effort.

Y/N pressed her hands against the wound, not even sure which one, just trying to stop the blood from being everywhere. It just kept coming. She pressed down hard, too hard maybe, but it was the only thing she could do. “C’mon, you’re okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay—just stay with me, please, Margot, please—”

She sounded young. She didn’t realize it until her voice cracked.

Margot was still warm. Her breath was shallow, lips parted just slightly, like she might say something but couldn’t find the words. One of her hands twitched like it had tried to move.

She curled closer, trying to shelter her somehow. As if that would help. As if her body could protect Margot’s.

Fuck. Fuck. Say something. C’mon, you gotta say something–

“You’re okay, alright? You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered, shaking. “It’s fine. I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere.”

Somewhere outside, tires screeched. People yelled. Sirens wailed, far-off but getting closer.

Margot coughed, the faint stain of blood tinging the cracks in her lips now. Her hand reached up, weakly, touched her cheek. A gesture she’d done a thousand times.

“No, non,” she chided weakly, barely audible. “Don’t cry, mon chéri.”

“M’not,” Y/N lied, voice breaking. “I’m not crying. I’m– You’re gonna be okay.”

Y/N brought one of her own trembling hands to place over Margot’s, holding it where it cradled her cheek. She shut her eyes tightly, convincing herself she didn’t need to memorize the feel of those soft wrinkled hands in case it was the last time she’d ever get to feel them.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to hold pressure with one hand now, trying to keep Margot’s blood inside, to rewind time. Her knees were soaked. The world blurred. Her lungs couldn’t find air.

“Where the fuck are they?” she screamed to no one, her voice hoarse with desperation. “Where the fuck is everyone? Anyone! Aidez-Moi! Help me!”

Margot’s fingers slipped away from her face. Y/N gave her hand a gentle squeeze before placing it in her lap, helping her save her strength. Margot would need all the strength she could get, right? 

She kept pressing, even when her hands started to ache. Even as those kind grey eyes began to blink more slowly.

“Please. Please, please, please don’t—don’t do this, okay? You still owe me that lemon cake recipe. You still haven’t met my—” Her throat caught. “You can’t. You can’t.”

Her voice broke, and she was talking to herself more than to Margot as she rambled out apologies and pleas. 

“You have to be okay. You can’t go. Please don’t leave me. I can't— I can’t do this alone, you know that.” 

The words spilled out, raw and desperate. She tried to convince herself, tried to keep some shred of composure. She shifted, trying to lift Margot just a bit, to get a better angle, but the blood kept coming. More, more, more. Her hands were slick with it now, the viscous substance coating her skin. Margot’s lips trembled, a faint breath escaping.

“I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re okay. Please, please... just be okay. Please, please. Don’t leave me, Margot. I can’t—” Her voice cracked, the words coming in jagged gasps. She was losing herself, losing control of everything, the panic squeezing her chest until she couldn’t think straight.

Margot coughed once, an ugly hacking thing before she spluttered. Her chest gave a faint, labored rise and fall, like a thread pulling through water, faint but still there. The corner of her lips formed a weak version of the smile the young woman would recognize anywhere.

“So brave, ma belle fille,” she hummed softly.

For a moment, her heart swelled with anger. Her hand trembled as she held the pressure again. “No, no! Stop it! Please, just hold on. Please, you have to hold on. I can't do this without you, I need you. You’re– You’re all I have, okay?”

Her face morphed into some sad attempt at a smile, a desperate attempt at reassurance. But Y/N’s eyes were too watery and lips trembled too much for Margot to get to see her darling girl’s beautiful smile, sweet and radiant as the sun. 

She tried to recall all the other times she’d gotten to see it when her mind provided her with the image of that very first day – a younger Y/N, shy and awkward and looking terribly lonely, smiling brightly at the sight of fresh coffee and something warm to eat.

But Margot struggled to remember that warmth now, struggled to remember the hot summer breeze from years ago. All she felt now was the cold, because suddenly it was terribly cold.

Y/N’s fingers dug into the blood-soaked fabric of Margot’s shirt, the hammering in her chest threatening to crack her sternum in half. She felt the heat of her own tears mixing with the sweat on her face. Everything was slowly blurring together.

Please don’t leave me.

Margot’s hand twitched. It was weak, but it was a movement. The tiniest sign of life, and for a second, Y/N clung to it, her breath coming back in shallow, frantic gasps.

She couldn’t lose her.

Not yet.

The phone call was a blur, the desperation in her voice barely cutting through the ringing in her ears. She wasn’t thinking, wasn’t processing the words as she frantically hit the call button with shaking fingers.

“Liam,” she gasped, the name falling from her lips the one someone may beg a saint. “I—I need you. Please. It’s Margot. She’s—” The words hit her throat like shards of glass. “She’s hurt,and now- and the blood, oh. There’s so much blood–”

The young woman let out a choked sob, something thick and ugly lodged in her chest. “I- I don’t know what to do, it won’t stop, I’m trying–”

“Tell me where you are,” he replied instantly.

“I’m putting pressure, and I keep trying to talk to her but she won’t– she won’t–”

“I need you to tell me where you are, Y/N. Now, alright?” his voice was firm, but not unkind– just stern enough to pierce through the haze of panic long enough to hold her attention.

“I’m– The cafe, the cafe. Please, Liam, hurry!”

The line went dead after that, but Y/N didn’t care. Her focus was on Margot—on the blood, the rising panic, the fear that tore at her insides. Her hands were shaking so violently now, she couldn’t hold on anymore, but she refused to let go of Margot’s limp body. She wasn’t—Margot wasn’t gone.

No, she couldn’t be.

Seconds felt like hours, but then there was finally a sound. Tires screeching, and then the rev of an engine. Her heart leaped as the door slammed open.

Liam stood there, barely minutes after the call ended. He’d come fast, so fast. There he stood, strong and steady, his eyes scanning the scene before landing on her. It was almost like he’d been waiting for her to need him, even though he had no idea how badly. But now suddenly there he was, that familiar silhouette walking through the entryway like some divine savior.

Liam’s here. He’ll take care of everything, and then everything will be okay, right? 

Liam knows how to make things okay.

Everything’s gonna be okay.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

She was kneeling beside Margot, her hands stained with too much blood, her heart so heavy it felt it was crushing her lungs, stealing her ability to breathe. Her chest tightened as she watched the paramedics step forward, the familiar beeping of equipment and their cool, methodical movements only making her panic worse.

“No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She clutched tighter, desperate. Her voice wavered like a child’s, begging like she had nothing left to give. “Please, no. Please? Don’t take her—don’t you dare take her, I need her. I need her!”

They reached closer to her, to the woman who had given Y/N everything but her name – who had given her a roof over her head, clothes on her back, food on her plate, and perhaps most importantly, someone to call family. When they did, the younger woman flinched, instinctively curling around the still-warm body in her hands like there was something still left to protect.

She turned to look at Margot, who must have closed her eyes because she was tired – she always did get tired so easily nowadays – and she asked her. Margot always listened when she asked, right? Margot would listen.

A small, shaky hand barely let go of Margot’s side, only to come up and cradle the side of her face. The action caused a small smudge of deep red to appear on her skin where the color once used to be, and immediately, Y/N hated it. 

No, no, that doesn’t look right. Margot wouldn’t like that.

She quickly tried to find a clean corner of her sleeve to try to wipe it away, to wipe away the tingle of blood until she could see the natural blush that always dusted the apple of her cheeks. She’d always been beautiful, Margot – stunning eyes, rosy cheeks and lots of smile lines from decades of good laughs. She’d often tell Y/N that she’d had a “movie star” face when she was younger, that she was on her way to an audition when she ran into the man that would eventually become her husband. The name of the movie she’d gone to audition for changed every time, but they’d simply laugh about it each time.

Y/N would let her tell all the stories she wanted if it just meant she’d talk to her.

“... Margot? Margot, don’t go! Please, don’t go! Please!”

For some reason, Margot wouldn’t answer her.

Y/N shook her gently, desperate for an answer. She didn’t want to let these strangers near Margot, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t.

The paramedics were gentle but firm. They moved to try to pull Margot’s body from her grasp, but Y/N didn’t let go, her fingers wrapped around Margot’s wrist as though the force of her touch could stop everything. She was shaking, crying, unable to breathe. The world was spinning, everything spinning, until—

“Y/N,” came Lando’s voice, low and steady.

She didn’t look at him at first, couldn’t. She was caught in the agony, trapped in the raw panic that gripped her chest.

“Y/N, you’ve got to let go of her, alright? C’mon now,” he spoke, his voice calm and unwavering, but there was a tinge of pain there—something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

But it wasn’t about him. Not right now. Not when Margot was slipping away.

“I—I can’t,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t... not her. Please. She’s all I have left. I need her!”

His hands were on her then—so gentle, but strong, like something steady in a world that felt like it was falling apart. His warmth wrapped around her as he knelt to sit beside her, his torso firm against her back and his voice a soft murmur against her ear, trying to pull her from the chaos.

“I know,” Lando whispered, his hand sliding stroking softly along her back. “I know, Angel. I’m here. I’m here I’ve got you, yeah? C’mon, I’ve got you, I promise.”

The paramedics approached closer as they attempted to work quickly, carefully, but they were too late. The beeping of the equipment had long since gone flat, as if there had been no pulse at all, the silence so loud it felt like it was crushing her. A deep, suffocating silence that filled the air. She couldn’t hear anything except the ringing in her ears. She could barely feel anything except the numbness that was creeping in, filling every part of her.

And then, Lando’s larger hands, warm and firm, encompassed her own as he gently peeled her fingers away from Margot’s body. His fingers slowly came to close around her own, still curled and stiff from how long she’d been holding on. He wasn’t forcing her, but his touch was steady, unyielding. She could slowly begin to feel the sensation of the pads of his thumbs gently stroking across her knuckles on each hand, a soothing back and forth motion. It was just enough to draw her out of the tight hold she had on Margot.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me.” His voice is low and calm as he crouches beside her. Her hands are slick, shaking, still pressed to Margot’s chest. “You’ve done everything you can, alright? You’ve done enough. Let ‘em take it from here.”

“Oh angel,” he breathes, softer now, like it hurts to say. Like it’s all he’s got. Her hands won’t let go—won’t stop pressing, blood blooming between her fingers. She’s crying now, whispering nonsense, pleading.

“Hey, hey,” he says again, firmer this time as he wraps his arms around her, prying her hands free. “She needs help, and so do you. It’s… It’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. You just have to let them take her, Y/N,” Lando’s voice broke through the fog in her mind. 

“Please, angel.”

She couldn’t move. Her body was frozen, her hand still clutching Margot’s lifeless wrist, but his presence was enough to make her feel like she could maybe begin to breathe again. The warmth of him—his strength—was steady, grounding. Like it was starting to melt the frost frozen around the bubble that encompassed this moment.

He pulled her gently into his chest then, his arm around her back, holding her close as she continued to shake, unable to speak. Her sobs came in ragged gasps. She was a mess—her clothes, her hands, her face smeared with Margot’s blood. Her body felt like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

But Lando held her, steady and silent. His chest rising and falling beneath her as she buried her face into the fabric of his shirt. His hand was smoothing over her back, soothing, like he was trying to piece her back together. Like if he held her long enough, she’d feel the chasm in her chest begin to close.

For a long while, they just stayed there, the paramedics doing their job in the background, the sharp scent of blood mixing with the damp smell of rain on pavement. But none of that mattered. Not anymore.

Lando had her, even when everything else slipped away.

a/n: so...

[diejager]

This is omegaverse related so please here me out… What about something different? What about…

A

Feral Omega?

I’m talking like, this omega isn’t your typical omega. This omega is downright dangerous, reports of Omega going feral but causes of harm to them due to some omega discrimination.

So what if, reader who is feral omega, is down right butchering enemies. And doesn’t hesitate to almost maul some alpha recruits if they want to mess with her..

Cw: omegaverse, feral!reader, violence, blood, weird pack dynamic, discrimination, protective behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

You were a ‘one-of-a-kind’ omega —spoken with utmost reverence by them. You were their strong and independent omega, whispered in crowded halls, mumbled in darkest nights, screamed in busy moments, and kissed to in warm and comfortable beds. You were anything but a strong and dedicated and reliable soldier, someone Ghost had grown to respect after a joint Op, then coaxed to rely on by the others when they saw how welcoming Ghost was and simply how skillful you were at your job. 

You were small but spry, less bulky but flexible, weaker but resourceful. You were everything they sought for in an omega. You were so much alike Soap, yet molecularly different. Though it was every alpha’s dream of finding a soft and loving mate to provide and protect for, someone smaller and more fragile than their thick muscles and broad build, there was a thrill in being reminded that they weren’t always at the top, being grounded and brought back down from their high horses. Against all of traditional mating couples, your current age and time had demanded more equal partnering, a relationship where both parties stood on the same ground. 

And Ghost and Price thrived on that, their employment demanded a level of independence from their mates and pack mates, the capability of standing on their own and manage grief and stress. That’s where Soap stood, an omega at it’s finest, strong and independent and emotionally knowledgeable, the glue to their pack, and Gaz, the stabiliser, the soft and gentle hand that reminded them of who they were. 

Then you came bulldozing through their well-built dynamic: feral and wrathful, full of hate and anger for the world who had wronged you. When the military had rejected you for both your sex and gender, you’d worked up the ranks in the CIA with your blood, sweat and tears, starting from a fresh agent - a rookie - to an experienced one. You’d gotten so far that Laswell had eventually reach out to you, acknowledged by someone so powerful and partnered with The Ghost had gotten you the acknowledgment and respect you’d dreamed of. 

It was a rough start with Ghost, but he learned to rely on you as much as you did him, you had formed a mutual understanding that only grew into fondness after meeting the rest of his pack. They were a functioning mix of weird and quirky: a leading alpha that was a big, soft bear, another alpha that was rough on the edge but caring, an overenergetic and fiery omega and a beta that represented everything you liked in one, calm, open-minded and smart. It was odd seeing you join them so often and continuously on Ops that didn’t need much of CIA intervention, but you all made it work.

You’d become a familiar face on base, a blunt and no-nonsense agent to new people, but cracked jokes and smiled with those you knew. Fiercely protective of your pack as much as they were with you. If Soap was a menace, then you were an omen, your deep frown and growling snarl, baring your teeth as a warning before you attacked. The world had taught you to bark and bite —and bite you did, a strong and dangerous one, leaving you bruised and roughed up, but your opponent gasping for life and battered.

Honestly, sometimes you were more trouble than it’s worth, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[lightnersdream-archive]

i've been thinking about exactly why people portraying one of the other crew members successfully killing Jimmy as a "for what you did to Anya" kind of thing rubs me the wrong way a bit and it's because like..... this is just another form of taking agency away from Anya, in a way. it's kind of framing her as some meek, shivery woman-thing who's entirely at the mercy of the men around her, either to hurt her or save her.

(i understand these are mostly for wish fulfillment on the audience's behalf because everyone would like to see Jimmy pay for his crimes. whether or not this is the intention of the person writing it isn't really relevant, characterization happens with or without intent. i feel like it misses the point by portraying it as an 'ideal ending'.)

because... Anya is a capable person. she takes things into her own hands when she can. it was partially(?) her idea to get into the cargo,

(before he interrupts her.. remember when she interrupted Curly in the dead pixel segment?)

it was her idea to get the code scanner from the cockpit,

it was her idea to get the medication from behind the foam.

(the chance to do these things herself is not given to her.)

she'd been keeping Curly alive for months in a critical state somehow, her psych evaluations at the start are only so useless because Jimmy refuses to take it/her seriously and Curly is obviously biased when he puts it into his own hands. he's known him a long time, like he said. "I'll just put good for that one."

there's not a lot of material to work with because of how the game is framed, but it's there. we are working with two very biased perspectives and neither one lends Anya what she deserves

there's significant changes in how she speaks post- and pre- crash, and depending on who she happens to be talking to. i recommend re-reading her dialogue, because the difference is drastic

she acts the way she does around Jimmy because he has tangibly done horrible things to her, is actively hostile, and physically could not escape him by any means. she can't take away Curly's agency herself, in my eyes. you have to remember that Especially in the post-crash segments of the game, it's entirely from Jimmy's POV, and he obviously does not (and has never) thought very highly of her or treated her with a shred of respect

i've seen a general idea that she can't bear to hurt other people for any reason, but that doesn't really track to me. this is the real point of the post by the way

it seems based on the parts where she says she struggles to give Curly medication. "It just hurts him so much, I can't stand the noise." "It makes me nauseous."

it's not really the same thing as, say, hurting someone in self defense

this sounds like she did want the gun itself. this never felt worded like someone who would refuse to, at very least, threaten Jimmy with a gun, with violence. if she had been given the agency to make that decision on her own. she wasn't though

she still tries to reclaim some of it even as she's denied it

by the end she's still trying to keep that gun out of his hands

i think some people overly soften her, for similar reasons the game itself is trying to comment on. she's not a tender victim who couldn't cause pain to another out of the softness of her soul, she's a person who's had every last bit of agency ripped from her repeatedly until she couldn't take it anymore. that's the point. that's why framing her that way, "needing" someone to save her, is odd to me

she didn't need Curly to save her, she needed him to take responsibility

she didn't want to escalate things, but she's not an idiot. self defense was absolutely on her mind

but who knows im just saying shit *smiles serenely*

[yanderes-galore]

Hey! Could you do a overprotective Riz from beastars with a gn! raccoon

WE'RE BACK TO MURDER BEARS, BAYBEE!!!

Yandere/Overprotective! Riz with Raccoon! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior/Possessive behavior, Violence, Blood, Prejudice, Clingy behavior, Threats, Consumption of others (It's not... Cannibalism in this universe I guess?), Harassment/Bullying, Delusional behavior, Forced companionship/relationship.

I guess in a way you'd be considered a carnivore, right?

Raccoons are omnivores but you aren't, well, defenseless?

Although another thing to note is bears are omnivores.

So you and Riz are quite similar and would both be considered 'carnivores' according to the laws of Beastars I think.

Despite this, there's several issues with being friends with Riz.

One, you're much smaller.

Which could make Riz a threat over time.

Another thing, Riz is shown to have a twisted sense of friendship since the death of Tem.

Which can be problematic as your friendship goes on.

Riz has some... red flags.

Yet most don't see them.

Many see Riz as kindhearted.

He's loved and respected by his peers, even as a carnivorous bear.

How I imagine him befriending a raccoon is this....

Raccoons have a reputation.

I like to think that maybe many see them as thieves and delinquents.

Many species and groups in Beastars come with their own prejudice and rumors.

You, as a raccoon, are often not trusted due to what you are.

But Riz ends up trusting you.

Many people trust Riz while not many trust you by default.

It often leads to harassment or bullying.

I imagine you befriend Riz because he stepped in for you.

Due to being small, you're often picked on by larger animals.

Except one day...

A large bear happens to step in.

Riz is accepting of you, even his species has prejudice.

Honestly, he views you as harmless!

Which often makes him feel the need to protect you.

While many trust Riz and distrust you... It should really be the opposite.

Riz has proven that he's a threat even if he can hide it.

You haven't stolen from anyone in your life.

The obsession and friendship definitely starts with Riz stepping in to help you.

The bear is awfully kind to you, minding your smaller stature and listening to you.

Not many people pick on you after that due to the fact you have a brown bear backing you.

You're thankful for Riz's help, seeing nothing wrong with befriending him.

If only you knew...

Riz would barely leave your side.

He's seen what happens if he does, others pick on you.

No one picks on his friends.

To most his threats or protective behavior seems lighthearted.

But those who know what Riz is capable of?

There's a whole new underlying threat to your friendship.

Yet you're too oblivious to notice.

Imagine Riz growling at others who get too close to you?

His size dwarfs you.

You're so tiny and are practically cloaked in his shadow.

Many are wary of the raccoon and their big bear friend.

Riz acts like such a teddy bear with you.

He tries not to be intimidating to you, often keeping you near him whenever you two meet.

But to others that aren't you?

Riz seems possessive and overprotective.

Riz doesn't show his more animalistic side often.

Not with you, anyways.

Yet I think Riz would hunt down those who picked on you and started rumors.

Would he kill them? He doesn't have to.

But Riz can be very threatening.

While he tries not to be, he's large and terrifying when you stress him.

So, all of a sudden, no one's picking on you anymore!

That and Riz is very affectionate, offering to cook for you and often hovering around you.

You two are close companions.

In fact, I can see Riz carrying his raccoon obsession at times.

He's oddly playful, excusing it as him protecting you.

It's like he's displaying to others that if they mess with you... they mess with him.

You essentially have a clingy and overly obsessive bodyguard.

He doesn't have many positive experiences with... friendship.

So the lines between friendship, partner, and even meals are blurred for him...

Which puts you in danger if you make a wrong move.

You're so blind to the danger you're in.

Others see the blood around his maw and claws...

You don't.

Others suspect something... Odd with the food he gives you...

You don't.

Others notice people avoid you and Riz... or just disappear altogether...

You either don't or don't care.

You trust Riz, he protected you when no one else would!

For the most part, Riz is just a teddy bear who adores his raccoon friend.

Yet what happens if he loses his raccoon?

What if you both fight?

What if you realize what he really is?

Well... Hopefully things won't come to that, right?

Hopefully you just listen to him and don't look any deeper...

Yet if you do...

Riz will make sure to be gentle with his beloved raccoon, he'll be your one and only forever, you'll be safe and sound, just don't struggle....

[jd-loves-fiction]

Hello hello :3

I'm not sure if you take platonic requests so if you get to mine and you don't, pls lmk <3

Anyway. I would like to request platonic Boothill, Sampo, Mydei (if you can't write him yet then it's okay) and the Astral Express crew (you can leave out characters if it's too much) with a reader who is a former slave like Aventurine but they escaped by force and now respond to certain gestures with violence. Think about it like a wounded animal you're trying to approach. They lash out, bite, scratch, attack, anything.

🌑hello dear welcome!! I do take platonic requests 🫡and you can request as many characters as you want just know the more there are the longer I'll take😅 also I love love this idea 👀👀

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Ooh he gets it

You can't exactly hurt him, given the metal body, but even if you try he won't hold it against you

The circumstances might not be the same but he undoubtedly became a different, not violent, man after what the IPC did to his planet

Plus being a galaxy ranger is a lonely existence by design

He respects your need to distance yourself from people

But I feel there's a nurturing side to Boothill he doesn't get to tap into very often

So there's a part of him that will try to comfort you? Relate to you? He doesn't know what he's doing himself but something in his heart breaks for you and pulls him towards you

One stubborn fella about helping you but quite sturdy, let's say he's the guy letting the dog bite him to get its anger out and know that he can be trusted 🥺

✦ 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐨 ✦

Menace I love him

Sampo is a con-man salesman - he wants to know everyone's secrets so that he can exploit them for his benefit

But there's some lines even he won't cross

He's got a soft heart somewhere in there (deep in there) so you can expect that he'll go easy on you when he comes to his scheming

Plus he knows how to calculate risk, so if messing with you is highly likely to get him fucked up, he won't try you... Too much

Another man whose life wasn't exactly easy (which is why he's the way he is) and with a soft spot for people with a similarly difficult past

I think he'd find his own way of showing companionship, implying that you can talk to him about stuff if you want (tho he won't blame you for thinking he's just trying to get to your secrets) and stuff like that. He'll just be very subtle about how honest he's being

Let's say he's the guy slowly leaving treats for the dog and pretending like he doesn't care if it likes him or not (he really does, he's incredibly intrigued)

✦ 𝐌𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐢 ✦

New character so bear with me

I feel like you're very similar in this way

He's got a heart of gold under all that aggression, specially when it comes to his people

He's just bad at expressing it in a gentle way😅

His childhood was... Traumatic to say the least, violence is all he knows

Another sturdy guy, he's literally immortal and seems to enjoy a good fight so hitting him in any way might just start a sparring session💀

If he doesn't know you, he wouldn't engage, he's got better things to worry about

But if he does, you might get to see a gentleness from him no one thought him capable of

He's a patient man but he genuinely wants to see you learn to live with your trauma like him

I don't think he's done healing, mind you, but you might be able to learn something from each other about living with your demons

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

So much father energy LORD

The way he just immediately takes Sunday under his wing? Guiding him gently and patiently? That's a dad right there

He's deeply altruistic so he will try to help you please don't fight it😭

He's canonically one of the strongest characters so don't worry about hurting him. The fact that you even had to live through what you did, hurts him much more

Gentle but insistent, is how I'd describe him

He will not give up on you no matter what and that is a promise

When and if you decide to open up, he's a great listener

But even if you don't, he'll be there always🫡 because he genuinely just wants to see you be happy

✦ 𝐇𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐤𝐨 ✦

A fearless woman if I ever saw one

On the express she mostly keeps to herself, y'know navigating

But she undoubtedly cares deeply about the team so if you're part of it (let's say you are) you're included in that sentiment

She's not exactly... Motherly, per say, but she does care. She's just a bit... Awkward about it?

The type to do things like invite you to have coffee with her (don't drink it), or offer to teach you about navigating and stuff like that, just try to make you feel included

Not the type to outright ask about what happened but will listen if you tell her and will not judge - she doesn't see anything wrong with the way you handled things (Sunday train flashbacks)

Knows you're capable of protecting yourself, but will become somewhat protective of you

Tries to avoid setting you off as much as possible, she can hold her own no problem but she'd feel terrible if she hurt you in some way

✦ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟕𝐭𝐡 ✦

Sunshine incarnate

Might come off as overly friendly upon first meeting so if that sets you off well... she'll learn her lesson... maybe

Doesn't remember her past so if you don't wanna talk about yours it's all good with her

But if you do, she's a surprisingly good listener

Tho if you decide to be rude or aggressive to push her away, she'll definitely take it to heart, at first

She'll mope about it for a bit before her determination takes over

She wants to be your friend damnit 😡

She'll call you out for being rude but stick around regardless

She's got thicker skin than expected and she's hard to shake off (like a puppy...) if she decides she wants to be your friend, that's what she's gonna do

Plus after that first time, being rude to push her away won't work, she'll just talk right over you

In the end, she might just win you over through sheer determination 😭

✦ 𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠 ✦

Oh he cares so much bless him

Dan Heng is extremely protective of those he's close to

If you're in the express, you're immediately included in that

Quiet comfort is his thing

Like sitting together quietly because you just need some company while he reads or even offering a game of chess as a distraction

Doesn't blame you for how you react, but if you become physically dangerous to be around he will be the first to restrain you

Just because he gets it doesn't mean he likes seeing the people around him get hurt

I feel like he's got some words of wisdom regarding how to make peace with your past

But beyond that he's good to have around because he doesn't push for answers at all

Nobody knew about his past when he came onto the express so he'd be kind of a hypocrite if he cared

It's inevitable that he becomes attached and when he does he becomes just as protective with you as with any other member of the express, regardless of your past

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter fifteen: The Game, The Silence, and The Weight of the World

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 15 | next

Series Masterlist

The television flickered with muted violence as players in the arena scurried between barriers, their bodies moving with the desperation of those who knew that one misstep could mean the end. The air outside was thick with the promise of the storm, but inside the office, it was almost eerily calm. The hum of the screen and the occasional rustle of papers were the only sounds, and even those felt muted, distant, as though the world outside the walls of this small room had been left behind.

In-ho stood by the television, his body rigid, his eyes focused on the screen. He wasn’t really watching. Not anymore. His posture was tense, his hands behind his back, fingers slightly curled as if holding onto something that wasn’t there. He was always so controlled, so perfectly composed. But you could sense the weight he carried, the pressure of it all, buried beneath the mask of indifference he wore so well.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sleek black leather couch, the coolness of the material making you feel small against the vastness of the space. The luxurious, yet sterile, surroundings were a constant reminder of how trapped you both were—how the game played out beyond the walls of the office, and how, in a way, you were trapped in your own little game here, too. It didn’t matter that you weren’t out there in the arena. You were still part of it.

There was a question bubbling at the back of your throat—something you didn’t know if you wanted to ask, but it needed to be asked. You had spent days avoiding it, but you knew it was always there, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

“You still don’t sleep much, do you?” In-ho’s voice broke through, its low, measured tone drawing your attention. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel the weight of his words, the carefulness with which he said them. It was as though he was testing the waters—seeing if you would give him something, anything, to go on.

You hesitated before answering, unsure of what you were ready to admit. His eyes flicked to you, just for a moment, but long enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze, the way it searched you, studying you with that intensity only he seemed capable of. But it wasn’t the usual cold calculation. There was something… softer in it. Just a flicker, barely perceptible, but it was there.

“No,” you said quietly. “I guess I haven’t gotten used to it.”

He didn’t respond right away, and you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. But before you could second-guess yourself, he spoke again.

“It never gets easier,” he said, his voice quieter this time, as though the words themselves carried a kind of weight that he wasn’t used to bearing. “You just… learn to block it out. Pretend it doesn’t affect you. But it always does. No matter how many times you see it.” With that he turned to face you. He stepped towards the couch to sit next to you.

You looked at him, the faintest flicker of understanding passing between you both. He wasn’t talking about the players. He was talking about himself. The man who ran this nightmare, who orchestrated it all from behind the scenes, he had to block it out too. And, somehow, that realization made it all the harder to bear.

A quiet, heavy silence fell over the room again. The game played on, the sounds of it muted by the soundproof walls, but you could feel the tension in the air like it was pressing down on your chest. You hadn’t been able to escape it. Not once. And neither had he.

“I still don’t understand why you do it,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure if you were asking him to explain, or if you were simply voicing a question that had haunted you since you first arrived.

In-ho’s jaw tightened slightly, his posture stiffening as if your question had struck too close to something. His gaze never left the screen, but you could see the slight clench of his fists beneath his jacket sleeves, the subtle shift in his shoulders.

“I do what I have to do,” he said, his voice even, devoid of emotion. “It’s not about why anymore. It’s just… what’s needed.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you understood. You didn’t think you would ever understand. How could you? How could anyone? But you knew that it didn’t matter what you understood. He had made his choice long ago—whether or not it was one he had wanted to make was another matter entirely.

There was a long pause as you both sat in silence, the only sound in the room, the faint hum of the television and the distant thunder of the storm outside. The tension between you two was thick, but neither of you said a word. Not yet.

And then, almost imperceptibly, something shifted.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but before you knew it, your fingers brushed lightly against his. It was a brief, accidental touch, but you both froze. The contact was electric, like a spark igniting something that had been lying dormant for far too long. It wasn’t a touch filled with intention, but it was enough to make your heart race, enough to make you aware of his presence in a way that you hadn’t been before.

And then, without thinking—without even fully realizing what you were doing—you let your pinkie finger curl gently against his. It wasn’t a strong grip, but it was there. A connection, fragile and fleeting, but undeniable.

You expected him to pull away. To draw back, to retreat into the distance that always seemed to keep you both apart. But he didn’t.

In fact, his finger shifted ever so slightly, locking around yours. It was as though he had made the conscious decision not to pull away. And you didn’t pull back either. You just stayed there, the two of you, pinkies entwined, the warmth of his hand seeping into yours. It was a strange, quiet moment—one that spoke volumes without either of you saying a word.

The moment lingered. For a second, you thought about pulling away, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to. The connection was so simple, so raw, so real, and you found yourself leaning into it. It wasn’t the kind of connection you had expected to find here, in this place of violence and brokenness. But it was there. Silent, but real. The weight of the game, the weight of the complex, the weight of everything that had come before—it all seemed to fade into the background, just for a moment.

Then, after a long beat, In-ho finally sat a little closer to you, the leather squeaking faintly under his weight. You watched, almost in slow motion, as he moved himself closer beside you. His body seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before he settled in, but the space between you didn’t feel as far as it had been before. He didn’t sit immediately close to you, but his proximity was unmistakable. The subtle movement of him next to you made the room feel different; it was closer, warmer.

The space between you now felt smaller, more personal, more intimate. He didn’t seem to be pulling away, either, which surprised you. He had always kept such distance—his walls as solid as the fortress he’d built around himself. But now, sitting beside you, his presence was quiet, a gentle weight against the quiet hum of the room.

He didn’t speak immediately, and you didn’t either. There was something unspoken in the way his body had shifted next to yours—an agreement of sorts that neither of you had to verbalize. The air between you both seemed charged now, a quiet energy settling in as his gaze flicked to the screen. He was still locked in, but you could see that his focus had shifted ever so slightly, a fraction of his attention now diverted to the connection between the two of you.

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice low and steady, as though he were offering this truth in the most vulnerable way he knew how. You could sense the weight behind the words, the sincerity hidden beneath his usual calm exterior.

You turned to him, surprised by the softness in his tone, and met his gaze. For the first time, there was no coldness in his eyes, no distance—just something quiet, something unspoken, something that didn’t need to be said aloud.

“I know,” you whispered, and you realized it was true. In that moment, you felt something shift in your chest. It wasn’t the usual tension, the constant gnawing fear. It was something gentler. The connection between you, the pinky lock, the quiet way he sat beside you—it was enough.

For the first time, you didn’t feel alone in this place.

———————

Chapter fifteen!! Woo!! Lemme know what you think! Thank you!

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