#only noticed when i had to force myself to take a step back and go 'ok why does this look wrong'

[crystalblast]

enjoy these sparks warmup drawings i have been doing the past week ✨ ron edition because i really hate drawing hair and russell has a lot of it whereas ron's hair is more convenient and practical.

[gutsby]

Honor Among Thieves

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying Brooklyn’s most dangerous man was easy. Divorcing him proves to be a bit harder—particularly when you’re pregnant with his child.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Breeding kink. Hurt/Comfort/We-Almost-Just-Died-Sex. Morning sickness. Manslaughter. Brief coerced kissing. Beefy, mob boss Bucky is a possessive expectant father who just wants to make sure he knocked you up properly

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Bucky’s words reverberated like a shotgun’s report, skimming across two dozen feet of marble, glass, and stainless steel before reaching your ears on the opposite end of the room. He was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, and your back was turned to him. Lucky thing, too, or else he would’ve seen the smile threatening to tug at both ends of your lips—effectively blowing your cover.

“Really, I don’t have the slightest idea, Barnes,” you told him, and it took everything in you not to laugh. Having just narrowly preserved your composure, you continued, “You keep me locked in this prison all day and expect me not to find ways to entertain myself? Well, this is all it is.”

Like hell it was, you could already hear in Bucky’s head. Feeling him eye you up and down from the archway, take his first steps into the room, loosen his tie, most likely.

“Prison?” You registered a low scoff, and his voice was already so much closer than it’d been five seconds ago.

Your husband was striding as quickly as his smooth, dark, tailored suit would allow, and he was undressing as he walked. You could hear the clothes coming off but pretended not to notice. Instead staring more intently at the crab bisque simmering on the stove before you, you licked the spoon you were holding and hummed a little.

“Yes,” you answered, simply, “Prison.”

Bucky was by your side in no time at all. Up close, he smelled like rosemary, oakmoss, and gunpowder.

“Well, this is news to me,” he said. He dragged out the middle syllables of his words longer than was necessary, likely to make his move sidling up closer to you. The last sound had scarcely died in his throat more than a second or two before you felt an arm loop around your back. A hand coming to rest on your hip, then his voice, again:

“See, I never knew they built ‘prisons’ up in first-class penthouse apartments in Brooklyn. Must be pretty nice.”

Bucky stepped behind you, and you were half-certain the black suit jacket he’d come home wearing was fully removed. Again, you pretended not to see, or care.

“It’s a metaphor, James.” But your voice wavered.

“A metaphor?” Bucky’s head sank into the soft groove between your neck and your shoulder, and he kissed it.

“Yes.”

Your mouth made a sound more akin to a breath than a real, enunciated word, and you knew Bucky felt it too. He sensed this headstrong, no-bullshit façade of yours was sure to come crumbling apart any second, and each new brush of his hands and lips would be making it happen. Knowing this, he wasn’t in a rush to get the rest of his clothes off. He did, however, start to toy with yours.

“Tell me more. Am I really holding you hostage, doll?”

You took a ladle and started to stir, trying to stay cool. Meanwhile, your husband tugged gently on your dress.

“Hostage, housewife, same thing,” you muttered, low.

For once, it was Bucky’s turn to break character, as he laughed. It was short-lived and sweet, and he pressed another kiss to the skin of your neck, as if in apology.

“Right, right. I forgot. You were forced to marry me.”

“Right,” you shook your head, just slightly emboldened by the way you’d made him crack, if only for a moment, “I’m forced to marry you, move into this horrific little shanty in Brooklyn”—gesturing to the multi-million dollar apartment surrounding you both—“and then you leave me here, all by myself, with nothing to do while you go play Godfather with your mobster friends. It’s not fair.”

By the tail end of that last sentence, you and Bucky both were already grinning a little, coming to terms with just how ridiculous it sounded when you phrased it like that. Still, your husband seemed game to keep the bit going.

“Now that’s just not true,” he said, tone all faux offense.

You felt the soft snap of a ribbon coming undone, and in a second realized it was the satin bow holding the back of your dress together. The fabric loosened, and Bucky’s hands slid down your sides, over your front—of course.

“I didn’t leave you ‘by yourself’ at all, doll,” he said, and suddenly, his palms were fanning out, over something, “Gave you this baby to keep you company, didn’t I?”

The ‘something’ he was touching now was your belly. All soft and smooth and protruding out in a perfect little globe beneath your dress, no bigger than when he’d left for work that morning. Bucky treated the bump like it was a novelty all the same—like he was seeing it for the first time and couldn’t believe he was actually the one responsible for making it get like that. It had gotten to be a hobby of his, nearly, just how much he loved watching it grow. He had his fingers splayed out across your tummy virtually every chance he could get, and that didn’t stop whether you were out in public or sharing a moment in the comfort of home; he couldn’t get enough.

Which was why Bucky was right when he’d said you knew exactly what you were doing when he came home that day. You knew just the kind of effect that wearing a tight, white dress while cooking dinner would have on him, and you hoped it would rile him up just like this: with his hands roaming over every inch of your body, making soft, sweet circles along the swell of your belly, and kissing your neck again and again. Biting some, too. Getting so worked up he was all but gnawing at the skin as he drank in your scent and got lost to pure instinct.

If it wasn’t clear that Bucky had had a breeding kink before, you saw it written plain as day across his face every morning and night since he’d first learned you were pregnant. Like all the life force within him was just a byproduct of the knowledge that you were his—and this baby, growing bigger each day, was a mix of you both.

You hated to say it, but fatherhood suited your assassin-trained, mob-heading, bloodlusting husband better than anyone could have predicted in a million years or more.

Presently, Bucky flipped you around and sank to his knees. He slid you over to the counterspace area, away from the stove, and made sure to flip each knob to ‘off’ to make sure there wasn’t a chance you’d get burned. You cast one last look at the crab bisque and knew at once your hard work would have to be put on the back burner for now, because Bucky wasn’t hungry for that.

Still, you kicked a foot in soft, muted protest when you felt him slide his hands up your legs, under your dress, and start to reach for your panties. You let out a breath.

“I spent two hours perfecting the seasoning on that, Barnes,” you chided him, gently and without much admonition in your voice as you pointed to the soup, “You say you want a good little housewife but won’t even leave me un-fucked long enough to try any food I make!”

“And I’m very sorry about that, Mrs. Barnes,” Bucky replied, head disappearing beneath your skirt so he could take your underwear off with his teeth instead.

But, much like your reproach, your husband’s strained apology held less than half of its professed sincerity. Your blue cotton panties were discarded in a second, your hips pushed back against the cool white marble behind it, and Bucky, almost too cheekily, brought his head back up from underneath your dress just to steal a quick look at your belly, then up at you. He was smiling.

“Anything you make tastes amazing, honey. Daddy just needs to eat a little something beforehand, that okay?”

He already knew what you’d say. The sweet, shit-eating grin hovering over your lower half knew all that and more. Bucky just loved to tease, taking the hem of your dress between his index and thumb, and rubbing all the more tenderly, murmuring again, ‘That alright with you, pretty girl?’ and ‘My wife likes getting tonguefucked in the kitchen, doesn’t she?’ while his breaths spread over you.

You nodded that you did. Momentarily forgetting the three-course meal you’d had planned for him since early that morning, you let your knees fall limply apart from one another, and Bucky’s broad form filled the space in between. The fabric of your dress was snug, especially so over your belly. Your husband pushed the material up your hips and let it rest just high enough to expose your warmth to him. Angling your hips back the slightest bit, trailing his fingers up your thighs and inside them, gently, Bucky let out a low groan against your body, and you could feel the vibrations of it travel up your spine.

“I really am mean for keeping you here all day, aren’t I?” he teased, sliding the tips of his fingers between your glistening folds and watching you jolt in response.

“So— so mean. Bucky, please.”

Your voice was far more hoarse than circumstances would seem to beget; your husband had just eaten you out that morning. Nevertheless, your hand was trembling as it reached for his head. Your pull was taut and dire. While your fingers threaded in through his hair and your body opened itself more and more for him, you could feel that kind smile, even if you couldn’t see it. Frankly, the swelling of eight-and-a-half months made it difficult to see much of anything below the waist, but Bucky made sure to let you know he was there. By holding your hand, skimming his lips against your skin, starting, just then, to sink his fingers in toward the heat of your body, and softly pulling his face away so he could look up at you.

“Baby?” he breathed.

Your eyes locked with his as he slid two fingers inside you. The stretch alone was enough to put your brain on the fritz, but, fighting the first shockwaves of pleasure:

“Y-Yeah?”

He withdrew. Pressed them back in and let out a grunt.

“I need you to do something for me.”

You couldn’t fathom what that might be, but you nodded anyway. ‘Anything’ was what you managed to choke out.

“And you might not like it, doll.”

Your eyes widened some.

“O— O-Okay, what?”

Bucky’s fingers curled inside you, and a short, sharp streak of dizzying pleasure pulsed through your body. Your knees felt weak, and your mind even worse, but with what little resolve you had left, you were able to keep your eyes entirely open and fastened to his. A look that struck you as almost bittersweet crossed your husband’s features, and you saw his gaze soften again.

“I need you to wake up,” he said, calmly.

“What?”

Your toes curled tight underneath you, and the warmth between your legs leapt up to over a thousand degrees.

“Melaya, I need you to wake up.”

At the same time, your blood ran cold in your veins. Surely, you couldn’t be hearing him right if the voice he used was so gruff and low—and laden with a Russian lilt.

“Bucky? What— What do you mean?”

But you knew. Or suspected something of it anyway.

Now the sound from your own throat was hardly one that you recognized as yours, so shrill and high and strange—what could he mean by that? Why was he watching you in that way? Your husband wasn’t smiling so brightly anymore, and the once-gratifying conflagration between your legs had grown to an almost scorching degree, no longer nice, generous, or pleasurable in the slightest.

“We need you to wake up now, honey. Right now.”

His tone, too, was distorted. Grating.

“Bucky, I-I don’t underst—”

“WAKE UP!”

“WAKE UP!”

Natasha shook you hard, and it hurt.

She didn’t mean for it to. She just needed you up and out of bed, and you’d been asleep for almost fourteen hours.

You started at the fifth or sixth shake, nearly punching yourself in the face when you tried yanking a set of covers up and over your head and discovered, shortly, that there was none. You were splayed out on a bed in an as-yet unfamiliar home—Steve’s new place—and, while you slept, you’d kicked all of the blankets you’d been given the night before off your body and onto the floor.

Your eyes were wide as saucers as they darted to Nat’s.

There was no need to say what had happened—she knew these dreams were getting worse by the day.

It’d been a week since you fled your Brooklyn apartment in an all-out terror. A week since a senseless, short-sighted idea on your part had led to the discovery that your husband was once part of a HYDRA sleeper cell whose activation phrase turned him into an agent of total destruction at will. A week since you’d seen a half dozen bodies litter your living room floor, more still being bludgeoned by the so-called ‘Winter Soldier,’ as Bucky had formerly been known. A week since you’d sobbed in Natasha’s arms and begged her not to let you go back. A week since you’d been obliged to hide out in Steve Rogers’ new bachelor pad upstate, because, frankly, there was nowhere else you could safely live until this whole ordeal with Bucky was settled—if it ever would be.

A full week since you’d learned you were pregnant, too.

As far as you knew, your husband was wholly unaware of this fact, and of Steve’s most recent real estate purchase up in Buffalo, and you’d been existing in a semi-serene and largely dissociated state for the past seven days.

Your gaze adjusted to the light, and you blinked up at Nat, feeling damp in just about every place on your body. You looked down and found yourself drenched in sweat.

“Hydrate. Please.”

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a standing order: Nat holding out a glass of water and instructing you to drink. Though your first instinct was to make a face and shake your head—you’d found that any new fluids in your body this early in the morning would only get thrown back up when you made your first frantic trip to the toilet—you accepted it anyway. You drank three big gulps to appease the woman standing next to the bed, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled

“I’m gonna go puke now,” you said.

“Aim for inside the toilet bowl if you can,” Steve called out from the doorway. By the look on his face, you’d been doing a pretty shit job of aiming vomit lately.

“My bad, Rogers.”

You had a hand on your stomach, slowly easing back up into a seated position, when you heard something being flung across the room, followed by a ‘HEY!’ and a crash.

“Your aim sucks, too, Romanoff,” Steve griped, loudly, “And I was kidding. She can puke wherever she wants.”

By the door, a hefty hardcover book lay open on the floor. Apparently Nat’s options for projectiles had been limited.

“All good, Rogers,” you offered anyway. Fighting a smirk.

You were starting to stand, and your head felt as if you’d just taken your first steps off a rocking boat. Your other hand jumped to your mouth, and you muttered, ‘Fuck’ before brushing past Nat and her outstretched arms.

She held your hair while Steve retrieved the glass of water, as well as a towel. The unsightly first trimester ritual proceeded as it had for all of the last week, with Nat rubbing circles in your back and Steve making well-meaning but completely useless live commentary like, ‘Babies are a real pain in the ass, aren’t they?’ At the conclusion of each new stupid remark, Natasha would shoot a dirty look his way, but you never let her shoo him away. Through no conscious choice of your own, Steve had become something of a comfort blanket over the course of the past chaotic days. At the very least, you two were no longer at each other’s throats flinging accusations and exorbitantly-priced tumblers in the other’s direction, which was a marked improvement from where you were the day after you and Bucky’s wedding.

At length, you lifted your head from the toilet, and he daubed at your cheek with the towel—mostly just trying to wipe off spit and your own queasy-looking expression. He succeeded in clearing away just the former, but you forced a smile all the same, then shared it with Natasha.

Nat couldn’t smile back. In fact, the grimace on her face only etched even deeper, and her forehead creased.

“This is a horrible time to be asking you this, I know—”

“Nat, please.” Steve groaned.

Nat, what? There wasn’t a lot more that could catch you off guard after all the shit you’d come to see that week. Still, Nat’s breaths were both measured and slow, and you could see she was chewing on the inside of her cheek like she wasn’t quite sure how best to phrase her words. This, coming from one of the most astute legal minds this side of the Hudson River, gave you pause.

“Ask anything. I’m pretty numb, if you haven’t noticed.” You rapped on the side of your head for comedic effect, but neither Natasha nor Steve laughed or cracked a grin.

“How do you feel about filing for divorce tomorrow?”

At the sound of Nat’s words, you felt the bile jump back up your throat. You knew there wasn’t enough food or fluid to make much of anything now, but all the same, you craned your neck back over the toilet and retched. When nothing came out, as expected, you turned back.

“What?”

Natasha looked a little ill herself, but still, she continued.

“How do you feel about just…fast-tracking a divorce from him and taking off new? We’ll talk assets later.”

Assets? Fast-track? Divorce? What the fuck?

“What the fuck, Nat?” you repeated as much out loud.

It normally wasn’t your thing to be so blunt with her, but the inquiry certainly seemed to invite some extra candor. You swiped at your mouth for any excess spit that might’ve trickled out, crudely, and in a second, Steve was handing you the towel. Then helping you to your feet, holding your arm and lower back in a grip you could feel was secure. You were unsteady on your legs, so he and Natasha guided you over to the sink, where you could regain your bearings and freshen up a bit. Sneaking a look at your reflection in the mirror was a bad idea; your face was sallow, and the rest of your body had every appearance of being horribly weak, for lack of a better word. You caught a glimpse of a gash sitting just above your left temple and immediately looked away. Stupidly, you hoped Steve and Nat hadn’t seen it.

“He did that to you,” Nat said without missing a beat.

You winced, and you washed your hands, not looking up.

“I thought you said it wasn’t him. Soldat, you told me.” And for a second, your eyes flickered to Steve, whose expression was a touch more sympathetic, if not visibly discomfited now. Like he didn’t want to speak for once.

He did, anyway: “Doesn’t matter if it was Winter or him, really. Point is he hurt you while trying to protect y—”

“And yet, you asked me to forgive him just last week for killing my dad in the same type of rage,” you replied, and instantly regretted the accusatory tone you’d taken on.

Your anger was misdirected at Steve. It wasn’t his fault for sharing the truth about your husband’s—his best friend’s—past when you’d asked him. These were queries you’d made, helping to form justifications for your own decision to stay after what had happened in Madripoor. Obviously, Steve would be biased to help support his friend in a time of need. But now things were different; Bucky had never been activated as soldat and ended up hurting someone he’d loved before. Steve was free to change his mind after seeing that happen and urge you to leave, or at least reconsider, your marriage to Bucky.

The second look you gave him attempted to convey as much, a bit more apologetic as he and Natasha led the way out of the bathroom. Steve smiled and held your arm again, though you probably didn’t need it. You walked downstairs to the kitchen together. Over by the toaster, Sam was inspecting a charred bagel with a scowl

“Rogers, you really need to ditch this shit,” he said, gesturing to the rusted metal contraption that appeared to be from 1918, and had just burnt two bagels to a crisp.

“It was a gift from a friend, piss off,” Steve replied, grinning a little. Reaching for the blackened bread roll and even going so far as to take a bite, crunching loudly.

“Did your friend happen to fight in World War II?” Nat asked. She lent one look to the archaic machine but said nothing further, opting instead to take a seat at the kitchen table, where a sea of papers was strewn about.

Then, to you, “Come. Sit.”

Somewhere in your tentative stroll from where you stood to where she sat, and in the middle of the men’s toaster bickering, Sam called out that he’d have bacon and eggs ready in a second. Steve offered up his singed sesame bagel in the interim, and you told him no thanks. With a still slightly throbbing skull and a nauseous gait, you took the chair next to Nat’s and looked down at her papers.

Honestly, you thought your present condition might warrant some leeway when it came to holding off on the heavy-hitting topics first thing, but, to your surprise, Natasha slid a crisp white packet over almost instantly.

“Nat, what the fuck?” you groaned for the second time.

“Read it. Give it a second to digest, then we can—”

“No!” you cut in, pushing the packet back to her with a little more force than you’d meant, “I-I can’t. Not now.”

On the very first page, in bold and capitalized typeface, there was printed a brief string of words you’d never wanted—or thought you would ever need—to see:

‘VERIFIED COMPLAINT: ACTION FOR DIVORCE’

“It’s just the petition. No harm in taking a look,” Nat said.

You could hear a faintly gentler tone in her voice, even as you shook your head and looked away from the papers.

“I don’t want to. I can’t do this right now.” You kept shaking your head for a couple seconds after, turning your gaze instead to the bay window of Steve’s kitchen.

A nice, sprawling yard stretched as far as you could see. In the distance, a fuzzy white horizon was punctuated the slightest bit by the outline of a wood fence, but apart from that, the land was empty. The lot was secluded. Happy and effervescent in a nearly cloudless sky, the midmorning sun cast its rays without so much as the threat of a storm’s hinderance. You fixed your eyes on the clear expanse above and silently wished it would rain.

Before more than a minute or two had passed like that, Sam was approaching the table with two platters. Steve balanced four more by himself, watching the sway of one plate of scrambled eggs in his arms with a wary look before setting each one of the dishes on the table.

“Bon appétit,” Steve said, butchering his French just about as badly as Sam had the bagels. You and Nat thanked them both anyway and started clearing off the table, pushing papers away in favor of steaming plates. Sam and Steve sat down, and all of you began to eat.

While you dutifully piled on each scoop of eggs, bacon, sausage links, biscuits, gravy, and grits—far more than you knew you could feasibly consume—you wished again for a rainstorm, and maybe a quiet breakfast. One that wasn’t marred by talks of legal separation and lengthy battles in court, if you could help it at all. To this end, and perhaps against your body’s best interest, you shoveled two supersized spoonfuls of egg in your mouth, so that if Nat tried reviving those subjects again, you could put off the conversation by simply continuing to chew. You felt your stomach turn inside you but, stubbornly, ate more.

You had just swallowed it all, about to make way for a warm, flaky buttermilk biscuit, when a sound cut in, and your belly flipped again. Your teeth had barely sunk into the bread a second when Nat set her own food aside, then used two fingers to push something toward you.

“Just skim it. Let me explain what the process can be,” she said, tapping her index on the first line and meeting your eyes as if to plead. She had to have known she’d be met with resistance—from you, of course, but also Steve. She raised a defensive hand to him before he even cut in:

“Come the fuck on, Nat. Will you give her a break?”

“I’m saying this for her sake! I’m doing it for her.”

“And throwing divorce papers in her face over breakfast is really the best way of going about it? Is that for her?”

Sam swallowed whatever he’d been chewing on, glanced down at the top paper, and seemed to brace himself.

“Guys, is now really the right time—” he started.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Steve barked over him.

Natasha ignored the plainly disdainful look from the latter, lifted her hand off the paperwork and instead trained her gaze solely on you. Just like she had in Zurich. Focusing intently on your face, ignoring whatever Steve or Sam were saying in the moment, she turned to you and found your expression was stale. Unmoving. Frankly, half of what was running through your mind right then was how badly you wanted to puke again. As if the eggs had turned rotten in your gut the second they reached their destination in your GI tract, you felt a heavy, oppressive fog of nausea taking shape between your ears, and you just wanted everyone to stop talking.

Sam and Steve continued on without a hitch, agreeing vaguely but also appearing to bicker over other things, like when was the most appropriate time to have this conversation. Natasha was leaning in, reaching for your hand this time, and you knew she meant well. You would bet any large sum of money there wasn’t a malicious bone in her body, and she was doing this for your benefit. All the same, you were grateful when the front door swung back on its hinges, and a new person walked in. Nat, Sam, and Steve all suspended their conversations.

“Hey, wh—” the blissfully unaware, semi-stranger began.

“Sharon!” Steve cried, “Would you tell Romanoff she’s being a goddamn pest with no sense of boundaries?”

Sharon halted at the threshold of the house, skating a look between Nat and Steve at first, then Steve and Sam, then just at you. The look didn’t linger for long, and before you knew it, she was setting down a fistful of grocery bags and twisting her mouth into a frown.

“Will you shut up, Steve?” was her only response.

Sam rose from his chair and pointed as if to say, ‘Yeah, that’ before joining her in the foyer to help carry in the Wegmans bags. Natasha leaned back in her chair with a vaguely pleased look, and Steve just rolled his eyes. He slapped his palm overtop the stack of divorce papers still laying before you and, seemingly undeterred, continued,

“Do you think it’s fair for her to force divorce papers on this poor soul—” pointing to you, the poor soul, apparently, “—when it’s been a week since she left?”

Sharon started handing off the frozen stuff first, sliding a box of Stouffer’s across the counter to Sam, who then deposited it in the freezer. These exchanges took place in relatively quick succession, with Sharon only chancing a look toward the kitchen table once or twice as they did.

“I think she should do whatever the hell she wants,” she said, “And I think their divorce is none of our business.”

Fair enough take. One that you could respect, at the very least, even if you weren’t certain she particularly cared for you at all. You reckoned she had no reason to, and on the whole, appeared to be a pretty reserved person.

You wanted to add a word in her defense, reiterate to Steve that he didn’t have to go to bat for you, the poor, defenseless soul, right now. Instead of being able to speak, though, you felt an upsurge of something heavy in your throat. You clamped a hand to your mouth again, cheeks flushing with the heady sensation and also out of embarrassment, then pushed your chair back and stood.

“I— gotta—” you stammered, just audible to the table, through the wall your fingers had made over your lips.

You sprinted up the stairs without another word.

The first trimester ritual repeated, and ten minutes later, you re-emerged from the bathroom feeling two big spoonfuls of scrambled eggs lighter and still none the happier, healthier, or wiser. You took a peek in the full-length mirror at the other end of the room and discerned from a distance of ten feet that you looked like dogshit.

You flopped down on the bed face-first, heedless of the pool of sweat that still encompassed roughly half of it, and let out a weak, muffled breath into the sheets. Someone had been gracious enough to replace all the blankets and pillows you’d kicked off last night. When you heard a knock on the door, it sounded a lot like Nat’s.

You rolled to the side, eyes screwed shut in frustration.

“If you’ve come to tell me my marriage is a fucking dumpsterfire, I agree completely, Natasha. I’m dumb.”

A little huff of a half-laugh sounded from the doorway. You opened your eyes and saw Sharon standing there.

Up close, she looked a little paler than you’d remembered seeing her last in Switzerland. Soft beads of perspiration dotted her neckline from what had likely been a hot and arduous journey walking up the driveway with all the food, and presently, she seemed tired. She wore a simple gingham blouse that had her eyes shining with vibrance, though, and both hands, you noticed, were full—she had a mug in one and a spoon in the other. She smiled kindly.

“The mob tends to have that effect,” she said, strolling in. Setting the mug on the nightstand and easing the spoon into it, stirring, “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

You had no idea what all she knew about your marriage. You weren’t so sure you could extricate yourself from all the blame of having the thing go up in flames in four short weeks. Nevertheless, you smiled back and offered up something good-humored in return, like, well, I’m not exactly winning wife of the fucking year anytime soon.

Again, Sharon chuckled. It was small. She leaned back against the nearest armchair and, pointing to the cup she’d left to rest on the nightstand, said in a soft voice,

“Give that a minute. It’s hot.”

You glanced over and saw a little string that you guessed was attached to a teabag sitting at the bottom of the mug. The drink smelled like chamomile, maybe. You sat up, readjusted your pyjama top, then slid your socked feet underneath you so you could scoot closer to the edge of the bed. On a deeper inhale, you decided the tea was definitely chamomile. And too hot, as Sharon said.

“Thank you,” you told her.

“It’s not poisoned, I promise,” she replied. Letting out that funny little chuckle of hers—one too low to be considered a full laugh, but very close—and then, seeming to realize what she said might’ve sounded off, “Like— I heard what happened with Schröder. Him trying to drug you after the wedding and all…that. I— I’m sorry.”

Bad time to be making jokes, she appeared to chastise herself, but you just nodded along with the faintest grin.

“It’s OK. I’d pay money to be knocked the fuck out now.”

You grinned bigger, and she smiled too.

“It should make you sleepier, if you wanted to nap.”

You replied that you would, in fact, love to be unconscious right now if it meant not having to put up with all this bullshit morning sickness, and you slowly reached for the mug. Sharon stood up, and while you took your first sips, she fluffed the pillows behind you.

She was right. The tea felt like a hug. You settled under the covers and brought the cup to your lips once more, taking two big draughts before setting the drink aside. Yeah, that shit’ll put you right out, no drugs needed. You sank even further under the sheets and watched Sharon hover between the bed and the doorway, looking around as if trying to find something to do—some way to make herself feel more useful, if you had to guess from the pensive look in her eyes. Finally, she settled closer to the door and gave you one, fairly sanguine look. The warmth of your drink had already begun to nestle inside your weary bones, and your eyelids felt heavier. Still, you tried to return the sunny look before getting fully settled.

“Thanks again, Sharon. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She started to leave. In fact, she’d already made it three-fourths out of the room when something stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to you, and you looked up.

“This…probably doesn’t mean a whole lot coming from me, but—whatever you decide to do with Bucky…is okay. We’ll support you, whether you choose to raise this baby with him or do…whatever it is you want to do. Don’t let Nat or Steve or Sam or anybody tell you differently. It’s your choice, y’know, whether you wanna stay married…”

Sharon trailed off, and somewhere inside, you could tell she meant to finish with words like, ‘…even if you didn’t get to make the choice to get married in the first place.’ You appreciated it. You beamed with just your head poking out from over the covers and thanked her again.

And, before she left, for the second time, she stopped. She walked over to the nightstand and bent slightly at the waist, just enough to set something small down. You turned to the side and saw a vial—a minuscule tube—on the surface. Your eyes widened, realizing what it was.

“Sam picked it up in Madripoor. He said Steve had given this to you…to, uh, give to Schröder, and I thought you should have it back,” she said, pausing, “Just in case.”

You eyed the little vial of poison on the nightstand and nodded, still not completely understanding. Your head throbbed, your stomach was still turning, churning. Your brain was about ten blinks away from logging off entirely and drifting to sleep. All you could do, then, was repeat what Sharon had said as you exchanged one final look.

“Just in case.”

Your eyes closed, and you fell asleep very soon after.

You couldn’t have been out for more than an hour; you were sure of it. However, the next time you glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, you saw it read 11:04.

P.M.

Shit.

SHIT.

That chamomille tea was no fucking joke.

Just as your thoughts drifted back to Sharon, the conversation you’d shared, the drink she’d given you, the poison she’d left behind for you to keep, you heard her voice all over again—and now, not just in your own head.

Presently, she was standing over your bed again, though the room was much darker this time around. She pressed a finger to her lips, hey, please, please, be quiet, alright? At first you wanted to make a sharp and strangled sound. A cry for help? You weren’t sure. Didn’t know. Couldn’t see very much of the woman at all, except for the outline of her face from the moonlight streaming in through the window. She stared and ‘shh’ed’ some more.

And you were contemplating yelling out a loud obscenity in response to it when next she cut in, markedly gentler:

“Keep it quick. Nat and the guys will be back in thirty.”

You blinked hard into the darkness and waited for your vision, or else your still-missing voice, to return. It didn’t. You just stared back, eyelids going up and down and up and down like a goddamn idiot gone sluggish off one too many Quaaludes, and it was several seconds more before she gestured behind her, into the shadows.

You tensed under the covers, chock-full of terror. You squinted, and shrank, and might’ve nearly pissed yourself were it not for the intervening force of a face.

A familiar face.

Bucky’s face.

You leapt up from the bed, displacing each one of Sharon’s cool and careful warnings from your mind all at once. You didn’t mean to, and as soon as she’d shushed you again, you shut your mouth. Fell still. Sharon slipped out of the room, reminding you both, again, that you had to be quiet, and you had to be quick. Then it was just you and Bucky. Silence and slightly less than five feet of space between you two. Then, shortly, no space to spare at all, as you ran to meet each for a hug a second later.

Your head struck his chest, and it was hard. That, alongside the python’s squeeze he wrapped around your body, hugging you to him in the tightest embrace imaginable, had your mind reeling, skull pulsing just a bit. You pulled back and stood smiling up at Bucky, whose eyes were wide, drinking the sight of you in.

‘Are you hurt?’ were his first words.

You shook your head that you weren’t, still unable to talk.

“Why are you— Who— who brought you— I didn’t—”

It seemed Bucky was equally hard-pressed to form a sentence himself, while his eyes were roaming wildly, all over you. Looking for bumps or bruises or cuts, whatever the wound might have been. He stumbled to the lamp and flicked it on. You tilted your head left, reflexively.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you said. Sudden and swift, “I’m good.”

But you didn’t move your head too far to the right, either, for fear he might see the cut above your temple—the one soldat had caused when he’d pushed you to the floor, trying to protect you from a threat he couldn’t see.

As it was, your husband seemed to be too much in shock to see anything else apart from what stood immediately in front of him. He hugged you again. He kissed the crown of your head. He constricted your body so tight in his arms you felt a pressure start to build behind your eyes, and suddenly you weren’t so much pulling away as you were wrenching your body from him. When you met Bucky’s gaze again, the sweet blue irises were glossy.

“Nat wouldn’t say where you were, just that you were safe and needed to be…be alone for a while, but I—” He stopped, and it was as if he couldn’t even finish with the words, because his breath was stuck in his throat and his eyes were stinging too much. He looked down, briefly.

You wanted to reach for his hand but hesitated. He took yours a second later, holding extra tight as he continued:

“I thought I’d— thought you might’ve…left. I don’t know. I hadn’t been able to sleep, and then she— Sharon, she called me tonight, said you were here, so— so—”

You felt a pang of guilt holding his gaze, seeing how all the hurt that had come to accumulate behind those eyes over the last week went spilling, at length, into emotions he was either too overcome or sleep-deprived to express. The weight of this suffocated him, made him extra quick to speak his mind but slow to make sense of just about anything that was coming out of his mouth. He stopped, sucked in a breath, then pinched your hand in his, and you didn’t know what to do. You had no idea what to say.

“I was scared, Bucky.”

It sounded pathetic coming out of your mouth. Your husband nodded as though you’d just said the most profound thing in the world. His knuckles went white from just how hard he was gripping your hand, his head bobbed along in agreement, and for a moment, you winced to think that he might hug you again. Instead, the fingers tangled between yours just made a tighter knot.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said.

“You scared me,” you added, voice wavering.

Your left hand was going numb. You didn’t want to give him pause—possibly hurt his feelings—by freeing your touch from his, but that grip was brutal. Deathly rigid and unforgiving. Thoughts of Brooklyn and Madripoor came flooding back; Bucky was so much stronger than he realized. His tone, in contrast, was dulcet and soft.

“I didn’t know I’d get like that. I should’ve told you, doll.”

“I shouldn’t have tried the activation in the first place.”

You shouldn’t have tried digging into Bucky’s past all. When all there seemed to be at every turn was a brand new way for him to hurt you, or the people you loved, maybe there came a time when you had to stop asking questions altogether. Maybe that was what his mother and all the women who’d gone before her had known to do, what you had been too stupid to see all along. There was no knowing these men at all, only taking them as they were and learning to cope with what they became.

Bucky shook his head.

“No, doll, it’s not on you,” he murmured low. Still forceful

Thankfully, he released your hand to cup your cheeks, and he kissed your forehead. You felt your pulse in your palm, throbbing from where he’d held it. When he let go the second time, his expression was considerably softer.

“Listen, I’ll take you home, we can talk things over. As long as I know you’re safe, it doesn’t have to— to—”

Hey. He was already halfway toward the door before he realized you weren’t following him. He turned and gestured forward. He beckoned you, brows drawing in.

“Baby? C’mon.”

You didn’t budge.

Your feet were rooted in place, as though cemented to the floor. No matter how much you wanted to appease him, go along with whatever he asked, you couldn’t. You shook your head, and Bucky tilted his own, confused.

“Baby?”

“I’m leaving, Bucky.”

You couldn’t hear your own words slipping out between your teeth, only the blood rushing through your ears. Bucky stopped and turned to face you completely.

“What?”

“I’m leaving.”

“What— what do you mean, ‘you’re leaving’?”

“I want a divorce.”

That part you did hear yourself. You wished you hadn’t.

You wished you hadn’t seen the light break off from Bucky’s eyes, expression going limp the instant your words registered with him. You nearly wished you hadn’t said them at all, seeing just how far his face fell and how hurt he looked by them—but quietly, from somewhere more rational-headed inside yourself, there was a voice reminding the rest of you that it needed to be done. You couldn’t keep pretending like this wasn’t what had had to come next. What you’d been skirting with Nat all day and hadn’t been able to bring yourself to admit before now.

Your husband still didn’t seem to be computing it fully. He walked closer to you, and his gait was unsteady.

“Divorce?”

Your vision was bleary; you hadn’t even realized tears had begun to brim at your waterline as you watched him.

“It’s what we need, Bucky,” you could barely get it out.

“I don’t,” he shot back, not missing a beat, “I don’t.”

“It’s what I need.”

“You don’t mean that.”

His voice was hoarse, face shifting from lax incredulity to one of a wince—screwed up in a way that said he felt ill. You shook your head but couldn’t look away from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeated.

“It’s what I want,” you pressed on, just as sick yourself.

“You said what you wanted was me.” Again, Bucky’s voice splintered, and you could feel the pain in it.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.”

Gritting your teeth, unsure where else to fix your stare on his face but those eyes—while your own betrayed their feelings too easily, fraught with wet, rolling tears—you shouldn’t have been surprised when his went wider.

“What are you talking about?”

The question was short, sharp, and biting, spoken with such haste as might be mistaken for anger, but the eyes softened his look at once. The anguish painting them now as he stared back at you were a proof, beyond a doubt, that it was betrayal, not rage, which steered him. He turned, and it was as if he couldn’t see a thing but you; his elbow clipped the lamp and knocked it over, but still, he just stared. In turn, the ceramic appliance rolled onto its side, toppled the mug and the vial beside it, and all three went crashing to the floor. Bucky didn’t blink.

“Wh—” he started again, but you didn’t hear the rest.

You remembered Sharon. Heard a flash of her last admonition in your head—be quiet, be quick—and without thinking, you fell to your knees. You tried retrieving what pieces of chipped lamp and shattered mug you could, quickly. You spotted the small vial on the floor and shoved it in a pocket. Your hands swept over the broken pieces without any real idea of what you were doing—all except needing to clean Bucky’s mess—and then swiftly, stupidly, you tried picking it up by yourself.

Of course, a shard cut you. The little slit that was left in its wake could have been no wider than a fraction of an inch, but still, it bled. You looked down at the cut, just then starting to sprout red from left to right along the side of your palm, when a new sight crossed your vision. It was fast, too. All but thoughtless in the way it broke in, gripping your hand in his, and yanking you to your feet. Bucky hadn’t seen that you’d cut yourself, it seemed, and, out of instinct, had grabbed your hand to help you up. As before, his grasp was like a vice, and his thumb pressed right inside the lacerated flesh, sending a whole new maelstrom of pain shooting up your wrist and arm. Now, as then, he was heedless of his strength and his sheer, brute force, that he didn’t even see the effect of his grip. He just held on, held you, tighter, tighter, and—

“STOP!” you shrieked.

You shoved him off. Pried his touch off your palm and gripped your forearm in your other hand and pored over the sight, seeing the gash almost doubled in size from just where Bucky’s finger had sunk into the fresh wound. You let out a sharp, muffled cry through lips that tried to stay closed—remembering Sharon again. You shook your head, clenched your jaw, and tore off the other direction.

And when your husband reached out, eyes wide with their own shock and apologies, ‘Baby, fuck, I’m so sorr—’ you threw him off again. With your non-bleeding palm, you thrust your hand against his chest and pushed hard:

“Don’t touch me!”

When he reached for you again, as if by force of habit, you held up a defensive arm and sobbed out, ‘Stop!’

‘Don’t touch me, don’t—don’t—don’t fucking touch me.’

You screamed it. You didn’t mean to. Thinking only vaguely of the need to be quiet, and almost entirely on the stabbing pain in your hand, the imprint of Bucky’s touch on your body, and the blood trickling down your forearm, you darted into the bathroom and threw the door closed behind you. You locked it. You meant to.

Twenty minutes might as well have been twenty years in Bucky Barnes’ mind. In a moment like this, following yet another supreme fuck up on his part, he felt powerless. He had had to fight the instinct to barge into the next room over with every fiber of his being, and, making fists by his sides and pacing the floor and hating himself was all that seemed capable of occupying his mind just then.

He’d knocked on the bathroom door at least ten times. He’d been ignored each time, no matter the duration.

He still had your blood on his thumb, and it made him ill.

You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.

While he uncurled his hand from a fist just long enough to stare at the streaks of red stretched over his finger, he heard those words replay over and over again in his head. He’d said it—swore it—himself, and still your blood was turning a cool, dark, dry shade of crimson on his thumb.

This wasn’t how he’d meant for any of this to go. Still, notwithstanding his best intentions, none of it mattered. He’d seen a sincere look of fear in your eyes looking up at him, and nothing in the world would change what he’d done, or who he was. He’d caused you pain tonight, last week—though his memory of that was still so hazy and dark he hardly knew what else had happened, even now—and above all, he’d failed you as a husband, a protector.

You were likely curled up in a ball by the bathroom sink, cowering in fear because of him. The thought sent another tidal wave of nausea thrumming through his skull, a lump in his throat growing larger alongside it, and before he knew what he was doing, Bucky was striding back to the bathroom door. He banged his fist against it.

“Honey?”

No answer.

“Baby, please open the door.”

More silence.

The moment brought to mind a memory from the night you two had been married. How you’d fled to the en-suite bathroom and locked yourself in it; how Bucky had rattled the whole doorframe with the force of his knocks, demanding you come out. He’d hardly known you then. You hardly knew him now. The realization of this made the weight in his throat all the more excruciating as he stood, and, wincing with pain, Bucky kept knocking.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Pleading now. His voice was hoarse all over again.

Had he been the slightest bit more desperate and reckless, he might’ve been tempted to muscle through, kick the door in with his boot. But Bucky knew better. He could already guess how much that action would terrify you now, while tending to an injury that he himself had inadvertently made worse. Barreling inside would be neither romantic nor sweet, just sinking what may then be a lethal dose of salt in the deeper, metaphorical wound. He refrained. Instead of continuing to knock, he dropped his forehead to the door and closed his eyes.

“Please believe me, baby,” he tried again.

He’d said it so quietly he feared you might not hear it. Then, a little bit louder, ‘Please, please believe me.’

No sound to be heard inside but running water.

“You mean everything to me, doll.”

By now, his voice was clogged with pain, teetering on the brink of agony as he rested his hands on the door, and willed you to open it. Say something to him. Anything.

“I’d never mean to hurt you. Not in a million years.”

For a moment, he heard nothing more. Just how desperately he needed to hear a voice in reply could not be overstated. Craving a new sound worse than oxygen in his lungs. At first, when he heard something other than himself nearby, it nearly knocked him back with joy.

A voice right next to his ear, “But you did, didn’t you?”

The joy lasted less than a second.

The voice beside him was low. And close. Not coming from the other side of the bathroom door, as he might’ve reasonably expected from you, and not even in the tone of a female’s voice, as he might’ve seen, were Sharon to have appeared by his side. This new voice was deep, and masculine, and in his ear now, chuckling some as a gloved hand pressed the barrel of a gun to his temple.

Bucky didn’t blink.

You stepped outside not wanting to see him.

The bleeding had long since stopped, thanks to the aid of a cool, damp washcloth and a few minutes’ pressure, but even once it ceased, your legs were reluctant to carry you back. You dreaded the thought of having to resume your conversation with Bucky—of having to look him in the eye and tell him all over again that it wasn’t safe for you to be married to him. But you didn’t have much of a choice now, either. This wasn’t your honeymoon, where you could stay locked in the bathroom, try climbing out a window, and hope for the best like you’d done before. You had the man’s child inside you, for fuck’s sake.

That uncomfortable subject and at least a dozen more were already swarming your brain as you made your way out of the bathroom. You’d taken a few extra squares of toilet paper to press into the cut, were looking down at it with a tense, uncertain gaze as you ventured out, when you were obliged to stop just a few steps into the room.

“Hi, honey.”

It wasn’t Bucky.

Your eyes snapped up to the source of the voice in an instant, and, on seeing you were right—that it wasn’t Bucky but a gaunt, grinning blond with a gun to your husband’s head—you almost screamed at the sight.

You’d wanted to scream, anyway. It would’ve been the sane thing to do, and one that nobody could’ve blamed you for in the moment, you reckoned, but strangely the sound never came. You just stared at the two, eyes wide and jaw slightly more lax as your lips made an ‘o’. Bile jumped up in your throat. You wished it would choke you.

‘Please. Don’t.’ was all you could get out.

Johann Schröder’s smile stretched wider.

“Don’t what?”

The question was clearly meant to be derisive, rhetorical. Still, with your fingers trembling, you tried answering:

“Don’t hurt h—”

“Why?”

You watched the gun sink deeper against your husband’s face, and he flinched. Your stomach clenched inside you.

“Why shouldn’t I hurt him, hon? Seems like he’s gotten pretty damn good at doing it to you,” Schröder sneered.

His words stung. The grin didn’t flinch. And, as if to punctuate his sentence, or else remind your husband that he was tied to a chair and entirely at his mercy now, Schröder struck Bucky in the face with the butt of his gun. If an onlooker hadn’t known better, they might’ve mistaken you for the one who’d been hit, though—at last, you unleashed that scream, and you reached out for Bucky, hands open and pathetic and desperate to help.

“Think it hurt as bad as your hand?” Schröder hummed.

Your feet were stumbling forward, “He didn’t mean—”

Another resounding thud against Bucky’s skull, this time hard enough to split his lip in half. If he’d grimaced in the slightest, you would’ve seen the teeth smeared with blood. But, true to form, James Barnes didn’t wince. He hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge the blow as it landed. Just stared at you and, with eyes as hollow and deadened and faintly pleading as you’d ever seen them before, manifested their silent apology to yours—again.

“Bet he didn’t mean to hurt anyone as the Winter Soldier, either. Still couldn’t have felt too good for all the folks he butchered, though.” At that, Schröder’s sick amusement morphed into a laugh, and he was taking Bucky’s collar in his other hand. Shaking him lightly while he spoke.

“Couldn’t have felt all that great for your dad, I bet.”

The diversion turned to you, all toothy smiles and mocking eyes. He didn’t care. He let you stagger another step toward the two of them, even try to get your hands close to Bucky. But when you’d drawn too close, he stopped you cold. Not thinking much else in the moment, you made a move to push Schröder’s arm away, hard, and were shortly rewarded with a shove of your own. He knocked you sideways onto the bed, and you landed on the hand you’d hurt. Before you could let out so much as a sound yourself, Bucky’s voice tore in:

“Schröder.”

Schröder turned. He raised his Ruger to your husband’s head again, as casually as if he’d asked him for the time.

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch her.”

Schröder turned to you. Though he didn’t move the Ruger again, he did point his finger at your form, haplessly curled into itself amidst the covers and pillows.

“Why? Saving all the rough stuff for later, are we?”

You cowered as his free hand reached for you, and just as your husband’s eyes went wide and a vein nearly tore through his skin from how hard it protruded, you cried,

“What do you want?!”

Schröder stopped. He brought his hand to a halt just south of your thigh—and then he dropped his weight on the bed beside you. He gestured indistinctly, almost disbelievingly, toward Bucky. The latter appeared near-apoplectic, nails raking down either arm of the chair.

“What do I want?” Schröder quipped, incredulous, “What do you want, doll? To stay married to him?”

And you knew he’d intended the question to be hurtful; you knew it by the glint in his eye, the goading tone of voice and the look he’d flitted to Bucky—nondescript and yet saying a world more than words could ever convey. He knew what had gone on between you, had likely heard your last conversation in its entirety, and was now using it against you. Mostly to taunt, then to injure your husband with truths he hadn’t yet uncovered himself.

Schröder’s eyes were shining with sadistic delight as he took your hand in his. He didn’t waste another second.

“No, no, that isn’t what you want at all, is it?”

Ignoring the screech of Bucky’s restraints as he tried to lunge out of his chair. Hearing him curse when he failed.

“—you said you’re leaving him, right?”

Schröder slid the thin, glistening ring off the hand he’d been holding before you could even think to stop him.

“—said you want a divorce, is that it?”

Then his grin got so big and conceited and enlivened by the sight of pain working its way onto Bucky’s face that any good sense you’d had left inside you was abandoned in a blink. You didn’t hesitate, or else try and make a pass to retrieve your ring—you just hit the man in the face.

Your fist was small, and his chin was hard. You knew before you ever threw the punch that it’d probably hurt you more than him, but you did it anyway. It succeeded, at the very least, in catching Schröder by surprise and swiftly pissing him off. Seeing this and feeling a bit bolder, you were somehow able to dodge his hands when he lurched for you again. Inside, your own anger flared.

“Why the fuck do you care?” you spat.

You found momentary respite in the corner of the bed, sliding back against a wall that would only protect you for so long. As soon as Schröder regained his bearings, he had you back in his sights and his grasp just as quick.

He dragged you back. He pulled you up. He dug the tips of his fingers so hard into your side that you thought the flesh might tear in two across your ribs. But it didn’t. Crescent-like indentations did leave their mark in a grisly set of five, though. You felt the sting of it as Schröder loosened his grip, then sucked his next breath through his teeth as if calming himself. Your gaze only hardened.

“I care,” he said, once he’d completed this slow inhale. He replaced his touch by pinching your face in one hand and bringing it up to his, expression more like a snarl. Then, raising the gun to your face in his other hand, “because I made a deal with your father. Remember?”

You did. Your head jerked back by force of instinct, but he held it. From every direction, then, you had nothing to hear but the sound of your own pulse thrumming a fast, panicked tempo in your skull. You tasted blood in your mouth without a drop on your tongue. And, had that deafening fear and revulsion been anything less, you likely would’ve heard something else beneath it all.

Would’ve felt it, if you weren’t already so numb: Schröder’s hand sliding its way down your body, diamond ring still stuck to the tip of his index finger. You sensed it as though seeing yourself from another perspective—watching his hand trail lower, lower, lower until something in Bucky split in two and he bellowed:

“SCHRÖDER—”

He said something more after that; you were sure of it. You just couldn’t hear him, or see him, or discern much of anything else but your own racing heart as the man who’d just beat your husband twice and lifted a gun to your head proceeded to press his touch to your belly. Almost conscientious and gentle as he lowered it.

“Was this part of the deal, too, doll?”

Your eyes widened. Realizing—then feeling fear seize you completely. Forgetting the metal at your temple and shaking your head with a force, but slow enough that your husband wouldn’t see it. Meanwhile, across from you both, Bucky seemed more than sufficiently occupied by his own blinding rage—he spit a glob of blood to the floor and, with his teeth bared again, swore he’d kill him.

Over and over and over again, oaths of taking Schröder’s life and making it gruesome and painful and slow filled your ears, but none of it stuck, for either you or Schröder. Instead, your maniacal captor just smiled, leaning in.

“I said, was this part of the deal, Mrs. Barnes?”

The heel of his palm sank into your stomach, and as the shock of his first words began to fade, a pain replaced it. His hand made an impressive demonstration of flattening and forcing itself so hard against the skin that a flurry of stars cropped up in your eyes, and you cried:

“Stop! I-It wasn’t— just— just stop. Stop.”

“Stop? Was it part of the deal or not?”

Schröder bore down even harder.

“It just happened!” you keened. Unsure why you felt compelled to answer for what had gone on at all—addressing the baby in this awful, oblique way—though reckoning it had something to do with the pressure he was applying to your stomach. You tried to squirm back.

But your stuttering pulse and your pleading gaze and the ache in your stomach proved to be all too much for any real progress to be made. You’d scarcely moved off an inch before he drove his palm deeper, and with the agony of a body about to rupture beneath it, a shriek clawed out of your throat. Your mouth fell open, and for once, you couldn’t curtail the pain, or fear. Schröder’s hand had just forced the noise from your mouth, along with some mindless, broken pleas to stop pushing, it hurts, please, please, when the face above yours only brightened. Schröder’s cruel, snide mouth flashed a smile above you, and before you could whine again—

He kissed you.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than a second.

Still, the moment seemed to stretch indefinitely. And felt perverse. So deeply nauseating and unsettling to every last nerve, muscle, tendon, and bone in your body that the response it evoked could be nothing less than visceral. You didn’t need to think at all to shove him off. Whatever might’ve given you pause with a loaded gun to your head was forgotten in a second, and soon enough, you weren’t alone in letting your reproach be known.

It started off with a crack, then a harsh, crude splintering of wood. A violent rift, from what you could hear of it, and when you turned your head, your suspicions were confirmed: Bucky had snapped half the arm of his chair away from the seat, and his right hand was almost freed.

Whatever barrier he faced in being bound more than four times over with rope seemed immaterial to him now. He could strain as hard as he pleased—feel the coarse synthetic fibers dig into his flesh and leave streaks of red, if not break the skin itself—and any pain, as before, hardly appeared to register with your husband at all. He just muscled through it, thrusting his wrist even harder. The whole force of this movement rocked the chair on its legs, and just when you sensed it might collapse beneath his weight, you felt Schröder stand up. The man didn’t need to move too far or do much else other than drop his hold on you and flip his gun to point it at Bucky instead.

Even when he had, though, Bucky didn’t flinch. His hands were in fists and his drive was like a machine’s—he tried forcing his way out of the right hand’s restraints, and the second the wood gave way, he was shoving it off.

Blind to the firearm Schröder was holding, or his words:

“Stay where you are, Barnes.”

Bucky was just then shaking off the rope that had been loosened by the break in the wood, jaw still tight as ever.

“You’ve got three other limbs to free, my friend, just—”

Schröder was still speaking when you saw his finger slip to the trigger, and it seemed to you it was itching to pull.

“James, stop!”

That plea came from you. More of a strangled cry, really—no more pleasant for either man to hear than it was for your throat to shriek. It did, however, stop Bucky cold. Your husband paused just long enough to meet your gaze. And in it, you saw, at least, that he was all there, if not enraged. But not soldat, or anyone else but himself.

You sighed in relief, despite what seeing two red rivers seeping out of Bucky’s mouth might otherwise provoke.

It was him. You might’ve smiled if another hadn’t cut in.

Schröder seized Bucky’s wrist. With it, you saw his hand just as mangled and bloodied as his lips. Knuckles cracked, slit, and soon to be littered with bruises of every shade, he shocked you again by how calmly he took it. Even when Schröder sank a thumb inside a big, gaping crater of a flesh wound he’d found on the back of his hand, your husband didn’t blink; he just looked at you.

‘I’m sorry.’

When the barrel of the gun returned to his head—this time, at the rear, as Schröder had circled back around the half-broken chair and was leaning over him—you could see the apology lodged in his eyes on full display.

“For safekeeping.” The man wielding the gun seemed almost pleased as he dropped your ring inside the breast pocket of your husband’s shirt, before patting it gently:

“Now where were we?”

A beat. Bucky’s right hand twitched beside him, but evidently, he knew better than to move in that moment.

“Right, right—” Schröder pretended to be remembering, tapping steel to Bucky’s skull, “She’s leaving, isn’t she?”

More silence.

You wanted to speak, beg Schröder for mercy, anything.

“Do you know why that is, Bucky?”

But before you could utter even a word of protest, the voice pressed on. Schröder was leaning in his ear.

“—what you did to her?”

The baby. Brooklyn. All the bloodshed that had ensued last week, leaving your husband completely in the dark. Of course, he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been himself, and was scarcely more able to control his actions as the Winter Soldier than he could in a dream.

To your horror, Schröder reached down for Bucky’s hand, and, still holding the gun to him with the other, lifted it.

Pointed it.

Pushed it closer to you.

“C’mon, Buck. You don’t want me touching her, right? Why don’t you feel for yourself what she’s been hiding?”

Your blood turned to ice. You’d never felt so immobile—paralyzed—in your life, but seeing the hands drift closer and closer and feeling defenseless to their course, your body went numb. Your limbs grew heavier than lead.

And when you felt the smug, smiling blond guide your husband’s touch toward your head, you understood it all.

You were perched at the edge of the bed a foot away. Schröder was nudging Bucky forward in his chair, urging him to reach out and tilt her chin a little, go on, that’s it. And neither one of you had a choice, so he touched you. His fingers, directed by someone else, were obliged to brush the skin of your chin, your jaw, your cheek, and your brow, before finally settling above your left temple.

Your husband felt the cut—touched the stitches.

You winced, but not from any physical pain. It was Bucky’s face as the tips of his fingers skimmed the wound. The look of chagrin that crossed his eyes. Then bewilderment. Fear, as plain as anyone could see it— was he the cause of that? Had the hurt been from him?

You couldn’t bear to answer him, so you looked away. It was Schröder, again, who had all the power to speak.

“Can’t remember pushing her down?” he said, tone dark, “Making her split her head open on the bedside table because soldat didn’t know his own strength—only that he had to keep her safe—and sensed a threat outside?”

Bucky shook his head. His face was grave.

Schröder kept making him prod the skin.

“It’s bruised here, too. You feel it?”

Your husband did, and you thought it might break him. So tender and forlorn were the eyes, raking over every spot where a touch, his touch, had left you hurt before.

If nothing else could bring you back to your senses, the wounded look in Bucky’s gaze was sure to get it done.

You hardly thought again, just croaked: ‘It’s not his fault.’

Schröder’s hand then descended your neck, your torso.

As if he hadn’t heard you at all—

“You already saw what happened to her hand.”

—and forcing Bucky’s touch lower still.

“But what about here?”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt your husband’s hand come to rest on your stomach.

It was like a fire had ignited in your lower half, and nothing close to the soft, pleasurable kind. Not the flutter felt in anticipation of a touch from your husband, not the desirous sort. In fact, you dreaded it now; seeing Schröder over his shoulder, urging him closer, making him flatten his big, broad, scorching palm over your belly.

What should’ve been the ecstatic scene you’d conjured in your mind at least a hundred times since marrying him—the picture of domestic bliss as you said it, smiling, I’m pregnant—was now nothing short of torture. Choice all but stripped from you here, forced to emerge inside this terrible place, you found yourself needing to shrink back, shake your head, look to Schröder’s stubborn, unyielding gaze and beg him not to make you do this now. Not now.

Not here, with Bucky’s skin a shade of glacial white and his eyes going wide, taking on a look you’d never seen.

“What do you—”

He stared hard at the hand on your belly, but it didn’t last for long. As if realization were trying to seep in, he couldn’t meet it. His eyes flitted back to your face.

“Baby, what’s—” he tried again, stammering.

“—right, that’s it, Mr. Barnes.” That was Schröder.

Satisfied in the suspense of the moment keeping your husband still, he lifted his hand from Bucky’s and snapped, that’s it, and clapped him over the shoulder.

Congratulating him before the truth had even sunk in.

“A baby, that’s right! You’re going to be a father, Buck.”

And how far was the look on Bucky’s face from the one you’d dreamed before. The lips you’d envisioned in a smile now twisting bleakly, parting slightly, and the eyes you’d once hoped to be bright and elated only staring back with rings of red enveloping the irises. Whatever tears formed at his waterline were decidedly not of joy.

Only guilt.

“You did it.”

Desperation.

More moisture in his eyes as his hand started to tremble across your stomach, voice hoarse and soft, “Is it true?”

You didn’t need to nod. You just watched him, let your own eyes fill with the worst, stinging tears you had felt in your life, and from the silence that followed, Bucky knew.

As if the life beneath his palm were something dear, but still too much for him to comprehend, he shook his head. He stroked his thumb over the cotton of your pyjamas and tried inching closer, as much as his restraints would allow him. Then, with words that were audibly strained, but always gentle, he lowered his voice—as if to keep the communication between you two, despite your position:

“I love you.”

His hand was still on your belly as he said it. He reached up to cup your face. Even lower than before, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

That much was evident from every look he’d given you tonight. Every move he made a de facto apology, all actions in the vein of atonement, it couldn’t possibly escape your mind or his that he knew he’d done wrong. It was only a matter of accepting this—maybe coming to terms with the fact that your life wasn’t safe in his hands—for the guilt plaguing Bucky to multiply. Paralyze him.

There was no better time for Schröder to strike. Just as the anguish had flooded Bucky’s face completely, and his hand had had to lower itself from want of strength, a sound split the air. Bucky was so lost in his thoughts that it didn’t even register at first, but the impact was real, and it was harsh: Schröder punched him squarely in the jaw. The next, swift snap was his nasal bone taking a blow, and breaking beneath it. Blood breezed down and into his mouth. Feeling warm, his lips and chin doused in a second, he sensed nothing else. He might’ve groaned.

He caught another swift right hook, and his mind went blank. Nothing of substance threatened to materialize between his ears, save for the rush of blood through and from his skull and the dim recognition of something ugly.

Something horrific.

He couldn’t protect you.

His body was as much an idle waste as it was a danger. Useless now, as he was tied to this chair, and a risk to your well-being even if he weren’t. The hazard was him.

Schröder hit him again, and Bucky realized that the ringing he’d heard in his ears was your screaming.

“I’m doing her a favor,” Schröder spat before shoving him back in the chair, almost knocking it sideways.

The blond advanced with ease. His knuckles were drenched in blood; none of it was his. When he reached for Bucky again, the resistance was slight, and a simple, firm grip on the collar was all that was needed to drag his frame to sit straight. Bucky was barely upright for a second before the next—and worst—blow struck his face. His whole head rang with it, reeling, but still, he could make out the words as they were spoken to him.

“She’ll never be safe with you, Barnes. Never—” and at the last, Schröder lowered his gun. Started to loosen the rope from Bucky’s left arm, “—I could free you now, and you still wouldn’t get within an inch of what you want.”

He nudged the rope away and let it fall to the floor. Bucky lifted his hand, but the effort was in vain. No sooner had a finger of his stirred than Schröder was delivering a kick to the chair and letting it splinter. Topple. Skitter a half-foot across the hardwood floor with Bucky’s ankles still bound to it, before finally, gracelessly, breaking apart.

Bucky was on the floor, blinking through a stream of blood and a sea of muddied thoughts when Schröder kicked the chair again. The rope slackened some more.

“Her own father knew as much, so he made me a deal to take her off of your hands. Settle his debts the way he should’ve done the first time around,” Schröder said, and now his tone was lower. Lethal as it ever was, and stern.

“I know how much you hate to lose your playthings, Buck, but this one’s better off with me, I promise.”

And, as if to emphasize his point, Schröder turned and reached for you. Bucky’s own hands were slow, fumbling in fits and bursts to get the rope unwound from his ankles, but they were determined. He just couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, the ringing to subside, or his brain, in its concussed state, to let him move with a little more agility. He’d been hit too many times. He could barely lift his head off his shoulders and hold it straight, so he was forced to stay where he was, keep at his task, and listen.

“You’re weak when you’re not soldat.”

Using his knuckles, Schröder brushed the blood that was evidently all Bucky’s across your cheek, and you flinched.

“When you make the switch, still…you’re inhuman.”

Then he tilted your head, making you show them both the mutilated, stitched-up flesh above your temple. Again, you tried to slink away, but his touch was firm.

“Don’t you think your bride deserves better than that? Your child? Forced to live in fear of that thing you are?”

Blood coursed down Bucky’s face, and his lips were curled apart in a grimace, mouth hanging slightly ajar. His eyes fixed their look on you. The rope was undone.

He’d just started to try and stand when the edge of his vision blurred. He felt the lacerations in his face pulse as one, and with it, half his sight went skewed to the left. Schröder couldn’t help but crack a smile seeing him stumble, pitch back, and barely catch himself on the bedside table. When he stood, he was mostly hunched.

“Look at you, Buck. You can’t try and save her like this,” Schröder taunted, drawing you closer, “So stop trying.”

The man’s hand was like ice holding your face. The grip grew tighter when he saw your husband limping your way, and before either one of you could move, the index of Schröder’s other hand had slid down to the trigger. He didn’t wait to give another warning before he did it—just pointed the gun and fired one shot over Bucky’s head.

His aim was good. The bullet missed your husband by less than an inch. The gun had gone off by your ear, and immediately, you seized the side of your head as a sharp, searing pain cropped up. Your skull was still ringing when you heard the thing discharge again, and you realized it had been aimed at Bucky’s neck. He’d ventured another step, and Schröder had fired a second round to graze the top of his shoulder. Crimson bloomed through his shirt.

Bucky should’ve stumbled again. He might’ve staggered back with a grunt of pain, lifted a quick, reflexive hand to feel the wound, but the sense of it all was slow to reach him. The moments that passed him were delayed just the same, as if the world around him were distorted—the fibers of time tugged and stretched before his eyes—and he could hardly keep himself straight. When he got another look down the barrel of the gun, he didn’t blink. Couldn’t see, really. It was all misshapen sights and sounds and a dim recognition that his mind was in a fog.

Somewhere from within that mist, he heard, faintly:

“I’ll go— I’ll go— I’ll go with you, I’ll go— just stop.”

Schröder turned to you, and the smile that he wore was cruel, but Bucky wasn’t able to make out the expression.

All he could see then, to the faintest extent, was you—your face, gripped hard in another man’s hand, eyes pleading and wet with tears, and a slightly slack jaw.

“Leave him for me?” Schröder repeated, sneering.

You nodded. Blinked. Rolled your tongue along the inside of your cheek before pulling it back and biting down once. There was a hint of a wince in your eyes, but, from what Bucky could tell, it vanished just as fast as it came.

Your lips parted again. Your eyes widened a little.

“So the girl has some fucking sense.” That was Schröder.

He’d had his weapon re-holstered and your face firmly seized in both of his hands in no more than a second.

What came next surprised no one, though the sensations of disgust and rage were as quick to turn a stomach as the shock would have done. Schröder bent down and, having pulled your face closer to his, kissed you again.

Schröder’s mouth was glistening with a grin and Bucky’s own blood—smeared all over your face from how hard he’d been holding you—when he looked up and turned.

“Sensible and sweet, isn’t she? Tastes like it, too.”

Bucky saw nothing but red. It wasn’t just blood crowding his vision now but violence and rancor and outright hatred, stirring his limbs to start moving again when the rest of his body was plainly too battered to venture an inch in that condition. He staggered again, watched you again, and had made it almost halfway across the room when another sight slowed him, if only for a moment.

Schröder’s lips were back on yours, as if to mock him, but what startled him, really, was the way you’d opened your mouth. You couldn’t mean it. Clearly. Schröder was gripping your jaw, forcing it open—it had to be—and he was coaxing your tongue out from inside and weaving it with his. Once more, time moved like molasses, and that was all your husband had had to see: you kissing him back, gripping his arm through the thick, black tactical gear, and still parting your lips more and more for him. Like you needed a touch, or something, worse than ever.

That stalled Bucky, though he was nowhere close to stopping now. Briefly preoccupied, and seemingly shocked as well that you’d accepted the kiss so eagerly this time, Schröder didn’t see the approach. If he had, he likely would’ve turned and made a move for his Ruger, but as it was, he had only to blink—and there was Bucky.

He hit him with a force that was blinding, directly to the side of his head so hard that he’d had no choice but to separate from you. Schröder was stunned one second and on the floor in the next. Bucky threw him there, kicked him down, and, wavering for only a moment to cock back the shoulder that’d been shot, he ignored the pain and punched the man again. And again. And again.

There was a callousness, an indolence, and an ease with which he was able to inflict the pain, that much was evident. What didn’t seem so natural, at least in Bucky’s mind, was the weight that was in his hands: Schröder’s body felt limp before he’d even landed the second blow.

The pressure grew heavier and heavier in his hands the harder, and more frequently, he delivered each hit, but for now, he didn’t care. Bucky kept on punching until the face beneath him was gnarled and bloody, and his own fist, too, slashed every which way with more cuts than he was able to count. He would’ve kept going—could’ve ignored the stabbing pain in his shoulder for as long as it would take to ensure the man was dead—but as it was, he refused to ignore the voice he heard. It was yours.

Muffled now, as your body was bent to the side and your head drooped lower still. Your voice was soft but clear:

“Bucky, please, stop.”

He did.

He dropped the man’s collar from his hands as soon as he’d heard you say it, and he turned away as if nothing had transpired behind him at all. His focus was on you.

“Baby—”

To his surprise, he watched you spit on the floor.

Your face was grim and almost sick, and you spit again.

The look grew even worse, and afterward, you didn’t waste a second more; you stood and left the room.

Bucky was stunned at first, and his instinct had been to follow. Then he heard a rattling sound beside him. He glanced down and paled, seeing Schröder there.

His face had turned blue much sooner than Bucky had expected—and not from any bruising but a lack of oxygen in his lungs. He was choking, foaming slightly at the mouth while he gasped for air. Surely, it hadn’t been the hits that caused it. The whites of Schröder’s eyes were as conspicuous as he’d ever seen them. Desperate.

Bucky swiftly got the sense that the life of his former captor was lost, and frankly, he didn’t care enough to watch him die. He left what remained of Schröder’s form to continue writhing on the floor, choking and sputtering for a breath that would never come, and went after you.

Downstairs, he found you hunched over the kitchen sink—spitting, retching, and trembling, too, but breathing.

You let the water from the faucet fill your mouth, and you rinsed again. You winced as something stuck your cheek.

Bucky drew closer, quickly, and when he was right by your side, he saw you spit a shard of glass into the sink. He looked over to the counter, and he spotted three more

They were minuscule, really. Nothing quite the size to leave a wound too deep, but sharp enough to cut your lips, your tongue, or the insides of your cheeks. When Bucky leaned in, he saw droplets of red joining the flow of the water beneath it. You coughed over and over again

“Don’t,” you croaked, seeing Bucky reach for the glass.

Before he could reply: “It’s the poison. From Madripoor.”

Your husband’s blood went cold in his veins. He didn’t touch the glass, but he did press closer to you, feeling his insides churn as the cogs started to turn in his head.

The vial of poison you’d been given to slip in Schröder’s drink at the Foxy Den—how the hell had you gotten it back? Why would you think you needed it, if he— but no, that couldn’t be the case. There wasn’t a shot you just—

“—put it in your mouth?” Bucky couldn’t curb the fear in his voice. He reached for you and spun you to face him.

“Did it kill him?”

Your eyes were wide for entirely different reasons. Bucky couldn’t believe what he was seeing; his mouth was dry.

“I didn’t want to kiss him,” you went on, voice shaking a little, “I didn’t— I just— I couldn’t get him the poison any other way. I knew he’d kiss me again, and when he did—”

“I know,” Bucky said. He smoothed the hair from your face, shaking his head. Feeling his stomach clench with fear and dread as he hurried to get a look in your mouth.

You’d snuck the vial inside your cheek, then crushed it between your teeth before Schröder had kissed you. You’d all but forced him to swallow the poison, shoving your tongue down his throat, but what of the stuff that remained? The rough, trembling fingers of Bucky’s hand were trying to pry your lips apart as gently as they could, ensure all the serum was out, but at present, you wouldn’t let him. You pushed back gently, though not too far to prevent your own touch from roaming his shoulder.

“The bullet—” you started.

“Barely nicked me,” Bucky cut in, “Baby, I need to see—”

That you’re safe. That you won’t be hurt in any way. He couldn’t finish the thought himself, having seen what the poison did to Schröder. Instead, he just held you closer and fought the lump that was starting to form in his throat. Adrenaline had worked well enough to clear his mind of the haze, but the rest of him was all high-strung.

Your clothes clung to you both, wet with blood and sweat. Your breaths were fast. Your expressions were feral, eyes no calmer as they scanned over the other’s form and soaked in every trace of what had happened. Bucky in his formalwear and you in something close to a chemise—like your honeymoon night all over again—you each got a glimpse of the gore ornamenting yourselves and let the room fall quiet, if only for a minute or two.

Your husband was the one to break the silence, at length, with cracked and grisly hands sliding down to your hips.

“You’re okay?”

His touch shifted you back in place to sit on the counter.

“I’m alright.”

You wanted to say more; assure him, in a voice as sedate as you could manage, that this wasn’t his fault. Whether he would believe a word of what you said was a separate question, but, at any rate, it didn’t matter. The next thing you knew, Bucky was slotting himself in the space between your legs and pulling you into his arms.

In spite of himself and all the wounds, he held you tight.

“You’re alright,” he repeated.

His face sank into the crook of your neck, and you felt his muscles contract again—pulling you closer—as he drew a shaky breath against your skin. You hugged him back.

“Are you?” Your voice was small.

In a blink, Bucky resurfaced. He lifted his head from your neck and, still holding you, hadn’t seemed to have heard.

“The baby,” he said quickly.

He stepped back. Lowered his gaze and his hands to trail over your hips and near your stomach, and he stared, as if trying to make sense of something dire. His blue eyes were wide, and they assumed such a look of panic that you feared a blood vessel might actually burst in one.

After all the great lengths he’d gone to, ensuring you were safe and taking extra precautions, on the off-chance you might be pregnant, here you were.

And there he went, sliding his touch lower and lower again until his hand was pressed into your belly, and the gaze you’d once thought soft before had all but melted into tenderness—delicacy. Complete, loving unreserve.

When his eyes met yours a second time, they were shiny.

Wet with the only kind of tears you’d want to see in them.

“You’re really…” he started, just to taper off, blinking.

And then his cheeks were dotted with the tiny, round droplets, and he’d finally ventured a smile for the first time in what seemed like ages and you couldn’t keep from reaching for him. The second you’d lifted your arms you were back in his, lips and nose smushed against the front of his stained white button-up and breathing deep.

Or trying to, anyway. Bucky had you squeezed so tight to his chest you had nothing but his shirt to inhale at first. You didn’t mind, and when he pulled away a moment later, you realized that your eyes, too, were filling up quick. You had to steel yourself against a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to emerge—the aftermath of a half-dozen traumas laid bare over the last hour—but the longer you were here, and the more your husband stared at you like that, the quicker your courage was depleted. In the span of five seconds, your senses were shot to hell. All you could think was what you could feel, and all you felt was Bucky: his arms and his hands and the raw, blistering heat between your bodies. The rest was noise.

It surprised you both when you kissed him. Physically, your mouth and his were hardly up to do it, injured as they were, but the impulse was strong, and it flowed between you. As soon as your lips latched onto his, Bucky was holding your face, molding his body to yours without so much as a second thought, and the mouth you met was sturdy. Hungry in the way it kissed back.

A string of words from Schröder flashed in your mind—‘Never be safe’—and you grit your teeth together, snagging the cusp of Bucky’s lower lip as you did it. He groaned. Before you could even try to apologize, though, he was gripping your face harder in his hands and coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. His front was still flush with yours, and your legs were starting to wind around his hips. Your husband nudged you back against the cabinets, and from the force of that push, you felt it.

Felt him.

Surely, it had had to take two very fucked up individuals to get all hot and bothered from a bloodbath that had just taken place; but, again, here you were—together.

And there you went, grinding your lower half with his.

“Doll?” Bucky broke out, word slurred just a little.

For a second, you thought he was going to stop you. Your eyes scanned his, and you were already planning to apologize for being so horny, it must just be the—

“You know I love you, right?” he breathed.

You blinked. You were about to nod, when you felt the bulge in his slacks start to rub against your barely-clothed heat, and something akin to a shockwave coursed through your frame. It couldn’t be helped. A monsoon of hyper-sensitized pleasure trembled over the skin in a way you’d never felt it before, and suddenly you were letting out a moan: a muffled cry of, ‘Yes, I-I know.’

Your husband swallowed and stared, slightly taken aback by the reaction his erection had produced. He’d never felt that either. At least from what he could remember.

The truth was that he’d never had a pregnant wife before—someone whose body was now extraordinarily responsive to his touch, nearly aching for him.

When you scooted your butt to the edge of the counter and dug your heels in the backs of his legs, humping him, almost, he got the idea. Bucky swallowed again.

“I love you too, I— I—” you started, already out of breath, “I just really need you to fuck me. Can you— please—”

Bucky didn’t need to be asked once, much less twice. He already had his belt, button, and zip undone before you could even look down, and then your own pyjama shorts were sliding off too. The counter was cool against your skin, but your husband’s warmth was more than enough to compensate for the loss. You smiled again, sheepish.

“It’s just…hormones,” you said, quieter toward the end.

You weren’t sure why you felt so ashamed to simply say, ‘James, I’ve been damn near insane with desire ever since you put a baby in me. Can you give me five more?’ But you did. You felt your cheeks start to heat as your lower half was left exposed to the air, and Bucky slipped his hand down between your legs, practically groaning:

“Honey, you’re soaked.”

There wasn’t one iota of shame in his tone.

He was more than happy to find you drenched beneath his touch. He had a smile on his face and a warmth bleeding from every fingertip as he caressed that soft, tender spot. You didn’t need to tell him what was on your mind, either. He sensed something was making you shy, and rather than have you say it aloud, he just touched you gentler, stroked the skin more affectionately, and tilted his head so only you could hear him, quiet as ever:

“That’s my girl. Feeling good for me?”

You felt your heartbeat between your thighs.

“My baby,” Bucky went on, voice dulcet and slow.

Your body was trembling at the edge, waiting. Impatient.

“My wife,” he said that with a smile, into your neck.

He lowered you onto his length, and you whined.

“Mother of my child.” The smile got bigger.

You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Feeling him slide inside the most precious, wet, pliable part of you, stretching you out, you couldn’t help the sounds you made. You felt full in a whole new way; the groan Bucky let out when you were impaled down to the base of his cock said he shared the feeling. He throbbed inside you.

“You’re—fuck.” Bucky’s words broke off at the sensation.

Your walls were as slick as ever, your body delicate, rolling your hips to the first gentle thrusts that his shaft carved inside. Neither one of you could last long like this.

Still, at the threat of sublime pleasure, you felt fear, briefly: Schröder’s implacable stare—and the thousands more like him in HYDRA. You couldn’t help but grip Bucky tighter, willing these thoughts away with the rhythm of your body over his. Feeling him fill you up, fuck you with quick, deliberate thrusts and hold you, ‘That’s it, take what you need, sweet girl, you’re okay.’

You wished you were. You wanted to be. With every stab of Bucky’s hips, you hoped this would be the last night you ever feared for you or your child’s life, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. This was everything your husband’s varied ‘enterprises’ entailed, and a life with him meant never knowing a day without it—fear.

The head of Bucky’s cock grazed an especially sensitive ridge in your walls, and you whimpered into his shoulder.

You smelled blood.

He pushed you back against the counter and pounded harder, breaths heavy and labored and gruff as he spoke:

“You’re okay, baby, it’s alright.”

Your mind tried clinging to that thought, nodding along as if to convince yourself. The pleasure grew stronger, and your body was hot. Everything was heightened. Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes or his lips or his rough, bloodied touch from roaming you wherever he could reach, and he kept rutting his hips, assuring you gently, again and again, that it was all okay. He was right here.

The pleasure from the depths of your body was beyond your control—you couldn’t help it when the band inside of you snapped. You held Bucky closer and you moaned, more desperate and needy and soaking for him, taking something from him, and knowing the bliss you felt would only steal the dark thoughts for a moment or two.

Bucky’s eyes said it just the same. He couldn’t keep stuffing you full, feeling his pleasure hit its peak, and finally painting your insides without sharing that look.

You were less than halfway down from your highs when you felt him go still, panting fast, then hold your face.

“I love you.”

It was desperate. Hoping for something.

“I love you, too,” you told him, and you meant it.

But there was more. Both of you knew there was more.

“I can’t be married to you, Bucky.”

You didn’t know why it had to come out now, but the emotions were there—his gaze had all but drawn it out.

Still sheathed inside you, your husband tensed. He looked as if he might try and shake his head, but the movement was stalled by his own momentary shock. He’d known the words were coming, but the sound of you saying them now wasn’t any less jarring to hear. Before he could reply, you found yourself cutting back in:

“Not now, at least. We need some…time. To think.”

You weren’t sure what you were saying, just that your lips were moving and every new word was hurting him more.

“Even with Schröder gone, there are so many…dangers for both—or, all—of us, and I don’t know…I just can’t—”

—imagine bringing a child into a world like this. Like his.

You didn’t need to say it.

The pain in Bucky’s eyes already communicated as much, and the conviction in your own only convinced him that you’d meant it—and what you said was the truth. You couldn’t stay in a marriage that wasn’t safe.

Just as you opened your mouth to say something more, the man surprised you when he squeezed your hand.

Nodding, almost imperceptibly, in front of you.

“I can wait,” he said, “Whenever you’re ready, doll.”

His voice was hoarse, words strained from the lump in his throat as he spoke, but the message was sincere.

“Whenever you feel safe,” he added, softly.

You wanted to hold him again. Like before, your eyes began to well with something stinging and harsh, but the look you’d fixed on him was filled with nothing but love. You would’ve reached for him then, if he hadn’t moved his hand to his pocket. He felt around inside it, briefly.

Then Bucky retrieved your wedding ring.

Holding you up against him, pressed snugly into the counter with your legs still wrapped around his lower half, he pinched the silver band between his forefinger and thumb and held it up to you. It glistened in the light.

“The next time you wear it, I want it to be because you chose to marry me. Not for anything, or anyone, else.”

Nothing arranged, no game, no being forced to stay.

You nodded and had to blink through a layer of tears.

Bucky’s thumb traced the moisture, cupping your cheek in one of his hands. He’d had to keep blinking himself, and before you could reach for him, he kissed you.

“I really hope you marry me again one day, Mrs. Barnes.”

You smiled, having parted but still holding on.

“I think I would like that, too. One day.”

The next thing you heard was a sound at the front door: what sounded like a crash. Half a dozen sets of feet stumbling inside, crowding the foyer, making a loud, frantic clamor that you and Bucky knew only too well. The two of you scrambled to get your clothes back on as Steve, Nat, Sam, and Sharon all seemed to yell at once.

You had one hell of a story to tell them.

Taglist: @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @wilsons-striped-ties @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @lunaroserites @first-edition @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @mostlymarvelgirl @yujyujj @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @5thgoddess @oogaboogabeepboop @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @mimimarvelingmarvel @counteveresttt @thepetitemandalorian @diannana @aagn360 @aka-tua-braindump @shortnloud @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @ladyvenera @gyokujyn @bigtreefest @winterschildren8 @mega-kittyglitter-1

[taylorman2274]

We Care About You (Part IV)

Your attempts to cater to their needs only leave them confused and concerned. However, just when you think of giving up, more barriers are broken.

Content Warning(s): Xiao Story Quest Spoilers; Liyue Archon Quest Act IV Spoilers

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Previous || Next

Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3; @jellyedkazoo; @namine123; @innuwu; @agaygothicmushroom;

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When Genshin finally finished loading, you found your player character back where you originally left them before you were forced unconscious; in the bustling streets of Chihu Rock. The first thing you noticed was the red exclamation marks over the Paimon Menu, Events Menu, and Battle Pass Menu. However, you saw these exclamation marks nearly every time you logged on to Genshin, so you weren't surprised.

What does surprise you is that so far, everything appears to be... normal.

The Traveler was currently doing one of their idle animations, the NPCs were all in their familiar spots, and the leaves were subtly floating to the ground...

You began to grow suspicious.

You moved the Traveler one step to the left, cutting off their idle animation. They moved as you expected. Then you moved them right. Then up. Then down.

You looked at their face. They were staring back at you with lifeless eyes.

"But they're not lifeless..." you commented.

Next, you opened up the preceding menus. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Even Paimon was doing her usual shtick.

Finally, you turned the Traveler away from your gaze and had them walk a few steps forward. You had them perform their normal attack combo. No signs of restraint were noticeable.

"...I guess everything is as normal as possible," you noted. "I'll still do everything I promised myself I would do. I don't want to be deceived by false appearances."

You opened the party setup and began to remove everyone from your party aside from the Traveler. You had decided that since nobody specifically asked the Traveler to join them on their travels, you should only use the Traveler from now on. Sure, that may make things harder for you, but you were willing to take on the extra challenge if it meant that everybody was happy.

However, as much as you would prefer to avoid it, you knew that fighting enemies was inevitable. You were just going to need to be extra careful while fighting to make sure that the Traveler doesn't get hit.

"It's almost like I'm doing a no-hit challenge," you chuckled.

Lastly, you were going to take your time doing long quests such as Archon and Story quests. You figure that doing so many quests in a short amount of time would be tiring to the Traveler. Especially with how grueling some of them can be.

With that being said, you took the time to quickly organize the pages of notes on your side before setting off to the first commission of the day, conveniently in Liyue Harbor of all places.

...By walking, of course. Strictly walking while inside cities should be the norm from now on.

---------------------------------------------------------

The Traveler was nearly quivering in excitement.

The adrenaline rush that they got when they realized [Y/N] was back in Teyvat made them all hyper and focused. They were ready to do anything and everything with you. They wanted to sprint across the widest plains; climb atop the tallest mountains; and fight against the strongest enemies.

However, they have learned before that they need to be patient.

Over time, they have come to realize many patterns that you have while guiding them throughout Teyvat. One of these patterns was that you normally started working on the daily commissions first.

So they were a little surprised when the first thing you did was move them around, almost like you were testing to see if they would still follow your guidance.

"You don't have to worry about that, [Y/N]," they thought. "I'll always be here for you."

Not to worry though, [Y/N] went ahead and guided them to all the places where the commissions took place afterward. However, there were some things that they noticed while they were completing them.

The commissions involving the common folk and the time challenges went about the same way. It was the fighting commissions that had them asking questions.

What was the best way to describe it...? They still had no problem defeating the enemies, don't get them wrong, but they noticed that you seemed to be a little more... cautious?

Normally, [Y/N] would have them rush in and start swinging. Sure, this was reckless at times, and got themselves hit a couple of times, but that was honestly the fighting style that they were most accustomed to. However, this time they noticed that for whichever enemies they were fighting, they would focus on one at a time and balance an attack with a couple of dodges whenever their opponent attempted to strike back.

Furthermore, they also noticed that they were the only ones fighting. They know that [Y/N] is capable of guiding at most four people at once. So why were they only using them?

"Perhaps I can ask Paimon whenever [Y/N] leaves." they thought.

Not that they wanted you to leave, no no no. You had just come back to Teyvat after a whole week! They wanted to make up for lost time.

"If I counted right, that's all the commissions for today. Just got to visit Kathryne and then we can continue with our day. I wonder what we will get to do today. Are we gonna do some exploring? Fight amongst the ley lines? Meet up with old friends? I can't wait!"

They waited for their exchange with Kathryne to end so they could get back to your guidance. But suddenly, they began to feel themselves gaining control over their body.

...Wait.

... ... ...

Oh no...

...No...

No. No. No. No. NO! NO! NO! NO!

They know this feeling all too well. It was their least favorite part of the day.

...It was when you left Teyvat.

Just as their fears were confirmed, they gained control over their body again. Horrified, they quickly looked up at Celestia and prayed to the Archons that what was happening wasn't real.

Unfortunately, the light from Celestia came and went. [Y/N] was gone...

"Aww, already?" Paimon groaned, appearing out of thin air. "Paimon thought that [Y/N] would stay just a little bit longer."

The Traveler's eyes never left Celestia. They were holding on to the slim hope that the light returned. That [Y/N] would come right back and continue our adventures.

...But it never came.

"Hey, Traveler. Are you alright? You haven't moved in a while."

The Traveler finally took their eyes away from Celestia and sadly looked at Paimon. "I was so happy that [Y/N] came back. I was looking forward to spending all day with them. But in the end, they were only here for a few hours."

Paimon solemnly nodded. "Yeah, Paimon gets where you're coming from. But Paimon also says not to worry! It isn't often that [Y/N] leaves after completing the daily commissions. Maybe this is a one-time thing?"

The Traveler gave it some thought. They suppose that what Paimon is saying is true. There's no guarantee that this will happen again tomorrow.

Their mood picked up. "You're right, Paimon. Hopefully, we get to adventure with [Y/N] longer tomorrow."

Paimon smiled. "That's the spirit! Trust Paimon when she says that everything is going to be alright!"

---------------------------------------------------------

Time Skip

---------------------------------------------------------

...

... ...

... … …

...Three days...

It's been three days since [Y/N] first came back to Teyvat. They have since come back every day afterward.

...Three days...

It's been three days of completing commissions...

...And nothing else.

...Three days...

It's been three days since the Traveler realized that they were the only person [Y/N] used in their "adventure team".

They still remember how heartbroken Amber was when they met her.

"It wasn't something I did, was it?" she fretted with sorrowful eyes.

"Of course not!" they reassured, "You've done nothing wrong!"

However, they could tell that their words were not effective at uplifting the normally bright and cheerful outrider.

Now, [Y/N] was guiding them back to Kathryne again. Most likely the end of another day together.

... ... …

...No.

"I REFUSE!"

Going against [Y/N]'s guidance, they stopped in place. They were not going to let [Y/N] leave this time! They felt a couple of forceful nudges from [Y/N] but they were going to hold their ground for as long as it takes.

"No more commissions, [Y/N]. Let's go back to before. Explore Teyvat! Go fishing! Search for my sibling! Just don't leave again!"

...

... ...

... … …

...-hy?

..."Huh?"

"What di- ... -o wrong?"

"Is that...?" they wondered.

"I thought ... was doing ... -thing right?"

"[Y/N]?"

"I've done all the things that match their preferences. I've removed all the people who have jobs that prioritize their duties over adventuring; I've been careful while fighting enemies; I've even been spending as little time as possible to conserve their energy. So why are they still unhappy?

...So that's what has been the issue.

They wanted to tell you everything that was on their mind. But they couldn't bypass the restriction placed upon them.

This restriction in particular involved speaking freely towards [Y/N]. From what they understand, they are never able to say anything while being guided by [Y/N]. Instead, Paimon does most of the talking.

They still don't know much about it.

"...Maybe I'm not cut out for this after all. I should've known better..."

They didn't need to be told what that meant for the future.

After hearing that last sentence, they fought as hard as they could to break the speaking restriction, to tell [Y/N] something, anything, to stop them from leaving.

When they gained the slightest control over their body, they shouted: "[Y/N]! Wait! Don't leave!"

However, it didn't appear that they even heard them. Furthermore, they instantly felt a painful shock rush through their body. Punishment for breaking the rules.

The shock brought them to the ground, and they were in too much pain to notice the light from Celestia. And from what they had to guess, potentially for the last time.

"Traveler!" Paimon screamed, immediately floating down to nudge their body. "Quick! Get up! Get up! We've got to do something or else [Y/N] will be gone forever!"

Slowly but steadily, the Traveler brought themselves to their feet. They felt more defeated than ever. "It's too late, Paimon... I couldn't stop [Y/N] from leaving... It's all my fault."

Paimon was quick to shake her head. "Don't say that! You already know that we've never been able to talk with [Y/N] in the past."

"That still doesn't change the fact that [Y/N] is probably gone forever. They're never coming back."

Paimon frowned. She hadn't seen the Traveler like this since they met their sibling with Dainsleif. But as much as she wanted to cheer the Traveler up, she needed to find a way to reach [Y/N]. She quickly used all of her brain juice to come up with a solution.

"Paimon has an idea! Why don’t we ask Zhongli for help? He did assist us last time.”

The Traveler let out a weak, sad chuckle. “I doubt even Zhongli would know what to do in this scenario.”

---------------------------------------------------------

"I may know something we can do."

"Really?!" "You do?!" Both Paimon and the Traveler exclaimed respectively.

They really should stop doubting the capabilities of this man.

"I have no guarantee that this will work," explained Zhongli, "but I'm curious to see the results. I believe you two are familiar with the adepti art 'dream trawling'?"

"Mhm," Paimon nodded, "We were with Xiao when he had us perform it."

"I see. That will make things easier to understand," Zhongli remarked, closing his eyes. "If [Y/N] won't come to Teyvat anymore..."

His eyes opened, filled to the brim with determination. "We'll simply have to extend them an invitation."

---------------------------------------------------------

Author Side Notes: Sorry this took so long to get out. I was struggling with how I wanted to write this.

Additionally, I've felt like my writing is lacking with descriptors. I feel like I keep saying words like 'said', 'asked', and 'nodded' a lot, especially in the last chapter. I've gone back and edited as much of it as I could.

I want to do my best to write all of these characters so I feel pretty bad whenever I'm unable to properly describe a character's thoughts or emotions. Maybe it's something that I'll get better at as I continue writing.

[etheraltides]

CHANGES 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pregnant!Reader

Summarize: all the changes in your body finally takes a toll on you as you’re getting ready for a special night.

Warning(s): body insecurities, pregnancy.

A/N: Are the small letters annoying? I’m not sure if I should keep my works with them or use the regular ones - let me know, please.

You stood in front of the mirror, hands trembling as you adjusted the fabric of your dress. It clung tightly around your belly, and every curve, every change in your body that had come with pregnancy, felt amplified under the soft light of the closet. You tried to see yourself as Rafe saw you, to embrace the way your body had changed, but it was like staring at a stranger. What happened to me?

Your mind raced with painful thoughts, each one heavier than the last. I don’t look like myself. I don’t even feel like myself.

The doubts came in waves, and with each one, your breath grew shakier. He’s going to look at me tonight and see how much I’ve changed. Maybe he’s already noticed. Maybe he’s already started wishing… What if he decides to go to someone prettier, thinner? Could I blame him?

A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden and salty, stinging against your skin. And that’s when the door opened. Rafe entered, his footsteps soft and careful, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw you, his face instantly softening.

He was getting used to your pregnancy mood swings by now but he hadn’t seen you crying often - it was usually you being clingy or acting like a momzilla.

“Hey, sweetheart…” His voice was gentle, and he took a slow step forward, his eyes scanning your face with concern. “What’s going on?”

You tried to force a smile, to play it off, but the effort only made your throat tighten. You looked down, shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I… I don’t know, Rafe. I just…” You swallowed hard, barely managing to get the words out. “I don’t feel like myself anymore. I feel… ugly.”

The word lingered in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and even saying it aloud made it feel more real. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what you might see there.

Tonight would be the reopening party of the restaurant Rafe recently bought, a new milestone in his business career. Both of you were very excited for tonight and you couldn’t stop the guilty for not being able to control your own tears and mind just minutes prior of the event.

Rafe didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he reached out to take your hand, his touch was so tender that it made your heart ache. He guided you gently to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of you so he could look up into your eyes.

“Look at me, love,” he whispered, his thumb brushing softly over the back of your hand. “Please, just look at me.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, and the warmth there was almost overwhelming. His eyes held a mix of love and sadness, but no hint of the judgment or disappointment you’d feared.

“I don’t think I could ever explain how beautiful you are to me.” He said, voice steady and full of conviction. “And I don’t mean just tonight, or just because of the way you look. I mean you. The woman I love, who’s carrying our baby. There’s no part of you that isn’t beautiful to me.”

Your lip trembled, and you felt another tear slip down your cheek. “But I don’t… I don’t feel like myself anymore, Rafe. My body’s changing, and I look in the mirror, and I just… I can’t see the woman I used to be. I don’t know how to feel beautiful when I barely feel like me. I look… disgusting.”

Rafe’s hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear as he held you close, like he was afraid you’d break if he let go. “I know this has been hard on you” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I know I can’t truly understand what you’re going through. But I need you to know… I don’t want the woman you used to be. I want you, right here, right now, just as you are.”

He took your hand and brought it to his chest, pressing it over his heart so you could feel the steady, reassuring beat. “Every single part of this journey, every change, every moment… it just makes me love you more. Because you’re the woman I chose. And you’re the woman I’ll always choose, no matter what.”

The weight of his words began to melt away the cold edges of doubt, warming you from the inside out. But the insecurities still lingered, clinging stubbornly. “But what if I… stay like this? What if I don’t look the way I used to? What if… you stop seeing me this way?”

Rafe’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. “Love… that’s not even possible. You have to understand, I’m not just in love with what I see on the outside. I’m in love with you. With the person you are. The woman who’s so strong, who loves so deeply, who’s going to be the most amazing mother.” His voice softened, his thumb brushing soothingly over your cheek. “That’s who I fell in love with. That’s who I see, every time I look at you. The woman who’s always been by my side through thick and thin.”

The tears kept coming, but this time, they didn’t feel quite so heavy. You let yourself lean into his touch, let yourself feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, grounding you in the moment.

“I just… I’m scared, Rafe.” You whispered. “I’m scared that I’ll never feel like myself again, that I’ll never be the same. That’ll be a bad mother.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger as he held you close. “Then let me be there with you.” He murmured. “Let me remind you, every single day, how beautiful you are to me. Because if I have anything to say about it, you’re never going to forget it. Not for one second.”

His words wrapped around you, sinking into the broken pieces and holding them together, stronger than before. And as he held you, his arms a safe haven against the storm of your thoughts, you felt, for the first time in a long time, a quiet, steady peace.

Rafe held you in silence, his hand holding your head against his chest as he allowed you to take a moment. It ached his heart to hear the things you said, the look in your eyes.

“I will need a few minutes to retouch my makeup.” You took a deep breath slightly pulling away from him, your manicured fingers quickly wiping away the tears on his jacket as you mumbled an apologize that he dismissed instantly.

“Take your time, sweetheart.” He winked, his eyes looking at you with an intensity and warmth that made your cheeks burn - as if he was looking at the most precious thing in the world.

[yuvany]

#ENHYPEN TAKING CARE OF YOU

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 with an injured!reader

OT7 ENHYPEN x fem reader , CONTENT/WARNING(S) :: mentions of injuries + fuff + skinship + kisses + not roofread , WORD COUNT :: 818 <> CHECK BOX !!

( reblogs + feedback always appreciated !! )

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

He holds the door open for you as you jump in with your crutches. Heeseung is worried you might injure yourself more if you exert too much force onto your leg, and so he will be by your side at all time carrying your bags for you, pushing out chairs and handling your crutches for you as he sets them aside. "Babe, it's alright. I can do this myself." You sigh, feeling like he is doing way more than necessary. "But I like doing this." He replies sweetly, his fingers running along your cheekbone before placing a kiss onto the place.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

Knows what to do by instint. Even if he's never taken care of someone before, he'll look like a professional. Has alarms for when you should take your medication and when to take of the bandages and replace them. "y/n, sweetie, come here!" He calls from the kitchen. As you walk in, you see him holding the medicin prescribed to you. You groan at the sighs, and Jay notices. "It tastes awful." You sigh, and Jay reaches for a jar of honey on a taller shelf. "Won't be so bad if we add this. Cheer up, alright?"

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗬𝗨𝗡

Will let you do whatever you want. You want to braid his hair? Go for it. Is really caring and asks you over and over again if you're feeling comfortable. "Babe, should I move that pillow over there?" He points at the pillow in your lap, and you shake your head. "No need, I like this." Jake nods, and inches closer to you, his head seeming to want to connect with your shoulder, but he hesitates. "What up, baby?" You ask him, noticing how he's acting. "Nothing." You sigh and pull his head down onto your shoulder. "Jakie, resting on my shoulder won't injure me." You chuckle.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

Sunghoon was washing your hair for you as you had broken your arm. His fingers massage your scalp as you are bent over the bathtub. You only hear the water coming from the tap and his humming, which makes this immensely comfortable. Sunghoon taps your back when he's done and wraps your head in a towel. "You look so cute like this." He says with a hand on his hip. He also helps you dry it: Sunghoon plugs the hairdryer in the outlet as he sits on the edge of your bed with you on the floor in front of him. He combs your hair with his fingers and parts your hair to make it dry faster. "Thanks, love." You give him a kiss as a gift.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

He is super gentle and careful. Puts extra pillows on his bed, the couch and removes everything that might seem like an obstacle to you. Wants you to be comfortable, and wants you to heal fast so that the two of you can cuddle close once more. "Sunsun, why so many pillows?" You ask him. "Don't you like it?" He returns the question with a gleam in his eyes, and you shake your head in disapproval, "Of course I do!" you explaimed, leaning on him now. "Well, good." Sunoo hums and sits on the couch as he pats his lap for your head to rest on. You lay your head on his lap and feel his fingers trace your scalp.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

helps you with whatever you need help with, won't indulge too much as he doesn't want you to feel hopeless. He asks you questions about your fracture and how long it will take to heal. "I'll just need to wear this for a month more according to my doctor." You explain as the two of you go on your weekly walk in the evening. His arms wrap around your shoulders and pulls you aside in case someone gets too close, and might accidentally bump into you. His steps are shorter, and he walks slower so that you won't need to exhaust yourself much to match his pace. "Sounds good, honey." Jungwon says, kissing your hair.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

He'll ask his hyungs what to do since he is unsure and doesn't want to do something wrong. You see him on his phone, reading something intently as his fingers are in his hair. "Baby, is everything okay?" You ask, standing up from your seat. "Everything is under control. Rest, please." Riki guides you back with his palm on the small of your back. "You look worried though." You say with eyebrows creased. "I just don't know how to take care of you." He explains, and you crack a smile at his childish tone. "My dear, you don't need to do anything, I'm able to take care of myself." You kiss his cheek, and he wraps his arms around you. "I love you." He places a kiss onto your cast. "Hope this'll heal it faster." "I'm sure it will."

[leighsartworks216]

You Hate Me

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Sooooo I wrote this one morning when even just laying down had my knees hurting and I was like,, well what if Tav had that too? Also inspired by the fact I get to campus an hour early and still try to rush to the (empty) classroom instead of, ya know, taking advantage of the huge time buffer I give myself

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of joint pain, insecurity, crying, possibly OOC, clown mention

Word Count: 1,545

Masterlist

AO3

Just a bit further. A little further and then you could rest. If you make it to that tree - make it to that tree and you can sit down. Just a bit left to go.

It started almost a week ago. Unable to cope with all the traveling, your right knee started bothering you. With every step you could feel your kneecap shifting back and forth with a dull click. Then, it started to hurt. Nothing serious. If you walked slow enough, you could avoid it. But now every step sent shocks of pain up your entire leg. Your left knee joined the party this morning, removing any sense of relief you had while walking. Even sitting down didn't remove the pain, but you couldn't afford a day off.

Your companions noticed the changes, despite your best effort not to show any outward discomfort. You moved slower, the occasional grimace slipped through, they weren't traveling quite as far. You consider asking Shadowheart for anything that could ease the pain, but you already knew there was little she could do to help. So you grit your teeth and kept going.

Your foot stepped on uneven ground and you nearly dropped from the agony that shot through your whole body. Karlach worried you might actually just collapse. But you kept going.

Astarion couldn't bear it. None of them could - they hated seeing their intrepid leader fight their own body just to go a few more feet - but your struggle settled like a boulder in his stomach. Every time your face scrunched up, every hiss of your sharp inhales, felt like someone had stabbed a knife in his chest and was twisting it ever deeper. He hated the feeling.

With only a few long strides, he slipped from the back of the group to the front, walking alongside you. He had to change his normal gait just so he didn't surpass you. "Darling," he hummed quietly, just loud enough to keep the conversation between you two, "you should rest."

You shook your head. You didn't even spare him a glance. Your eyes didn't shift from the tree. "We're almost there," you dismiss. It's slightly breathless. Despite needing to walk slow to avoid the pain, you were pushing to go faster.

He tsked. "And how far do we still have left to go?" He tilted his head as he looked at you, already knowing whatever distance you said would be too far.

You nodded to a tree dead ahead. "Once we reach that birch, we can rest."

"That birch?" He pointed. "The birch tree that's nearly half a mile away?"

He could feel you bristle with his incredulous tone, but you didn't say anything.

He scoffed. "My dear, I can be stubborn at the best of times, but this is ridiculous! You're barely staying upright as it is."

"I'm fine-"

"No, you're not," he sharply cuts you off. He grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop, holding you there with enough force that you wouldn't slip out and keep going. You refuse to look at him even now. "You're wincing, your hands have been clenched for the last mile, and you keep stumbling. The tree will still be there if you just sit down for a minute."

The rest of the party watches from a distance. Far enough away they can just make out what Astarion's saying, especially as his voice rises in pitch the more frustrated he gets.

Standing still hurts. It's hard to say if it hurts more or less than walking; it just hurts. Your face is pinched as sharp jolts run up through your joints, like someone is poking you with a sewing needle. Walking, you decide, must be better than this.

"It's not that far," you insist, voice low. "And when we get there, we can-"

"Gods above, you're impossible! Fine. Fine! You want to get to that tree, fine." He lets go of your arm.

Before you can even take a step, he's sweeping you into his arms, supporting you with one arm under your back and the other hooked under your knees. The pressure hurts for a moment, but it quickly fades away. The lingering aches are from pushing yourself too hard. He begins marching once more toward your end goal.

You want to shout, to demand he put you down. But when you look up at his face, his eyes are sharper than usual, lips pulled into a tight frown and crease forming between his eyebrows. He's angry.

He's angry with you.

The words die in your throat. You hate being so dependent. You were the leader - you needed to be strong and fearless and without weakness. To receive help feels like someone plunging their hand between your ribs and stealing away a chunk of your worth. But seeing Astarion upset, upset with you, that stings far worse.

You avoid looking over his shoulder. You could just imagine their faces. How Lae'zel would scowl at you for being weak. How Gale's face would turn somber when he realizes you're not as capable as he thought. You couldn't bear it. So you press your forehead to Astarion's neck and stare at your lap.

There's an unwelcome burn at the back of your eyes. Shame floods your chest and crawls up your throat until it chokes you. Water pools along your lower lids and blurs your vision. You can't walk and now you're going to cry. Just how fucking pathetic can you be?

Astarion's head shifts and you can tell he's trying to look down at you. He's trying to see your face. Because he can feel you shaking in his arms. He can hear your lungs quivering as your breaths become uneven and choppy. You press your closed eyes against his throat and he can feel the hot tears against his skin.

His frown softens, though you can't see it. He slows down to a stop and tells the others to go on ahead, to the birch tree just there, and start working on setting up camp, but all you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. Their faces become fraught with worry; Karlach is the last to go. She still looks back once or twice. Astarion finds a suitable rock and he sits.

"Shh, sweet thing," he cooes, voice no louder than a whisper. His arm around your back pulls you into his shoulder, hand tangling in your hair as he cradles you. His other hand rubs soothing circles along your thigh. You gasp around a sob, body curling further into itself, into him, as you release your emotions. "It's alright."

You strangle out an apology. It's wet and croaky and painful.

"Whatever for?" he asks.

"You're mad at me," you whimper.

He huffs. The frustration from before rises in him again just thinking about it. "Yes, I am."

He feels your breath catch in your throat, and the heaving breath you take after. "You hate me."

Astarion laughs, short and sharp. "Why would I hate you, dear? Because you're too stubborn for your own good?" You don't have a response for him. He kisses your head, wherever he can reach. "I'm mad because you put yourself out trying to solve all of our issues, but the moment you have one of your own, you refuse any help. You're going to tear yourself apart."

He sighs and rests his cheek atop your head. His fingers rub the nape of your neck, gently tugging at the hair there. You carry so much tension, it's a wonder your muscles haven't locked up from the stress.

Time passes slowly in his arms. It seems to take forever before you start to calm down, and even longer before your eyes have dried. He does nothing to speed the process aside from gently hush you when you try to choke out apologies.

You sniffle quietly. Your eyes are raw, and you're all too aware of the stain of water you've left on the vampire's neck. When you speak, it's a painful creak in your vocal chords. "You don't hate me?"

He presses another kiss to your head. "No, love, I don't hate you. Not unless you've done something truly horrific, like invite a clown to show up at camp in the middle of the night." You chuckle weakly. It's such sweet music. "Gods forbid you start donating to charity." You laugh this time, and Astarion's chuckle vibrates against your ear.

His fingers detangle themselves from your hair with one last gentle tug, and his arm wraps around your back once more. As though you weigh no more than one of his pillows, he stands once more with you in his safe grasp, and begins heading for camp. He can see Karlach up ahead light up when she sees you're finally on your way.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I just feel so... useless, like this."

"Please, stop apologizing," he begs, dramatically. "Just say 'thank you' and we can move on."

You peel your face from his skin, dried tears sticking you together. You wince at how disgusting this must be for him. You lean up and kiss his cheek. He smiles at the affection. "Thank you."

Softer, he says, "Of course, my love."

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

The Witch's Bodyguard

(4)  I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me

Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Bodygaurd!Fem!Reader

Summary: You attend a party with Wanda and things finally come to a head when you meet her ex-fiancé

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, possessive R, Perv calls W a bitch, R is packing, R calls herself Daddy, W refers to R as Daddy

A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this. I got stuck half way through, but I made it!

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @rroyale-109 @wandanat01 @scarlizziee @nixxnsworld

@snoozingredpanda @wandamaximoff-simp @sweet--escape17

@natashamaximoff-69 @godhatesgoodgirls @kristalag @mfd-101

It was a busy week filled with interviews, casting calls, and filming. Finally it was the weekend and Wanda had decided she wanted to go out shopping before a party tomorrow night the two of you would be attending at Tony Stark's house. Of course you didn't want to go shopping, but Wanda seemed to be using it as a bonding experience. You had taken notice ever since that night a few weeks ago when you talked about your ex that she was using every excuse to be closer.

Instead of her chair she took up space on the other side of the couch, each night moving closer until the two of you sat next to each other. She always grabbed your arm or hand when outside walking from the car to a building. She'd bury her face against you when paparazzi start snapping pictures and a protective arm comes up to shield her. You face stone cold against the harsh flashes.

As Wanda walked beside you, Bucky behind you two holding all the bags, you felt calm which was unusual. You were always on guard when outside, but as Wanda went on talking about this idea she had you couldn't help, but be drawn in by her voice. You watched her lips as they moved. You weren't even sure what she was saying anymore. You were completely lost in her lips.

“Wanda Maximoff!” A slurred voice called out, catching your attention immediately as you put yourself in front of Wanda. The man who looked disheveled and clearly had been drinking with a slurred voice and flushed cheeks.

“Sir, I need you to back away from Miss. Maximoff. If you don't I will have to use force.” Your voice dropped a few octaves. When he didn't listen to you and took a step forward he was met with your hand pushing him back as he tried to grab at Wanda. “Sir, I said you need to back away.” You practically growled.

“Fucking bitch.” He spat at you, scowling before stumbling away. You waited in a readied stance for him to come back until you felt her hand grip at your back. Turning around to look at her trembling slightly.

“Hey you're okay. I'm here. I've got you.” You wrapped your arms around her protectively. “You're safe. I won't let anyone touch you.” You whispered to her and she visibly calmed down. The shaking stops and she lets out a deep breath she had been holding. She looks up at you, her eyes are wet, but no tears fall. She nods and smiles up at you as her hands take your arms off her shoulders as she takes one for herself. Pulling you along once more.

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°

You had never been a party person. Sure you liked drinking and socializing, but you didn't drink enough to cloud your judgment. You'd slowly sip on a drink all night, alternating between that and a non-alcoholic beverage and some snacks.

Your eyes watched her from across the room. It's probably the farthest away you've been from her, but she was still in your sights. Bucky was around too somewhere. Talking with Natasha's bodyguard, Clint, who liked to keep a watchful eye from far away and in the shadows.

Your eyes scanned the room, some big names were here. Some you had worked with in the past such as Kate Bishop the heir to Bishop Security who smiled at you across the way. Kate had been a favorite client of yours. She was always so energetic and made you laugh. She was also your first client so you and Kate had become close while you went through the divorce. Kate being the only other person besides Val and Wanda to know of the divorce.

“Y//N/N!” Kate called out, walking over with a blonde. Kate opened her arms for a hug which you accepted.

“Long time no see Katie. Where have you been hiding?” You ask, your eyes flicking over to Wanda to make sure she was okay. She was talking with Natasha and looked like she was having a good time so your attention fell back on Kate.

“I've been good. Working hard. Almost done with college finally!” You smile, she had just started college when you worked for Kate.

“You better be graduating with honors.” You raised an eyebrow and she nodded. “So proud of you Katie.” You enveloped her in a hug. Kate stood about your height just not as much muscle. Her archery kept her thin with defined muscles. “And who is this little thing you have with you?” You looked over her shoulder at the scowling blonde.

“Oh I completely forgot to introduce you! Y/N this is Yelena, my bodyguard and my girlfriend!” Kate said excitedly. You tried to hide your shocked expression.

“You're dating your bodyguard?” You asked in a hushed tone. Kate giving you a nod and a smile.

“I don't trust anyone else like Yelena…well you come pretty close.” You rolled your eyes and that's when they landed back on Wanda. She was being touched by someone, a man with blonde hair. You felt a bubble of jealousy and protectiveness rise up in you as you brushed Kate and Yelena off to cross the room. Your hand grabbing his wrists that had been on Wanda’s arm. The look of disdain on Wanda’s face was enough for you to go full guard mode.

“Don’t touch Wanda.” You spoke through gritted teeth, the man looking at you in shock. Blue eyes trained on you. Your grip only loosened once Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder.

You turned around to face her, feeling the jealousy coursing through you. This wasn’t just you being her bodyguard, this was you not wanting anyone else to touch what you saw as yours. Her soft green eyes looked at you, into you as you turned to face her fully. Your hands checking her over making sure she was okay when her hand came to your face, cupping gently as her soft thumb brushed your skin.

“I’m fine. Y/N this is Jonas, but we all call him Vision, my ex-fiancé.” Wanda’s voice was low, trying not to catch unwanted attention as she pulled you to her side. Instinctively your feet came together and your back straightened. Bowing your head slightly instead of a salute.

“It’s good to meet you sir. Sorry about that we had an incident earlier I just went into bodyguard mode.” You tried to brush it off and luckily he bought it and the rest of the party went by without another incident since you stayed right by Wanda’s side.

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°

As you drove back home with Wanda and Bucky in the car, the quiet hum of the engine filled the space between you. The tension from earlier still lingered in the air, a silent reminder of the jealousy that had flared up when you saw her with Vision. Wanda broke the silence, her voice soft yet probing.

"You got rather defensive earlier," she pointed out, her gaze fixed on you. The tone of her voice carried a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something that hinted at a desire for honesty.

"I was just doing my job," you replied, trying to keep your tone steady despite the heat rising within you. You kept your eyes on the road, but you could feel her eyes on you, searching for the truth beneath your words.

"Was it just your job?" she asked, her voice even softer now, as if she was afraid of the answer. You knew she was referring to the way you'd reacted, the protectiveness that had surged up, more intense than it should have been for a mere bodyguard.

You took a deep breath, weighing your words carefully. "It's my responsibility to make sure you're safe, Wanda. When I saw him touching you, I reacted. It's what I'm trained to do."

She nodded slowly, but her eyes told you she wasn't entirely convinced. "But it felt like more than that," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of the car.

You finally glanced at her, your eyes meeting hers for a brief, intense moment. "It might have been," you admitted, your voice low. "Seeing someone else touch you... it stirred something in me. Something personal."

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. Wanda's eyes softened, and she reached out, placing a hand on your arm. Her touch was gentle, reassuring.

"I understand," she said softly. "And for what it's worth, I didn't mind. In fact, it made me feel... safe. Cared for."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the boundary between professional and personal blurring even further. "Wanda, I..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. What could you say? That you'd been fighting your growing feelings for her? That every moment spent with her made it harder to maintain your professional distance?

Before you could find the right words, Bucky lowered the divider, interrupting the moment. "Everything okay back there?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp, taking in the tension between you and Wanda.

You cleared your throat, grateful for the distraction but also frustrated by it. "Yeah, everything's fine," you replied, your tone brisk. "Just talking about the incident earlier."

Bucky nodded, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. As you pulled up to Wanda's home, you couldn't shake the feeling that tonight had changed something between you. And as you walked her to the door, her hand lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary, you knew that the boundary between protector and something more was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.

As you brought Wanda to her room, you were ready to leave for the night, back to your own room to relieve yourself from the tension that had built up. But as you turned to leave, she grabbed the back of your shirt.

"Can you stay a little longer? Come to bed with me?" she asked, her voice soft and small. You turned back to her, looking down into her eyes that held a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

"Please..." she added, her eyes pleading. You knew she had been drinking; you had watched her all night, and the red hue against her cheeks and the darker tint in her eyes at the mere thought of getting you in bed with her made your resolve waver.

"How could I say no to that beautiful face?" The words slipped out of your mouth without thought, your hand finding her cheek. You pulled her into her own room, closing the door behind her as you pressed her against it.

"Tell me you don't want it, and I will stop," you whispered against her lips, your breath mingling with hers. Her breath hitched, and in that moment, you knew she wanted this as much as you did. Without waiting for a response, you closed the distance between your lips, finally giving in to the desire that had been simmering for months.

Your hands wandered down to her hips, pulling her against you as her arms wrapped around your neck. Her lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, the kiss deepening as the world outside her room faded away.

Wanda's fingers tangled in your hair, and you could feel her heartbeat against your chest, fast and erratic. Her body pressed against yours, warm and inviting, and you found yourself lost in the sensation of her. The taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, the intoxicating scent of her perfume—it all combined to create a heady mix that made it impossible to think of anything else.

You lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed as her legs wrapped around your waist. Gently, you laid her down, your lips never leaving hers. You could feel her trembling beneath you, the anticipation and desire evident in every touch, every sigh.

"I've wanted this for so long," Wanda murmured against your lips, her voice barely a whisper.

"Me too," you admitted, your own voice thick with emotion. "I've wanted you for so long, Wanda."

Your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every inch of her skin. Her responses—soft moans, sharp gasps—only fueled the fire within you. The need to be with her, to show her how much she meant to you, overwhelmed every other thought.

You broke away just enough to look at her, eyes dark and hazy for you. “You’re going to be my good girl, right?” She nodded frantically.

“Just wanna be your good girl!” She cried out, desperate for you to keep touching as your hand wandered up her thigh.

“Then be Daddy’s good girl, okay?” You felt her tighten up, a moan coming from the back of her throat.

“Yes Daddy. Just wanna be Daddy’s good girl.” Hearing her say that was all you needed as you finally got her out of her dress. Unbuttoning your pants revealed the strap you’d been packing all night. Wanda looked down at it, practically drooling at the size and shape.

“D-do you always...?” Her sentence trailed off as you pulled off her panties, tossing them aside. You started rubbing the head against her slick folds.

“Yes, Daddy is always packing.” You smirked at the double meaning behind your own words as Wanda moaned out, gripping at her sheets. You slowly stretched her with your cock, loving the sight of the stretch and her face as you did so.

“F...fuck...” Wanda moaned as you bottomed out into her. Leaning over her, hands on either side of her face. She was a Goddess beneath you her normal soft green eyes so dark it could be the bottom of the sea, the flush of her cheeks, the sweat that was forming on her brow and every little noise she made for you. You couldn’t help yourself as you started moving your hips. Her arms reaching for yours as she gripped tightly. “I-I’m gonna cum!” Wanda cried out, making you smirk as you wanted to push the boundaries just a bit.

“You have to ask Daddy. If you ask Daddy nicely she’ll let you cum.” Wanda’s eyes went wide as her brain tried to process and figure out what to do. You were about to just tell her to cum when she finally started going,

“Daddy please, please need to cum, can I please cum Daddy?” You smiled and started pistoning your hips faster into her.

“That’s Daddy’s good girl. Cum for Daddy. Cum all over Daddy’s cock.” Wanda came undone beneath you giving you the most beautiful sight even more beautiful than you could have imagined. “Fuck...you’re absolutely beautiful.” You spoke softly before kissing her again. Slowing your hips down as you helped her through the orgasm. You slowly pulled out. Getting yourself stripped down to nothing as Wanda whined a bit, grabbing at the air for you. You moved over, leaning down to kiss her forehead, covered in sweat. “I’m getting a towel and water give me one moment and I’m all yours.” She whined a bit, but let you go.

Once you were back in the bed and had her cleaned up she took a few sips of the water. You could tell she had sobered up as you looked at her, she looked back at you.

“What is it?” She tilted her head as she set the water down.

“Was all that okay?” You asked, needing to hear it from her now sober mouth.

“Yes. It was. I enjoyed all of that though it was my first time for anything like that. I enjoyed it and if you’re okay with it...I’d like to do that again and explore some more things.” She fidgeted with her fingers and rings like you’d seen her do before when she was nervous as you took her hands. Bringing her attention back to you.

“I would love to do that again.” You told her with a smile as she blushed. “But for now lets rest it’s been a long night and there is always tomorrow.” She nodded, cuddling up against your chest as you pulled her silk sheets over the two of you. She was out before you could even tell her goodnight.

[sheeezu]

.Shift by channeling.

Go to your DRs by channeling, again, step to step guide.

This can be used as a separate method, or you could use this when you need a final push.

This isn't the spiritual type of channeling, nor do you need to use AI or something, nor do you get possessed.

Step 1:

Before attempting to shift, choose a person from your DR. It could be your S/O, you can choose to channel multiple people, if you have a friend group or something, but i recommend picking someone whom you have a close connection with in your DR.

Have a voice claim ready, take some times to look at the person's pictures, remember their physical attributes, focus on their personality.

(You can listen to songs which remind you of your relationship with that person)

Step 2:

Lay down, when you're prepared to shift. You're going to start off saying affirmations like it's a normal shifting method.

If you can visualize, i recommend you think of visual affirmations which relate to your DR.

Its a method to affirm, where you go around your DR, whether it's your DR house, room, or a memorable or nostalgic place in your DR, and see your normal shifting affs, carved, written around, for example, your affs formed by clouds, carved into pillars and tables, written on your clothes, finding papers or letter which say your affirmations (so Affirmations ∝ Your DR)

You should try to be hype fixated, so if you are fidgeting, can't stay still, you're too engrossed in what's going on inside your mind to notice your body itching or twitching.

Do this until your symptoms intensifies or reach a peak, everyone feels differently, for some it's more physical (seeing light flashes, tingles, floating) for some it's mental (having a gut feeling, feeling euphoric) so don't get discouraged.

You aren't doing anything wrong.

Step 3:

This is where we come across our special person. While you're seeing your affs, make yourself meet them. Now, if you're confused and going to say this isn't channeling, then just stop. You're creating this reality and undoubtedly every moment you're experiencing, so when you're in a deeply concentrated phase, the only thing that could possibly stop you from having a very real and authentic meeting with your SP is your own self-doubt (anyways, if you're having self doubt then say an aff or two to combat them)

Your SP is standing right in front of you, let yourself loose at this point. No need to force anything scripted, but if you want then you can.

Have a conversation with your SP, whether it's initiated by you or your SP.

Maybe even invite them to drink tea, sit outside, take them to a secret spot.

Now you're having a conversation with them, starting off with your conscious thoughts doing the talking from your part, whatever your SP says is your subconsciousness speaking, or you're directly channeling them (both of which are the same thing, i hate being repetitive, you're creating reality if you believe you're being channeled by your SP, then that's what's happening)

Start off with a normal conversation, like how'd you talk to someone, someone you love and know very well.

Right now, you're going to say a very specific affirmation:

"(your SP's name) is just about to ask me what i was doing in my OR/void reality."

Then let the conversation take a natural turn. That question will eventually be asked, your loved one is just very curious about why you were away from them.

Now, what you will answer back will be the way how to shift.

"Oh, must be a fever dream, i had never had a dream so real, i was touching everything, each and everything felt legit." (best for permashifters, don't be afraid of using this if you intend to come back)

"I guess it was out of responsibility, but don't worry, i'm here now."

"I don't know myself, all i know i didn't like being there."

"I was curious, that's all; you know i like exploring new things, and come on, it was a whole new universe, but now i want to rest at home."

Whatever your SP says in response, whether they're asking you to come join them, or how they're glad you're back, just nod back.

Step 4:

Go to sleep in your DR, if you recall, you're in your home. Go towards your bed, crash down, close your eyes.

From this point onwards, you're going to embody your DR self and fall asleep acting normal, completely abandon the fact that you were shifting, or that you have shifted to your DR, act like a person (your DR self) living in any other world (your DR)

I described this in details in the third phase of my pinned post, you're supposed to do all that.

You'll wake up in your DR.

Why is this method supposed to work?

Connection to your DR environment ✔

Logically explains your involvement with your previous reality, why you were there for so long ✔

Reminds your consciousness that you've successfully shifted ✔

Connection to your loved ones in your DR ✔

Most importantly, connection to your DR self ✔

...

That's the method, you can also shift in between the method as well. There really isn't any reason for you to wake back in your CR, listen to some subliminals to remove intrusive thoughts, then you're good.

You could also make it so your SP had more control over your shift, like they brought you back, you can modify the method according to your wishes.

It's a short and sweet method, believe in your abilities and you'll be out of here faster than lightning.

...

This method is heavily focused on visualizing, if you have aphantasia then your DR SP can just speak to you, when you eventually cross over to your DR self's state of mind (if they can visualize) you'll get the ability to visualize like them, or get flashes of images.

...

Also thanks for everyone who gave me compliments in my inbox I have no clue how to receive them, but I am very grateful (:

[xlpoww]

Jealousy, Jealousy

i really loved how bad for business turned out, and it seems you all did too!! so here's a continuation of the bfb universe/storyline :) it's not exactly a part two

warnings! jealousy (sanji's)

word count: 1,720

opla! sanji x f! reader

i actually took the time to reference back to this scene in the live action to make sure i got their orders right :) !! also hi i am alive !!! i just got busy with work- and i had a mini con to go to this weekend and i cosplayed nami! :D -> i have also been struggling with tremendous writers block, and was trying to force myself to write about zoro for days! but i couldn't, and i was frustrated with myself untill i rememebred this isnt a job, this is for fun for me and you guys. so i went back to some of the things i've written and felt like i could continue this one :) the story really flowed from there and i wrote a lot in a short span sooooooo &lt;3 ily all! thanks for reading as always <3333

sanji vinsmoke is jealous. 

the cook is used to woman falling at his feet, swooning over his flirty personality. either that or they get annoyed at him and clearly show disinterest. (oftentimes calling him names and sometimes resulting in him getting hit)

but you, the one girl he actually held a candle for, he couldn’t even seem to get a rejection from you. that would’ve made things so much easier for him and his heart. it’s gotten to the point he’s wishing you would tell him you don’t return his feelings. sure it would hurt in the moment, but at least he could have (hopefully) forced himself to move on.

but no, you won’t reject him; nor will you swoon at his advances. they seem to roll right off you like beads of rain on a window. never a hint of blush on your cheeks, no angrily quirked brows. how was he meant to understand? there are two reasonable reactions to such a forward man, either interest or not. how do you manage to toe the line so perfectly?

it drove him mad, not only were you horribly hard to read, every once in a while you would flirt aggressively back at him. it would always catch the poor boy off guard, leaving him stunned and blushing standing wherever he was. oftentimes you did it right in the middle of the kitchen, leaving him to deal with the playful teasing of the other workers, walking off to continue doing your job. 

you would be the death of him surely.

especially when the sight of you smiling so sweetly at that stupid swordsman causes a painful squeeze in his chest. his grip on the tray he was holding is bruising, and there’s a jealous rage brewing inside of him.

-

“hello my name is y/n, and i’ll be your waitress today. can i start you guys with any refreshments?” you flip over a page on your notepad, ready to write down the group's requests. what a charming bunch they were, with just a glance you could tell they really cared for one another.

“i’ll take a beer,” the green haired man speaks up, and you nod with a smile.

“i’ll take two beers, i normally have three but..” he trails off as the woman at the table speaks up.

“i’ll take a water.”

“and a glass of milk!” the endearing boy with a straw hat adds on, his words are muffled by the bun he was still chewing. when coming to greet them you’d brough over a basket of perfectly warmed buns with butter. nodding at them all, your pen into your apron as you repeat back to them. 

“three beers, milk and water, coming right up you guys.” you step back with a bow, turning towards the kitchen. doing so you notice your best friend is glaring in your direction, and as you walk back you tilt your head at him. when you get closer you realize his glare wasn't directed towards you, but the swordsman you had taken the order from. he doesn’t even seem to pay you any mind as you approach him, too focused on the table you had just walked away from. when you reach him where he stands in front of the doorway, you snap your fingers in his face. it seems to snap him out of it, and he looks down at you with a charming smile.

“hello my love, what can i do for you?” his hand is placed on your shoulder sweetly. the touch warms your body, but you shake it off to cross your arms. 

“what’s up with you, why were you glaring at my table? do you know them?” you gesture back towards your table, and a flush washes over his face when he realizes he’d been caught. he straightens his tie in an attempt to shake off his shame,

“not a clue who they are darling.” your eyebrow raises in suspicion, you’re not buying it. he seems to know you won’t, and he tucks his hand into his pockets as he shrugs.

“you just glare at people you don’t know now sanj?” a pout forms out of frustration. while you were wondering why he was lying to you so blatantly, he was internally swooning at how adorable you looked in that moment, and the sweet way you'd shortend his name. the grip you had over his heart was the strongest in all the seas.

“don’t worry, pretty lady, it’s nothing. now if you’ll excuse me i’ve got my own tables to wait on.” he’s internally scrambling to figure out how to distract you from what he was caught doing, in a moment of boldness (or a crazy attempt to change the subject), he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head.

the action causes your eyes to almost bulge out of your head as you begin to blush. a smug smile forms on sanji’s face at the sight, he’d never felt more accomplished than he did in that moment. not only had he distracted you, he’d made your face light up all pretty and embarrassed. he winked at you before brushing past you to do his job, pushing open the swinging door into the kitchen behind you.

you’re left in shock trying to wrap your brain around his actions, ‘what had gotten into him?’ as bold and flirtatious as he was, you would have never expected a display like that in front of all the customers.

oh shit, the customers. ‘had anyone seen that? oh gods.’ your hands clench into fists as you attempt to bring yourself back to reality and calm down, and you push past the doors of the kitchen. your eyes are focused on the ground as you collect the drinks needed for your table, placing them all on a tray and balancing them on one hand. you take a moment to breathe in and compose yourself before walking back out into the dining room. 

you eyes scan the room and find your favorite blond waiting on a table on the opposite side of the room of your own. his location makes it easy to return to the table without incident, placing down the three beers before the milk and water. with a smile, you tuck the tray under your arm and pull out your notepad again to continue taking their orders. maybe doing your job could distract from the rapid beating in your chest.

“you guys decided on food yet?” 

“one of everything!” the boy with a straw hat speaks up, and you quirk your eyebrow. they didn't look like the big spenders you were used too, but it wasn’t really your place to mention that. your smile never slips as you nod, writing it down and once again bowing before you leave. by your luck sanji seems to be waiting for you at the doorway of the kitchen. so much for the idea you had to avoid him until you’d calmed down.

he holds his hand out, offering to take your tray from you. his kind offer brings a smile to your lips, and you decide to shove down whatever inner turmoil was happening and act like what he did hadn’t happened. (he sure was.)

“any interesting orders?” he smiles, quirking a brow at you as you offer him your serving tray. you laugh, holding out your notepad to show him where you had written down ‘one of everything’ sanji’s heart squeezes at how cute your handwriting is, and he can’t help the chuckle. “well it looks like you’ll need some help taking out this order then, love.” the pet name causes the usual skip in your heartbeat, and you smile, nodding in acceptance of his offer for help, pushing past him into the kitchen to get your cooks started on the order of everything.

-

the food gets taken out in waves, sanji always accompanying you with an extra plate or two. the table is rather nice about it, they’re always caught up in conversation. even still they thank you for every plate you place down, they seem like genuine people. it warms your heart to see such a close group of friends. 

you can’t help but notice the way sanji doesn’t even pay the girl at the table any mind, too busy glaring at the green haired man, his hands lingering on your shoulder or back longer than they needed to. how he’d managed to add on to his unusual behavior, you wouldnt understand.

not that he really had any reason to be placing a tender hand on your back while you were serving guests. the third time it happens you turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow, and he turns to smile down at you sweetly, his hand on your back rubbing up and down. you look at him incredulously, sanji steps back, bowing before walking back towards the kitchen. before he left his gaze lingered on the man longer than should have been acceptable. you have to hold back a frustrated huff, turning back to the table with a plastered smile

“don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything! i hope you enjoy your meal.” you finish off the sentence with a bow, turning to look at the swordsman when he speaks up with a snort. “are you sure, wouldn’t want to make your busboy anymore jealous than he already is?” your eyes widen in confusion, not only at the notion, but the unnecessary insult towards your sanji.

“whatever could you mean.” the whole table turns to you, and the redhead quirks a brow at you, adding on.

“you’re not really that clueless, are you?” your mouth drops open, and a blush begins to cover your cheeks.

“no, i didn’t think i was.”

and then you’re even more confused. what reason would he have to be jealous over you and a random guest? it’s not like the man had even given you the time of day, or you’d even wanted it?  all you’d done was take his orders. 

the thought feels so impossible, even so it has already quickly begun eating away at your brain and heart. it was the only logical explanation for all his odd behaviors tonight.

sanji vinsmoke, was jealous. over you.

taglist: @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @teenyforestfairy @gothicuwusposts @cheesesoda @scentisterror @shuujin @gcldtom

[starillusion13]

hii there!! hope you doing well >_<!!

can i request for poly mafia ateez x reader fic? their boss are dead for 2 years and they just found out that he has a daughter. and they began to search for her n when they found her, they swear to her that they will take care of her, but ended up falling in love with her?

thank you so much!!! ;)))

To keep you safe

Pairing: Mafia!ot8! Ateez x f!reader

W.C: 3.3k

Genre: Fluff, Mafia, Romance

Warnings: mention of mafia deals, attempt to murder, blast, tracking device, spying on someone, tying up with rope in warehouse, unconcious, poison, feeling sorry, sad, comfort from mafias, lots of kissing, getting shot, mention of blood(not detail), confession, hidden daughter, scared idk what to add anymore

Network: @kvanity-main

.

A girl running in the rain, clutching her purse to her chest and heavily breathing while frantically looking in every direction. Her scared pupils and parted lips allowed the heavy and forced inhale and exhale of air, raindrops sliding into her mouth. Her heels were almost making her lose her balance, she didn't want to fall down or she would get caught.

The rainfall intensified with loud growling sounds of lightning. The only thing that was going through her mind was to run away from the two men following her. She took a sharp turn around the road and hid behind the car.

Pressing her palms over the mouth and wide eyes stared at the distant road ahead. Her house was still a few blocks away and the feeling of dizziness returned but she scooted into the darkness and suppressed her fear and the sound of her panting.

Soon, within a few minutes, the footsteps came into her vision. Two silhouettes making their way towards the alleyway and in fact, that needs to cross the car which was hiding her scared form. A series of hope and prayers rushed to her mind and fell from the lips and mentally supported herself to stay stronger.

The scared pupils followed each step they took. The moment they stopped and looked at her direction, her breath hitched and cursed under the breath when she noticed them coming towards her exact direction. But before she could shift an inch, someone pressed their palms over her ears from behind and then she could hear the sound of two faint gunshots.

"It's okay, y/n. you are safe."

The soft voice from behind you and the stranger's hands touching your skin made your eyes shoot open and you shuffled forward, keeping your distance from the person. The first instinct in you worked was to look over to the place where two men from earlier were but to your surprise, there was no one. You stood up from your place and quickly stepped out of the darkness and you screamed.

Two bodies were lying on the road. The two men who were following you while you were returning from the café were lying on their own blood pool.

"Hey, calm down."

The same voice again spoke up and you quickly looked behind to see a boy, maybe around your age, was standing with a little smile but to the contrast of his facial look, his outfit was different, oh the gun holder strap on his waist and the belt designed over his black jacket. He looked scary with an angel face.

"Who are you? Are you going to kill me? and and how do you know my name?"

He nodded to himself before taking a few steps forward but before he could walk any farther, you yelled at him to stop and the way you were scared, he instantly stopped. There were few other footsteps coming from both of your sides. One, two...three...seven figures appeared under the streetlight. The rain was still pouring but it was less intense than before as if it had also got scared by these men.

"Who are you all? What is going on?"

The boy who was standing a few feet away from you smiled again and introduced himself, "myself Yeosang. We are just here to take you back home."

"home? I don't understand what you are saying." You were pleading with him not to hurt you and a different boy from the seven figures surrounding you but keeping a safe distance from you spoke up, "there's nothing to be scared of, y/n. you are Mr. Lee's daughter and we are here to take you to his place."

They know my dad...they are here to kidnap me to know about my dad's business but......he is dead and I can't ask for help from him. I don't know anything about his mafia business.

"I don't know. I am not close to my dad. He is dead. What else do you all want now? I know nothing about him. Please, I am telling you the truth. You won't get to know anything from me about him. I really don't know."

"We know he is dead. That's why we are here to ensure your safety. We are here because your dad isn't there to protect you." The tallest one of them spoke up.

You shook your head and stepped back when the dizziness from earlier returned. It did get noticed by the oldest one of them and he caught your limp body, "y/n, it's raining. Let's go home and then we can discuss everything."

You pushed him from you and stood straight on your heels, "no, I'm not going anywhere. I can't trust you. You all are lying."

"Didn't your dad tell you about the leaders of his organization?"

" he did..."

"We are the leaders of the organization, the most trusted gang of your father, Ateez."

You stared at them because the name is familiar but why to take you to somewhere you never went before. Your life was always at risk and that's why your dad kept you hidden but maybe his death led to uncovering your identity to other mafia gangs. But if they are the leaders under your father's organization, that does mean they are on your father's side.

"you all are my dad's men?" you asked in a low voice. The drizzling rain was pinching your skin, should you trust them or not. The thought was itching your mind.

"We might be mafias but we are always loyal to our boss. Please come with us." The leader extended his hand with a smile.

And you trusted them.

Taking the leader's hand and grabbing it with a hope to be safe.

You never thought ever that this was going to change your trajectory of your whole life.

“We are here to keep you safe.”

>>>><<<<

In the bustling city, amidst the towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, there existed a huge, tightly-knit advertising agency called "THE GUERRILAS".  For two years, the agency had been led by a charismatic and respected boss, Mr. Lee Sohyun. His sudden demise due to a heart attack had left his men and the successive leaders reeling with shock and grief. Among them, Ateez, his loyal gang and the main future successors took the initiative to take over his place with announcing their gang leader as the new boss, who all had worked closely with him for over a decade. Every other being in the company supported the idea and welcomed the new project of the company.

As the agency mourned their loss, Ateez stumbled upon a startling revelation buried within Mr. Lee's personal documents – he had a daughter, Lee y/n, from a previous relationship. Despite his private nature, he had never mentioned the daughter to anyone at the agency. Determined to honor their late boss's memory and fulfill his unspoken wishes, Ateez embarked on a mission to find his daughter.

“I didn’t know he had a daughter.” Seonghwa stated while looking at the documents presented by his gang member, Yeosang. 

The leader, Hongjoong nodded, “He really hid her well but after his death. Many men betrayed him and leaked his personal information and the least we can do is to start with protecting his daughter.”

“Then let’s find Y/n. I hope we can bring her safely.”

Months of diligent investigation led them to a quaint town in the upstate, where you resided.

Their several initial attempts were failed missions.they certainly didn’t want to scare you but also not to give up in their enemy’s hand. So, they planned to approach you slowly and cautiously.

Unless that day when you were followed by members of an enemy gang and they saved you from danger.

And that day you accepted a new fate in your life.

Moved by Ateez's sincerity and touched by their efforts to connect with you, a wave of emotions hit your heart. Over cups of tea, you delved into heartfelt conversations with them, sharing memories and anecdotes about your father. Despite their vastly different backgrounds, you found solace in their company, united by the love for the man who had brought them together.

you listened intently to their explanation of the situation after your father's death, your emotions oscillating between disbelief and curiosity. As they shared anecdotes about your father's life and their time together at the agency, a bittersweet realization dawned on you – finally found a piece of your father's past that had long eluded.

"You don't have to be polite or formal with us. Think of us as your friends. You are our boss's daughter." The young boy smiled at you.

You chuckled, "Wooyoung, I'm trying. I think it would take time but this new place and new people and even staying with you all is such a new experience for me."

"You can come to me anytime. I am always here to accompany you and make you feel at home."he said and brushed his hair back. He glanced at you, who was smiling admiring the beauty of the garden. "Do you want to take your father's position?"

The question caught your attention and quickly turned towards him, you noticed him avoiding your gaze and gulping, "No." The answer was direct and simple.

He again questioned you, "why? Don't you think you are the actual successor of the boss?"

"I don't know a single shit about this life and also, I trust Hongjoong. You all proved your loyalty to my dad. You swear my protection and extend his hard work. So, you all are the actual successors." He nodded at your words.

"No cursing from a pretty girl." Yunho approached you two and handed over a sweater to you. You looked at him with a questionable look.

He held the sweater in front of you and urged you to put your hand inside the sleeves, "don't catch cold in the early morning while wearing just a full sleeve shirt. And Woo, can't you wear a full sleeve?"

The said man rolled his eyes at the tall one and sat on the bench with crossed legs, "I will be off to gym in half an hour. No need."

Yunho placed his hand on your shoulder, "would you mind a little walk with me?"

"Of course not. I would love to explore the neighborhood."

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and you found yourself drawn to their warmth and resilience. You admired their strength in the face of adversity and their unwavering determination to carve out their own path in life and also protect you in the process.

In your presence, they discovered a sense of belonging they had never experienced before.

As their bond deepened with you, they grappled with conflicting emotions they never thought possible. They had sworn to themselves that they would take care of you, but their feelings for you were evolving into something more profound and complicated. Torn between their loyalty to the late boss and their burgeoning love for you, they found themselves at a crossroads.

"Surprise!"

The boys in the living room turned towards the voice. You were exiting the grand space of the kitchen area with a huge cake in your hold. Carefully, placing it on the table in front of them, you placed your hand on your hips and waited for their remarks.

The leader was the first person to tune in with the surprise, "what's a cake for?"

"You all did well on your last mission and for the past few days, all of you were busy so I decided to bake a cake for you all today as I noticed none of you left the house. No work?" You expectantly looked at them.

They exchanged a few glances between them and before Wooyoung could say something, Seonghwa smiled and got up from the chair. The royalty of the grand hall of the mansion was sitting right with his rich mafia look even in just a plain black shirt and pants. He approached you and patted your head, "we don't have work today. Do you have something to say? Or to do something?"

You nodded and turned towards the rest of them, "have a taste of my most ordered cake. Before moving in with you all, I used to work at the cafe in my previous place. And people requested this cake everyday."

"Really? Then we should taste it. We are getting the privilege to have a demanding item without showing our powers." The leader said between his endearment of tasting your cake. You cut them a few pieces and waited for their reviews.

They hummed in the delicious taste of the soft cake and you got a collective of compliments.

Yunho was the first person to ask for another piece, you happily cut him one. He watched your happiness. The way you reacted to each of their compliments, the nervousness and feelings shy but still managing to keep yourself steady.

Yeosang proposed the idea that they should open a cafe near their place where you can train some workers and also be able to have some time to spend in a different atmosphere other than staying at the mansion. Jongho supported the idea.

Mingi raised the topic of your safety but San volunteered to check on you often and won't let anything happen to you.

>>>><<<<

The idea did come to light and led to action. You got work to keep yourself busy when they are not around but this definitely lured a danger.

Someone kept a watch on you. The strange feeling was creeping in your skin but you neglected it with the thought that San might be somewhere out of sight and spying on the place for a possible danger.

Once when you went to the mall with Mingi and Jongho, you got bumped into a person and got a scratch on your arm with a sharp object.

"Are you okay, y/n?" Mingi's concerned voice appeared and held your arm. "Why is it bleeding? What happened?"

"Might have scratched something. Don't worry, it will heal soon."

Well your assurance was not enough for him. The way he handled you around the mall, asking you whether you're  uncomfortable or wanted something. You wanted a chill hangout not both of them to worry about you.

But the beautiful time you all were having got disturbed when you suddenly fell unconscious. They both were shocked but reacted quickly to take you to the medical wing of their base.

You were poisoned by that scratch. But it couldn't affect much and spread properly. You were under threat and needed more protection and they made sure of it.

"San, people are assuming you as my boyfriend at this point." You groaned after pushing open the door to your cafe. He rolled his eyes behind you and glared when he noticed a young boy staring at you both entering together.

He pulled a chair and sat near the counter where you were placing the things to start the day. "I don't care about their opinions. Your safety comes first. And-"

"Hey! I guess, I'm invited inside the cafe too." Jongho entered the cafe and winked at the man sitting. You nodded, "of course you are."

He didn't have any schedule for the day so opted for hanging out in the cafe. You turned towards San and asked for him to complete what he was saying but he shook his head.

The days went normal, nothing to worry about. Everything was going as usual.

.

.

.

"You three are also leaving?" You pout and lean back to the table. They chuckled at your reaction and Seonghwa approached you, patting your head with an adorable smile, "we will be back soon. And Yeosang will be here to accompany you."

"Can't you stay together every time? Or like take me with you all."

"No!" The leader put aside the black leather jacket and held your shoulder, "we are not risking your life. There's always danger. We won't be able to control ourselves if something happens to you."

"Oh...but I feel scared for you all too. Just take care of yourselves. I am not strong enough to protect you all but......atleast I can pray for you." You felt so useless and a burden on them but Yunho quickly chimed into the conversation.

"Don't think of yourself lowl. You are our strength. We come back home and do our best and succeed in our missions with the hope that a beautiful soul and a precious girl is waiting for us. Your trust in us is everything we need to be strong out there."

Yunho is always the one to ensure that you are valuable and worth the effort they make to protect you. His warm embraces really make you believe that,

You are in love. You are at home.

The leader is always impressed by his words and also reminds you that their biggest possession is you.

"No other expensive material in the household or in the universe can be worth your value." Hongjoong and his exaggerated explanations.

Seonghwa is the one who would treat you like a porcelain doll, as if you are his daughter. Well let's not be weird with this thought. He is someone to ensure your wellbeing now and then.

"You are safe with us princess. No one can hurt you ever."

To his addition, San will buy you everything possible just in case you are not happy with something. Once when a worker pointed out you as a spoiled girlfriend and called you ‘gold digger’, he took matters in hand.

Grabbing his collar and glaring at him as if he could burn him alive and bury him there, "of course you don't have the courage or power to spoil her. But your dirty mouth can spoil her ears. And I don't like when some bugs are near her."

This is not the end, Jongho is not the one to show his emotions often but you have always liked his goofy nature with you but the majority of the time when you go out with him, he is the most mature and serious one as if he is doubting every individual glancing at you.

"I think he is spying on us." He murmured.

"You are looking around the restaurant in a way as if you want to order the rest of the items on the menu card. That's why he is staring at us." You started and went back to eating.

Mingi is the one who is always volunteering to go out with you because according to him, he fights well. So if someone attacks then he could fight back and take you back home safely. He is sometimes a bit controlling like Yunho but rest, you love his company.

"No, we are going back home. No more talking back. I'm your protector and the mafia member so you have to listen to me now."

The most important one to mention, Wooyoung. His professional side and the side with you are just opposites. Well this settles with all of them.

He encourages you to try new stuff, teaches you some self defense and also the one to try out pranks on others. You always grew up alone and wanted someone like him to be your friend and once you shared this feeling with him. You are now beautifully cursed with his presence.

"Do you want to know how to shoot?"

"No no please, that is the most intriguing thing to me but I'm okay with not knowing it's working."

He rolled his eyes, "don't be dramatic. It will help you."

"You all are here for me and... ...I..I love- I love how you are mafia members but have individual personalities that protects me and keeps me safe. Moreover, you all make me feel loved by a family."

"We are your family."

They all say this everyday. And today is not an exception.

Yeosang was on his laptop. You wanted to go out but he was too busy to even notice that. Not to make him mad, you scolded yourself for thinking to go out behind his back.

"Is it okay if I have a quick trip to the convenience store?......please."

He looked up from the screen, "what do you need, let me bring it for you."

"No. I just want to go out because others haven't been at home for the last three days and as you are alone I'm not allowed out of this house."

Yeosang always stays back or tries to be the member to protect you while all others are needed on a particular situation or missions.

He chuckled and got up, "let's go. We can have the trip together."

Before arriving at the store, you both didn't ever imagine the incident that was about to happen.

As soon as you stepped inside the sliding glass door, he got a call and excused himself to a side and you were humming a song to yourself while searching for the items needed.

Then everyone heard a gunshot. Screams and footsteps erupted from inside and he quickly went to your direction behind the shelf where his eyes followed earlier but to his dislike, you were not there. The back door was open and he saw a black car leaving the place.

He quickly dialed Hongjoong's number to let him know about the situation and to come to the location quickly which he would send them soon. He borrowed the computer at the counter of the store and filled in the inputs with codes and required data and he followed a particular car's location from all the CCTV footage of the road of the tracking device and also his phone was tracking your ring, which has a high-tech induced chip.

Within a few moments Ateez reached the desired location, well they were not in a mood to come across the familiar place but still they had to when you are here.

Barging inside the place, an intense fight between both the mafia gangs started. San went to search for you, a bullet almost passed through his arm but fortunately he could avoid it but still he got injured slightly.

There, you were tied to a rusted metal chair and sitting unconsciously. He was quick to untie your ropes and held in his embrace while placing himself on the dirty floor. It doesn't matter, the important thing is for you to be safe.

"Y/n...you are safe."

You blinked your eyes open, first he noticed your scared pupils like he saw them on the first day but it quickly turned into soft and tears brimmed in. You were securely protected by his embrace on his lap.

The others entered the room and found you in that condition and they felt relieved that you were safe. They surrounded your figure, some praising you and some asking you if the enemies hurt you somewhere.

Even though you were denying, none was fully convinced.

No one blamed you. 

“I’m sorry…I should’ve listened to you all.” 

Hongjoong knelt in front of you and cupped your face, “it’s okay. We should protect you more. Just stay with us and don’t leave us ever. We are going to risk ourselves to protect you, the daughter of our boss.”

You held his wrist and shook your head, “Call me yours. Say you will protect me because I’m yours. Because you all don’t want to lose me.”

“Y/n…you are more precious than you think you are.” he said and pecked your forehead with adoration in his eyes.

Seonghwa knelt beside the leader and held your hand comfortingly, pressing a soft kiss on it. San shifted your body to make you feel comfortable in his hold. “Just know one thing, we love you not because you are his daughter but we are in love with you. We fell in love with an innocent girl.”

“I fell in love too……with you all.” you murmured and thought no one heard it except the three near you but you were so wrong because there was a boost feeling in the rest of them after hearing you. San kissed the crown of head and whispered, “I love you so much, y/n. It hurts whenever I see danger around you.”

Yunho was quick to sweep you off the floor and you squealed in surprise, “well, Tiny. as far as I want to show you my love for you right now. This place is making me anxious. Let’s go home.”

“To my safe place.” hearing your sweet words, he kissed the tip of your nose. Jongho smiled reassuringly at you that  even if enemies are trying to hurt you, they would rescue you but now as they know that the complicated feelings of theirs have been solved after the mutual acceptance, they won't be leaving your side ever.

When you all were about to step out of the room, a man held a gun towards Yunho, at you in his grip. He clenched his jaw but before anyone could process anything, Mingi was quick to hold his gun towards the man and stepped forward Yunho, hiding you both with his large frame and shot the man. 

He turned around and smirked, “now this is more fun to kill people because of you.”

You turned your face to the other side and could hear others laugh, “keep that shit away.”

“No cursing, tiny.” 

Mingi caressed your head before planting a kiss to the side, “you should at least know how to use it.”

Wooyoung led the way out of the warehouse and kept in check of any possible danger in their way.

Entering the car, you sat between Wooyoung and Yeosang when the youngest one of them entangled his hands with yours and you looked at him with a surprise, “hm?” he pressed a kiss on your cheek, “thanks for trusting us in your father’s place.”

“Thanks for keeping me safe like he did.”

“Even my shadow will protect you forever and my love will guide you back to home.” he put his head on your shoulder.

“ I know.”

When you turned to the other side, Yeosang was already staring at you and when he caught your eyes, he smiled, “I didn’t imagine this is how we would be confessing our feelings. But thanks for letting us know that you care for us too, like your dad.”

“I was so scared today. Because of all the lurking danger, I hated to be in this mafia life and my dad hid me from this dark side of the world but thanks to you all for saving me from the lonely world out there after his death. When I thought that today I’m going to die, the only last hope I had was one of you to save me. And you did. All of you did.”

He nodded and patted his shoulder, you obligingly leaned your head on it and he caressed your head softly, “we are always here to keep you safe and to love you forever.”

With cautious optimism, you all embarked on a journey of self-discovery and love, navigating the complexities of the newfound relationship with courage and resilience. Together, you forged a bond that transcended time and circumstance, proving that love could blossom in the most unexpected of places.

As you watched the view outside hand in hand, gazing at the stars above from the window of the car, all of you knew that love was a testament to the enduring power of connection and the infinite possibilities that awaited on the horizon. In each other's arms, you found solace, strength, and the courage to embrace the beautiful uncertainties of life's journey.

After all, you did the right thing. Accepting the extended hand of the leader and  being inside the boundary of protection and love.

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated. Spread love not hate. If my favoritism is showing with some members then please try to understand oz they are my bias.

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon @hyuukah @kazscara @aceofspadesbiofalltrades @nvdhrzn @meowmeeps @vtyb23 @haechansbbg

[open!]

[lucyrose191]

Could you do Toto Wolff with wife reader? She was frustrated about work and couldn't stop herself from rambling and Toto just shuts her up with a kiss. They get caught by the team and they tease them about it. Just something fluff and comfort. Add something to it if you'd like. Thanks!! :))

CAUGHT IN THE ACT| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; The stresses of work have your mind running a million miles an hour but your husband knows how to slow it down.

Warnings; fluff, teasing.

Authors note; This is short but I hope this is okay!

F1 Master List

You’d never felt such a strong urge to throw your laptop across the room and tell everyone to go and fuck themselves.

Groaning, you pulled at your hair in frustration, why stupid men thought they were able to do your job better than you were able to was beyond you but clearly they had it in their abnormally large heads that they had the skill set for quite literally everything but if that was the case then they wouldn’t be paying you to take care of their finances.

Too many times have you been questioned today as though you hadn’t studied religiously for years to do this job.

"Can you double check your numbers? They don’t look correct."

"This can’t be right, there’s no possible way we’re losing money."

"I need you to review this again, I added it up myself and I got a much larger annual profit figure."

No you can’t double check his numbers because you had checked them a million times before you had sent it off.

He was losing money because he can’t get off his arse and actually run his company instead of forcing the responsibilities on his poor employees that have no idea how to run a company.

And of course he got a different number! He didn’t take the mathematical degree to work out these numbers and had no idea what he was meant to be multiplying and what he was meant to be dividing.

You slammed your laptop closed and pulled yourself up from Toto’s desk and left his office, coincidentally finding him walking towards his office the moment you stepped past the doorway.

He immediately took notice of the disgruntled look on your face and shot you a look that was a mixture between worry and confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Just work," you grunted.

His face contorted into a look of understanding. "Tell me about it," he told you and you moved to lean against the wall, prompting him to stand in front of you.

"I just don’t know why people feel the need to question my ability to do my job today-"

As you ranted off all of your issues to him, Toto simply stood there with a content smile on his face, listening to you venting your frustrations.

He thought you were adorable when you were angry.

He loved the way your forehead creased with the furrow of your brows and the way you moved your hands as you vented and how you’d aggressively force your hair behind your ear when it got in your face.

"-then this man thought that the smart thing for him to do was to include each thing he wanted me to do in like seventeen different emails, who even does that? So then I had to go through each individual one and make a list instead of-"

Toto leaned forward, cupped your cheek and smashed his lips against yours, muffling the sound of surprise you released. It took you a moment to register what was happening but once you did, you didn’t hesitate in kissing him back.

You reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, he hummed into the kiss and walked forward, pressing you into the wall before moving his hand from your cheek into your hair, holding you in place.

You channeled all of your frustrations into the kiss, his closeness making it easy for them to fade away and soon you found yourself only consumed by him and nothing else.

The pair of you were so wrapped up in each other in that moment that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching, only realising people heading your way until it was too late.

"Woah!" Lewis’ high pitched voice had you scrambling away from each other with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

You both turned towards him, only it wasn’t just him, he and George were with about five or six other people, all staring at the pair of you with smirks on their faces.

"Save it for the hotel room, guys." George teased causing the group to laugh as Toto cleared his throat uncomfortably and you looked to the floor in embarrassment at being caught.

"We apologise-" Toto started but was interrupted by a mechanic, Ross.

"Oh no, don’t apologise for the free show, boss. People normally have to pay good money for that, I’m not one to complain."

You cringed at his words as you looked up, taking note of how some people were glancing at the floor to try and hide their laughs whilst others didn’t even try.

"We don’t even blame you," James, one of the teams strategists continued. "YN is looking mighty fine today," he winked causing you to roll your eyes with a smile on your face, knowing it was all in good nature.

"James," Toto stated bluntly, causing James to turn to him. "Yes, boss?"

"Turn around," your husband told him, straight faced.

"Yes, boss," James nodded and turned around, walking back down the hallway.

"We can leave if you want to get back to-" Lewis offered, a cheeky smile on his face.

"That’s not necessary, Lewis, thank you." Toto cut him off.

He shrugged as if to say ‘your loss’.

"I mean- you could’ve at least took it inside the office." George wasn’t one to let the situation go.

"Yes we get it, George, ha ha," you shot him an unimpressed look which didn’t falter the shit eating grin on his face.

The teasing didn’t end there, it seemed that the group who found you and Toto were eager to tell the rest of the team, George even went as far as mentioning what he does when ‘Toto is busy eating his wife’s face off’ in an interview so the rest of the day was filled with subtle comments leaving you and Toto with permanent flushed cheeks.

You both took accepted the teams teasing with smiles on your faces though, happy that you both had managed to create a dynamic that left them comfortable to make jokes around you both.

[ghostbustting]

hihi, i love your writings! can i get a 80 slash fic where it's around halloween time and the reader was force to attend a party with her friends. Slash notices reader and how hot her costume is. ( a bit modest version of the playboy bunny outfit ) Slash is cocky but the reader doesn't know who the hell he is but after a few drinks...they are upstairs doing the devils tango. 😈

Idk why this took me so long yet so effortless, but october seems to be the perfect month to post it 🙌

♯ ; “𝑩𝑬𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑵𝑵𝒀„ ༘⋆

Saul "Slash” Hudson x Fem!Reader.

Contains SMUT ; p in v, squirting, dirty talk (?),

oral (f receiving).

The smell of booze and sweats fill my senses, I guess you can already imagine how terrible it is. I can't even remember when did I ever agree to step a single toe into this god awfully packed Halloween party? At this point, I'd rather go trick or treat instead around the neighborhood and receive some sweets by the end of the night.

The whole night I made it my quest to try and stick close to my friends, following them, a similar sight to how dogs would follow their owners around. It was never my desire to attend this party anyways, wasn't quite of a party person at the first place, let alone a Halloween party where I have to dress up in costumes and shit. Yet my friends were quite hard to resist, forcing me to come with them to this party.

So here I am, standing at the corner of this unknown loaded house in my terrible attempt of a Playboy Bunny costume, buying my costume from the nearest store available just a day before the party, despite the cheap fabric making it look like I only put on a black swimsuit and a bunny ears bandana. It was quite revealing, I could feel eyes on me as I walk around, but who the fuck cares?

My friends were long gone from my sight, last thing I seen from them was when they were dirty dancing around some dudes. Unfortunately, I was no fan of that activity, leaving me to just stand in the corner of the party like an absolute outcast. I didn't mind. I had my cup of drink and that was enough to keep me occupied till my friends are ready to take me back home.

News flash, they never did take me home.

In fact, I have completely lose sights of every single one of them. Those little fuckers dragged me here and literally left me to rot between all of these party animals when I could've had a movie night back in my place. What a waste of a Halloween night. Isn't it?

I crush up the empty red plastic cup in my grasp and swiftly threw it away into the trash can, which everyone seems to be oblivious of, judging from all the empty plastic cups laying around on the floor, ready to cause someone to trip and fall.

However, the still fueled up plastic cups set on the table have managed to catch my attention yet again as I find myself making my way back to that table and seeking another cup of drink, which makes this my... third drink..?

My mind shrugs off the forgotten count of drinks as I spot one particular cup with more liquid filled inside besides the other cups. A grin on my lips, my arm stretches and my hand reached out for the cup.

Only to be met by another hand.

A big calloused hand that belonged to a man I couldn't place who or where I would recognize him from.

My eyes trailed from his hand that was lightly touching my own, up to his face, which was mostly covered by those voluminous curls of his hair, a hat sitting perfectly still on top of those curls. Behind those curls, were eyes that peeks through his own strands of hair with a gaze that met mine almost instantly. Almost as if he was inspecting me just like the way I seem like I was inspecting him.

"This cup's taken, sweetheart." He spoke to me, his voice causing a rather odd and unfamiliar tingling feeling in my stomach.

Only then did I realize how warm the feeling of his skin was against my cold one, his voice able to mute out the loud rock music that has been blaring through the speakers all evening as he say, “Or should I say.. Bunny.” This time, he ends his words with a chuckle, eyes trailing up and down my costume.

I raise my eyebrow at him and reluctantly let go of the cup from my hand, “Whatever.” I muttered before taking a different cup displayed on the table, yet somehow still feeling the gaze of those eyes that belonged to him on the side of my head, gaze so strong that he was practically burning a hole right through me. Just as I turn to him again with a sip of the drink, it was proven that he was indeed still gazing over me.

A sigh left my lips from the liquid that cleared my throat, my hip carefully leaning against the table while I listen as words seem to leave him yet again, “No company, Miss Bunny?” He ask, his hand reaching up to deliver the cup to his lip, I watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallow the liquid.

”My friends are here, but they… well, they found other companies.” I shrugged.

I hear him click his tongue and shake his head, “And let you isolate yourself over there in the corner? Sounds like a bunch of fakers to me.” He scoffed, a small smirk playing devilishly on those lips he owned on his face.

”No, no..” I shake my head with a small chuckle, “I didn’t want to attend this party at first anyways, so—”

”Well, why the fucking hell not?!” He threw his arms up, the liquid spilling from his red cup just a little, “With a costume as sexy as this, I surely thought you’d be much more of a party animal.” WIth each words he spoke, I can feel more and more the way his gaze seems to caress the skin of my body up and down. It was rather odd… it made me feel a certain feeling in my heart that made it beat faster, my thighs clenching just a little. Or was it just the effect of the drink? I couldn’t even figure it out before he spoke yet again.

A step was taken from his shoe, his body moving closer to my own, “How ‘bout I show you the real fun of the party? Some talking, dancing, more drinking maybe?” The mysterious man suggested, that same smirk on his face, “I’ll keep it appropriate. I promise, Miss Bunny.” He spoke almost in a teasing way that I was quite confident this night wouldn’t end up in such an appropriate ending anyways.

”Fine then, rockstar looking guy.”

The moment I let my decission slip out, the moment names were shared, and the moment my third drink became my fifth, time seems to fly in a way that is quicker than ever. Each joy of a party that the guy— Slash showed me became a comfort I found building up in me around him. My still somewhat sober part of a brain tried desperately to comprehend whether this feeling is caused by the alcohol in my system or just purely by the fact this man is so mesmerizing. Perhaps even both of those.

The more information I learn about him, the more I feel a magnetic sort of pull towards him, I just hope my pupils aren’t heart-shaped at this very moment. As time passes by, it feels as if I’ve known him for decades and decades already, in knowledge of small details of his very own life. HIs famous band, Guns ‘N Roses, his love for snakes, his guitar skills.. Can he be any more interesting?

Touches were shared here and there, especially when we joined the people dancing around to the music. His large warm palm on my waist was a touch that have been spiritually tattoed onto my skin, a touch to think back every now and then about the strange and mysterious— yet charming stranger I met at the Halloween party.

I mean, honestly, I didn’t know how it all ended up this way.

However, my half sober guess was a 100% correct guess as the first moment we were just dancing and drinking innocently, the second moment we were in some random bedroom, the third moment.. I'm on top of his body, stradling his naked lap as I bounce up and down his large cock, moans pulled out of my lips like a dirty prayer. His hands were yet again placed on both of my waist as he help me bounce up and down, the tip of his cock that was already slick from my saliva moving smoothly in and out of my hole.

”Oh god, yes!”

I gasped, my head thrown back as dirty moans cannot stop pouring from my lips which were smiling widely from ecstasy. Looking down, my eyes lands on the ripped stockings I wore and the way his cock slipped in and out of my dripping cunt, not to mention the way one of his hands have moved to use his thumb on my clit, rubbing harsh circles.

The bastard was smirking back up at me, small grunts leaving his lips as he buck his hips up to me every here and there, “Shit— How are you so fucking tight?” He chuckled breathlessly through his grunts, the circles he rubbed over my clit became more urgent while his hold on my waist tightens to the point it might leave a mark.

My mind was clouded, I couldn't think of another thing other than how good his cock filled me up, fitting just perfectly inside of me as if his cock was made specially for my cunt.

Eventually, my body fell ontop of him as my body became weak, limp with his cock still burried deep inside of me. Slash didn't let that stop his fun though as he suddenly flipped our position, positioning me on my stomach on the bed while he took his position behind me, hand on my hip and the other on his member.

"Gonna fuck this pussy so hard.." He grunted as he finally pushed his head through my folds, pushing a lewd moan out of my throat, "You like that, mm? Such a good bunny, aren't you?" He laughed, his hand coming down to smack across my ass.

The sting that lingered on from his palm caused me to gasp loudly, eyes rolled to the back of my head till they were shut tight with my face pressed into the pillow, "Fuck! Please.." I cried out as he thrusted in and out of me with a pace of no mercy, no resistance, hips snapping back and forth as sounds of skins slapping fills the room.

His arms slowly trail to wrap around my stomach, as if they were snakes lurking around me and ready to feast on me. I feel him placing his weight on me, chest on my back while he press his lips onto my ear, "Gonna fuck you dumb. Now you can be a real fucking rabbit."

Those were the last things I managed to hear before I feel him thrusting in and out of me again. Hard. And fast. I could hardly utter out a letter as my words were taken away by each pump. He was fucking me like rabbits would, humping like rabbits do. It was rough. It was dirty. And I loved every single second of it.

I can feel the veiny skin of his cock dragged in and out of my walls, the tip hitting every single spot that made the pressure bunch up even more in my stomach which only increased when he tightened his arms around it. Nasty moans left my lips, so loud that it eventually turned to lewd screams, eyes rolled to the back of my head.

"S-shit!" I gasped, "More, more.." My words came out in a desperate pant of lust, my ass trying to grind back against him.

Yet another breathless laugh escaped him, "Dirty slut.." He spat, one of his hands trailing up to slip two digits of his fingers past my lips, to which I instantly sucked on like— as he worded, an asbolute dirty slut. Humming around his digit and swirling my tongue around them, I feel him twitching right inside me.

Yet somehow, he never ever changed his pace, staying determined on that rough and deadly pace that made me feel like I'm on cloud nine.

I pull my face away from his fingers as I gasped out, "Close.. I'm so close.." My hand flew to his arm as I hold it tightly, needing something to hold on before I could pass out right on his devil of a cock. "Please.. finish me.." As much as I hate hearing myself and admitting it, I sounded the whiniest I've ever been, underneath him, begging him to give me the best orgasm I ever had.

"You're fucking crazy if you think I wouldn't.." He grunted, fingers digging into the soft skin of my waist as he finally starts slowing his pace, obviously just as close as I was, at the same time he reached down to my sensitive clit, rubbing those same harsh circles he did earlier.

It didn't take long enough before I let out the loudest moan I did tonight right as the fluids of my cum came squirting out of my cunt, "Oh fuck! Fuck!" I gasped, never once experiencing an orgasm like this. Eventually, I feel his own thick cream filling me up till I'm full of him, his voice groaning right in my eyes, something I wish I could listen to every sinful night I went through.

As soon as we finished, Slash pulled out of me and pulled my hips up so my ass was in the air. Being in my fucked up stance, I didn't know what was going to happen till I feel his warm tongue lapping our mixed cum that was oozing out of my folds, eating it out like he was starving man.

My throat was way too tired to even be loud anymore, only letting out a quiet and strangled moan as he finished, hopping onto the spot on the bed right next to me, a wide devilish smirk already on his glistening lips that was soon attatched to mine, my tongue tasting both of us with a grin building in my own face.

I feel him reach for my bunny ears and took it off me. Only when we pull apart that I noticed he have put the bunny ears on himself and place his own hat on my head.

"You look stupid."

He laughed at my statement while one of his thumbs ran over my ruined and smudged make up. "You still look sexy, bunny."

Well damn it, I guess I love Halloween.

[itsthestutterforme]

Sir, Yes Sir (A Jack Reacher Drabble)

Summary: this is a continuation of Copy That

Notes: GIF is not mine, this isn’t a beta’d read, allusions to sex, sexual themes (cockwarming), minors DNI

Prompt credit @prompts-in-a-barrel : “I can take care of myself” “I know that. But you shouldn’t have to”

**

“As of now, you are precious cargo to them. You hold all of the digital evidence of their operation and control over their wire transfers. You’re going to be their prime target. You go nowhere alone. Not even to the gas station, understand?” Reacher commands, pulling your spinny chair back so you looked him directly in the eye.

“Sir, yes sir.” He lets go of your chair and you stretched your back as you stood from the chair.

You walked out from behind the desk and advanced down the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Reacher asks, turning his attention from Finlay’s computer.

“To the gas station,” you were met with Reacher’s fiery gaze and huffed. “Relax, I’m going to the bathroom.”

Finlay chuckles at your boldness. “She’s taking this surprisingly well,” Roscoe states.

You weren’t taking it well. Only Reacher knew that, of course. Before you got the chance to get settled, you wanted to see Joe’s body. You needed to rip off the bandaid.

Reacher advised against it but you practically forced him to take you. He pulled up to the coroners office and you told him to stay in the car if that was more comfortable, almost forgetting that he doesn’t process emotion like an average person.

You begged him not to go in there with you and he complied. You were in there for ten minutes, holding Joe’s hand as you said good bye.

You wanted to just rip off the bandaid.

You thought you had everyone fooled until Reacher found you crying hysterically in the shower.

You should have known that he noticed. He always notices.

Reacher leaves the room and down the hall where the bathroom was. He raised his hand to knock on the door when he heard a shaky sigh through the door.

He knocks and you jumped at the sudden noise.

“I’m fine, Reacher.” “Open the door,” he commands and you let out a deep sigh before complying.

“I can take care of myself,” “I know that. But you shouldn’t have to.” He steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

“You were never my commanding officer, you know. You don’t get to bark orders at me.” You hiss, crossing your arms.

“What’s wrong?” He asks lowly. “Nothing is wrong,” he looks at you for a moment before boldly stating, “I don’t even know why you try at this point. We both know you can’t lie to me.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’re scared,” he deduces after a long silence between you.

You looked up at him, a stray tear threatens to leave your eye but you brushed it away before it could hit your cheek.

“I normally wouldn’t be. But they got Joe, Reach. If they got him, they could get me.”

“I will not let that happen. You know I will never let that happen.” You open your mouth to object but he interjects, “I will protect you with my dying breath.”

You tried to speak again and he says, “I love you.”

He starts another sentence when you tried to speak again and you covered his mouth with your hand.

“I love you too,” you slowly dropped your hand and his eyes drifted to your lips for a moment.

“Take me to the motel. Now.”

**

Your soft snores filled the motel room. Your small frame was covered by Reacher’s massive arms, pulling you closer to his chest.

His eyes were fixated on the door as soon as you fell asleep, his ears attuned to any sound outside the door.

He couldn’t help but close his eyes, feeling your warmth against his bare chest.

You were sound asleep with his cock buried inside of you all the way to the hilt. You had been sleeping for close to twenty minutes now.

He groaned when you fluttered around him, already starting to feel himself get hard. He calls your name and you hummed in response, stirring awake in his arms.

“I thought you said you were sore,” “I am,” “Then why are you- mm,” he trails off when you clenched around him a second time.

“Sorry, that wasn’t intentional,” you let out a squeak when he pulls you on your back and yanks you down to the center of the bed.

“Okay, maybe that was intentional.” You said against his lips, wrapping yours arms around his neck to pull him closer.

He wraps your legs around his waist and fell down flat on his back. You gasped at the loud crack the bed made, holding onto his arms for stability.

“You can’t do that!” You said, hitting his chest. “You’re such a mountain man,” you scold, crossing your arms.

“You didn’t mind climbing this mountain earlier,” his smile widens when you call him a jackass.

His hands came up to hold your face as he pressed a searing kiss on your lips. Rolling your hips against him, your lips perfectly syncing with his. His hands slid down your back until they rested on your ass.

The moment was cut short when his phone rang. He pressed a few more kisses on your lips before leaving you on the bed while he answered the phone.

You watched as his face contort from the soft Reacher you were just on top of to normal, business man Reacher.

He continued the conversation and you slid on his black boxers, thankful for the elastic band that remains around your waist.

But barely.

You pulled his shirt over your frame and grabbed your wallet to get something from the vending machine down the way.

“Where are you going?” Reacher says, remaining on the phone. “To the vending machine,” “Not dressed like that,”

He gives you a once over and shook his head no. Turning his back to you as if his word was gospel. Rolling your eyes, you unlocked the door and opened it.

Before you could step one foot outside, the door is closed. Reacher held your gaze and you lifted your head defiantly.

“I said-“ “I know what you said. I don’t see a problem with what I’m wearing. Everything is literally covered.”

His gaze fell to your chest and he rubs his thumb over your hardening nipple. You gasped, slapping his hand away.

“Barely. It’s a no.” he steps away from the door, thinking the matter was over until he heard the door unlock once again.

“I’ll call you back in a minute,” he flips the phone closed and let out a sigh.

“I’m going to tell you this once. Get on the bed and forget about the vending machine.”

He watched the gears turn in your head and he just knew you weren’t going to give it up.

“Go on. Let’s see if you can outrun me,” he taunts, motioning to the door.

The bastard even opened the door and crossed his arms. Mind you, he was nude as the day he was born because you were wearing his clothes.

And you knew he had no problem walking outside and dragging your ass back inside the motel room.

You dropped your wallet back on the nightstand and sat on the bed patiently. “That’s what I thought,” he closed the door and locked it, not taking his eyes off you.

You kicked off his boxers and spread your legs like a bitch in heat when he makes his way over to you with a dark look in his eyes.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Nonna Rosa fixes it

[Now on AO3!] Okayyy, it's officially not the weekend anymore, but only for like five minutes, so technically I'm on time! This got totally away from me, and I had to actually force myself to end it where I did. Nonna Rosa took the narrative from my hands and said 'I'll take it from here', and good for her. Not to be dramatic but I love her. Anyway, if any Italian-speaking people read this: I AM SO SORRY. This is all Collins dictionary or Google Translate, I don't speak a word of Italian and I'll be very glad to correct any mistakes you might notice ♥ I hope you guys enjoy it! if you want to know more about Nonna Rosa, send me an ask, I have looots of headcanons for her (and Tommy's childhood). Here you go:

A week after breaking up with Evan, Tommy is still feeling like shit. He can barely sleep, anything he tries to eat tastes like sawdust, and he feels like he’s living on autopilot. He goes to work, he comes back home, he tries to eat, he tries to sleep, rinse and repeat. Nothing else matters, there’s nothing else he feels like doing. He doesn’t answer Howie’s texts asking how he’s doing (he answered the first one, telling Howie not to worry about him, but can’t do more than that); he completely ignores Eddie’s invitation for Muay Thai and basketball, and he comes up with an excuse as to why he can’t make karaoke bar that Thursday. And yet, there’s one thing he can’t put off, as much as he wishes to: talking to his Nonna. 

Tommy calls his grandmother at least once a week; she still lives in Indiana, in the same house he spent most of his childhood in, and he knows his uncle Bart visits often. But he likes to hear from her himself. Visiting her was a rare occasion, and the last time he was able to was about four months ago. The minute he had stepped in, Nonna had asked him if he was ‘innamorato’, because he was looking so much happier than usual.

And he knows she’ll perceive his sadness just as quick, if not quicker. The woman has always been able to read him like an open book. She’s probably the only person alive who can; he’s always made sure to keep his layers hidden from everyone else, even from… 

Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? 

Fact is, that if he misses his call with Nonna, it’ll be even worse. She’ll know something’s up, and he doesn’t put past her to fly across the country to check on him (he’s always been the favorite grandson and everyone knows it). So it’s best to get it over with. With a heavy sigh, he sits down on his couch (and tries not to think about how empty it feels when it’s just him in there) and rings her up, bracing himself.

“Pronto? Tommasino?” She answers the call, as always with the camera too close to her face, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

“Nonna, you need to stretch your arm a little. Remember, like Charlie showed you?” He asks with a chuckle; Charlie being his cousin’s daughter, Charlotte, who taught Nonna how to FaceTime so she could ‘see Tommasino’s pretty face more often’, in her own words. 

She stretches her arm and Tommy gets a good look at her. Nonna looks the same as always, sharp blue eyes in a soft face that’s wrinkled both from age and from a lifetime of smiles. Her hair is wrapped in hair rollers and tucked safely behind a red bandana. Tommy misses her fiercely, and wishes more than ever that he could get wrapped in one of her hugs. 

They always did wonders for him when he was a little boy who used to climb trees and get scrapes and bruises; when he was a scared eleven-year-old missing his mother (and as a grown-up he can appreciate Nonna was hurting at least as much as him, having lost her daughter, but still never let it show) and dealing with an angry abusive father; when he was a scared eighteen-year-old, before leaving the only home he’d ever known to join the Army. And when he was a scared 33-year-old man, coming out as gay to his 75 year-old-grandmother, afraid of being rejected by the one person alive who truly loved him, and Nonna had stood on her tiptoes, pulled him into one of those hugs, and told him all she ever wanted for Tommy was to see him happy, and that she would always love him. 

A hug from his grandmother had always made Tommy feel like the world was an easier place to be faced, and right now, that’s exactly what he needs. And his longing must show in his face, because she’s frowning at him, her eyes full of concern. 

“Oh, Tommasino” She says softly. “What’s wrong, bambino mio? You look so sad” She asks, and to Tommy’s horror, he finds his eyes filling up. Nonna has that way of bringing out every emotion he tries to repress.

“Everything’s wrong, Nonna, and it’s all my fault” He blurts out before he can stop himself, and the look on his grandmother’s face tells Tommy she’d be placing a sizable plate of cake and a cup of strong coffee in front of him if she could.

“You have a habit of saying things are your fault even when they aren't, so I'm afraid I'll need the entire story, my boy” She says gently, and Tommy watches as she sits down by her kitchen table (the same kitchen table where he did most of his school homework, the same kitchen table from where he always used to steal a biscotti while they were still warm), supporting her face in her hand and turning those sharp blue eyes at the phone screen. Tommy swears he can feel them pierce through his very soul. “What happened? Is it your Evanino?”

The question sends a knife right through Tommy's chest as he imagines what could have been. Gosh, Nonna would have loved Evan (who doesn't love Evan, you idiot?, he tells himself), and he knows deep in his heart Evan would have loved her as well. Every time Tommy would talk about her (which he did fairly often; he was a grandma's boy and had no shame about it), Evan would get a wistful expression on his face and tell Tommy that she sounded awesome.

He had been planning on taking Evan with him next time he managed to visit her, not wanting to introduce them through the phone. Now it's for the best he didn't; at least Nonna won't have to miss him like Tommy does.

“He… he's not mine anymore, Nonna,” He admits, his voice thick with emotion. “We broke up”

“What?! Ma comme?! You were so happy last time we talked!” She asked, and of course Tommy was happy; it was the day before their six month anniversary, and he had been so full of excitement. “Was he not happy? Is that why you're blaming yourself, Tomasino?”

A smile as bright as sunshine crosses Tommy's mind. A smile that only started to fade once Tommy told him he knew how it ended. A smile that had become his personal beacon of light in the past six months. A smile he misses like a lost limb.

“He… he was happy” He says, because that much he knows to be true; Evan was happy with him, Tommy made sure of that. His grandmother frowns at that, and Tommy doesn't blame her; the story seems convoluted, feels convoluted, even to himself, and he lived it.

“Thomas, you have to help your old grandmother, because I cannot understand what is the problem. If you were happy and he was happy, then why are you not together anymore?”

“Because he asked me to move in with him” Tommy says, and that doesn't seem to clear the situation for her. If anything, her frown deepens, and she reaches for a piece of bread, fiddling with it; Nonna could never keep her hands still, especially when she was nervous, and Tommy had inherited that from her. 

“Does that mean something different when it’s two men?” She asks, completely genuine, and that earns a surprised chuckle from Tommy. 

“No, Nonna” Tommy says, and all of a sudden the urge to laugh is gone again; it never lasts long, not after Evan. “It… It means the same”

“Very well, and you said no? That’s why he ended things?” She asks, and Tommy sighs brokenly, the memories of the night no less painful than when it happened.

“No. I… I broke up with him, Nonna. He asked me to move in with him, and I didn’t just say no. I… I broke up with him," Tommy admits with a heavy heart. 

“Tesoro, you do realize you are not making any sense? You and your boy were happy; he asked you to move in with him, and instead you broke up with him. Then you show up looking like your heart was broken and tell me it is your fault. What am I missing, bambino?”

“I have a house, Nonna!” He snaps, finally being able to voice the things that have been stewing in his heart and mind since that night. “I have a house, and he lives in a rented loft, and it makes no sense for me to move in with him!”

Nonna doesn’t answer right away. She chews thoughtfully on her bread, letting a small silence fall between the pair of them before she eventually sighs and answers him.

“Benne, you have a point, it wouldn’t make sense. But that isn’t the whole problem, is it, Tommasino?” Nonna adds shrewdly. “You could have talked it out, explained that to him. So what made you walk out of the best thing that happened to you in years?”

Tommy can always trust Nonna to lay things down exactly as they are, no matter how painful it sounds. She’s right, he did walk out of the best thing that happened to him in years, maybe ever, and it’s getting harder and harder to justify that decision to himself. 

“N-Nonna, I was… I was falling so in love with him” He tells her, and feels tears starting to prickle the corner of his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve known that since last time you were here” Nonna says impatiently. “That’s not a reason to leave, Thomas; that’s a reason to stay”

“Only if he loved me back” He says automatically, and Nonna crosses her arms, unimpressed. 

“And who says he doesn’t? Did you ask him?” She asks sharply, and Tommy sighs. This conversation is taking a completely different route than what he expected. 

“I didn’t have to, Nonna. I… I just know it, okay? I was his first relationship with a man. I cannot be the last, that’s not how it works. And I… I thought I was okay with it, that I could enjoy it while it lasted, but… But I didn’t expect to love him this much” He admits, as much to himself as to her. It’s all his fault, really, for falling so deeply, flying too close to the Sun. “I-it’s safer to break my own heart now than to let him do it when I’m way too deep to recover. N-not that I’m recovering all too well, but… could be worse” He finishes, already wiping the few tears that inconveniently decided to rush down his cheeks. 

If Tommy expects his grandmother to nod sympathetically at that and coo at him (he kinda does; she has a habit of doing that when he cries), he has another thing coming. Nonna scoffs loudly, hitting the table with her hand, strong from decades of kneading bread. The noise is enough to startle Tommy out of tears.

“Thomas Domenico Kinard, I didn’t know me and your dear Mamma, may God have her soul, had raised an estupido vigliacco!” She exclaims, her hand flailing loudly to emphasize her words. 

Tommy will be the first to admit his Italian is rusty, but he’s pretty sure she just called him a stupid coward. And. Ouch.

“Nonna!” He exclaims back, but she isn’t dissuaded. She tuts him with a sharp ‘Silenzio!’ and a raised finger, and Tommy shuts up right away. He knows that when Nonna starts, the best he can do is take the scolding, so he leans back on his couch, trying his best not to look like a chided boy who got caught stealing fruit from the neighbor’s orchard.

“You are my grandson, and I love you more than anything in this world. You are a good man with a wonderful heart, but you have one big problem, Tommaso. You always assume you know people’s feelings better than they do, and then you make your own decisions based on that without actually asking anyone. Remember when you decided I should move to California because you thought I was lonely here?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, and Tommy nods sheepishly. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“That if and when you wanted to move to California, you would let me know, but you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions” He mumbles back, the epic scolding from five years ago still fresh on his mind. 

“Esattamente. Now, I think your Evanino deserves the same courtesy. He is not a silly child, Thomas. If he wants you to be his last, if he loves you, who do you think you are to decide that he doesn’t?”

“But he never said he did,” Tommy replies stubbornly. “He… He never even told me he loved me, he just asked me to move in with him. It’s like… It’s like he wanted to prove a point, Nonna. That he could be… committed, or queer, or whatever, I don’t know. But he never said he loved me”

“Did you say it to him?” Nonna asks, and Tommy stares at her with his mouth agape. Damn this woman and her ability to ask the most uncomfortable questions. 

“N-no” He admits. “I… I was too afraid of him not saying it back”

“Hmmm” Nonna hums thoughtfully. “That’s your other problem, bambino mio. You think you don’t deserve to be loved. I blame that man for that” Nonna says with a scoff, and they both know exactly who she’s talking about; there’s no lost love between Rosa Lucciola and her ex-son-in-law, Brian Kinard, and the way he treated Tommy and his mother before she passed is the sole reason for it. 

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, Nonna” He says with a shrug, always uncomfortable when his father becomes even a small topic of conversation, but she tuts disapprovingly.

“Ah, isn’t it? Has it never occurred to you that maybe your Evanino could have the same problem? That he was as afraid as you to show his heart and have it broken?”

Tommy desperately wants to say that he thought about it, that it occurred to him; but it hasn’t. Evan is such a sunshine of a man, always so prone to smiles and loving gestures towards anyone he cares about, that Tommy never thought there could be insecurities there. Now it makes him feel selfish and stupid (or estupido as Nonna had so accurately called him). 

“Nonna…” Tommy says, his mind catching up to everything she said and a horrifying realization dawns on him. “What if he did love me back? Oh my God, did I fuck this up?!” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“Language! Do not take the Signore’s name and swear in the same sentence!” She chides him, and Tommy mutters ‘sorry’, but her look is impossibly fond. “But, well. Maybe you did; maybe you didn’t. Are you going to sit around and mope or try to find out?” Nonna challenges him. 

“W-what if he never loved me, Nonna? Or what if he did, but me walking out made him stop?” Tommy asks, not knowing which possibility scares him the most.

“What if he still does, Thomas?” Nonna counteracts. “What if he loves you and is too afraid to reach out because you already rejected him once, hm? Someone has to be brave, and he already was when he asked you to move in, bambino. Maybe it was a little impulsive, but his heart was in the right place; it was in your future together”

Tommy realizes Nonna is right. He can’t expect Evan to reach out (he realizes he was at some level, and he would have rushed to it; one call from Evan and Tommy would be right back to his life, ready to reheal his own heart when things inevitably went wrong, just for another glimpse of Evan Buckley’s personal sunshine); it’s his turn to fight for them. It’s his turn to be brave. 

“Ah, you finally realized it, hm?” Nonna says; something must be showing on his face, because there’s a satisfied smile on her face. “Fight for that boy, Thomas. Fight for your happiness, tesoro. Prove to your Nonna you are not estupido”

“Nonna, you are most definitely the best person on the planet, and I promise you didn’t raise a estupido. I’ll do right by Evan. By… By me. By both of us” Tommy promises to her, promises to himself. He blows a kiss to the screen of his cellphone, desperately wishing he could kiss her cheek in person. “Ti amo, Nonnina” (I love you, granny) 

“Ti amo, nipotini del mio cuore” (I love you, grandson of my heart) She tells him back, and a mischievous smirk appears on her face. “You better bring that boy here to try my rondelli before the year is over, you hear?”

“Dio, I hope so, Nonna” He tells her, and they say their goodbyes before hanging up. Tommy already misses her.

He holds his cellphone close to his heart, wondering if he should text Evan, but decides against it. This is too big for a text, too big for a call. He’ll go over in the morning, probably with a bouquet of flowers or whatever other extravagant gift he can come up with, ready to grovel and explain himself and beg for a second chance, even if it’s only to hear a ‘no’. Even if it’s only to let Evan yell at him and get the closure he deserves. Even if it’s only to get his already shattered heart broken into even more pieces. Tommy has to be brave.

After all, nonna and mamma didn’t raise a coward. 

(Evan doesn’t say no. And when Tommy explains, after several rounds of make-up sex, what made him change his mind, he promises to send Nonna a present. The present ends up being him and Tommy, because they go to Indiana for Christmas, and Evan falls in love with Nonna and her rondelli. Just like Tommy knew he would)

--

Tag list (let me know if I missed anyone! also if you want to be removed or only tagged in Little Blobs' Verse):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie

(Although here's a lil spoiler - Nonna Rosa will probably show up in Little Blobs' verse cause I'm not ready to let go of her and she'd whack me in the head with a spoon if I didn't let her meet her great-grandchildren)

[just-jordie-things]

home run - inumaki toge

word count: 5.5k warnings: swearing, idk anything about baseball so it’s mostly made up summary: toge helps coach you on how to play baseball before the big game for the exchange event.  you can’t stop flirting with each other.  (unestablished relationship!) more info: aged up characters! jujutsu tech is a college, still usual first and second years a/n: remember when i said this edit had me in a chokehold well i wrote this forever ago for myself and the toge loving bbies :) ___

When it was announced that the second portion of the Jujutsu Exchange Event would be held via baseball game, (y/n) visibly paled.  So much so that she’d been instantly teased by one of her underclassmen for her obvious discomfort.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to play baseball!” Nobara threw her head back as she cackled obnoxiously.  “It’s the easiest sport!” 

“Kugisaki don’t be rude” Megumi grumbled, kicking his friend in the ankle as punishment for laughing at her superior.  He seemed to be the only one who cared about such formality.

The group of them, the first years and second years, had been heading back towards the building for a lunch break in between events.  She dragged her feet along the path, wishing time would slow down and stop altogether before she had to step foot on that field.

“I know how to play,” (y/n) defended herself, but her hold on the strap of her sheath tightened with her anxiety.  “I’m just not good at it” She admitted in a quiet voice.

“That’s okay! We’ll try to give you an easy position then!” Itadori offered kindly.

She gave the boy a weak smile, grateful for his positive attitude, but still feeling the pang of embarrassment.

How she sucked at such a simple game was beyond her.  Had it been a proper duel, she would be an excellent candidate.  Swinging a sword- or nunchucks or spear or axe- came easy to her.  Which she was able to demonstrate in the first part of the event.  She’d scored quite well for her school, even when outside forces interrupted the fun and games and things had gotten real very fast.

But when it came to swinging a bat and hitting that dumb little ball, she whiffed it almost every time.  It was humiliating, knowing she had the strength to cut a head clean off a body, but couldn’t play a game that was mostly catch.

Her pace slowed until she lingered behind the rest of the group, who were busy assigning positions for the coming game.  If the ground swallowed her whole for the next few hours, she wouldn’t complain.  

“Tuna tuna” 

Lifting her gaze she found Toge stopping in his tracks as the rest of their classmates headed up the stairs without them.  Even with his collar zipped up, she could see he was smiling at her, undoubtedly pitying her helplessness.

“Put me to sleep, Toge,” She sighed dramatically, to which he chuckled.  “I’m serious,” She mutters at him.  “This is going to be so embarrassing, I wish we could’ve just done something else.  Like archery” 

He shrugs his shoulders, before glancing back at their friends again, seeing they were already headed inside, and apparently hadn’t noticed their separation from the group.

He turns back to her again, and tilts his head for her to follow him.  She does so without question, partially because she didn’t want to sit through an awkward lunch where the group planned what position would be easy enough for her to handle, but partially because she had taken such a liking to him that she’d follow him anywhere he tried to take her.

This wasn’t new.  Since the day they met the two of them had been close, hitting it off like they were old friends reunited.  His cursed speech never proved to be an obstacle, it hadn’t taken long for (y/n) to understand him as if onigiri ingredients was her foreign language choice in grade school, and she made an effort to always ensure they were having proper conversations that she’d have with anyone else.

Well, not entirely.  She didn’t exactly flirt with everyone else or whisper with hushed giggles with everyone else, but you get the point.  They clicked.

It doesn’t dawn on her where he’s leading them until they’re approaching the baseball field, and when they do, she lets out an exasperated groan.

“Toge, no” She whines, giving him pleading eyes to spare her from more embarrassment.

He rolls his eyes back at her, and grabs her by the wrist to drag her along the rest of the way when she tries to plant her feet and stay put.  She could go boneless and let him literally drag her, but she stumbles and follows along anyways.  Perhaps once he saw how terrible she truly was at the sport, he’d give up on helping her practice and ditch her out here.

Although she knew this couldn’t possibly be a real possibility.  He wasn’t capable of doing such a thing.

“Salmon!” He cheers when he finds that all of the equipment for the event had been prepared, helmets and gloves sitting neatly on the bleachers, and a tall basket of baseball bats ready to be used.

He pulled one out, smacking the head of the club in his other hand as though to analyze it, even though they were all brand new and had never been touched.

He looks up at (y/n) with a grin that just barely peeks out of his collar.  She frowns back at him.

“Don’t do this to me,” She pleads.  “I thought we were friends” 

He laughs again, and tosses her the bat without warning.  At least her reflexes are sharp enough that she catches it without difficulty.

“Salmon!” He cheers for her, and she shoots him a more deadly look.

“I can catch things,” She mutters, turning her gaze to the bin of baseballs and the gloves lined up on the bleachers.  “It’s the rest that I’m shit at” 

He scoffs at her in disbelief, but he had yet to see the proof.  (y/n) chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched him select his own bat, and then nod at her to follow him to the plate.

If she ran away, he probably wouldn’t chase her down, she figured as she followed him up to the white rubber base- just as untouched as the rest of the equipment.  She dismisses the idea just as quickly as it crosses her mind though.  She wasn’t capable of ditching him, either.

Toge gestures for her to stand a bit in front of him as he takes his stance at the plate.  She does so, holding the hilt of the bat loosely as she rests it on her shoulder.  He continues to gesture for her to understand what he’s doing.  First it’s to his feet, spread evenly but not too far from one another, just enough to keep his balance solid.  Then he bends his knees the slightest, probably to give him a good range of motion.  She could understand this much.

Then he holds his bat out towards her as he carefully maneuvers his hands around it’s handle.  His grip tightens, and then he looks up at her expectantly, as though asking, got it?

She nods back at him wordlessly, and then he goes back into straightening up his stance.  Her eyes track every movement with intense precision, wanting to commit every detail to memory.  From the angle that his left elbow rests at, to where he holds the bat just behind himself, ready for the swing.

He raises his eyebrows at her, which she doesn’t notice right away since she’s too busy studying everything about his stance rather than his face.  She could almost hear the teasing voice behind the look he’s giving her.  Good, right?

“Mustard leaf?” He asks, in that exact tone she’d heard in her head.

“Yeah yeah, I got it” She nods.

He nods back at her, and then slowly goes through the motion of a swing, so she could clock every detail.  After he finishes the follow through, he repeats the motion properly, swinging the bat with full force.  Enough so that she can hear the aluminum cutting through the air.

He asks his question again when he’s done, and again, she nods at him.

“Yeah, I think I can handle that,” She says.  “Should I pitch for you?” 

Toge shakes his head and waves his hand for her to come up to the plate.  When she stops just in front of him, he giggles, and drops his bat to the ground so he can reach out and take hold of her shoulders, so he can properly guide her to the base.

Despite the way her face heats up when he keeps his hands on her as she tries to copy the way he’d just been standing there, she doesn’t mind feeling a little shy about it.  Feeling shy around Toge wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as having him teach her this simple sport.

In fact, it was never embarrassing to be reduced to a blushing mess around him.  It happened too often for her to feel any shame in it, but it helped that she often brought the same behavior out of him, too.  She just couldn’t see his pink cheeks when he’s standing behind her, mumbling unintelligibly as she took her stance.

She’s certain of herself once she raises the bat behind her shoulder, almost knocking him in the head, but Toge swerves and hopes she doesn’t notice.

“How’s that?” She asks with confidence.

His hands fall from her shoulders as he checks her over, and he winces behind his collar.  His lack of response has her looking over her shoulder with a frown.

“Really?” The confidence is zapped out of her straight away.

He chuckles, and shrugs his shoulders with a small smile as if to ease her worry.  Then his hands are on her again, guiding her arms to the proper places where she’d have the best range of motion.  The toe of his shoe taps the inside of her left foot, silently prompting her to slide it out just a bit further.  She follows the instruction until he raises his hand.  Then he gives her a beam and a nod of his head to confirm she was positioned just right.

“You’re sure?”

“Salmon” He reaffirms.

He steps back then, twirling his finger around in the air so that she could show him her swing.  She looks unsure, but she lets out a breath and lets her body follow through as naturally as she could.

She feels good about it, but she doesn’t know any better.  When she looked over to Toge again, he had just unzipped his collar, ready to cheer when she swung just fine.  Instead, he wears what she would call his polite smile.  It was his friendly way of displaying something wasn’t quite right, but he was too nice to critique harshly.  (y/n) frowns back at him.

“That bad?” She asks quietly when he approaches her again.

His smile brightens and he shakes his head at her.  He was far too nice to her.  If Maki was training her, she gladly would have laughed in her face before barking out orders on how to shape up.

Toge hand waves about, telling her to take her stance again.  This time her footing is just right, and he beams proudly at the improvement.  She manages a smile back at him, his silent praise giving her a little more confidence in learning.

He does a little circle around her, making sure everything is as it should be.  There’s a pause in his step just behind her, where she’s holding her bat.

“Bonito flakes” He pats his hand over once of hers, and she fixes up her grip on the handle, then turns to look at him.

“Like that?” She asks, not sure of what her mistake had been.

It must not have been fixed, because he reaches his hand to hers, gently fingers prodding at her hand in silent instruction until she loosends her hold.  He quickly raises his hand away again, giving her a thumbs up.  Her grip was still secure, but her knuckles weren’t white with tension now.

After that, Toge comes behind her again, poking at the top of the baseball bat before giving her an affirmative nod to take a swing.

She does as told, slowly of course, so as not to smack him in the face on her follow through.  He stops her before she even finishes, his hand patting her shoulder so she’d fix up her stance again.  Third time was the charm, and her posture and hold are perfect as she straightens up.

“Tuna” The quiet instruction to pay attention is whispered in her ear as he takes a small step closer so that he could guide her properly through the swing.  

One hand lays over hers on the handle of the bat, and the other slides around her opposite arm until it stops at her elbow.  Her face is so hot now she wishes she was wearing one of those dumb helmets to at least hide it a little.

He guides her through the motion slowly, his hand on her elbow wobbling a little.  It takes her a second to catch up, but she realizes he’s telling her that her swing was uncoordinated.  She nods in understanding.

Before she gets the chance to take her stance again, he’s already guiding her back to the proper position, his eyes studying her grip carefully to be sure everything is in order.

He’s so close now that she can feel his soft breaths on the back of her neck, and baseball is quickly becoming the furthest thing from her mind.  The hand that is resting on hers is so soft but so firm in it’s hold, making sure she didn’t strengthen or loosen her grip in the slightest.  If she shuffled back even an inch, her back would hit his chest.  It’s unbearably hot today, she’s grateful she thought to tie her hair up so it wouldn’t stick to the back of her neck, but she has half the mind to close those last pesky inches of space between them.

“Mustard leaf?” Toge’s hand pats at her elbow, beckoning her to pay attention.  He must’ve noticed she’d zoned out.

“Sorry,” She mumbles, snapping back to reality.  “You’re being distracting”

She’s scolding him, he can tell in the tone that she doesn’t mean it to be one of her more usual flirty comments.  Nonetheless, Toge preens, grinning down at her, even though she was trying to avoid looking at him.  It was hard, seeing as he was right there, and even standing behind her he was tall enough that he could see a blush creeping up her cheeks.

This time, rather than let her swing on her own, he moves her through the motions himself.  It’s horribly slow, especially when her swing reaches it’s apex and he’s pulled even closer from the motion.  Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she struggles to keep her focus on paying attention to her form.

“Salmon” Toge gives her a smile as he finishes guiding her through the follow through.  He’s certain she has the technique down now, but when she looks at him, her expression is defeated.  His brows furrowed in confusion.  “Mustard leaf?” 

“This isn’t going to work,” She huffs, lowering the bat until it almost hits the ground.  “It’s too..” She trails off, waving her free hand around in a sporadic motion.  “Too much!” 

He seems to catch her drift, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles at her.

“Don’t laugh at me”

He sticks his bottom lip out at her in a dramatic pout.

Her brows pinch together before drawing upwards, pleading with him not to mess with her more than he already had.

“I’m sorry I’m not getting it!” She cried, her leg bouncing with her irritation.  “But you’re the worst teacher!” 

“Bonito flakes!” He took offense to the comment, and (y/n) gave him a deadpan look.

“You know what I mean,” She says in a quieter volume.

He tilts his head and feigns a confused expression, just to watch her blush and squirm.

“You’re being a jerk you know” She tells him, her eyes locked on his even when he walks closer and grins in her face.  He’s waiting expectantly for her to explain what he already knew.

He flustered her.  It wasn’t the first time, and most certainly wasn’t the last.  But truthfully, Toge hadn’t been aiming to flirt with her.  He just wanted to help her out with her swing.  Seeing her blushing and flustered was just an added bonus.

She’s the first to surrender.

“Okay fine,” She lets out a heavy breath and raises her bat again.  “Show me one more time, then you can pitch for me” 

Toge’s grin is plastered on his face as he repositions himself again, but this time she swears he’s standing just a little closer than before as he guides her hand and elbow through her swing.

He lets out a low whistle when he draws her back again so they can practice through it one more time, even though (y/n) was certain now that she had it down.  She starts to pull away, but before she can tell him that she thinks she has it now, he tuts at her and drags her back towards him.  This time her back does hit his chest, and she doesn’t protest again.  

Even though her footing is all off, and there’s no way she could deliver a proper swing when his chin is tucked against her shoulder where her bat should hover.  He’s close enough that he can see- and hear- the heavy gulp she swallows.  He giggles at her before pulling away the hand he had on her elbow.  He lets out a small mumble of an onigiri ingredient she doesn’t quite catch because his breath is hitting the crook of her neck and he’s just so close that she feels dizzy.  He brings his hand up to her neck, knuckles skimming over the nape and then along the junction of her shoulder so he could pull away the few strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail.

She giggles at the ticklish feeling, and he forgets that he’s supposed to be coaching her as he raises his fingers to brush over the spot again.  This time she tilts her shoulder as she laughs again, a jerky motion as the muscle reacts on it’s own accord, but it brings his face closer to hers as she does so.  He laughs to himself just from hearing her giggles as he continues to tease the sensitive spot.

“Toge!” She tries to shove him away, but he’s quick to drop his other hand from where she had a hold on the bat, wrapping his arm around her front and holding her hip firmly so she couldn’t wiggle away from him.  He laughs almost too joyfully as she continues to giggle and squirm in his hold.  “Toge! Qu-quit it!” She stammers over the relentless giggles he forces out of her, and it seems to only spur him on further.

She’s reduced to broken gasps between her fits of laughter, and the bat falls from her hand before she realizes.  Even when it bounces on the sand and rolls across the ground she doesn’t pay it any mind, too busy using her free hand to try to grab at his arm and get him to loosen his hold on her.

Her attempts are futile.  His hold on her is firm, and even when she gets a good grip on his sleeve, he retaliates by keeping her snug against him, and then lifting her off the ground altogether.  Her feet kick and scramble, somewhat from the lack of ground beneath them, more-so from the way her body reacts to his continued tickling.  Both of her hands are now occupied by gripping onto his arms to keep her anchored somehow, but even in the delirious state he’s sinking her into, she knows he wouldn’t drop her.

Eventually Toge’s laughing at her too much to care about continuing to tickle her, even though he took great amusement in it, he was now entertained enough by having her in his arms, even if she was kicking at the air for him to put her down.

She’s shouting his name between bursts of giggles that still escape her like after shocks.  The sudden bout of goofiness from him is a little lost on her, but even as she hollers at him to put her down, her threats are empty.  She sinks into his hold and accepts whatever fate he has in store for her.

Her head tilts back until it hits his shoulder, and she can just barely peek up at him.  His face is split with a grin, lavender eyes hooded and dazed as he gazes back down at her.

Toge’s never needed words to flirt with her.  Sure sometimes his texts had certain incriminating emojis, and the notes he’d pass her in class were also damning evidence of his affections.  But (y/n) could feel all of that coming from him just from the way he looks at her, like right now.  He had an intense gaze, and she was sure that if she was brave enough to not break away from the eye contact, that she could penetrate his mind and read his thoughts directly.

Finally, he sets her down, his grip on her loosening, just as her hands on his forearms did once she had her feet on the ground again.  She giggles at him, giving him a cheeky little smile as she turns to properly face him.  Her hands take hold of his wrists as she ensures the proximity between them doesn’t shift too much.  

Logically they should get back to perfecting her swing, the lunch break would be over soon and the game would begin shortly after.  Not that logic is able to cling onto a single thought in her starry eyed stupor.  She looked up at him like he was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen, softening before him in her gaze and the smile on her lips.

She had been patient, at least she thinks she has.  She’s enjoyed the little game they’d been playing, the lingering touches, the flirty remarks met with longing gazes.  Their mannerisms were anything but platonic, and if anyone were to snatch their phones they’d scramble to delete their messages with each other.

But it had been quite some time of this game as she’d affectionately referred to their… whatever this was.  And her patience was wearing thin waiting for him to make a move.  She didn’t know what he was waiting for, she was certain that she’d made her position clear.  Especially now, clinging onto him and staring up at him expectantly.  It was just the two of them, and they were so close, it wouldn’t take much for him to just fucking kiss her already-

Toge’s movements are quick as he pulls his arms so his wrists fall out of her hold, only for him to squeeze her hands quickly before moving past her.

“Tuna mayo” He beckons her to follow him back to the plate, but she’s stunned in place for a minute.

Did he really just brush that off? She shook her head as she went back to home plate, picking up her bat and tapping it against the ground to shake off the excess sand that had clung to it when she’d dropped it.  Had she not communicated well enough through her eyes? She’d stared at him with her best ‘kiss me now!’ look.  Her brow furrowed as she watched Toge grab a glove and baseball from the leftover equipment.

He jogs out to the pitcher’s mound, giving her a thumbs up and an affirmative cheer.  With a determined look on her face, (y/n) straightens up her stance, her hands curling around the handle on the bat until muscle memory took over and she found the correct hold on it.

Toge throws a perfect pitch, his movements clean as his long limbs work in harmony to send the baseball hurtling towards her.  Her eyes never leave the ball as she tightens her grip, takes the smallest of steps forward, and swings.

The crack sounds so loud the aluminum trembles in her hold from the harshness of her hit.  Even Toge’s impressed enough that he’s frozen as his eyes follow the flight of the ball over his head.  He was confident in her ability, after some coaching anyways, but he wasn’t expecting such a solid swing.  Had Jujutsu Tech gone the cheap route and got wooden bats, he was certain this one would’ve been ruined.

As if having the same thought, their eyes simultaneously rip away from the ball’s trajectory towards the outfield, and they look at each other expectantly.  

They both break into a full sprint in opposite directions.  (y/n) drops the bat haphazardly as she takes off for first base, and Toge’s racing to the outfield in the hopes of miraculously catching the ball before it lands.  However, it’s already begun it’s descent so the odds are slim to none.

(y/n) knows she should keep her focus on running and hitting all the bases properly, but she can’t help but throw her head over her shoulder to keep an eye on Toge.  He scrambles to grab the ball just as she’s touching second base.  

She squeals with delight when he makes a break for home plate, and tries to push herself to run faster, but she’d already decided to give this run of the bases her full power, seeing as it was just the two of them.

He’s gaining on her when she crosses third, and a string of laughter escapes her from the anticipation.  It’s not a real game, but her competitive nature had been tapped into as soon as she struck that ball, and now all she cares about is winning.

As home plate nears she can feel Toge getting closer.  She doesn’t dare look at him again, instead opting to do whatever it took to get her on that plate before he can.  Her heart is racing, she’s panting for air, the sun is beating down impossibly hotter, but she doesn’t care.  She’s about to take the win.

Toge has other plans, darting around her and coming up on the plate with more speed than before.  She gasps in offense at his drive to take this from her, but it sparks that competitive fire in her again, and she comes up with a faster plan.

With as much momentum stored as possible, she drops to the ground.  She falls with grace but hits the sand unceremoniously.  The course grit is uncomfortable on her skin as she slides across the ground with the force of her body weight.  Her dominant leg is outstretched, foot angled outwards in the hopes of touching that damn white plate before he can.

She cheers in premature victory when she feels the brush of solid rubber against her sneaker.

The pride is short lived when she feels another foot collide with hers just as the rest of her body is sliding over the plate, and before she can stop herself, she’s effectively tripped Toge right off his feet, and he’s falling to the ground.

They both barely let out a yelp in surprise before he’s crashing into her.  He just barely braces himself with his palms hitting the sandy ground on either side of her head, so his full weight doesn’t hit her, but she’s still properly knocked the wind out of him.

The look of shock on her face fades away as she begins to giggle.  The corners of her eyes crinkle and her smile only grows wider as the giggles grow louder.

“I did it!” She cheers loudly, even though his face is inches away from hers.  “I hit a home run!” 

“Bonito flakes” Toge mutters, and she’s not sure if he’s cursing for her knocking him down or if he’s correcting her because technically in a real game that wouldn’t be a home run, but she doesn’t care.

She ignores his indignation completely.  Her hands shoot up, grabbing either side of his unzipped collar, earning a startled look in response from the sudden impact.

Her eyes light up, and Toge blinks to make sure he’s reading this look right.  The way her lashes grow heavy as her eyes flicker in between his a few times, before lowering to rest on his lips.

His lips? She’s looking at his lips? 

In her moment of not paying attention, his own gaze lowers, mentally tracing the soft edges of her smile.  He thinks he’s quick when he brings his line of sight back to hers, but she’s staring right at him again, and her smile is brightening, having caught the glance.

“Just kiss me already” 

She’s barely finished the command and he’s obeying it like she was the one who bore the snake eyes and fangs.  Leaning down the rest of the way so quickly his hands shuffle in the sand to fix his center of gravity before his lips slant over hers.  She kisses him back instantly, and with fervor, her soft lips moving against his in a quick pace.

Once Toge has a good balance, he shifts so that he only needs to hold himself up with one hand, so that the other can gently cradle her jaw.  His fingers skim over her neck before resting in her hair.  He’s getting sand all over her skin, but she’s already covered in the stuff from her showboating slide to home plate, so he figures she won’t mind.

She hums in delight as her own hands begin to travel.  The sound is heaven to his ears, and his nose prods against hers as he moves to deepen their kiss.  She’s tracing over his shoulders and then the nape of his neck before diving into the soft strands of platinum blonde that aren’t even damp.  Seriously, didn’t they do the same amount of sprinting just now? He didn’t break a sweat? 

The thought makes her let out a little chuckle, and their kiss finally breaks when she does.

Toge’s brow furrows at her in the slightest, wondering what she could find so humorous, but she looks so pretty like this- laughing, beneath him, with kiss swollen lips that were his doing- that he doesn’t even mind.  He just admires her while she blinks a few times to ease her vision to the sunlight.

“It’s nothing,” (y/n) mumbles when she sees the faint confusion in his expression.  “Was just startin’ to think you’d never make a move” 

Toge chuckles back at her, finding some humor in the comment.  He’d been waiting for her, she was the one with all the flirty remarks after all, but he won’t complain.  He could tease her about it later.

He leans back so she could sit up properly, and takes her hand to help her up to her feet with him.  She begins to awkwardly brush the sand off of her clothes, but quickly realizes it’s no use and gives up.  They share a laugh at her weak attempt to dust off.

“Have you guys been out here this whole time!?” 

A distant holler steals their attention, and their classmates are making their way to the field.  Toge frowns at the realization that their alone time was over, and now they had to gear up for the finale of the Exchange Event.

(y/n) notices the sour look, and squeezes his hand to bring his attention back to her.

“Hey, how about another game?” She suggests with a glint of excitement in her eye that should make him nervous, but he nods eagerly.  “If we win this game, we can hang out in my room after,” She suggests, and then her cheeks turn pink.  “And make out some more?” She adds in a softer tone, the confidence in the offer evaporating as soon as she’s actually saying the words out loud.

Toge’s face lights up as he nods in agreement to her rules.

“What!?” Panda’s voice booms and echoes throughout the field, and was likely heard even past that.

Toge and (y/n) share a wince.  They’d conveniently forgotten about Panda’s enhanced hearing abilities.

Judging from the curious looks from the others and Panda’s erratic movements as he spoke, it was clear that he was telling everyone else what he’d overheard as well.

“Cheer for me when I hit a home run?” (y/n) beams at Toge, who nods back at her happily.  He raises his hand, sticking his thumb and pinky out before shaking his hand in a ‘hang loose’ motion.  A simple action he did often to show support for his friends.

“Salmon” He affirms.

“Okay, I’ll cheer for you too” She says sweetly, standing on the tips of her toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, before making her way to their approaching friends, eager to tell them about her success with baseball.

They were more curious about the bases she hit with their resident cursed speech user rather than the actual bases of the game.  

… then again, so was she.

___

a/n: breathe if u want me to write a part two where they celebrate winning the game teehee

xoxo ~ jordie

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine finding Mihawk after an argument with Shanks…

Mihawk huffed. He listened to what brought you to his company and he truly wished he was at the bottom of the Grand Line.

“You cannot be my shadow each time you have a disagreement with your red-haired fool.” He deadpanned and took a sip of his wine. “I’ve seen enough of your lovers spats to know how this turns out.”

You tapped the bar to signal for another round of mind-numbing rum, eyeing the amber liquid as it was dispensed like a hawk.

“This time it’s different. I’m not going back.” You muttered.

Mihawk rolled his eyes. It was always the same story. You and Shanks would argue. You’d storm off and find Mihawk to drink and dull the pain with ample ranting. Then one of two things would happen, either Shanks sought you out or you would sail back to what ever island he was passed out on.

But as Mihawk learned very quickly - this time it was different.

Two days passed and you were still at his side, nursing yet another hangover much to Mihawk’s chagrin. He had finally grew tired of your threats to throw up aboard his ship so he docked and waited for Shanks to show. But he didn't come for you.

Fours days in and no attempts of reconciliation resulted in you shadowing Mihawk in anything he did. It irked him to no end but the Warlord couldn't find it in himself to chase you off.

When the World Government called upon Mihawk’s services to ‘take care of’ a rapidly growing pirate armada on Day Seven, you offered to join the mission.

“Absolutely not.” Mihawk refused almost immediately. He wasn’t going to risk your life and then carry your body back to Shanks.

He didn’t offer funeral services.

The pirate began to walk away noticing the way you trailed after him. “Hey - I’m damn good with a sword,” when he said nothing, you jumped in front to force the pirate to a stop. “I can do this.”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes. “And what happens if you can’t?”

You stepped back, a broken expression settling on your features that made Mihawk feel something akin to guilty.

“You’re just like him.” You whispered. “I prove myself time and time again and you both refuse to see it.”

“That’s not what I- you are very capable Y/n. I only meant...”

Your name was suddenly called out from a distance. Heads turning to the shore, you saw a small boat and a shadowy figure hurrying in your direction. At first you thought it was Shanks but when the hair lacked his vibrant red, your heart returned to its dark hole.

It was Yasopp. The marksman bending forward and huffing to recollect his breath when he reached you and Mihawk.

“Great. More people.” Mihawk mumbled under his breath.

Ignoring the comment, you addressed the pirate. “Yasopp? What are you doing here?”

“It’s Shanks.” The man panted. “He’s miserable and what’s worse is that he’s even more reckless.”

You frowned. “Did he send you to get me?”

Yasopp finally straightened up but there was no excitement to answering your question. “Beckmann did when he heard that the Captain wanted to take on the Marine Base at Coral Cove. You're the only one who can convince him otherwise.”

Your eyes widened. Shanks being reckless was a dangerous thing and Coral Cove was no joking matter. You had heard of awful things that happened to pirates who set foot on its shore.

If Shanks was trying to get your attention, it was working.

You stepped forward to follow Yasopp back to the Red Force when the blade of Yoru swiped before you, holding you back.

Looking up at Mihawk, you saw him glaring at your friend with his golden eyes.

“Y/n isn’t going anywhere. That one-armed fool can come here himself if he’s that desperate.” He said.

You touched the hilt of the sword with the intention to push it down but there was more luck in moving a mountain.

“Mihawk, Shanks is…”

“He is playing a game to have you run back to his side. And as much as I want to be rid of you, I will not let you forsake your dignity.” Mihawk replied without shifting his focus. “You can tell your Captain that Y/n will not leave my side until he shows his face. We will be on the Wave Coast sinking an armada.”

You hadn’t expected Mihawk to have such fierce support but you appreciated it. Looking at the pirate who was waiting, you sent him a nod and Yasopp caught the drift returning to his ship to relay the news.

Mihawk finally exhaled and turned to you. “Let’s go.”

Following him to his ship, you watched as he climbed in. You had never walked into a huge battle without the Red-Haired pirates at your side so it was new and daunting.

“Any advice?” You asked the Warlord, stepping aboard.

Mihawk took a seat and stared at the open sea. “Don’t die.”

He'd keep you safe during the fight. Then once the conflict was over, he was going to pay Shanks a visit.

The idiot would lose a leg if he didn't apologise and whisk you away by sundown.

~ More imagines here ~