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ramp-it-up · 1 day ago

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Charm

Summary: Congressman James Buchanan Barnes has a secret. And it's so sweet.

Word count: 3.1 K

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Yeah, I'm probably gonna be back on my Bucky bullshit for a minute. Those Norman Jean Roy photos, the movie coming out. Just block me now. Or, read, respond, and reblog! Love you heauxes!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Teacher Reader, Congressman Bucky, Soft, Beefy Bucky, feral Bucky, sex almost on sight, talk of testing and precautions, but raw p in v, oral (m/f receiving) sloppy toppy, woman on top, praise kink, Dom-ish AND sort of Subby Bucky, Sargeant kink, nicknames Charm and Doll, also Sweetheart.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes raked his hand through his hair for the third time. It was overlong, curling at the nape of his neck, caught somewhere between rebellion and control.

Just like his life.

His tie was long gone, jacket tossed over a chair, but the tension still clung to him like sweat. His fingers twitched with the restraint of a man used to control, but tonight that control was slipping.

Because of you.

He was going to meet you. Spend time with you.

You, his softest vulnerability. His secret sanctuary. You had no idea what you did to him. Or maybe you did. And that was the problem.

Underneath the pressed shirt and tailored slacks, beneath the titles and speeches and the weight of his legacy, James Buchanan Barnes was unraveling. You touched something in him, something sweet and unguarded.

You looked at him like he wasn’t just a polished man with power, but someone worth seeing. You saw past all of it, the headlines, the pressure, the myth of the man, to the boy who once just wanted to be good.

Of course you did. As a teacher, you saw the good in all of your students. And from the moment he’d met you, bright-eyed and brilliant, part of the National Teaching Conference delegation touring the Capitol, he’d been a goner.

So he pursued you. But you’d made him wait. And you’d made him want. And Bucky had never wanted anything the way he wanted you.

When he thought of you, he forgot all about The Honorable James Buchanan Barnes.

He just wanted to be your Bucky.

—-

Six Weeks earlier:

You’d expected a polite handshake and a few photo ops when you went on the tour, but Congressman Barnes from your borough of Brooklyn was charming, attentive, and deeply present in a way that threw you off balance. His gaze lingered just a second too long when he looked at you, and your heartbeat stuttered every time his hand brushed yours.

You weren’t sure what it meant, you just knew it meant something.

The first night ended with a drink in the hotel bar, where he asked thoughtful questions about education and leaned in like your answers were gravity. When he walked you to your room, he didn’t ask to come in, just touched your wrist and said, “I’ll see you again, Charm.”

“Charm?” you questioned him as he walked away.

Bucky turned around and started to walk backwards as he replied.

“Yeah. It’s my name for you in my head,” and he grinned before he got in the elevator, looking so much younger than 110 years old.

Weeks later, you were still texting late into the night. Breathless calls. Heated messages. A video chat that ended with both of you flushed and desperate.

It was intoxicating stuff.

----

Now:

You were finally back in D.C. for the National Teaching Conference. Because you were on the planning committee, you’d been running around in a blazer and sneakers all week, putting out fires, herding speakers, and keeping the entire operation from collapsing.

But Friday night was yours.

The conference ended, the final panel was a wrap, and you still had the swanky suite for two more nights. It had a skyline view, a rain-slicked windowpane, and, within the hour, one James Buchanan Barnes.

You’d barely stepped out of the shower, steam curling in the air, when you heard the knock.

He was thirty minutes early.

You froze for half a second, heart racing, then wrapped the towel tighter and padded to the door.

Bucky stood in the hallway, soaked to the bone from the spring storm, dark hair dripping, a gray coat clinging to broad shoulders. Water tracked down his jaw and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

And those beautiful blue eyes were locked on you.

“Hey, Charm,” he rasped.

You swallowed hard. “Congressman.”

That smirk flickered at the corners of his mouth.

“Gonna let me in?”

You stepped aside. The door shut behind him, shutting the world out. Bucky looked at you like he hadn’t seen you in years, not weeks.

“I missed you,” you said softly, voice a breath.

He was on you in a heartbeat. One hand cupped your chin, the other, vibranium, gleaming in the soft hotel light, slid around your waist, pulling you flush to him. You melted, your fingers slipping beneath the lapels of his coat, feeling the heat of him under damp clothes.

You didn’t find the sharp muscle of the old soldier, but the solid strength of a man who lived his life with purpose. His softness did not take the edge off your desire for him.

In fact, it probably made it worse. He wasn’t a weapon. He was a man.

Your man.

You were going to claim him tonight.

“Been sittin’ through policy meetings imagining you riding me in the chair behind my desk,” he muttered into your skin, pressing a kiss below your jaw.

You gasped, shivering despite the heat between you.

You grew a little dizzy as Bucky dropped his overnight bag to the floor so that your hands could slip under his shirt, and drag your fingers over his soft, but still-defined abs.

“Then maybe we should make that image real.”

His eyes were dark now, pupils already blown. One arm snaked up your back and tangled in the hair at your nape, pulling your head back as he kissed you hard, like he meant to claim you. His vibranium hand gripped your waist like it was built for that exact purpose.

“Tonight, I don’t want polite. Don’t want careful.”

You’d planned for this. Took your precautions. Got tested. You both knew what tonight meant.

Bucky walked you backwards toward the bed, slow and steady, never breaking eye contact.

“I want to watch you take what you want from me.”

Your lips curved into a smile.

“I want a lot from you, Mr. Barnes,” you whispered.

“Take your shirt off,” you said softly, watching the way his jaw flexed and the way his eyes flicked to your mouth.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a crooked smile.

God. Could you be in love?

He stripped off his shirt in one fluid motion. Muscles rippled, dog tags glinting against his skin. He didn’t pose. He just stood there, waiting. Watching you. A man made of flesh and metal and decades of ghosts, and right now, he was all yours.

You moved toward him, fingertips grazing his stomach, and watched the way he twitched beneath your touch.

“You know you can be in control tonight,” you murmured, eyes locked on his as he let you turn him around so that he was at the foot of the bed.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

“I haven’t been in control since the day I met you, Charm.”

You pushed him gently until he sat without resistance, and you stood between his legs, slowly letting the towel drop and pool at your feet. Bucky’s hungry gaze roamed over your body, from your lips, to your neck, to your breasts, focusing on the rigid peaks there as he licked his lips, down your stomach to the apex of your thighs, and lingering there longer.

Finally, his eyes swept down your legs to your feet on the floor, between his shiny Italian loafers.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, voice hoarse as he brought his eyes back up to yours.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you said. “But let’s not rush this, Sergeant.”

His head dropped for a moment like he needed a second just to breathe. That word, Sergeant, hit somewhere deep. Then he looked up and drew you toward him with his metal hand and kissed the inside of your thigh, destroying you.

“Tell me what you want.”

The gravel in his voice did things to you as you carded your fingernails through his thick, wet, dark hair.

You said, “Need your mouth, Bucky,” and he almost came undone right then.

“Such a Good Girl for telling me what you need, Charm.”

His lips were at the edge of your mound, the warmth of his breath fanning out over your clit. You moaned and laid your hands on his solid shoulders, and although they each felt very different under your palms, the disparate sensations only served to make you hotter.

Bucky made eye contact with you and then took a long swipe of his tongue over your wet slit, from top to bottom. A tremble coursed through your body, and you exhaled his name. Bucky stared lovingly at your cunt, from the fat, puffy lips of your labia, to the shine of your juices at your slit.

He licked your essence from his lips and raised his eyes to yours again. He was so fucking handsome. And you were so gone for this man.

Just when you thought that, Bucky stuck his nose in your pussy and inhaled deeply, making you jump in surprise and rapture. He took a quick lick and hummed deeply, sending more vibrations through your cunt.

His metal hand lifted your leg, draped it over his shoulder. His tongue worked in steady, devastating rhythm. Lips suckling, tongue plunging, nose pressed to your clit as he made a low, satisfied sound that vibrated straight through you.

You gasped.

He groaned.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice muffled against your heat. “So fuckin’ sweet for me.”

And then he ruined you.

He looked up to wink at you playfully before parting your outer lips with his thumbs. He dove in and you saw stars.

Bucky Barnes sucked, licked, and grazed on you, plunging deeply into you with his tongue, fingers, and his whole damn face.

You were lost in the moment, in the pleasure, and the sensations. It was so good. No one had ever made you feel this wanted or needed. You felt the telltale spark ignite your clit and started to squirm as his vibranium hand held you in place as he devoured you like a starving man.

He felt you clench around his fingers, one inside you, one teasing that tight little rim, and you shattered. Bucky held you through it, whispering your name like a religious chant.

Because he worshipped you.

You lay in his arms, spent and limp as Bucky nuzzled at your neck, his dick standing at attention, long, thick, and leaking against you. Somehow, some when, he’d gotten undressed.

And those beautiful blue eyes held you hostage again.

“What do you need now?”

You looked down and reached for him.

“Need to taste you, Sarge.”

His cock was huge, hard, and hot against your skin, begging for relief.

Bucky groaned and his eyes shined as you rose only to sink down on your knees. He sat up on the edge of the bed to witness you gazing up at him. He took himself in hand and started stroking the length of his hardness, swiping precum from the slit at the head in passing.

It was so damn sexy. You licked your lips as your eyes were glued to the beautiful, erotic sight of Bucky Barnes stroking off for you.

He smirked as he watched you hungry for him, impatient to taste him, to take him in, to please him. Your hands cupped and kneaded the full flesh of your breasts, and Bucky licked his lips as you pulled on your nipples.

His flesh fingers squeezed more tightly around his shaft, while his metal hand gave a quick twist to his balls as your heavily hooded eyes drifted from his cock to his face as you moved closer.

You wrapped your lips around him and he cursed, one hand in your hair, the other still at his balls, twisting with just enough pressure.

You worshipped him the way he had you. Took him deep, sloppy and unafraid, letting your desire drip down your chin and soak your chest.

He was losing control.

Sexy rambles tumbled from his lips as you took him deep in your throat.

“Fuck. I’m home. All this time… I thought I thought I knew. Didn’t know shit.”

You moaned as you pulled back slightly to gently lick and suck at the head of his cock, swiping your tongue over his hard length. Then you got sloppy with it, slurping at him and taking his long, thick cock as deep as you could.

Bucky let out an inhuman sound as you gently scraped your teeth along his hard flesh, and then sucked and tongued at his balls.

“Please, baby, fuck…”

He had to pull you off before he lost it. He lifted you, breath ragged, and laid you on the bed like you were breakable but you weren’t. You were so strong. And Powerful.

He draped your legs around his waist as he lined the thick bulb of his cock with your entrance.

As he looked into your eyes, Bucky trembled as you crossed your ankles around his back. You both watched, enraptured, as he pushed inside you, and every inch felt like a lifetime. You pulled him in like a siren, hips rising to meet him, your walls fluttering around him.

You whispered his name, Bucky, and it broke him in the most beautiful way.

He fucked you long, deep, and hard. He played with your body and spanked your full flesh. You came over and over, barely descending from one climax then he was at you again, rolling your clit between his fingers, sucking your tits into his mouth. His cock was relentless, hard as steel, and dripping with your cream.

But he hadn’t let go and given you what you truly wanted.

“Want to ride you Bucky…”

He rolled you over so that you were on top, truly in control, despite your trembling thighs.

“Do you know what you need now, Charm?”

“Oh, I know,” you murmured, rolling your hips as he gasped. “Need to show you that this is mine now.”

You grasped him and positioned him at your entrance. Then, you took him inside you again. His grip on your hips tightened and he nodded, biting his lip as he looked down to where you were joined.

“Yours. Always was.”

You rode him slowly; you wanted him to remember this. The way your body felt wrapped around him. The way you looked on top of him.

The air between you was thick, charged, and the room hummed with the rhythm of your bodies. Each time you sank down onto him, every inch felt like heaven.

Bucky’s breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling beneath you, but his hands didn’t let go of your hips. They were firm, guiding, like he was fighting to hold on to control.

The sight of you was almost too much to bear: you, beautiful and powerful, taking what you needed from him with a relentless grace. His lips parted, and every sound he made was a mixture of frustration and hunger.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he growled, but his voice wavered.

You could tell he was losing his composure, even though his hands kept a firm grip, holding you steady for the next perfect movement.

The tension was building again, just like before. His fingers dug into your skin, almost painfully, but you didn’t care. You were so close to unraveling him completely; it was an art, this dance you had with him, and you were the one in control now.

His gaze flicked between your face and your greedy cunt sucking him in, his chest tightening at the sight of your expression, and at how perfectly you fit together.

“Look at you,” you whispered, leaning in to nip at his earlobe, your voice sultry.

“You look like you’re losing yourself. Can’t hold on, can you?”

Bucky’s hands tightened at your waist, his grip becoming a little rougher. You could feel his body shifting, like he was trying to fight the pull, trying to keep himself from breaking.

“You’re killing me, Doll,” he muttered, eyes closing for a split second before snapping open to look at you again.

His expression was a mess of desire, vulnerability, and something that told you he didn’t want this to end.

“I can’t hold back much longer.”

You grinned, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

You didn’t let up, not even for a second. Instead, you leaned back, giving him a full view of your body. His jaw tightened as he watched, his fingers trembling slightly as you began to move faster, the heat building between you both, the room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, the rhythm of your bodies synchronizing.

“You’re not the one who gets to decide when it’s over, Sargeant,” you teased, breathless but determined.

“I’m the one calling the shots here.”

And with that, you gave him everything, taking the lead in a way that pushed him past his limits, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of you. The intensity in his eyes grew, a mix of awe and surrender, like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

But he also couldn’t stop himself.

You felt it all, the way his grip tightened, the way his body tensed with each thrust of yours, the way he was so close to losing himself. And as you watched him, a small, knowing smile tugged at your lips.

This wasn’t just about sex anymore. This was a power exchange, a moment that was yours, and his, too. You could feel your connection grow stronger.

“Tell me, Bucky,” you whispered, voice a little raspier now, “are you going to beg for it, or are you going to let me take what’s mine?”

He groaned, the sound like a mix of frustration and raw need. You topping him was making the base of his spine hum with pleasure.

“Please, Charm.” he murmured, breath shaking. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

And that was all you needed. You took control fully, fucking him with a rhythm that made his whole body shudder. You could feel the end coming closer, and you didn’t slow down. Not now. Not when you were this close.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, voice broken as you watched him come apart.

You clenched around him and commanded, “Cum.”

And he did, with a broken groan of your name and a full-body shudder, his face a portrait of surrender as he spilled into you, pulsing and shaking beneath you.

When he finally came to a stop, his chest heaving, his hands still on your hips, holding you steady, you leaned in and kissed him softly, a contrast to the raw energy between you moments before.

“You were perfect,” you whispered against his lips.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he breathed in deeply, the intensity still lingering.

“God… you’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

You smiled, resting your head on his chest as he held you.

“You’re welcome.”

And you felt him become completely, unconditionally yours.

Your Bucky.

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #congressman james buchanan barnes #congressman bucky #congressman bucky barnes #congressman james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan characters #bucky barnes x you #x reader

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snourch · 3 days ago

Text

As a quick rundown:

you cant block people on the site yet

there is no self-censorship option. You cannot add a clickable filter over your own works

they say that the no-nipple rule is because they use Stripe, and Stripe's terms of service are strict about not allowing any sort of nsfw content. They took down the onsite marketplace, which is what Stripe was being used for, and still said they wouldnt remove the no-nipple rule because they "may use Stripe in the future."

They sell merchandise with the logo on it (which includes baby onesies)

you can literally get blocked from the discord server if you hurt a staff member's feelings (good luck figuring it out, though! my friend who got blocked in February still hasn't received an email back explaining why they got banned!)

They didn't disclose their developments for almost a goddamn year, and it's because it took me and multiple users consistently bugging the staff about transparency

They have deleted art of post-op shirtless transmascs before but then immediately backed down when myself and a few others pressed them on this issue, and said it was okay to post nipples ONLY if it was a post-op transmasc

people will post gooner bait all the time but bc no genitals or nipples are showing, it's perfectly fine and acceptable.

they only have 2-4 people moderating ALL of the content on the website.

Upper management consistently ignored feedback from the accessibility committee THEY ORGANIZED. When someone from the accessibility committee pushed back and asked about this, they were figuratively demoted in the server

They only recently hired another backend developer. Only one person had been working on the site the entire time, and said person had to develop a website with over 100,000+ users

they have four discord mods for a 6,000+ server, and they only get paid $125 a month

One person handles compiling like 75% of the community feedback, and has had to work way more than any one employee should. If this person quit, I genuinely think the community would collapse, and that's a problem

You will get in trouble if you yourself use too many swear words on the server

There are not a lot of boundaries in place for adult artists and minor artists. This has led to some super fucking messy interactions my god.

They will give a special spotlight to certain contributors on Unvale, which means they get a little shoutout on their official blog, and a special chat in the discord with the mods/staff. This means their feedback is more immediately seen. However, these "Superstars" are also expected to do moderation for the server, as theyre supposed to be "role models" for the community

You cannot delete your account UNLESS YOU JOIN THE DISCORD, AND SUBMIT A SPECIAL REQUEST FOR THEM TO DELETE YOUR ACCOUNT.

For months, they constantly complained they could not implement many of the moderation features and what have you that people were requesting, because they did not have enough staff. They kept advertising on youtube, instagram, and other socmed platforms however. They only recently hired new moderators and developers.

Nobody knows where their money is coming from. There are no advertisements on the site, they refuse donations, and they refuse volunteer work. There's no premium membership, either. Genuinely, the only sources of money I've found were from a wefundr campaign, and from Casey's venture capital companies. I must once again repeat that Stripe is no longer used on the website. They took down their artist marketplace.

I'm not going to disclose all of my sources for this information, because the sources are from good people on the Unvale staff who genuinely have their hearts in the right place. Some of this, too, is purely anecdotal evidence from my own experiences. There are a lot of good artists in the discord server and I've made so many wonderful friends. But that's...kind of the problem. I used the discord more than the website.

I wanted Unvale to be good. I wanted it to improve. But after months of giving the same feedback over and over, and with users who had been using it for even longer giving the same feedback I did...It started feeling less like the founders actually cared about artists and the community, and more about growth.

The site was founded in 2021, before the huge AI boom to be fair. However, based on Toyhouse forums I've looked at and talking to more seasoned users, it sounds like the site was very different back in 2021. I don't think Unvale is exploitative, so much as mismanaged.

TLDR; Unvale needs a lot more time to bake before anyone should consider using it. In the meantime, use Cara, Characterhub or Toyhouse. Watermark and Glaze/Nightshade your art.

A fight we can win together

Hello, Tumblr. It’s Casey and Bri, founders of Unvale. We’re reaching out to those who are as frustrated about generative AI as we are. Right now, it feels like we’re in a battle of technology against creatives. A battle of greed against humanity.

As the founders of Unvale, a creative platform that’s 100% AI-free, it has been disheartening to see the rise of AI online. Our team stands opposed to every AI tech company that is trying to remove creatives from the creative process. Big social platforms are already ingesting your content, your voice, and your likeness, building a model that will take opportunities away from real people. It’s disgusting, and it should be illegal. We have to push back. The platform we are building is already home to over 200,000 aspiring artists, writers, and creatives looking to develop their stories and share their work. We believe that the future of creativity should remain human-made, and we want to give anyone passionate about an idea a shot at creating something spectacular. AI is the cheap, quick win. We know that building something meaningful takes time and effort, but it’s also immensely rewarding. Like creatives, we believe in the power of human creativity.

Right now, Unvale could use your help. If you believe in our anti-AI message, please consider:

Spreading our message. If you already love Unvale or just resonate with what we’re saying, please share our platform with others. We are a platform for humans, and we need humans to advocate for us, not bots.

Joining our platform. It’s free to sign-up, and it’s a great site to slowly build your characters, your worlds, and your amazing stories in an AI-free space with big potential.

Never stop creating. We need flawed, genuine, thoughtfully-crafted art in our world. It’s the only way we make new things. We need it to let the next generation know that creatives aren’t going anywhere.

We grew up spending most of our time in human-made, fantastical worlds, from Star Wars to D&D campaigns. We know how escaping into these worlds can literally save you. And we’re not going to let AI win without a fight.

This is a fight we can win together.

Written, not generated, by,

Casey and Bri https://unvale.io

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suuuupernovaaa · 2 days ago

Text

been thinkin’ bout you

summary: you’ve been thinking about joel, not realizing he’s been thinking about you too

warnings/tags: 18+, smut, jackson joel, HEA

Even through the flannel shirt, I can see the muscles in his back and arms as Joel lifts the solid wood over his shoulder, hauling it up the steps and inside Paulette’s house to assist her with repairs to her kitchen.

God, what do those muscles look like unwrapped? If I could just undo the buttons, one by one, and peel that shirt off of him…

A sharp elbow in my side snaps me from my fantasy, and I turn, already glaring at the woman next to me.

“You’re doing it again,” Maryanne says, a teasing grin on her face. I roll my eyes at her, but there’s no real malice behind it. She’s been my closest friend for years.

I stand up from where the two of us were sitting in the town square. “I can’t help it,” I tell her with a shrug, and she sighs as she always does when I talk endlessly about Joel. She’s a saint, letting me do it, but I’m sure she’s tired of hearing about it. “Gotta get to work. Stop by later.”

She nods and lifts her coffee to her lips, and I jog down the snow dusted street to my modest two story home. The paint is peeling and the porch is sagging, and I’m proud to call her mine.

Inside the front door is a small waiting room next to the stairs, only a few chairs and what books I could spare, plus a small bin of donated toys, and to the right of that is the town clinic. One cushioned table for a patient, a supply cabinet, and a couple plain chairs.

When the town was established as a safe haven in 2016, my parents became the town physicians. My mother had been an OBGYN before the world fell, and my father a surgeon. Together, they knew enough to keep the people Jackson relatively healthy, with what supplies were available.

I’d been 26 at the time, and thought I’d received no formal education - because it was no longer truly something available to me - I’d been receiving training from my parents from the day the clinic was established, until their deaths a year earlier. Thanks to them, I too now know enough to keep the townsfolk (relatively) healthy, with very few supplies. They come to me with aches and pains, illnesses, injuries, and the occasional birth, and I do my best not to let them down.

A steady stream of patients is in and out today, much like any other. A crying toddler with an ear infection. A construction worker with a nasty cut and a bad attitude. A mother entering her third trimester with her first child.They pay however they can, or not at all, and I’m happy to serve them.

Early afternoon, the door bell dings. I’m sitting across from the clinic and my desk, updating my patient records, and don’t spare a glance up.

“Be right with you!” I call cheerfully, but get no response. Finishing my notes on my previous patient - a sprained ankle - I stand up and tuck the file away before exiting my office.

My breath is cut from my lungs when I see Joel Miller standing there, holding his bloody hand in a dirty cloth, looking at me with tired eyes.

xxx

Joel has done his best to avoid the little white house just off the main square since he settled in Jackson, and he’s done a good job, almost a year, until now.

The cut is too deep, bleeding too much, and even he knows he can’t avoid seeing her now.

Something about the young doctor unnerves him. Her brown eyed stare is intense. Her smile is practiced and polished. He finds her looking at him too often, though she looks away if their eyes meet.

“Joel, what happened?” she asks in that steady, smooth voice of hers, pouring from her lips like honey, as she ushers him into the room where she sees her patients.

He clears his throat. “Accident on the job, hand just slipped,” he tells her.

She nods, pursing her lips, which he notices, not for the first time, are full and soft. There’s a freckle dead center on her bottom lip, and he’s imagined running his finger over it once or twice.

“Sit, please,” she drawls, and he obeys.

She works in silence as she cleans the wound, and numbs the area around the cut, which is just on his palm near his thumb.

Every time she touches him, he tenses up, and he wonders why that is. Why she makes him feel this way.

Maybe it’s because he’s noticing the little flecks of gold in her brown eyes, or the way her curls seem to be doing their best to escape the braid she’s trapped them in, or the way the knitted grey sweatshirt she’s wearing can’t conceal the figure underneath.

She’s one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.

“I would tell you to be more careful,” she says, glancing up at him as she works to close the wound, “but I’m sure you don’t need to hear it.”

He grunts, and she smiles, her lips pulling back to reveal dimples in her cheeks. His pulse rises.

“How’d you, uh, learn all this? Weren’t you too young to be a doctor before?”

She reaches behind her for some bandages, and turns back to him with a smile. “I was 13 in 2003,” she tells him, and Joel does some quick mental math. She’s only 33. So young, but so confident, so self assured, and so fucking gorgeous.

“My parents were both doctors, and they did their best to teach me what they knew.” He can hear in her voice, how much she misses them. Everybody here misses someone.

“Well, they did a good job,” he says, and the look she gives him in response nearly stops his heart. She beams at him, smiling ear to ear, and holds his injured hand in hers.

“Thank you, Joel.”

xxx

It’s a marvel that my hands aren’t shaking as I bandage his newly sewn wound. Joel has never come into the clinic before, and while I don’t wish anyone to be sick, I’ve always hoped he’d find a reason to visit, just so we’d have an excuse to talk.

I don’t know if he can feel it too, or if it’s just in my head, but the tension in the room is making me feel dizzy. I’ve never been this close to him, and it’s intoxicating.

He’s a man of few words, but the fact that he used those few words to compliment me has my head spinning. And has me feeling unusually bold.

As he stands up and grabs his coat, he says, “I don’t have payment, but I noticed your porch is crooked. I can fix it, if you want.”

I wave my hand in the air, even though the image of Joel working with his hands, sweaty, maybe even shirtless (a total dream, since it’s cold outside), on my porch, is the most enticing thought I’ve ever had.

“No payment necessary.”

He shakes his head, a cold look of determination on his handsome features.

“Once I’m done at Paulette’s in a few days, I’ll be down to fix it for you.”

He doesn’t say another word before walking out the door.

xxx

True to his word, in four days, Joel is back at my house with a wagon of supplies. He arrives early in the morning before any patients are set to come, and I greet him at the door still in pajamas, holding coffee.

He wastes no time with chatting, and gets right to work after explaining that my patients will need to use the side door for a few days.

It’s unnerving, knowing he’s right out there. Between appointments I offer him food, drinks and company, and he humors me by accepting, and mostly listening to me talk while he eats whatever sandwich I’ve made him.

I find myself wondering if I can find other projects around the house, just to keep him there.

By the third day, I can tell he’s nearly finished. I escort my latest patient out the side door with instructions on how to take care of a minor burn, and then join Joel by the porch.

“It looks wonderful, Joel. You’re amazing,” I say with a smile, and he nearly returns it, his lips twitching upward for just a second. If he actually smiled at me, it might knock me off my already unsteady feet.

“Should have it finished today.”

My heart sinks all the way down to my feet, and I wrap my jacket tight around myself. “Let me take you to dinner. As a thanks.”

“Porch was already a thanks,” he replies, holding up his hand, still bandaged.

“Well… I can make you dinner. Tonight. How about that?”

He glances at the porch, and then at me, and his expression is impossible to read.

“Sure, dinner sounds good.”

xxx

I can’t fucking cook. Why the fuck did I invite Joel for dinner? He’s already had the best I can do - sandwiches. Plain ass sandwiches.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The dinner I’m throwing together looks like hell. It started off as soup but something happened to it, the texture is gritty and thick, and even though the flavor is pretty okay, it’s still an embarrassing meal to serve to anyone.

Especially an anyone that you’re obsessed with.

But Joel is knocking on the door and there’s no time to fix this horrifying mess, so I take off my stupid apron and hang it on the hook, then greet him with a practiced smile.

Damn, he looks handsome. Jeans just tight enough, and a blue and green flannel unbuttoned over a gray t-shirt.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, which he extends to me. It must be from Paulette - she brews it in her cellar.

“Oh wow, thank you!” I say, taking it and ushering him into the kitchen, where I find my wine opener. “Okay, so, this dinner is not going to be very good. Please don’t destroy the porch as retribution,” I say with a laugh as I pull the cork from the wine.

When I turn, I expect to find Joel across the kitchen, maybe sitting at the table, but he’s directly behind me.

I nearly bump into him, he’s so close, staring down at me with an unreadable expression that stops me in my tracks and leaves my jaw hanging open.

“I don’t really care about the food,” he says in his deep, crawling drawl, and it sends shivers up my spine. He plucks the wine bottle and opener from my hands, and sets them on the counter next to me, next to my pot of failed soup.

“Oh,” is all I can think of in reply, because I really cannot tell what is happening.

Until Joel reaches out, his fingers brushing so gently along my cheek for hands so rough, and tucks a stray curl behind my ear. His gaze lingers over my face, and then trails downward.

“Oh,” I say again in understanding, as a nervous coil begins to form low in my belly.

“Oh,” Joel echoes, staring at me with such intensity that I shiver. I step closer to him, closing the already small gap between us, and reach up to grab the collar of his shirt.

It takes no effort to pull him down, until his lips are a breath away from mine.

He smells like winter, like the outdoors that he spends so much of his time in, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath of him in, my shoulders shuddering when I let it out.

“Oh,” I say once more, before his mouth captures mine in a kiss that starts off tentative, unsure, and deepens into something startlingly passionate, and I can’t help but let out a small moan.

One of his strong hands wraps around the back of my neck, while his other arm circles my waist, pinning me flush to him.

I don’t even realize he’s backing me up until I bump into the counter, and I wrap my arms around his neck as his hands fall to my waist, and squeeze.

A moment later, our lips still locked, he lifts me up by my hips and sets me on the counter.

I squeal in surprise, and feel him smile against my lips. My hands find their way into his hair, and I moan into his mouth when his hips push forward into mine, eager and demanding. I spread my legs, wrapping them around him, desperate to pull him closer to me.

He breaks our kiss then, and trails his mouth, hot and wet, down my jaw and my neck, and I lean back, exposing as much of myself as possible to him.

His hands grip my hips tightly, grinding me against him, and I feel breathless and light headed.

“Maybe…” I say, mustering all of the strength I possess, “maybe we should go upstairs.”

“Mhm,” he says in return, and steps away slowly, as if it pains him to do it, and sets me on the ground. He stares at me like I’m a meal and he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Lead the way.”

I take his hand in mine and pull him up what now feels like the longest set of stairs that’s ever existed, to the first room on the right.

It’s a little messy, as I truly had not imagined Joel returned my interest, and wouldn’t have imagined all this even if he had, but at least the bed is made.

For now. I yell in surprise when Joel picks me up like I weigh nothing and tosses me into my queen sized bed, and stares down at me again with that intense look.

As he crawls to me, parting my legs once more, he says, “I’ve seen you staring at me.”

A blush creeps across my cheeks. He hooks his knee behind mine, spreading my legs wider and settling between them, his firm body pressed to mine.

“I knew you wanted me,” he says quietly, his lips ghosting over mine. “I wanted to bend you over your desk when I came in with my bloody hand.”

A small gasp escapes my lips, and he dips his head to bite the soft flesh of my neck.

“I would have let you,” I reply.

He chuckles. The deep sound of it sends ripples up my spine. “I know.”

He kisses my neck and collar bone tenderly as his hand trails down my side, and begins slowly pulling the skirt I’m wearing up and up, until it’s bunched around my waist.

His fingers tease the waistband of my panties, and I squirm with need.

His mouth finds mine again as his fingers dip below my panty line, finding soaking wet core. He lets out a deep moan, and I buck my hips, desperate for more.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he drawls.

“Need you,” I breathe.

His fingers work at a punishing pace that has me gasping and wriggling beneath him as I beg and curse at him.

No one has touched me like this in so long, and even when they did, it was nothing like Joel. His rough hands, the way he looks at me, kissing me and whispering to me as he goes, it brings me to the edge quicker than I thought possible.

I moan his name as I tumble over, my orgasm taking me by surprise.

“Yes, say my name,” he replies, and doesn’t let up until I ask him to.

He kisses me again as I lay there, feeling boneless but still needing more - needing him.

“Take your clothes off,” I demand, suddenly away that we’re both still fully clothed, which feels childish and exciting at the same time.

He smirks down at me. “Yes, ma’am.”

As he stands to remove his jeans and flannel, I pull my white tshirt over my head, and remove my skirt and ruined underwear next.

He pauses, boxers still on, and stares at me, naked on the bed.

Fuck, he’s perfect. Strong and sturdy and so much a man that I feel I might die if he doesn’t get back on the bed soon.

“You’re perfect,” he says in that deep drawl of his, echoing my own thoughts, and I can’t help but blush. I crawl off the bed and walk to him, grabbing his hand.

With a hand on his chest, I push him to the bed, and he allows me to, falling backwards.

He gazes at me hungrily as I crawl over him, and pull his boxers off and toss them into the floor.

The intake of breath from him is sharp when I straddle him. He’s so fucking big, but I’m so fucking ready.

His calloused hands grip my hips as I tease him, rubbing my pussy over his hard length. I feel powerful when he moans and his hips stir. I want to drive him as crazy as he’s been driving me.

I lift up and position him at my entrance, and his eyes meet mine, practically begging me for it.

Slowly, I settle down into him, inch by inch, letting myself stretch to accommodate his size.

“Fuck,” I moan, the word drawn out as my head falls back and I seat myself on him fully. Nothing has ever felt this good, not in my entire life. “Joel…”

“Yes, baby. Move for me,” he says gently, but it’s a demand. I look down at him, see the determination in his eyes, and start to move.

He hisses as I do, still gripping my hips, guiding me.

He hits every spot I need him to, so fucking deep inside me, and another orgasm starts building immediately.

So quickly, Joel flips us over, so I’m face down on the bed, and I yelp in surprise.

“I need to really fuck you, baby. Hard.”

He pulls my hips up, spreading my legs, and slams into me. I scream when he does it, and the scream melts into a moan as he pulls out of me and slams back in again, the sound of flesh on flesh hitting my ears.

“Oh fuck, Joel. Oh fuck!”

“Yes, that’s right,” he says in a strained voice as he begins to lose control, fucking me hard and fast, the pressure building and building. I grip the sheets below me and my eyes water.

“You belong to me,” he says, leaning closer to whisper in my ear. “You’re mine now. Say it.”

“I’m yours. Oh fuck, I’m yours.”

His pace is punishing, and perfect. It doesn’t take long before I’m cumming again, my walls gripping him tight, and pulling him over the edge with me.

xxx

He hadn’t planned to do any of that. He had planned to sit for dinner, ask her questions about herself, try to be - as Ellie had said - charming.

It flew out the fucking window the moment she opened the door. She was always covered up outside, wearing a jacket or sweater, and at the clinic, she’d dressed professionally. Still, he could see how beautiful she was.

It was nothing compared to the sight of her in that white tshirt, tight across her chest, and the floral skirt hanging from her hips with a slit so far up the side it made his heart stop for a minute.

Her hair, usually braided or pulled back, hung in wild curls around her shoulders, much longer than he’d known it was, and it made his mouth dry.

There could be no sitting through dinner, no talking - that could be after.

Joel had not needed anyone this way in a long time. Maybe ever. He had to have her, had to let her know she belonged to him, not just tonight but every night after.

The quiet doctor who stared at him, who was so gentle and kind and intelligent, who turned out to be absolutely filthy, just like he’d hoped.

She lay on his chest afterward, her coarse curls tickling his bare chest, and she squeezed him tightly, as if she was worried he was going to get up and bolt.

He struggled for the words now, to tell her that wasn’t going to happen. Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let her go, this one bright thing he’d found for himself.

“I, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t eat your dinner. You know, first,” he said, and it’s not what he’d meant to say. It’s just what came out.

She laughed, the sound like church bells. “It’s really bad, Joel. I can’t cook. I just invited for your dinner because I was desperate for a date with you.”

His heart warmed, and he squeezed her shoulder.

She lifted her head, propping herself up on his chest, and smiled down at him.

“I’m just going to ask and if it’s awkward after, then so be it,” she said. “Was this a one time thing, for you?”

He could see it in her eyes, how desperately she wanted him to say no. Her lips darted from his eyes to his lips and back.

“No, it wasn’t,” he replied, and together, they both relaxed. The tension left their bodies, as that line was drawn.

Not a one time thing.

“I meant what I said,” Joel told the woman in his arms.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“You’re mine now.”

A shy smile pulled at her lips, and despite all they’d just done, a blush painted her freckled cheeks. She kissed him gently once, twice, three times.

“Then you’re mine, too.”

She couldn’t imagine how fine that was with him.

#Joel miller #Pedro pascal #Joel miller fic #Joel miller x reader

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marvelseries19 · 1 day ago

Text

RETURN TO YOU

Chapter Four - Castaway

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You’re finally found. After years lost and alone, a faint signal is enough to bring someone to your island. You're brought home, weak, scared, and unsure if it’s real.

A/N: Finally, the moment you've been waiting for. I'm not entirely sure if this should be the end. I kinda have more ideas to tell, but maybe I'll post those as like one-shots or something. I wanted to thank you guys for letting me know that you liked it. I don't think I've ever had this much engagement on my fics. I really appreciate the love this one has had.

On another note, in the last chapter, I asked if you read this, and by this, I meant these messages, I leave here, not the chapter. So, once more, do you guys read these messages?? Also, as always, any questions, requests, ideas, and feedback are all welcome. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries and such.

Word count: 4.4k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The low hum of the SHIELD operations room barely registered as Maria Hill leaned over the dim console. The soft, rhythmic blinking on the screen in front of her was steady, consistent — unmistakable. A signal. Faint, primitive, but deliberate. Her fingers flew across the keys as she opened a secure channel.

"Get me Director Fury," she said, her voice low but urgent.

The line crackled before his voice came through, rough and clipped. "What have you got?"

Maria didn’t look away from the screen. "A signal. Old-school. Someone stripped a Quinjet transponder and spliced it into basic field tech. It’s broadcasting on an early SHIELD frequency — nothing sophisticated, but it’s clean. Repeating."

"That’s a long shot," Fury replied.

"Not if it’s her," Maria said, and there was something unshakable in her tone. "And I believe it is."

There was a pause. She could almost hear him weighing it in silence. Her eyes stayed on the blinking pattern, steady as a heartbeat.

"It’s the captain."

Fury’s silence stretched again — longer this time, heavier.

"You always did trust her instincts more than anyone else," he said eventually.

"She earned that trust," Maria murmured. And she remembered — the smoke, the fire, the chaos.

Kandahar.

—

The sky was dust-streaked and orange, gunfire painting the air in bursts. Agents scattered, wounded, shouting. No one had orders. The comms were fried. And then you appeared — ash-streaked, limping, blood on her sleeve, and calm in her eyes.

“We lost comms!” someone had yelled. “Do we pull back?! Where’s the fallback point?!”

Maria remembered how you didn’t hesitate. She remembered the way you moved — forward, always forward — as if gravity bent toward your conviction.

"With me," you said. That was all.

Two words.

And twenty agents followed you without looking back.

Maria hadn’t said it aloud that day — but someone else had. A younger recruit, clutching his rifle and running to keep up: “Captain’s got us.”

The name stuck.

—

Maria exhaled softly, her eyes never leaving the console. "She pulled twenty agents out that night. Half of them wouldn’t be here without her," she said quietly.

"Is she still alive, Hill?" Fury asked.

"She sent that signal," Maria replied. "I know it's her, and that’s all I need to know."

"Take a team," Fury ordered. "Get her back."

Maria was already on her feet. "Already working on it."

She shut the console off, leaving the weak, blinking signal behind — but only for a moment.

She would follow it. All the way to the end.

—

The quinjet dipped below the clouds like a shadow cutting through the sky, its engines whisper-quiet over the dense canopy below. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting streaks of gold and fire across the endless stretch of green.

Maria stood near the loading ramp, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon as if she could will the trees to part and reveal a miracle.

She’d barely slept on the flight over, fingers tight around the datapad that showed the narrowing coordinates. Each pass of the satellite brought them closer. Each sweep of the low-band signal narrowed the window.

Still, it felt like a dream.

Three years. Three years with no trace. Three years of dead ends, quiet funerals, and trying to help Natasha through a grief Maria shared but didn’t dare speak aloud.

And now this.

A single echo. A half-broken signal from a beacon no one was supposed to remember how to use.

She hadn’t told Natasha. Couldn't. Not yet.

Hope, Maria had learned, was dangerous when it burned too bright. And she wouldn’t be the one to light it unless she was sure. She had seen firsthand what it did to her friend , how it tore her apart each time a lead turned out to be false. Maria needed more than a faint signal to give Natasha false hope.

The quinjet hovered over the narrowed location, nestled between cliffs and jungle, and the team fast-roped down in practiced silence. Maria followed, landing with a solid thud against the uneven earth.

It was still. Too still. But the readings didn’t lie. Someone was here.

She signaled for the group to split. “Fan out. Sweep the perimeter. Eyes sharp. Weapons down unless you see a threat.”

A chorus of affirmatives crackled through comms.

They moved.

Not far away, tucked in the hollow between two rocks and overgrowth, you stirred.

The sound had been faint — a low thrum, like distant thunder.

It came again, closer this time.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting every movement. Your limbs ached. Your head spun. Your skin had taken on the leathery feel of too much sun and too little water. The weakened body you lived in now barely resembled the one that once trained at SHIELD’s academy. The one that flew the quinjet with quiet confidence. The one that could disappear without leaving a trace.

You had survived. But barely.

You blinked hard, pressing your fingers to your ears.

Voices.

Were those voices?

You crouched low, instinct taking over even as your knees buckled beneath you. The sound of boots brushing leaves. A sharp rustle of brush being moved aside. You bit the inside of your cheek.

It’s nothing. You’ve imagined things before. You’d seen shadows become people. Branches become outstretched hands.

But the voices were growing louder now. Clearer.

“Check the cliffside—Hill’s got east.” “There’s a trail here—looks like something’s been walking through.” “Signal strength increasing. It’s close.”

No. No, that was real. That wasn’t just your mind trying to comfort you again. That was real.

Still, your body didn’t move. Not yet.

You sat frozen, heart pounding, as footsteps closed in.

And then—

“Hey!” a voice called. Not a hallucination. Sharp. Solid. Commanding. “I’ve got something—!”

Then another voice. Lower. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Stand down, it’s her—God—” The foliage parted, and there she was.

Maria.

Your mind couldn’t process it all at once. She was wearing tactical black, hair pulled back, eyes scanning like she didn’t dare believe what she was seeing.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but nothing came out.

Maria dropped to her knees, her voice thick and trembling. “Hey, hey—it's okay. It's me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked again, too weak to flinch as her hands gently framed your face.

Her breath caught. “Jesus… you’re really here.”

You tried to speak, lips cracked, throat dry. Only a rasp escaped.

Maria shook her head, a soft curse under her breath. She slipped an arm around your shoulders, guiding a canteen to your lips. “Don’t talk. Just drink.”

The water stung going down, but you drank like you hadn’t in days.

Because you hadn't. Rainwater could only last for so long.

Maria kept holding you, one hand steadying the canteen, the other pressed lightly against your back as if reassuring herself that you were solid. Real. Not another ghost.

And then she whispered, almost like she didn’t want anyone else to hear, "I'm so sorry it took this long.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not yet. Not when it felt like the moment could vanish if you blinked.

But Maria didn’t rush. She stayed there with you in the dirt, surrounded by jungle, brushing a hand gently through your tangled hair.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly. “We’re taking you home. I’m gonna make sure of that. And I’ll tell her—I’ll tell Natasha.”

You didn’t know if it was the relief or her voice, but that’s when the sob broke free.

And Maria, strong as ever, just held you tighter.

The team moved quickly once they found her.

You were conscious, your body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline as they guided you through the undergrowth. The sight of the quinjet waiting on the shore hit you harder than expected.

Your steps faltered.

The air caught in your throat.

It looked almost exactly like yours—the one that went down in flames, the one that left you stranded and alone. Your chest tightened, breath hitching, muscles locking up as memories flashed behind your eyes. Fire. Smoke. The sound of metal tearing. The impact.

You stopped walking.

“Hey,” Maria’s voice was calm and soft. She stepped in front of you, eyes steady, hand gentle on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re taking you home.”

You shook your head weakly, barely audible when you said, “I can’t… I can’t get on that thing. I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid,” Maria cut in, her voice rough with emotion. “After what you’ve been through, it makes perfect sense.”

Your eyes were glassy, full of apology and fear you couldn’t quite name. “I want to go. I just… I can’t.”

Maria glanced at the medic nearby, nodding once.

“We’ll help you sleep through the ride, okay?” she said, already crouching down with her. “No pain. No panic. You’ll wake up at the medical facility. Safe. I promise.”

You gave her the faintest nod, your fingers still gripping Maria’s sleeve like an anchor.

Maria stayed close as the medic prepped the injection, gently brushing damp hair back from your forehead. “You did so good, alright? You held on. We’ve got you now.”

The sedative took hold quickly, easing your breathing as your eyes fluttered shut. Maria caught you carefully as she slumped forward, guiding her into the medic’s arms and onto the stretcher.

And as the engines spun up and the quinjet lifted into the sky, Maria sat beside you, phone already in her hand, staring down at Natasha’s name on the screen.

It was time.

The quinjet hummed around her, steady and familiar. Maria sat strapped in beside the stretcher, her eyes drifting to you every few seconds — as if making sure she was still there, still breathing, still real.

You looked so small.

So fragile.

And it shook Maria more than she wanted to admit. This woman, who once sparred with her until both of them limped off the mat laughing… This woman who had stood beside her through firefights and missions no one else could have survived… Now she lies wrapped in blankets, sedated, ribs visible under her skin, lips cracked from dehydration.

Maria swallowed hard. She stared at the screen for a long second before finally pressing the contact.

The call connected after two rings.

“Maria?” Natasha’s voice came out sharp, tight. Tired. Like she’d been running or not sleeping again. “Is something wrong?”

Maria’s breath caught. “Natasha…”

Something in her tone made Natasha go completely still on the other end.

“We found her,” Maria said softly.

Silence.

“I need you to meet me at the SHIELD medical facility in New York. We’re bringing her in now. She's alive, Nat. She's—she's not in good shape, but she’s alive.”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. Just a breath — hitched, broken — and then, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got her right here with me.” Maria looked over again, lowering her voice instinctively. “She held on. Three years, and she never gave up.”

There was a long pause. When Natasha spoke again, her voice cracked.

“I’ll be there.”

—

The city blurred past the tinted windows of the SUV, but Natasha barely saw any of it.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Every second that passed without her at that facility made her heart pound harder in her chest.

You were alive.

Alive.

It didn’t feel real.

She had imagined this moment too many times — always in dreams, in cruel fantasies her mind would conjure when sleep finally took her. But this wasn’t a dream. Maria had called her. Maria had sounded shaken. That never happened.

Alive.

Natasha’s breath caught again, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name — hope, disbelief, fear. She didn’t even realize tears had started to run down her cheeks until they hit her jaw. She didn’t wipe them away.

Three years.

Three years of not knowing. Of waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Of closing her eyes and hearing your laugh, only for silence to greet her. Of rage. Of grief so heavy it felt like a second skin.

And now… you were back.

But at what cost?

She kept replaying Maria’s voice in her head. Not in good shape. Those four words sliced deeper than anything else. Natasha had seen the aftermath of war. She had seen what being stranded did to a person, physically and mentally.

What if you didn’t remember her? What if the pain of those years had buried the part of you that knew her name? What if the reunion she’d dreamed of — clung to — was nothing like the reality waiting for her?

The driver turned sharply, and Natasha gritted her teeth, leaning forward.

“How much longer?”

“Five minutes, ma’am.”

Not fast enough.

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to breathe. One hand unconsciously reached for the ring still looped through the chain around her neck — your ring — warm now from her skin.

She didn’t know what she’d find when she walked into that facility.

But for the first time in three years… she had something to walk toward.

You.

—

The quinjet touched down with a soft thud on the rooftop pad of the SHIELD medical facility.

Before the engines had fully powered down, the med team was already waiting — gurney prepped, portable monitors ready, gloved hands reaching for the ramp before it even dropped.

Maria stood to the side, out of the way but not detached. Her jaw was clenched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together. She hadn’t said much since the sedation. Only that she’d call Natasha again once they landed. But she didn’t need to. The call had already been made. Natasha would be here soon. She knew it.

The second the hatch opened, the team surged forward.

You were still unconscious — sedated, peaceful in the worst way. Your skin looked pale under the harsh facility lights, your body far too light as they transferred you to the gurney. The bruises, the cuts, the ribs pressing too close to the surface — it was all too visible now.

Monitors were clipped to your finger, an oxygen mask gently pressed to your face, and soft commands echoing between the medics: “Get her on fluids, stat.” “We need a CBC and a full metabolic panel.” “Chest X-ray, abdominal ultrasound.” “She’s dehydrated; start with normal saline, keep it slow.”

The medics disappeared down the hall with you, swift and practiced, the sound of their shoes a controlled blur of movement.

Natasha had just stepped into the hallway when she saw them roll the gurney past.

She stopped mid-step.

Time halted.

You.

There. Real.

But not awake. Not smiling. Not whole.

Her hand went to the wall to steady herself. Her breath left her in a sharp, silent exhale. She couldn’t move.

Maria stepped in beside her, watching the hallway where the doors had just swung closed behind the gurney. “She’s stable. Vitals are holding. They’ll take care of her.”

Natasha didn’t speak. Her eyes hadn’t moved from that door.

A nurse came around the corner holding something small and delicate in a gloved hand. She looked between them before gently addressing Natasha.

“She was wearing this,” she said softly, offering the chain.

Natasha reached out slowly, her hand trembling as she took it.

Your ring. Still looped through the chain she gave you three years ago.

She held it tightly in her fist, pressing it to her lips like a prayer.

Maria watched her quietly. “She survived,” she whispered, more to herself than to Natasha. “She actually survived.”

Natasha’s voice cracked when she finally spoke, low and hoarse. “She wasn’t supposed to.”

Down the hallway, machines beeped. Doors swung. A medical team did everything they could to stabilize you — rehydrate, monitor, and evaluate. You didn’t stir, but you were alive.

That was all that mattered.

For now.

It felt like hours.

The sterile hallway never changed, but Natasha hadn't moved from that same spot. She leaned forward in the plastic chair, elbows on her knees, fingers still curled around the chain holding your ring. The weight of it was nothing — and everything.

Maria had stayed close, pacing occasionally, making a few quiet calls, but mostly giving Natasha space. There were no words left to say.

Finally, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors. He looked tired but calm.

“She’s stable. Fluids are working, and her bloodwork came back cleaner than we expected. Malnourished, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But no infection, no internal injuries beyond the obvious bruising, and a few injuries that didn't heal properly, but nothing to worry about. We sedated her gently. She might wake up soon.”

Natasha stood the moment the doctor nodded toward the room. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. Just for a few minutes, and keep it quiet. She’s been through a lot.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She was already moving.

—

The room was dim and quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound. You were there, lying so still under the soft white sheets, a faint oxygen tube at your nose, IVs at your side.

Natasha stopped at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t ready. She’d pictured this moment a hundred different ways over the past three years. None of them came close.

You looked like you and not like you — thinner, paler, yet tanned, your hair longer and tangled in places, and skin marked with sun and wear. But it was you.

Carefully, Natasha stepped closer, lowering herself into the chair beside your bed. She didn’t speak. She just watched. Studied your face. Every part of her wanted to reach out — but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the fragile stillness.

She opened her hand. The ring glinted dully in the light.

“I never stopped wearing it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Never took it off. Not once.”

Her fingers curled gently around your hand, the one not bound by tape and tubing. You were warm. Not cold. Not gone.

“I should’ve been with you,” she whispered. “I should’ve—”

But she couldn’t finish.

Her breath caught, and for the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff let her shoulders fall and her head bow beside the woman she never stopped loving.

She stayed like that. Until the rhythm of your heart monitor seemed to slow into something steadier. Familiar.

Until maybe — just maybe — she felt your fingers twitch beneath her own.

Natasha’s eyes remained fixed on you, but her mind had drifted. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, nor how many times she had muttered those quiet, broken words — promises, apologies, confessions — to the room, to the air, to you.

The weight of everything she hadn’t said was finally crashing down on her, more than she could have prepared for. The years without you, the months of pretending she could go on without even knowing where you were, the guilt that had gnawed at her every waking moment, the hopelessness she buried deeper each day. It had always felt like she was waiting for something — waiting for the call, the news, anything that would bring you back into her world. She couldn’t breathe without the thought of you, couldn’t focus on anything with your absence hanging like a shadow.

But here you were, lying in front of her, fragile and yet still alive.

Alive.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the ring, the very symbol of everything she’d almost lost forever. The years had worn away at its luster, but it still gleamed, faintly — a promise. She had thought she’d never see you again. She thought she’d have to carry this unfulfilled promise forever.

And yet, here you were.

Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t. Not here, not now, when you needed her more than ever.

"I promised you I’d come for you," she whispered, her voice rough. "I promised."

She held the ring in her hand as if it could reach you — as if it could bridge the gap between her pain and your absence. She was scared, more than she cared to admit. Scared of how you might feel when you woke up. Scared of what you might remember. Scared of how fragile this moment was — of how fragile you were.

Her hand moved slowly to the side of your bed. She didn’t want to disturb you, but she couldn’t stop herself. The need to be close to you was overwhelming. The need to feel that connection — that spark of life that had once been so familiar, so undeniable between you.

“I couldn’t live without you,” Natasha whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I won’t let you go again.”

For a moment, she simply sat there, eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath. The world outside the room seemed distant and cold — nothing mattered except the space between her and you, the fragile space that had once been filled with shared laughter, quiet mornings, and stolen moments.

The steady beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in her mind, a reminder that you were here, that you were real, that you were alive. But what was left for the two of you now? Could things be the same after all that had happened? Natasha didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn't—wouldn't— let you slip away again.

The door creaked softly, and Maria stepped in, her expression quiet but understanding. Natasha didn’t look up. She didn’t want anyone else in this moment, but Maria’s presence was a grounding force — a reminder that Natasha hadn’t been completely alone through all of this.

“She’s going to be okay,” Maria said, her voice gentle but firm. “She’s a fighter, Nat.”

Natasha didn’t respond, her eyes never leaving you. She wasn’t ready for anyone’s reassurance. Not yet.

Maria waited for a moment, then sighed softly. “I’ll give you some time. Just… don’t do this alone. Not again.”

But Natasha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest, the heaviness that had been there for years. There was no way to put it into words.

She only nodded silently, her gaze never wavering from your sleeping form. And in that silence, Natasha finally let herself hope again. Not just for your safety, but for something more. Something she had almost forgotten how to believe in.

She wasn’t alone anymore. Neither of them was.

—

The first thing you felt was the weight of your own body. The heaviness of skin and bone sinking into the sterile softness of hospital sheets. The dull ache beneath the surface of everything. But more than that, it was the quiet hum of machines, the faint beeping of a heart monitor, and the sterile scent of antiseptic that confirmed it — you weren’t on the island anymore.

You were safe.

That realization alone felt unreal.

Your eyelids fluttered, the light above muted through lashes you struggled to lift. The world came back to you in pieces — sound, then shape, then color. The sharp clarity of a cold IV line in your hand. The warmth of a blanket pulled up to your chest. The dull echo of a familiar voice.

It was the last one that made your heart stutter.

Natasha.

She was sitting beside you. Tired. Still. Her posture held together by force alone, like she hadn’t moved in hours — maybe longer. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her entire body leaned ever so slightly toward you, as if afraid you’d vanish if she didn’t stay close.

You blinked slowly, and her eyes found yours in an instant.

The breath she let out was shaky. You saw it — the moment she shattered just a little more but also held herself together just enough to stay strong for you.

“…hey,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely a sound at all. But her eyes were full — of grief, of relief, of everything she hadn’t dared let herself feel until now. “You’re here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. You tried again — your voice rasped and cracked, dry and weak.

“…Hi,” you whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes immediately. Natasha leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, her hand brushing your arm like she needed to touch you to believe this was real. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Weeks. Maybe years.

“I didn’t think…” you started, the words struggling to form.

“I know,” she said, voice tight. “Me neither.”

Your eyes darted around, and that’s when you saw it — sitting on the table beside a vase of white flowers, looking oddly solemn in the sterile light — was Red. Your Red. The coconut you once talked to when you were losing hope, when your voice was the only one on that island. Someone had even propped it up with a little folded towel beneath it like a throne.

You stared at it, blinking again, and then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Red made it?”

“Maria made sure of it,” Natasha said with a hint of a smile, though her voice was still breaking. “Said she’d have murdered her entire team if they left him behind. Apparently you muttered its name after they sedated you.”

Your throat burned. Everything hurt. But Natasha’s presence eased something inside of you that had been coiled tight for years. She looked at you like she was scared you’d disappear if she blinked. And you looked at her like she was the first warmth you’d felt in forever.

You reached for her hand, slowly, shakily. She took it before your fingers even fully stretched toward her.

“You waited,” you said softly.

“I would’ve waited forever,” Natasha whispered back.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full — of all the words you didn’t need to say, of the pain that was finally beginning to thaw, of the bond between you that had never broken, even after everything.

Even after all this time.

You closed your eyes again, not to sleep — just to rest. Just to breathe. Just to be.

With her hand in yours and Red by your side, for the first time in a long time… you believed everything might be okay.

----

TAGLIST: @womenarehotsstuff @seventeen-x @ctrlaltedits @ciaoooooo111 @unexpected-character @redroomgraduate @natsaffection @cheekysnake @viosblog112 @riyaexee @lilyeyama @idontliketoread2127 @ima-gi--na-tion @sunny-poe @artemisarroxvolkov @hotcocoandonuts @scarletsstarlets @splatashaswife

#marvel #mcu #reader insert #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff x reader angst #natasha romanoff angst #black widow angst #castawayseries

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fluff-lover · 1 day ago

Text

Past Future | Logan x fem!Reader

Summary: Logan time travels and finds out his future self is married... to you.

Note: this is in a way part of my Healing Touch fic, where Reader is called "Angel", is a mutant and has healing powers. But can be read without reading the whole fic.

Also, I don't think the timelines and plot makes much sense, but this came to me one night and I just needed to write it!

In a desperate attempt to stop the sentinels, Charles and Logan offer to travel into the future to find out how (and if) the X-Men won the war, only to find out that mutants are almost extinct there. Year is 2030 and their only lead takes them to the Logan from the future: a more rugged, worn down Wolverine who hung the claws a year ago, after Charles died.

“I don’t go by Logan anymore.” He told them. “Here I’m James.”

It took a lot of persuasion to make James take them home and help them. James wanted to leave the past in the past, but seeing Chuck again, even if it was a younger version, pulled some strings in his heart.

That’s how they found themselves standing outside Jame’s home: a little cabin in the woods, with lovely flowers in the front yard, a wooden fence, a nice porch…

Logan, the one from the past, felt like this was a completely parallel universe instead of his own in the future. The man standing in front of him was completely different from him.

“Listen, I’m very protective of my home.” James said. “So here are some ground rules: Don’t go sneaking around, don’t touch anything…” He said looking from Charles to Logan, then back to Charles. “Don’t feed the dog.” And finally he turned to Logan. “And don’t hit on my wife.” he said in a warning tone.

“You have a dog?” Charles asked.

“You have a wife?!” Logan added in disbelief.

They walked in and found a cozy home, a lit fireplace, and the smell of homemade food filling in the air.

“Shoes.” James said before taking his shoes off.

Charles and Logan exchanged a look before taking their shoes off too.

Oh, James was whipped!

A white and brown border collie rushed to James and he bent down to greet her.

“Hi Whiskey, have you been a good girl today?” He asked the dog while patting her. She wiggled her tail and licked his hand. “Yeah you were… always such a good girl.”

Logan watched closely, he couldn’t imagine ever getting a dog.

James straightened with a groan and walked further into the home.

“Sweetheart?” He called out.

You walked out of the kitchen to greet him and Logan’s breath hitched.

You were SO beautiful, breathtaking. Now he understood Jame’s warning. His younger self would definitely try to make some moves on such a pretty thing.

Logan watched in disbelief as you cupped your husband’s face and kissed his lips oh so sweetly while James wrapped an arm around your waist. Logan wondered how on Earth he would end up with such a loving, beautiful partner. It was clear your tenderness rubbed off on James, seeing him being all lovey dovey with you.

James quickly introduced them and you couldn’t help but look at Logan in wonder. He looked just like your husband, just younger. But he wasn’t the same man. You and Logan went through so much together: losing the other mutants, helping Charles, finding Laura, only for Charles to pass away in a horrific way… No, your James was unique, and you loved him just the way he was.

Charles was a whole different story…

“That’s… a head full of hair…” You half joked. James snorted and kissed your temple.

Your life with James was simple and very domestic. You made dinner in the kitchen while he set the table. Logan and Charles tried to take everything in as this wasn’t the future they expected.

“Alright, dinner is ready!” you said as you placed the food on the table.

“I’ll get Laura.” James said before going upstairs.

“Who’s Laura?” Charles asked.

“She’s James’ kid.” You said as you sat down. Logan opened his eyes so widely you thought they would pop out of his skull. “It’s complicated, technically she’s his clone, but after we found out about her we decided to keep her and raise her as our own.”

Logan watched James arrive downstairs followed by a little girl. There was some resemblance, especially in her frown. She didn’t look happy to have visitors.

When Laura spotted Logan, she quickly hid behind James’ legs. He smiled gently at her and patted her head.

“It’s alright kiddo, he’s good. Not a clone.” He explained while guiding her to her chair next to you. You smiled sweetly and placed a plate of food in front of her.

Once you were all sat at the table Charles and Logan explained the situation and asked a ton of questions about the future. With a lot of patience James told them everything, from how to defeat the sentinels to how you two ended up here. He told them about Charle’s seizures and how it killed every other mutant except for the two of you.

You told them about your healing powers and your days at the School as “Angel”.

…About your marriage…

…About finding Laura…

About Charles passing away.

At one point you turned to Charles with glassy eyes.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I used my healing powers with you every chance I got but…” You shook your head and sighed. “I think you were so tired you just gave up. And then when you were attacked by X-24 I got to you too late, you had already passed away…” you looked away in shame. James lifted your hand and kissed it.

“You did everything you could… We all did.” James said before turning to the others. “She’s constantly healing me too, otherwise I would be dead by now.”

“Healing from what? I thought you… we…” Logan cleared his throat, not knowing how to address James. “What about the enhanced healing power?”

“I still got it, but the adamantium in my bones is slowly poisoning me.” He then looked at you lovingly. “My little angel keeps it from taking me out entirely.”

“What’s adamantium?” Charles asked.

“A nearly indestructible metal that was injected inside me to make me stronger.” With that James unleashed his claws and the other men saw their reflection on the shiny material.

“What the fuck…?” Logan mumbled.

“How did that happen?” Charles asked.

“That’s another long story…” James sighed.

“And it’s been a long night, I’ll tuck Laura in.” You said getting up. “Come on sweetheart, it’s bedtime.”

Laura got up and before following you upstairs she stopped to hug James goodnight. It took a while for James and Laura to form this father-daughter bond, but you knew they loved each other and every day they learned more and more to show their affection. It was slow progress but it was worth it.

“Good night, kiddo.” James smiled softly and watched the two of you walk upstairs. Logan was still trying to wrap this whole thing around his head. James turned to him and tilted his head towards the door. “Care for a drink?”

James, Logan and Charles sat down on the porch, each one of them with a glass of bourbon. The sky was clear and the stars shone bright. It was quiet and nice, the only light in the porch coming from a little lamp hanging from the roof.

Charles and James discussed plans of action against the sentinels and how to get reinforcements, but Logan stayed quiet mostly. He had so many questions, the most important one being what did he do to deserve such a happy, tranquil life?

Whiskey, the dog, laid next to James on the floor with her head resting on her master’s foot.

“So this is your life now, uh?” Logan suddenly said, interrupting Charles and James’ talk. “You go to work, come home to a wife and kid, have dinner, sit on the porch with a drink and a cigar…”

James arched an eyebrow.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He said before taking a drag.

“You forgot the dog.” Charles added and Logan shot him a glare.

“Hard to believe, no?” James asked him. Logan didn’t know what to say, but yes, he was having a hard time believing this.

“It's just so… peaceful.” he mumbled.

James hummed and took a sip of his drink.

“It is, and so far away from all the violence I once knew. For the longest time I didn’t believe I deserved it. That I didn’t deserve HER.” It was clear he was talking about you. “But each morning I wake up next to her and she reassures me this is where I belong.” He smiled, thinking about the quiet mornings, the whispers under the covers, the light kisses on his face.

“Are you happy?” Charles asked softly, wanting to believe his friend got a somewhat happy ending while the rest of the world went to shit.

James hummed again and nodded his head.

“Happier than I recall ever being.”

By the time they went back inside you were almost done washing the dishes. James stood next to you and started drying them, a radio playing old tunes in a corner.

While Logan and Charles discussed strategies, Logan caught a glimpse of you and James slow dancing in the kitchen. It was a heart pulling scene: your head resting against James’ chest, Paul Anka’s voice sounding in the background.

It looked so simple, just a common married couple slow dancing in the kitchen late at night, a domestic yet sweet tint to it. Yet to Logan it looked like an impossible dream of something he never thought he could get.

“You’ll get there.” He heard Charles whisper and his face went red as he realized he was caught staring.

“Uh?”

Charles looked at the couple and back at him.

“You’ll meet her, fall in love and marry her. Don’t worry, this will happen to you.”

Logan cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It won’t if we change the future.”

“You won’t remember any of this when you get back to your own time. But I will, and I’ll make sure you meet her.” Charles promised.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He said dismissively. “That’s not what we’re here for. Keep your head in the mission.”

Charles simply smiled.

Logan was whipped too…

Tags:

@starsmoonn

@insanesosciopath

@rebloggingfanfictioninthechaos

@ayamenimthiriel

@charmingballoon

@espressopatronum454

@uncertified-doc

@ltristessedureratoujours

@all-for-kpop

@readerofwords616

@tezooks

@tomhockstetter7-111

@meetmypointlessaddiction

@mostly-marvel-musings

@jules-and-gemss@reidsworld

#logan howlett #x men #hugh jackman #logan howlett fic #the wolverine #james logan howlett #james howlett #wolverine #x men fanfiction #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x you #logan x reader #healing touch

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magicaloneandmystery · 1 day ago

Text

crush

pairing: tfatws!Bucky x fem!reader

summary: Bucky was just trying to live as normally as he could given his history. he never thought a teenage-like crush would be part of that normalcy.

tags: idiots in love, sorta friends to lovers, fluff, slightly ooc Bucky? this is not proofread

masterlist

he was in deep shit, he concluded. that, or he was going insane. out of his mind. schizophrenic, even.

Bucky was on his bike, reflecting back on his evening with you. specifically, the way his heart had raced when the two of you were lounging with you just a little closer than friends were supposed to. or maybe, he was reading too much into it? had you meant to sit that close?

I mean, it wasn't even that close, actually... he thought.

that wasn't the concerning part, though. the concerning part was that he wanted you to sit closer.

in fact, much closer.

the characters in the movie they had been watching, in a particular scene one of them was sitting on the lap of the other, and he remembered thinking, "wish that was y/n on me."

he had immediately choked on air at realising the insanity of that thought.

so, Bucky's only two conclusions were:

a) he was undergoing a psychotic episode.

b) he was developing a crush on you.

option b was, frankly, just as insane as option a.

because Bucky was over a century old, for fuck's sake. how ludicrous would it be if he starts developin crushes like he was in high school?

and, lastly, he cannot ruin the friendship he has with you. nope. that was not allowed.

you were the light in his dark life, the thread that holds him to normalcy of adjusting to 21st century life, the sun to his gloomy sky-

yeah, he was in deep shit.

so, naturally, he was left with no other option than to knock on Sam"s door to ask for some advice. he wasn't about to fuck this up and he had no idea how these things worked anymore. the last time he went out with a woman was 80 years ago.

that was another horrible, horrible idea, Bucky realised, when Sam started wheezing and laughing and sputtering out his water at the words, "I think I have a crush on y/n."

"Bucky Barnes... developing a crush?" Sam had raised his eyebrows, before he descended into his laughing fit.

"are you done?" Bucky sighed after a while. "I came here for real advice, you know."

"sorry, sorry," Sam wiped some tears from his eyes. "what do you want my advice on? I think I can contact my nephew for some advice on crushes with girls..."

"if you're gonna be an ass about this I'm just gonna leave," Bucky grumbled.

"okay okay," Sam raised his hands. "I'll behave. for now."

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and looked back at Sam. "how do I... tell her? uh. should I tell her?"

"you think she might like you back?"

Bucky told him about last night, the way you curled on the couch next to him, your fingers almost touching his, both of your hands splayed between you two. he told Sam about the shy smile you held around him whenever he was flirting with you - as a friend, of course - or the way she had almost cancelled a date because Bucky said he was feeling bored and wanted to know if she was free.

"she what?" Sam asked at the last one.

"yeah, I called her up one day when I had nothing to do and thought we could hang out. she was ready to blow off this guy she was seeing to hang out with me until I told her that I would find something to do, she needs to go out." Bucky must say, the warmth in his chest felt quite pleasant when he said those words out.

"and?" Sam pressed. "is she seeing anyone, then?" presently?"

"not that I'm aware of."

"we have good intel to work on," Sam nodded. "I have a plan."

✿✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠

Bucky was acting... weird.

good weird.

incredible weird.

weird in a way that made your heart flutter and the butterflies in your stomach flap around wildly.

he has been flirting a lot with you recently. small remarks about your beauty, hair, voice coupled with that charming smile? yeah, you didn't stand a chance.

you didn't understand how to interpret his behaviour. was he just opening up to you more, letting his charming side out? or was he flirting to...

you didn't let yourself complete the sentence. you couldn't let yourself hope that your feelings were reciprocated. that sort of hope could ruin your friendship with him.

all of those thoughts went out the window when Bucky put his arm on the couch behind you, his fingers almost - but not really - touching your shoulders. you could feel the heat of his body, smell his cologne even better. it was becoming hard to focus on the weekly movie you had picked out, a classic to help Bucky catch up to the world slowly.

after a while, your breathing evened out and you could move, so you opted to pretend and move just an inch closer. test out the waters, and all that.

it was a really slow night, but by the time the climax was nearing, you were pressed into his side, his hands resting on your shoulders and your thighs pressed to each other.

something shifted that night.

the two of you became bolder with your physical affection.

longer hugs, more cuddles on the couch, casual hand holding while walking through crowds or crossing streets.

that went on for about two weeks before your friends had encouraged you to do something more, take a risk. they swore they were 100% sure he liked you back. said it would be a 'calculated risk' bound to end in success. so you obliged them.

because maybe, just maybe, you believed Bucky really did like you back, too.

"would you want to go out tonight?" you asked him. "I was thinking how we've been hanging out too much at the apartment lately. let's go out! have some fun. what do you say?"

"yeah, sure. where do you want to go, doll?" Bucky leaned back, the phone pressed to his ears while he shot a confused look at Sam, who raised his eyebrows in return.

"have you been to the cafe near my place, the one with the best cheesecake ever?"

✿✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠

so here you were.

on Bucky's motorcycle, your arms wrapped around his waist, while he took you to all the cafes that you swore he needed to try.

you were wearing a simple, long dress that had Bucky staring at your frame for a while longer than usual, while he was wearing a dark leather jacket and faded jeans, looking handsome as ever.

after a night of cafe hopping and good food, the two of you were returning home.

"I had a good time," you hummed when he stopped his bike in front of your apartment.

"me too," he replied, kicking out the stand and parking his bike while he walked you to your door.

"you know," you said, nerves overtaking you, your hands wringing together. "I had a much better time with you than with any of my dates in the last six months."

"yeah?" Bucky breathed out, stepping closer to you. he took a deep inhale before saying, "maybe you shouldn't go on any other dates."

your mind went in an overdrive at his words. did he just-?

"maybe we should have more of these nights," he continued, leaning his face closer to yours to catch your eye. "I know I would love that."

you stared in his eyes, their waves shining brightly in the moonlight. "I- I would love that too." you said.

"yeah?" he cupped your cheek with one hand, his other one resting on your waist. "can I kiss you, doll?"

"please."

and that's how you shared your first kiss with Bucky Barnes. your hands on his shoulders, his holding your face gently. it started out as a hesitant brush of the lips, until you pressed closer, wanting more. it was slow, a lazy tango of your lips as you two explored each other with racing hearts.

you separated for a quick breath before diving back in, another kiss that felt more passionate, holding each other closer, his hands now around your back, pulling you closer to him, yours around his neck, playing with his soft hair. that one left you breathless in a whole different way than just lack of oxygen.

after a quick and final peck, he stepped back a little. your head was swimming with thoughts of Bucky and all you could do was bring your hands back to his shoulders, keeping him close.

an awkward tension descended upon the pair, neither knowing what to say.

"so are we... dating?" you immediately panicked, wondering if this was the right question to ask right after you kissed a guy.

but it isn't any guy. it's Bucky, your heart whispered.

"I guess so," he chuckled. "would you like... that?"

"I would love that." a grin spread across the two of you.

he nodded. "I should go," he said, though he tightened his hold on you for a second. "a good night kiss?"

"yes please," you didn't wait, kissing him once more.

"have a good night, doll," he spoke afterwards, lips just inches apart.

"you too, Bucky," you said, staring at his lips then eyes.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" he asked, not knowing what dating today looked like. he'll have to ask Sam about that.

"okay," you said.

"bye," he said.

"you know you actually have to move away from me and to your bike to leave?" you teased.

"what if I don't want to leave?" he retorted with a roll of his eyes.

you laughed, slapping his shoulder lightly. "go, Bucky. we'll talk tomorrow?"

"yes." he said, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheeks one last time before he walked towards his bike.

you entered your apartment, waving to him as he sat on his bike, looking at you. he waved back with a grin.

after he rode away, you closed and locked the door, leaning against it as you touched your lips and cheeks, all the places his lips had touched you. your heart was racing wildly, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to slow down, the memories of the night replaying in your head. Bucky Barnes might be the death of you, you thought.

you were in deep shit, you concluded.

this was longer than I usually write but thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

#sr writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #marvel #marvel fsnficition #marvel imagine

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oddlylovingaddiction · 2 days ago

Text

; Coming Full Circle

Part 1: Here , Part 2 (You’re here)

Sorry that it took so long everyone, I’m close to graduation now and I’ve been busy, however I hope this is good!

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…) Reader is also bit emotional because of pregnancy hormones.

TW: Past abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Pregnancy, Arguments

The Garden was warm, you could almost relax and drink your tea peacefully.

Keyword being almost. Because unfortunately you were surrounded and being interrogated by some of your siblings. Dick, Tim, Cassandra, Jason and Damian.

“Who’s your husband?” Cassandra asks curiously. You really didn’t want to tell them anything but it’s clear if you ignore them, Tim the cyber stalker will just drag it up.

“I’d like to keep my private life—.” You go to reply but Damian interrupts, “I bet you the husband is made up.” and for some reason Jason nods along. Ever since yesterday Damian has stuck by you, anywhere you go in the mansion he’s somehow lurking behind you or around you in general. You’re not sure why especially since when you woke up he had gone.

“He is real.” You scoff your face bunching up in annoyance. “Oh yeah then why isn’t he here with you right now then?” Jason questions clearly not believing you like Damian. “… we had a small fight.” You reply slowly, concern blooming on all of their faces. It feels you with a mixed feeling… happy that finally some people in your family are concerned and also annoyed because they have no damn right to look at you like that. “I thought you said it was a disagreement?” Damian argued.

“It was on his end… but I suppose it was more of a fight on mine.” You mumble embarrassed, leaning your head on your hand to cover your mouth.

“What was the fight over?” Cassandra asks and you wince. You realllyyyyy didn’t want to answer that but you don’t want them to think of the worst scenario about you and your husband.

“It… was over the colour of the nursery walls…” You whisper-mumble closing your eyes shut. “Huh?” Tim replies.

“It was over the colour of the nursery walls…” you say still whispering but not mumbling anymore. “Can you speak up? I don’t think any of us caught that.” Dick adds.

“IT WAS OVER THE COLOUR OF THE NURSERY WALLS OKAY?!” You burst out standing up quickly as you slam your hands on the table.

Everyone goes silent as you sink back into your chair hands over your face embarrassed. “That’s it? Are you serious??” Jason grunted clearly he thinks you’re insane for choosing to stay with family over the colour of some walls. And you admit “it does sound ridiculous but in my head at the time it was a lot bigger of a deal…” you feel so embarrassed.

Surprisingly Damian pats your shoulder gently while you’re slouched over, “I support you and your future divorce. Because if he can’t let you pick the wall colour then what else will he do? His lover is pregnant, he should give in.” He advises which just makes you even more embarrassed because you can’t believe you’re being comforted by a kid. Cassandra also leans in and pats you on the back as well, at this point you’re wondering if you could just bury yourself in a hole.

“This is so stupid…” Jason mutters, “Why…” Tim adds and you can hear Dick trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “Pregnancy hormones.” You can hear Cassandra whisper-mouths as a reply to Tim.

“You guys don’t have to comfort me, I know it’s dumb.” You say finally looking up at them all as Cassandra and Damian retract their hands. “If you know just go back.” Jason frowns before Dick elbows him in the ribs. “I would but it just feels too embarrassing…” you sigh. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with people a phew years ago probably wouldn’t notice if you were dead. “Is that it?” Tim probes, he knows that there’s got to be more than you’re letting onto, which there is.

“And… because I can’t help but be worried… what if this is the first fight before it gets worse? If we are arguing now what will happen when the baby is here? What if he doesn’t love me anymore because of this?” You confess. Your husband is the closet to you and you can’t bear to imagine losing or fighting with.

“It was just one argument if he doesn’t still love you over and chooses to fight with you more, then just kill him.” Jason stated to which earned a bunch of glares from the table, minus Damian who shrugged in agreement.

“Don’t listen to Jason just divorce him if he does that.” Cassandra proposes clearly uncomfortable with the talk of murder. You laugh softly. You choose to just hum in acknowledgment of their words, a small knot tying in your heart. It feels like your head is full of lead, everything right now going on with your husband and being around your family again it’s all too much.

“I think I’m just going to go relax…” you say picking up your purse. But instead of going towards the front door you go to the nearest car. “Wait!? Where are you going?!” Dick calls after you confused as everyone stands up and follows behind you confused.

“Retail therapy.” You grin as you turn around to smile at them.

You didn’t expect them to follow you. But perhaps you should’ve. You also should’ve stayed with your husband instead of coming back to the manor.

You shake your head trying to refocus on shopping and not focus on all the things overwhelming you right now..

You immediately spot your favourite store, it was a department store that had everything from food to clothes to the strangest items you’ve ever seen in your life. The last time you went you saw a statue of Abraham Lincoln in drag, a smut book of the current president and his political opponent and a dress covered in buttons.

“What is this.” Damian pointed at the store. The store had a sort of rundown look that immediately you probably wouldn’t go in now however since you’ve been here since you were just a bored teen who used to explore Gotham without a care in the world. “A store.” You say bluntly as you walk past them and head in, not bothering to explain anymore. Of course you’re not free of them yet since they also go in with you.

The store inside is similar to a warehouse inside, the only thing separating it from being an actual warehouse is the decoration on the floors and ceilings. You decide to peak at the clothing isle first, they usually have some cute baby clothes.

It seems they have continued to follow you, Dick grabs two shirts and checks their price tags before looking at you confused, “why is everything so cheap?” He frowns. You scowl right back in reply, “Because I’m basically their only customer, Richard.” You flip your head back around and walk off determined to get to the kids section. You knew a Dick wasn’t trying to attack you personally but you loved this damn store and you wouldn’t let anyone ruin that for you.

Two items in the baby’s section stood out and you could decide which one to buy. One was a onesie, it looked liked it was based off of that one popular kid’s book caterpillar and the other being watermelon overalls. Whatever you’ll just get both. After all your kid should be well dressed and have a bunch of different choices. As you held the clothing, it felt weird to hold up such tiny articles of clothing, to know you’ll have to give birth to a little life makes you all nervous and emotional. You can feel a small lump in your throat forming, you pull out your phone and check the messages from your husband. You usually did that when you were feeling emotional it helped you calm down. You forgot that you were currently ignoring him so when you opened up the messages you just felt even worse.

New messages from: My Superhero ❤️💍

“My love, please. I’m sorry we can do your choice okay?”

“I know you’re upset but I have checked almost every hotel and they say you aren’t staying with any of them.”

“The love of my life you are very pregnant, hormonal and quite frankly a little tiny bit insane. I’m worried about you.”

Okay the insane bit was unnecessary and lowkey pissed you off all over again. You had to pull yourself out of the baby clothing section and your phone otherwise you’d end up just buying everything and calling your husband to yell at him for that line. Instead you choose to loiter around the kids section instead. Never hurts to prepare yourself for the future of the kid after all. It also seems Cassandra, Tim, Jason, Dick and Damian finally caught up to you.

“What are you looking at? Do you have another kid we don’t know about because none of those will fit right now.” Jason points out and you roll your eyes. “Just looking.” You reply. Then you suddenly glance at Damian and get a wicked idea. You think Damian suddenly got the chills because he looked up at you and realized your plan. You think the others had the same idea because they all shared the same acknowledging look.

Every outfit you, Cass and Dick picked were really cute on Damian, from little Tuxedos to everyday wear that just made him look so adorable despite his protests. While Tim’s and Jason’s were straight hilarious, Jason picked out at one point a giraffe onesie and Damian practically launched himself at Jason. The only reason he tried it on is because everyone begged him to. Through the entire process Damian scowled and complained. However he still did it anyways, Maybe he liked the attention on him. He is a kid after all.

This time Damian walks out in the last outfit you picked for him.

You really don’t know why you started to cry. Or why you ran to Damian and held him in your arms. Hell you can’t really remember a lot that happened after that, you just remember everyone looking concerned, especially Damian as he looked up at you panicked. Then you remember falling asleep in the car ride home.

#🩷 ~ long fics || oddlylovingaddiction #gender neutral reader #reader insert #gn reader #dc x you #batfam x neglected reader #batfam x reader #reader is gn despite being pregnant #reader is pregnant #pregnant reader #tw pregnancy #batsib!reader #batbro!reader #batfam x batsis #batsis!reader #dc x y/n #dc x reader

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gaza-giving-tree · 2 days ago

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Can confirm a lot of these are NOT bots, actually. 🙃

A lot of these accounts are real people, going through the worst nightmare of their lives, trying to get help any way they can, with the limited tools they have at their disposal.

Unfortunately there are SOME people who are stealing the information and photos from some Gaza blogs to scam others, but the scam blogs are usually easy to spot; they tend to have a just a PayPal link instead of a fundraiser link (though there have been a couple exceptions to this that I've seen).

Platforms like GoFundMe and Chuffed protect your donations for up to a year, and literally investigate fraudulent activity. That's why you'll see scammers using PayPal instead.

A lot of actual people do copy/paste the same message because they have limited time/phone battery/internet connection and are trying to find as much help for their families as they possibly can. Mutual Aid blogs like @gazavetters are trying their best to tell people to not do this, to cut down on this type of posting and messaging.

They are trapped in a war zone, many with no source of income available because infrastructure in Gaza has been almost completely decimated. A lot of people are literally surviving off their fundraisers right now, because they have no other source of income and there are no jobs around in a place that has been heavily bombed and destroyed. But they still have to pay astronomical amounts for food and medical bills (and even rent, in some cases)! Which is why they're asking for money.

That's why I started this page: to help promote people who have been vetted by others within the mutual aid community on this site. I talk to them, document their realities, try to present as much factual information about them as I can, so these people can hopefully get help, not be met with skepticism or vitriol from others.

Can you really blame them for getting frustrated, after being ignored for months on end by the majority of people they reach out to?

Also, I get so many messages a day from these blogs. Not once have I gotten anyone threatening to kill themselves or others over not receiving help. I HAVE gotten messages saying they will most likely die without help, though! Which is, unfortunately, the reality a lot of people in Gaza are living in. It's NOT self-inflicted; they're being relentlessly bombed and starved, and aid from charities is difficult for them to even receive because a lot of aid is not even being ALLOWED into the area right now.

Imagine being trapped in the worst nightmare of your life, trying to do your best to survive, and people say you're a scam artist for reaching out for help.

Take a look at my blog; you'll find a lot of REAL people here! One family I've written about is so real they ended up on Al-Jazeera TWICE. That's pretty difficult to fake! You can see the articles I've written for them, [HERE] and [HERE]. 🙃

Also, blogs like @gazavetters are NOT bots. They actually talk to these people, look at their legal documents, verify their identities, then add the vetted people to a list, which they maintain and adjust as needed.

Like yes, use your brain and investigate before you give anyone your money. That's common sense.

But please don't go around spreading misinformation because starving people living in a war zone, asking for help, makes you uncomfortable.

You can choose to look away. They can't escape the reality they're being forced to live in.

I guess here’s your daily reminder that it’s okay to block and report gaza scam bots. yeah, those annoying ones in your DMs and inbox with the same copy paste story and formatting starting with “hello dear” or “hello beautiful soul”. those annoying ones that are now threatening to kill themselves and their children unless you post their asks and donate $20 to them. yeah, those ones are scammers guilt tripping you and profiting off of your kindness and real Palestinians who are being killed babes.

(and if you can, donate directly to organizations you know and trust, but that’s not some bots pretending to vet other bots on tumblr dot com)

#I'm probably going to get hate for this #idc #I haven't spent months of my life writing articles and trying to comfort actual people #for y'all to write all of them off as scams #free gaza #gaza #gaza genocide #free palestine #gaza strip #palestine #gofundme #signal boost #the human family #humanity

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nothoughtsjustfic · 2 days ago

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Whatever You Want [Part Two]

💎Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader 💎What: Mafia/gang au. Dark themes (check warnings). Angst. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to friends to lovers. Suggestive (18+). 💎Word count: 14.4k (31.8k total) 💎Warnings: Violence mentions. Injury and blood mentions. Mentions of hospitalisations. Morally grey characters. Alcohol consumption (nobody gets drunk at all). Suggestive dialogue. Wonwoo is a handful of years older than reader. Minor character death. 💎Summary: “To be honest, you’re surprised it’s taken this long to happen. Truly, you thought you would’ve been kidnapped years ago, so you’re not surprised when it happens.

What does surprise you, however, is the reason why, and what happens when you meet that reason.”

Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Part One

A/N- Thank you again to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and helping me out with the warnings! I appreciate you endlessly, my love 💗

The day after your confession, things are awkward.

You both obviously can’t help but remember the conversation; remember that you both essentially admitted to wanting each other, at least on a purely physical level. Of course, Wonwoo’s gift implied that his attraction runs deeper than that, but you hadn’t shared your part and have no intention of doing so either. But Wonwoo is a smart man; he has to know that he’s not alone in this.

Although you try to stick to your newly normal routine of cooking and gaming together every evening, Wonwoo takes longer to clean up than usual, and you’re the one who goes to bed first now, even if you’re not tired enough and lay in bed wide awake for hours, unaware that Wonwoo is doing the same thing down the hall.

There’s something growing in the air now that your shared attraction has met it from your own mouths, and neither of you really know how to navigate it. It’s a new situation for you both, and it takes a few days before things get back to normal.

At least, normal in the way that Wonwoo has pulled back and doesn’t follow you around when he’s home to ask you questions, but there’s a new tension, and his dark gaze lingers on you in a way that he’s never let it before.

The other new thing is that Wonwoo is usually present these days when you wander down to the kitchen once you’re properly awake, and you ignore the fact that he’s clearly adjusted his workdays to time his lunch break to be at home when you get up.

Sometimes, he even has lunch waiting for you. Usually, it’s something he’s picked up on his way home; but today, there’s a covered pan on the table, empty bowls in your usual seats, and Wonwoo is at the other end of the table, reading some papers with a couple of open files on the table in front of him.

Without a word, as soon as he hears you entering the room, he puts down the papers as he gets up. He moves around the table and removes the lid from the pan so that he can serve both of you a generous portion of the still steaming pasta dressed in a red sauce, which you know is spicy from looking alone. You haven’t taught him a spicy pasta sauce, so either Wonwoo has decided to experiment today, or he’s recreated a recipe he found online.

As he puts your bowl back down into your place, he finally looks up at your still sleep puffy expression and muses, “Do you really get up this late every day?”

You give him a flat look as you sit. “Unless you killed your wife, don’t try to ride my dick,” you retort, effectively ending the conversation.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes as he puts the lid back on the pan then sits down. He waits until you try the food and make a sound of approval before he digs into his own portion with a proud little smile tugging his lips upwards.

As you eat in a comfortable quiet, you can’t help but glance over to the files and papers still laid on the table, almost perfectly legible from your place. You know it’s all work related; you’ve seen Wonwoo with files like this many times, but he’s never before left them open around you.

Before today, he’s always been so careful about not letting you see whatever he’s working on, and you always assumed it’s due to a mix of it not being your business and Wonwoo trying to protect you from all of that. Yet now, you’re suddenly thinking that it wasn’t you he was protecting but himself, the gang he is loyal to and plans to run one day. You’re suddenly thinking that it was more that he didn’t trust you to keep whatever you see safe, keep him safe; but now, he does.

You look away as soon as the thought comes to your mind. You don’t want to think about that; how much trust he must have in you to give you ample opportunity to spy on things related to his work, without a hint of concern on his features as he eats his lunch.

So that you don’t unintentionally linger on the thought, you bring up something you’ve been thinking about for a few days now, but things have been too awkward to want to ask. “We’re in June now, right?”

Wonwoo looks up at you and nods in confirmation. “Just a bit, why?”

“The deadline to let me go is quickly approaching. Either you need to let me go by the 10th or give me my phone back, because I’m expecting a very important call.”

“The 10th?” You hum and nod as you focus on stabbing some pasta with your fork. “It’s the 12th today,” he informs you simply.

Immediately, you freeze, then look up at him. “Tell me you’re joking,” you murmur.

“No.”

“I swear if this is a joke-” you warn as panic rises in you.

“I’m not joking, it’s really the 12th, look,” he insists and pulls his phone from his trouser pocket to hand over to you, so that you can see the date on the lock screen.

Fear grows in you, and you feel the blood rush out of your cheeks, turning your skin pale.

“What? What’s so important about the call?” Wonwoo asks, worry filling his veins as he looks at the genuine panic on your features.

“I need to go home right now,” you declare, scrambling to your feet.

“What?” Wonwoo jumps up to rush after you to the entrance hall.

“I need to go home, Wonwoo!” You’re still in your pyjamas, but you don’t care as you shove your sockless feet into your shoes, which haven’t been touched since you arrived, except to be moved when you want to clean the floor under them or wipe away the dust that tries to settle on top of them.

“What’s going on?”

“Just unlock the door so I can leave; it’s better you keep as far away from me as possible,” you warn, walking to the door and motioning to the lock impatiently.

“I’m not doing that until you explain,” Wonwoo argues firmly.

“No!” you exclaim and turn to walk over and shove him a little; it’s not hard in any way, but it shocks him enough to stumble back a few steps with wide eyes. “I’m fucking sick of this shit; pretending that you have any power over me, Jeon Wonwoo! I’m done with it! I should’ve never let it go on this long but I…” you trail off and shake your head, already turning back to the door.

“You what?” he asks, voice quieter as if he knows that whatever you stopped yourself saying is important.

“Doesn’t fucking matter, just unlock the door,” you insist, not turning to look at him as you anxiously shuffle your weight from foot to foot.

“But-”

“I said unlock it!” You almost shriek, looking over at him with something so manic in your eyes, that although he’s reluctant to do so, he does as you say; he’s too worried by how wild you look right now, by whatever it is you’re hiding.

As soon as the door is open, you take off sprinting down the hall, leaving Wonwoo watching you go, feeling like he’s just lost the best thing he’s had in a long time. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.

It takes you a few hours to get to your apartment. You have to tap into skills that you haven’t wanted to use in years, to pickpocket unsuspecting people to gather money for transportation. Plus, you have to actually find the buses you need in order to get to your apartment, which is quite the ordeal when you have no phone to look up bus schedules or directions, and people aren’t that willing to help a desperate looking woman wearing ruffled pyjamas in the late afternoon. A few people even try to convince you to let them take you to the police station, thinking you’re in trouble or mentally unwell and in need of professional assistance.

The sun is threatening to set by the time you stumble into your apartment.

It looks the same as you left it, minus the items Wonwoo collected for you, which surprises you. You thought it’d be dusty as hell when you return, but it looks like someone’s kept it clean. For a second, you wonder if Wonwoo has been cleaning it, or perhaps hired someone to keep it clean, but that doesn’t make sense as he seemed to have no intention of letting you leave. Still, you don’t know anyone else who has access to your apartment.

Deciding that it’s really not important at all right now, you push the thought aside and grab a sharp knife from the kitchen. Once you’ve pulled the couch away from the wall far enough to give you easy access to the back of it, you drop to your knees and use the knife to cut open the back of the couch.

Out of the hollow of the couch frame, you pull out a duffle bag to put on the floor before you and open. You ignore the cash within, the various ID and collection of sentimentally and financially valuable items and grab the outdated mobile phone. As you hold down the power button to turn the device on, you mutter prayers to a god you don’t believe in to let the battery be high enough to boot.

As soon as the screen lights up and shows that there is enough battery to make a call, you let out a breath of relief and dial one of the very few numbers that you know by heart, before holding it to your ear with your heart hammering anxiously against your ribs.

The call rings a handful of times before it’s picked up by a voice that is so familiar to you, even when it’s been months without hearing it. “Princess, you’re okay?”

You let out a little relieved breath before answering, “I’m fine, dad, things just…” You sigh. “I’m okay. Where-where are you? Are you…” you worry, knowing exactly what kind of hell your father can and will rain down on the world without hesitation if he thinks something has happened to you, his little girl.

“Where do you think I am? I came to find you! My daughter didn’t answer our routine check in call, and her phone is off?” He scoffs as if it’s ridiculous that you’ve even asked. It is, really; you already know where he is, knew what he’d do if you missed the call. But still, you hoped. You foolishly hoped because now, now you have something to lose from his fierce protectiveness of you. “Of course I came to find you! I feared the worst, and when I got here and had your whereabouts tracked, I found out that this hoity toity little bitch had you kidnapped, and then her husband ran off with you?”

In a split second, your whole body turns cold. Fear freezes your lungs and locks your heart in its icy grip. “Dad…who are you with?”

“Who do you think?”

You close your eyes tight and put your free hand over them, mind already conjuring up images of what your father is doing to Wonwoo. “Don’t hurt him,” you plead.

“He stole you and kept you locked up for almost three months! I’m not going to let him get away with that.”

“No, please, dad, please don’t hurt him, please,” your voice turns desperate, enough that your father is audibly thrown.

There’s a moment of shocked silence before he responds in a disbelieving mumble, “What?” He clearly walks out of the room, as there’s the sound of a door opening and closing, before he talks again, “You’re begging, why?”

“He protected me from her; took me away to keep me safe from his psychotic wife,” you inform, trying to reason with the man by telling him that Wonwoo protected you; that he isn’t the one who caused you harm. “I don’t give a fuck what you do to her, but please, don’t hurt him.”

“Bit late for that, Princess,” he responds simply.

You can’t talk for a few long seconds as the worst-case scenario travels through your body, and the ice coating your heart starts to seep inside, threatening to freeze it so thoroughly it’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. “Is he dead?” you can barely get the words out; you’re talking in a whisper that you’re not certain is audible on the other end of the line, but it is.

“No, but the boys are enjoying beating the shit out of him for kidnapping their sister.”

It settles you greatly, and now that you’re thawing a little, anger is starting to rise in you knowing that your brothers have come along too. You understand your father doing so; he’s always been protective of you as his youngest child, his little princess who can do no wrong. Yet, he’s always trusted you to handle yourself and gives you more freedom than he gives his sons. But your brothers have always overstepped; have always butted in and treated you like a fragile little doll who can’t even stand on your own feet without a support around your waist keeping you upright. They act like they are that support, but they’ve always been more like shackles holding you back by not allowing you to do what you need to on your own; not trusting you to do it on your own.

“Do you really think so lowly of me to think I couldn’t get away whenever I wanted?” you hiss in disbelief at your father, of all people, not having faith in your abilities, even if you’ve proven yourself many times. “He left me all alone in that apartment to do what I want for hours and days at a time. I had opportunity to leave; I just wanted to see how long he’d keep it up.”

It’s the truth; from day one, you could’ve left the moment Wonwoo was gone. You had eyed the security system and knew you could disable it without setting off the alarm; you’ve broken in and out of places with similar systems many times in the past.

But you had been kind of bored with how quiet your life had been since you left your hometown last year, to play pretend at a normal lifestyle with no connection to the gang world. You wanted to see the other side of the fence. But it turns out, it’s fucking boring on grass not fed on blood, and so you had decided that being Wonwoo’s hostage was a potentially fun change and wanted to see how long he’d stick it out before sending you home.

You never expected to become attached to him though.

As if reading your mind, your father speaks in a curious, surprised query, “And now you like him?”

“I don’t dislike him,” you mutter, not willing to admit it to your father.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Princess,” the man decides after a short, thoughtful noise. “You come back home with us, and I’ll let your pretty boy live.”

“You promised to never blackmail me, dad,” you remind him.

“It’s not blackmail, but a deal.”

“You just threatened to kill him if I don’t comply!”

“I won’t kill him, but I’ll let your brothers do it, and the longer we stay on call discussing it, the more likely they are to make the final blow without me present. Decide whether you care more about his life or playing poor girl with no family more.”

When he puts it like that, you don’t have a choice. You know that your brothers won’t stop unless your father steps in and gives the order to pull back; an order he won’t give unless sparing Wonwoo benefits him directly.

You give in with a frustrated exclamation, “Fuck, fine! But make sure he doesn’t fucking die, or I’ll fucking kneecap them all,” you threaten; words you will hold to, brothers or not.

“That’s my girl.”

The next time you see Wonwoo, it’s late that night and not in person. You don’t dare risk getting close to him, even if he’s unconscious in a hospital bed. You send one of your father’s men, a man who is endlessly loyal to you specifically due to being in love with you since you were teens, to sneak into the hospital, dress up as staff, and make his way into Wonwoo’s private and very well guarded room to get you a proof of life video.

You hate the video; hate how you can barely recognise the bruised and swollen features of the man you’ve spent almost three months with and know it was done in your name. You truly hate it, yet you can’t stop watching the video; eyes glued to the gentle, regular rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, even if it’s assisted by the tube down his throat right now. But he’s alive; your father stopped your brothers in time, and Wonwoo is alive. That’s all that matters.

“Can I have my phone back now, ma’am?” Jihoon asks, hovering awkwardly in the fancy hotel suite that your father is making you stay in; so that his men stationed around the building to guard your family, will alert him if you try to run off.

Not that you will when you know your brothers and father would immediately go to that hospital room and finish the job if you go back on your word. Plus, you’re a woman of your word; you said you’d return to your hometown with them, and you intend to stick to that promise. You were raised with too much honour to ever go back on your word, especially when it’s so important, when the risk is far too high.

Jihoon’s gaze keeps flickering to the door, knowing that your father, his boss, will be pissed if he finds Jihoon in your suite, even if you’re both in the lounge and not the bedroom. But still, there are rules to working for your family, and one of those rules is ‘keep your hands off of the boss’ little girl.’ A few times, men less wise, men newer to the gang, haven’t heeded the warning and have tried to hit on you or put a suggestive hand on your body somewhere, only to lose the hand or tongue that tried to tempt you into their beds. But Jihoon is smarter, he knows better, and he’s never tried his luck with you, even if everyone knows how he feels about you.

If any of the men are trusted with you as much as your family, it’s Jihoon. Your father always assigns Jihoon to accompany you when the need arises for someone to watch your back so closely. Your father knows that if anyone is as invested in your safety as the family is, it’s Jihoon.

Yet still, even knowing he is trusted with your safety entirely, Jihoon knows that it’s the only way he’s trusted with your body, and he’s certainly not trusted with your heart. So, he knows that if he’s caught in your private room so late at night and alone without it being on your father’s strict orders, Jihoon will be in a lot of trouble.

“No, I’m watching,” you reply firmly, leaving no room for argument, so Jihoon just nods and stands in anxious wait.

After a few more watches, you sigh and offer Jihoon his phone back.

He quickly moves forward to accept it politely. “Thank you, ma’am. Do you need anything else from me tonight?”

“No. Thank you, Jihoon.”

“Of course. I’d do anything for you,” he reminds simply. There’s a lot of weight to his words, technically, but he says them so effortlessly; like he isn’t promising you the world if you ask for it. He always makes it seem so easy to love you; like it makes all the sense in the world to devote himself to your safety and happiness and even risk his own safety by sneaking behind your father’s back to do things like this for you.

Honestly, you think that at this point, your father and brothers must know that Jihoon has been in your house many times when only you’re home, at your request, despite the orders that none of the gang are allowed to do as much. But they know the man will never do a thing wrong to you; that he respects you too much to ever try to force himself on you or convince you to be with him in any way. He’s had over a decade to try and hasn’t done so once, even when you bluntly asked him what he expected his love for you to gain him. He had said, ‘Nothing, I expect nothing. I love you of my own choice, not yours; it’s not your problem.’ And it was left at that.

But your family will never give him permission to be near you privately, except for jobs, because they don’t want him to potentially get ideas. They want to protect you in every way, including the way others perceive you. Knowing that you let a man below your status touch you intimately, let one of your father’s men touch you, it would bring shame on your name. If not for that, you know Jihoon would be allowed to be by your side as much as he wants, because you wouldn’t turn away his platonic company. Jihoon may be the closest thing you have to a friend, or at least, was.

Suddenly, you’re thinking about Sangmin and how, with Wonwoo in hospital unable to stick to his word to keep an eye on the man, and you in an entirely different city, there’s no one to look out for him. You can’t take him with you, you never want to bring the kind-hearted man into your world, so you need to come up with a plan to protect him.

“Actually, I have one more thing to ask of you tonight, Jihoon.”

“Anything,” he promises, and you know he means it.

In the morning, once you’re strapped into the back of the car, and Jihoon is driving the pair of you to your apartment, for you to clear everything out that is tied to you and end the lease, Jihoon hands a brand-new phone to you. He’s already charged it and set it up with a web page open on screen, showing an apartment.

“That’s the best bet; it’s neutral territory, but the landlord has some shit in his records. That means it’ll be easy to twist his arm,” he informs as you look through the apartment listing, humming as he talks.

“Good work, Ji. Did you find him?”

“Of course I did,” he scoffs cockily, making you look up and smile as you look at the side of his face from your place behind the passenger seat. “Are you doubting my abilities to track people? Do you forget who taught you everything you know about tech?”

“I think there’s supposed to be a ‘ma’am’ in there somewhere,” you remind him teasingly.

“Do you forget who taught you everything you know about tech, ma’am?” he corrects without missing a beat, in a playful tone that he only brings out when it’s just the two of you, and he’s not worried about being caught with you when he’s not supposed to be. Today, he’s with you under your father’s orders directly, so Jihoon is relaxed and his usual, playful self. Your friend.

“Like I could ever forget, my genius little tech nerd,” you coo and lean forward to pinch his cheek.

“Hey!” he complains, reaching back to nudge you away and also make you settle back in your place safely. Though, there’s a smile on his face, and you’re only now remembering how much you enjoy spending time with Jihoon. You’re only now realising that you missed him.

Knowing it will fluster him; you decide to tell him as much. “I missed you, Jihoonie.”

“Ah.” As expected, Jihoon’s ears and the back of his neck immediately darken, spreading a fierce blush over his cheek and even to his cheeks. “I missed you too,” he responds quietly, shy yet pleased with your confession. “I’m glad you’re back, ma’am.”

“I’ll cook dinner for us once we’re back home, and you can catch me up on everything that I’ve missed the past year, yeah?”

“That sounds really good; I’d like that a lot.”

As soon as Sangmin answers his motel door and finds you on the other side, he throws himself forward to pull you into a warm, tight hug. You wrap your arms around him and return the embrace, so glad to see him safe and sound after two months, while also not knowing when you will be able to see him in person again after today.

“Can we come in a minute?” you request.

“We?” Sangmin questions, pulling back to look over when you point to your right, where Jihoon is standing respectfully back to let you have this moment of reunion. “Oh, you’re not Wonwoo.”

“No, Wonwoo is…you won’t be seeing him anymore,” you admit and tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “So, can we come in? I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes, of course, come in,” Sangmin consents and moves aside to motion you both in.

The room is pretty simple, but it’s clean, warm, and safe, with a little kitchenette and his own bathroom.

You perch on one of the two rickety chairs at the tiny table as Jihoon casually wanders around the room, naturally doing a safety check to make sure there are no potential threats to you here.

“Who is he?” Sangmin whispers as he sits opposite you at the table and leans on his elbows, closer to you to keep his curious words between you.

“He’s a friend from childhood,” you answer, which isn’t a lie; Jihoon was your friend as a child, before he was sworn into the gang and had to give up the title, officially at least. It’s just not the full truth, but Sangmin doesn’t need to know the full truth. “How are you, are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing better than I have been in a long time; I have a job now!” he beams proudly.

“Wonwoo told me. Congratulations, I’m really proud of you, Sangmin.”

“Thank you, I’m proud of me too.” He looks over as Jihoon returns from the bathroom and moves to stand by the motel room door, behind Sangmin. “So, you’re okay now? Wonwoo’s wife has given up on trying to hurt you?” He asks as he turns back around to look at you.

“Well, not out of choice; she’s in no condition to hurt anyone,” you answer honestly as you think about the video Jihoon had recorded of Wonwoo’s wife, strapped up to so many machines in a private room and barely holding onto life.

Your brothers really hadn’t gone easy on her; even your father had taken part in punishing her for having you abducted and hurt in the first place. The only reason they hadn’t beaten her to death was that Wonwoo had been brought to them and took their attention away. And honestly, you really couldn't care less about if the woman makes it or not. Jihoon had told you that, from what he could gather from the notes on her chart, the doctors don’t have high hopes that she’ll survive or even wake up.

Part of you doesn’t want her to survive because then, if she’s gone for good, Wonwoo will be free of her and have a chance to be happy, even if it’s not with you. You want him to be happy in whatever way he can.

“So, you’ll be back at work, and I can walk you home again?” Sangmin asks with a bright smile, excited at the idea. “I made sure my schedule will align with yours for when you’re back.”

“About that.” You reach across the small table to take his hands into yours, heart aching as you watch his smile fall into a frown. “I’m going back to my hometown; I won’t be around anymore.”

“Oh.” He frowns and looks aside a little, thinking hard before nodding. “Okay, I can meet you there; I know there’s branches of the store all over the country, so there has to be one in your hometown. I’ll talk to my boss and get transferred,” he decides, looking so determined that it both warms and breaks your heart.

“Sangie…”

“Oh…you don’t want me going with you.”

“You’re my best friend, you know?”

“And you’re mine, even if I’m almost old enough to be your father.”

“It’s better for you to stay here. There’s stuff you don’t know, and I don’t want you to know about me, but please understand that it’s better for you to stay here, away from that side of me.”

Sangmin stares at you for a long moment before sighing and nodding. “I know you’re gang affiliated in some way; you were too calm when you were kidnapped to not be, and you were never scared by any rough looking people we passed when I walked you home. I think, even without me there, you would’ve been fine. You can probably handle yourself better than I can.”

“Probably,” you agree with a little chuckle. “I won’t deny all of that; I respect you far too much to lie to your face like that, but I don’t want you to know any more. You need to stay here to keep away from it all.”

“Okay, I understand. I wouldn’t survive in that world; I know I’m too soft.”

“You’re far too pure for it,” you agree. “I love your purity and heart, Sangmin, I never want to endanger it. I want you to keep seeing the world in hues of rose, not red like I used to before moving here; like I will again.”

“Why are you going back?” he asks, looking lost. “If you stay, you won’t have the red.”

“I can’t. I gave my word that I'd go back, and I need to stick to it.”

“I see.” He nods a little. “Will you visit?”

“I’ll try, but it may be some time; things need to cool off, but I really will try. But until then, we can text and call. Wonwoo said you have a phone now?”

“Oh! Yes!” Sangmin jumps up to grab his phone from the bedside table and bring it over. “I’m still trying to get used to the fancy new apps and emojis and things. Some of the kids at work have been teaching me, and we have a group chat. I really like the funny dog gifs.”

“You can send me as many as you like,” you promise as you find your own contact in your phone so that you can copy your brand-new number into Sangmin’s contact list and save it and then save his number into yours in return. “There!” You hand his phone back and can’t help but smile at his genuinely joyed, bright grin when he spots your name in his contacts.

“Thank you. My phone is even more precious to me now that I can use it to talk to you.”

“Mine too.”

“Ma’am,” Jihoon prompts, after checking his watch, so you look at him. “We need to get going if we don’t want to cut it too close and make the others suspicious.”

“Of course,” you agree and look back at Sangmin. “So, I want to do something for you, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but it wasn’t exactly realistic given the circumstances.”

“What is it?” Sangmin wonders.

“Give you a home, so I know that you will be safe and warm and can have the life you deserve.”

“I have a home now.” He motions to the room. “I don’t need any more than this.”

“I know you don’t, but I want you to. I want you to have your own apartment again, where you can make a home how you want it; you can decorate it however you want, sell the furniture, and buy stuff to your own tastes. It’s in a nice neighbourhood, not fancy but safe; no gang affiliations in the area or graffiti on the walls. Somewhere you can be proud of, I hope. I want that for you; you deserve that and a lot more, Sangmin.” You hold his hands firmly and settle your pleading gaze on him. “Please let me do this for you, so I know you’re safe and don’t have to worry about the roof over your head.”

The man stares at you consideringly for a long few moments. You know he’s not used to others doing things for him; even before he became homeless, he was always the one doing everything for others and getting nothing in return, so he doesn’t know how to accept help without guilt bubbling in his chest.

“Okay,” he gives in, voice soft and still reluctant, but he can see how important this is to you. You had posed it as a favour to you on purpose, knowing it would make him agree even if he doesn’t want to; because it’s for you. “But I’m paying my own bills.”

“Utilities. I’ve had a year’s rent paid.” He lets out a disapproving exclamation of your name in response. “I had to secure it!” you defend, pouting at him. “It was the quickest method at the last minute. But if you prove yourself a good tenant, the landlord will renew your lease next year, and then it’s on you. You can take this year to save up for it and buy a car and get your license renewed now that you have a solid address.”

“When you’re back next, I’m taking you out for dinner,” he promises determinedly.

“No,” you argue with a scoff, while straightening up before grinning at him. “Next time I’m back, I’m cooking for you.”

“Oh…okay, that sounds better,” he concedes easily. “I really miss your cooking.”

“I’ll cook whatever you want, and you can supply the ingredients, how about that?”

“Deal.”

“Ma’am,” Jihoon says; a reminder in the single word that makes you nod.

“Alright. Okay, pack up, Sangmin, we’re taking you to your new home, and then we have to go.”

“I can make my own way-” he tries to assure but you shake your head, cutting him off.

“Nope, I want to see your reaction.”

“Okay.” He chuckles and gets up to start gathering his belongings.

It doesn’t take long at all, and then once Sangmin hands in his key to the landlord and insists that he doesn’t need the deposit back, the three of you get in Jihoon’s car and head to the apartment.

Although Sangmin had been so hesitant to accept the gift, he looks so genuinely overjoyed as the pair of you wander around the comfortable, two-bedroom apartment, commenting on the furniture and making suggestions of how to make it more of a genuine home instead of a show home. It’s clear that he loves the apartment, and that makes you so happy and settled, knowing that he’ll be able to live somewhere he truly likes and is safe.

After promising to let him know when you’re home safe, you give Sangmin one last hug before leaving, heading with Jihoon back to the life you had hoped you’d left behind, but always knew it’s rooted too deeply within your blood to ever truly turn your back on.

Months pass. Months of falling right back into step with your father, taking up all of the jobs you pushed aside for a taste of normalcy. Not that it actually takes long for you to be back into your old routines. Barely two days after being back in your hometown, you’re splattered in blood with a maniacal glint in your eye that matches the one on your favourite blade.

Back to your old haunts.

Back to your old habits.

Back to your role as your father’s daughter.

Although you’re not set to inherit the throne, so to speak, as the youngest child, your father has always preferred having you by his side at meetings than your quick to action brothers. At least the two younger ones.

Your eldest brother, the one set to take over, is the most level-headed of them all, but he stopped attending meetings with your father years ago and instead heads his own meetings. The two of them tend to share the load, and that often means you being at your father’s side to give him a different perspective.

So, when after months, a meeting comes to be, to work on allying your father’s gang with the Ahns, you don’t hesitate in saying you want in. You know that Wonwoo will be there as the one set to inherit the gang, and you want to see the man with your own eyes after three months apart.

Of course, in those three months, you’ve kept your eye on Wonwoo. You know he’s healed fully now, if only for some lingering scars; including one across his left cheekbone from one of your brothers deciding to ‘ruin his pretty face’ with a too blunt knife, leaving a jagged scar a few inches long. You also know that his wife hasn’t healed.

Ahn Yerim is still in that same hospital room, still hooked up to so many machines to keep her alive, still on life support that Wonwoo won’t give permission to shut off. You have no idea why he’s keeping her alive when this is the perfect chance to be free of her, and a very big part of you wants to know what the fuck he’s thinking keeping himself tied to the psycho. Maybe it’s because of his father-in-law; you hope it’s that and not some kind of loyalty to his wife to preserve her life for as long as possible.

When you tell your father that you want to go with him, he’s hesitant at first, knowing that you want to check in on Wonwoo, but the man can be so soft on you at times that it only takes a pout from you, and he agrees.

Three months after leaving, you’re back, if only for a week.

The very first time you meet Wonwoo after months apart, it’s in a fancy, private lounge of a bar that’s been closed this week for the meetings, where he stands in wait with his father-in-law for your father to arrive.

Clearly, Wonwoo hadn’t expected you to be here, as his eyes widen fractionally when you enter the room at your father’s side, before turning neutral again as he collects himself.

The two older men greet each other familiarly, though there’s clearly more respect coming from Wonwoo’s boss towards your father than is reciprocated, but it’s to be expected when your family is much more powerful than the Ahns and have three times as much land under their thumb.

“Ah, this must be your daughter,” Mr. Ahn says, turning to you and bowing respectfully, knowing that his own daughter had almost been killed because of her actions towards you. “I apologise for my daughter’s stupid actions all those months back, please forgive her.”

“No,” you reply simply and move to sit down, while your father smirks amusedly before sitting at your side.

Wonwoo waits for his boss to sit before he does too, taking the space on the couch on the opposite side of the low table to you, allowing the two gang leaders to face each other directly.

“How can she earn your forgiveness?” Mr. Ahn continues, a hint of desperation in his eyes, knowing that if you turn to your father and tell him to tear apart the Ahns, he will, and there will be nothing that stops him until they’re all dead.

“Dying would be a start,” you deadpan, and your father chuckles, patting a hand on your knee as Mr Ahn baulks at you in shock.

“My daughter is the hardest to earn forgiveness out of all of my children; always so stubborn and hard to win over,” he muses, sounding proud of your tough shell.

“You’re asking me to kill my daughter?” Mr. Ahn asks, shocked.

“No,” you respond and pointedly make eye contact with Wonwoo before looking away. “Let’s just discuss what we came here for,” you decide. “Our potential alliance.”

“Good idea, Princess,” your father agrees and adjusts ever so slightly to get comfortable before the negotiations start and plans begin to get penned down, ready for the two powerful families to become allies and each become even stronger with the other backing them up.

When you get bored during the meeting and check your watch, you realise that Sangmin will be finishing work soon, so you decide that seeing him is much more important than sitting around for this.

“I have somewhere to be,” you declare and don’t wait for a response before getting to your feet, causing both Mr. Ahn and Wonwoo to get up respectfully.

“Take Jihoon with you,” is all your father says, still reading through the paper in his hand detailing one of the neighbourhoods in the city that Mr. Ahn is offering to your family.

“Of course I’m taking Jihoon with me,” you scoff and look between Mr. Ahn and Wonwoo, eyes catching Wonwoo’s mouth twitching slightly as if he wants to say something but is stopping himself, knowing he can’t. Not here. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Do you need a guide, support while here?” Mr. Ahn offers.

“No,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and heading to the door. “Bye, daddy.”

“Bye, Princess; have fun with your boys.”

“Oh, I will.”

Jihoon is waiting outside of the room and immediately follows you without you having to say a word. The two of you had already discussed this; visiting Sangmin, so he knew it would happen sooner or later. He also knows how easily you get bored during these meetings, so he had expected you to leave early, and he’s just been waiting for you to appear and want to visit your friend.

“Did you do it?” You ask as the two of you exit the building into the parking lot and head to his car.

“I’m pretty sure I got the right car,” he confirms. “They all look the fucking same, and none of them are registered, obviously, so I took a very educated guess.”

“You didn’t go to school; you’re uneducated.”

“More educated than you, ma’am.”

“Ha, yeah,” you agree with a snigger as he opens the back passenger door. You slide in and click your seatbelt into place as he closes the door, then jogs around to get into the driver’s seat and start the car up. “Did the connection work?” You ask after pulling out your phone to unlock and hand it over to him through the gap in the seats.

Jihoon finds the app he installed on your phone, which will hack into other phones in close proximity and give you access to the devices. “Mm, there’s a bunch of new devices,” he confirms, after looking at the list. “You’ll have to go through them to find which one is his.” You groan. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to stalk him,” he reminds as he hands your phone back, so that he can strap himself in then pull out of the space and start the drive.

“Yeah, but how am I supposed to know which one is his?” You whine, clicking a random device number on the list to find the gallery and hope there’s something in there. Immediately, you find a bunch of nudes of a man and know it’s not the phone you want. “Ew, gross,” you mutter and delete the device from the list before going into the next. “I swear, if all of these assholes have dick pics in their galleries, I’m telling dad to pull out of the partnership.”

“Stop looking, I’ll do it,” Jihoon immediately says in offer, though his words are firm enough that they could be classed as a demand, that is, if you didn’t know Jihoon well enough to know he’d never order you to do a damn thing, even if he could.

“You’re driving.”

“I meant when you’re with Sangmin.”

“Then I won’t have my phone.”

“I don’t want you looking at random dudes’ dicks, ma’am.”

“Just yours?” you tease and grin to yourself as he blushes.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Jihoon blushes darker and grips the steering wheel with both hands firmly. “Please, let me do it,” he requests after a moment.

“Do what, show me your dick? How much you packing? I think at least six inches.”

“Ohmygod,” he whispers, eyes wide and glued to the road in front. “P-please stop teasing me, ma’am.”

You giggle and relent, not wanting him to have a breakdown behind the wheel and risk endangering you both. You’ll save your teasing for a time when neither of you can get hurt. “You can look through them for me, but you gotta be in the apartment until you find the right one and give me my phone back.”

“I’ll be in the hall outside.”

“No, that’ll look fucking weird; I don’t want to risk Sangmin’s neighbours asking him questions about the pink faced cherub in the hallway.”

“Stop,” he complains, cheeks flaring again despite having just started to cool, thinking you were done with your teasing. “I’ll stay in another room; just stop.”

“Deal.” You giggle and lock your phone.

When you arrive at Sangmin’s apartment, he’s only just arrived home from work moments before, so he’s still in his uniform, but he’s beaming excitedly, having taken your text yesterday that you’ll visit today seriously and has been waiting in anticipation all day for a further update.

“You’re here!” he greets, pulling you into a warm hug; you giggle happily as you return in. “Come in, come in,” he ushers you both in once your embrace breaks. “Hello, Jihoon, it’s good to see you again.”

“Oh,” Jihoon responds, surprised that Sangmin is speaking to him and sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “Oh uh, you too, Sangmin. Is it alright if I sit in your spare room for a little while?”

“Oh, you’re not joining us for dinner?” Sangmin asks with a confused frown.

“No…” Jihoon looks utterly bewildered at the thought that Sangmin thought he’s joining your dinner and hangout session. “I’m just here to keep her safe.”

“You can do that while joining us for dinner and to hang out. I bought enough groceries for us all! I figured you’d be by her side.” Sangmin heads to the kitchen, which you follow with a grin after you’ve removed your shoes and jacket.

Jihoon follows a moment later, still looking bewildered yet hovering in uncertain acceptance of Sangmin’s extension of dinner invitation. He hasn’t been invited to anything by anyone outside of the gang in so long that he doesn’t really know how to navigate this, but he’s willing to try. He doesn’t expect to become friends with Sangmin, but he thinks it would be kinda nice to hang out with a normal person for once.

“Go get out of your uniform, Sangie,” you encourage as you hand Jihoon your locked phone, and he perches kind of awkwardly at the dinner table to begin looking through it, while you move to the sink to wash your hands.

“Ah, I’d be a bad host to leave you both,” Sangmin retorts.

“Don’t be silly; I’m going to get started on dinner prep, and Jihoon is busy looking at dicks; we’re entertained until you return.”

“Ma’am!” Jihoon sputters, looking at you with red features of embarrassment as Sangmin blinks in surprise at Jihoon.

“I don’t think it’s correct to out people,” Sangmin says to you gently after a second.

“I’m not gay,” Jihoon corrects. “This is her phone.”

“Oh, you’ve moved on from Wonwoo?” Sangmin questions, accepting Jihoon’s response so easily, so trusting and looks at you curiously. Jihoon can’t help but stare at the man in wonder; it’s truly baffling to him that someone can be so trusting and accepting of others.

“No,” you scoff and wave a dismissive hand. “I’ll explain when you’re back from your shower; go wash the day’s work from yourself and get comfortable. We’ll be right here.”

“Are you really sure it’s okay?”

“Of course, wouldn’t say it otherwise,” you assure. Sangmin glances at Jihoon, who nods in agreement, before the older man lets out a breath and leaves the pair of you in the kitchen.

“Is it really okay that I stay, ma’am?” Jihoon asks softly, a few moments later, after just watching you get to work skilfully preparing ingredients for Sangmin’s favourite dishes.

“Have I told you to leave?” you retort, looking at him without fully lifting your head. Jihoon shakes his head slightly. “There’s your answer, then. Just find me the correct dick pics, like a good cherub and stop questioning your place by my side.”

“It’s not me you want by your side,” he reminds, while obediently looking at your phone to go back to checking through the devices and deleting any that aren’t the one you want access to.

“I want you by my side, not inside me. Though maybe if it wouldn’t hurt you. You’d probably be a good fuck,” you comment with a shrug as you focus on your task. You don’t need to be looking at Jihoon to know he’s turned a pretty pink, anyway, especially not when you can hear the choked sound he lets out before he pointedly stays quiet and pretends to be very invested in his own task.

The second day in the city goes pretty much the same as the first; a few hours sitting opposite Wonwoo while he pretends that he isn’t itching to talk to you, before you get bored and leave with Jihoon to meet Sangmin.

This time, you go out for dinner; Sangmin pays at his own insistence, and Jihoon looks almost like he accepts that you both want him there and he’s not out of place at your side.

“When are you going to talk to him?” Sangmin wonders as he watches you check your phone every time there’s a ping from either of the apps you had Jihoon install for this trip.

“Mm, tomorrow,” you decide, realising that the pings are the same as this time yesterday, and you can safely assume this is the daily routine. You don’t have to wait any longer before implementing your plan.

On the third day, when you leave the meeting, it isn’t as early as usual, but it is still earlier than the three men leave.

For the first time since arriving in the city, you drive yourself where you need to go, with only yourself for company. Jihoon knows where you are, of course, and you know that he has tracking apps on your phone that you’ll never find, so that he can be sure that you’re where you’re supposed to be, therefore safe. But he won’t interfere unless you deviate from your plan without warning or fail to answer if he calls.

Being back is strange in a lot of ways, but in others, it isn’t. This place, it became your home, and even now, three months later, something in you settles in the familiarity of it.

It’s a few hours before the beep of the lock disengaging echoes around the apartment, only the sound of the radio playing gently in the background; a new addition but a welcome one. There still isn’t a modern TV on the wall or an internet modem, but that doesn’t surprise you. The more homely touches do, however; the random knick-knacks around, more signs that this is a home, not just an empty shell of an apartment. You hadn’t expected them, but they make you smile.

You’re just finishing setting up everything on the dining table when socked footsteps approach from behind, joining you in the kitchen area.

Wordlessly, you both sit down in your seats, and just like he did in those first few weeks, Wonwoo shovels your cooking in his mouth as if he’s been starved for months. It makes you huff a short, amused laugh. He looks at you and can’t help but smile, yet neither of you say a word, not yet.

Despite there still being that familiar ease in the air between you, it’s laced amongst tension. You haven’t seen one another in months, haven’t talked in as long, and the last time you saw each other, things weren’t exactly normal between you. You had been desperate to leave, and Wonwoo had wanted nothing more than for you to stay, but he knew he couldn’t hold you here when you looked like you did. Of course, he soon found out why you wanted to leave so insistently, when your father and brothers beat the shit out of him and put him in hospital for a week, but still, he wished you never left.

There’s clearly a lot that needs to be said, things to be discussed, yet neither of you know where to start exactly.

After almost ten minutes of silently eating, Wonwoo is the one who talks first, “have you memorised my schedule or something?”

“I put a tracker on your car and hacked your phone,” you answer bluntly, making him look at you in dumb shock.

“You did what?” he mutters disbelievingly.

“Mm, first day back in the city,” you confirm with a nod, picking up your glass of wine to take a few sips before placing it back down. “You live a boring life, you know. No life outside of what your dear father-in-law tells you what to do. And ya know, visiting your wife.” You pull a disapproving face at the routine you had seen Wonwoo follow the past three days, today included, thanks to the tracking apps. At least his boring routine means you easily figured out what time he’d be home.

He rolls his eyes. “Sorry I don’t live up to your expectations, Princess.” You ignore the jab at your position, the name your father calls you.

“You should be.” You reach under the table, to pick up the item on your lap that had been waiting on the chair until you sat. The hesitance on Wonwoo’s features is obvious to you as he pauses in his movements to watch you cautiously; you assume that he thinks you’re about to pull a weapon on him for some reason. Yet you think the expression that takes over his features tells you that he would’ve preferred a gun to the gift bag you place on the tabletop pointedly.

“Did you go through my fucking closet?” he hisses, knowing he had hidden that gift bag away months ago, when you still lived here.

“I spilled sauce on my shirt,” you reason, suddenly inadvertently drawing his attention to the shirt on your body. It’s too big for you really, too broad on your shoulders that are nowhere near as wide as his, and you have the sleeves rolled up to your forearms to account for his longer limbs.

“Your clothes are still in your room,” he points out, eyes still on his shirt on your body as if he can’t make himself look away yet. It makes you feel smugly pleased that he so clearly likes that you’re wearing his clothes.

“I noticed. But they’ve been sitting there for months, and this is freshly washed; it smells nice.”

Finally, he drags his eyes up to meet your own and nods slightly, accepting your reasoning and honestly, not wanting to argue anymore and risk you going to change out of his clothes into your own. “Fine, but that bag wasn’t even with the fucking shirts.”

“Okay, fine; I was bored and wanted to find something juicy,” you admit with a dramatic sigh. “I expected fluffy handcuffs, or a pocky pussy shaped like a monster vagina.” You pout; upset about the lack of filthy items you found while digging around Wonwoo’s bedroom earlier.

“I forgot how fucking weird you are,” he mutters, turning back to his meal.

“How fucking rude! How dare you forget a single thing about me, Jeon Wonwoo!” you exclaim in offence, even if it’s mostly fake, just to wind him up. “I remember everything about you. Including that cute little mole on your right butt cheek.”

He sputters and looks at you with widened eyes. “I don’t have a mole on my ass!”

“Yes, you do. Get naked, and I’ll take a photo to show you.” He rolls his eyes and decides to eat instead of responding, knowing it’s for the best to just ignore you when you’re being ridiculous. “So, going to explain this?” you prompt, pointing to the bag. “You were supposed to return that.” He just shrugs, and you know that he’s too stubborn to be truthful right now, so you decide to give up on getting an answer and join him in returning to your dinner.

At least the atmosphere isn’t so tense now that you’ve had a conversation, even if no questions have been answered yet, or even really asked.

After you finish eating, and Wonwoo’s done cleaning up, just like he used to, he joins you on the couch and offers a fresh glass of wine.

You shake your head in refusal. “Already had one, I need to drive to the hotel.”

“I spent too fucking much on that fancy mattress you bugged me to buy you, for you to not sleep on it while here,” he scoffs and puts the glass in your hand before settling comfortably in his usual space.

“Are you asking me to stay for the rest of the week?” you tease.

“It’s quiet without you,” his answer is too honest, eyes too open on you, that you drop the attempt at being playful and decide to match his energy.

“Then go home.”

“That place never felt like home,” he reasons with a displeased twist of his features. “That’s her house, and I have these apartments to get away from her.”

“She’s not there anymore.”

“Still her house to me. I never liked it, and I don’t need to show my face to an empty house to stop accusations about cheating,” he points out and swallows a mouthful of his wine.

You give him a raised eyebrows look. “So, you’ve taken up living in the place you shared with another woman for almost three months.”

“The closest thing to a home I’ve known in a long time.”

“Are you drunk already, Jeon Wonwoo? One glass of red, and you get sappy.”

He takes the glass from your hand and motions to the door broadly. “Fuck off if you’re going to be a bitch when I’m trying to be honest,” he grumbles, embarrassed and offended that he’s genuinely trying and you’re making jokes.

“Give me back my wine, I need it for this,” you whine, making grabby hands towards him. With a sigh, he does as you ask, and you both take a few drinks. “So…” you start awkwardly, while staring down into your glass, not sure how to navigate this; being so serious, but you want to try. “This is the closest you’ve known to a home? What…” You lick your lips nervously and look at him. “Why is that?”

“I’ve been in a gang for-”

You cut him off while shaking your head, “I meant why this one. You said you have multiple apartments, why this one? I’m surprised you came back here after all that.”

“You know why.” He looks at you as if you look into each other’s eyes intensely enough, everything will become clear. It doesn’t. “Same reason I didn’t return the fucking necklace.”

“Let’s pretend I’m stupid for a minute,” you say, adjusting your position a little as your stomach flutters and heart heaves in your chest, anxiety rearing its inconsiderate head. “I know, it’s a tough ask because I’m clearly a genius, but just pretend I’m emotionally inept, and I have no idea what you mean.”

“They keep asking me for an answer,” he says, utterly bewildering you.

“Okay, I must actually be stupid because I have no fucking idea how that answers my question at all,” you admit in a questioning mutter.

“The doctors overseeing my wife,” he starts to explain. “I’m her next of kin; it’s my call entirely what happens to her. They told me from the start that she likely won’t wake, and even if she does, she won’t ever be the woman I married. I’d have to hire a team of nurses and shit and devote my life to wiping the fucking drool from her chin.”

You make a noise of understanding and nod slowly as you absorb his words. “So, that rumour’s true; she’s brain dead. More than before my brothers got their hands on her, I mean.”

“Yep,” he confirms simply before he finishes his glass and puts it on the coffee table.

“And the doctors are basically asking if you want to pull the plug?” Wonwoo nods in confirmation. “And you haven’t answered.”

“I’ve almost said yes so many times; just fucking wipe my hands of the bitch for good. I don’t want to have to look after her. I never even liked her, so I don’t want to be responsible for her.”

“Then tell them to pull the plug. I don’t understand why you haven’t already. If you even liked her, not loved but just simply liked, I’d understand your hesitance, but you pretty much hate her. What’s stopping you? Is it her dad?”

“No, he knows she’s never coming back, and he’s told me he won’t hold it against me if I tell them to do it. He said he’d rather she doesn’t wake and suffer for the rest of her life, and he knows she wouldn’t want to live like that either.”

“Then why haven’t you given consent yet?”

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing; it doesn’t even make sense,” he mutters, looking at the space between you as if he wants to move over to cut it in half, or remove it entirely.

“Tell me,” you insist, minutely shuffling closer encouragingly.

“I just keeping thinking that…what if that was you? And in that split second where I imagine you laid there, I can’t do it,” he confesses, genuinely shocking you as your heart speeds up and even skips a few beats in excitement and what you’re certain is more than just hope at this point.

“Oh… You’re right; that makes no sense.”

Wonwoo huffs a laugh and looks up at you. “You really are emotionally inept, aren’t you?”

“Says you.”

“We’re as bad as each other, I guess.”

“Mm, seems that way, Mr. Jeon.”

The two of you look at one another for a minute, so much and nothing at all being said in the air between you, the way your eyes don’t waver from one another.

Seemingly making a decision about whatever is on his mind, he nods determinedly and takes your glass to down the remainder, making you whine wordlessly and whack his leg in complaint. “I’m going to do it tomorrow,” he declares, putting the glass on the table beside his own.

“What?” you ask confusedly after staring forlornly at your stolen glass for a second, then looking at him puzzled.

“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to go to the hospital and sign the papers to end the life support,” he decides firmly.

You raise a questioning eyebrow. “And what if your weird little mind imagines me laid on that bed again?”

“Remember what you said you’d do with that necklace if I wasn’t married?” he prompts, making you nod in confirmation. “That is what I’m going to think about.”

Waking in your bed in the apartment feels both strange, and so normal that you momentarily forget that you’ve been gone for months. But it only lasts for a few seconds before you realise that your alarm is going off on the side table and you reach out to grab it and turn it off.

It’s earlier than you’ve ever woken here; not even 8am yet, but you know you have a meeting to attend at 9:30am, so you need to at least get up and shower ready to leave.

All of your toiletries are still in your ensuite. Actually, everything of yours that you left around the apartment is still where you last put it, so long as it’s not in the way. It makes your heart flutter every time you think of how Wonwoo hadn’t wanted to remove any trace of you, despite now living full time in the apartment.

Showering and getting ready doesn’t take that long; you’re wandering downstairs by 8:20 and realising that Wonwoo isn’t home. You know he’d be in the kitchen if he was. You both have to be at the same meeting, after all, and he’s always been awake before you.

It feels like normal to check the whiteboard on the fridge for a message from Wonwoo. There’s a fresh one in place, just as you suspected; though it simply tells you to bring your belongings from your hotel room here, and that he’ll get takeout for dinner tonight, so you don’t need to bother cooking for either of you.

Though, there’s no information explaining where he’s gone so early, so, of course, you pull out your phone and pull up the tracking app for his phone. The moment you see that he’s at the hospital, you exit the app and try not to feel excited at the potential that Wonwoo is currently giving consent to have his wife’s life support turned off.

It’s pretty twisted of you to wish for that, but you’ve never pretended that you’re not a twisted kind of person. Being raised as you have, surrounded by all the blood and mayhem your father didn’t try to hide from you once you became a teenager, well, that’s bound to twist a person’s mentality more than just a bit.

After texting Jihoon to tell him you’re heading back now, you leave the apartment to head to the hotel to meet everyone, ready to sit through another few hours of a boring meeting to discuss more details about the alliance.

As it turns out though, the meeting is cancelled for today, something you and your father are only told once you’re already at the bar. But there are plenty of Ahn’s men around that the two of you pass time talking to them to gain even more information on the gang; things that the boss himself won’t tell you, or perhaps even know about how his men work outside of his direct orders.

It's very informative and much more interesting than the meeting would’ve been, so you stick around for as long as your father does before all heading back to the hotel.

“You’re really doing this?” Jihoon asks as he watches you zip up your case now that it’s packed back up and none of your belongings remain outside of your luggage.

“Don’t sound so fucking dramatic, it’s like three days,” you scoff. “You know where I’ll be, you can track me and hack my phone; listen in and activate my camera when I’m in the shower, pervert.”

“I’ve never done that!” he sputters, blushing furiously.

“Your loss, I look great naked and dripping wet.”

“I don’t doubt it; you’re always beautiful,” he responds honestly, making you look at him and smile softly at his heartfelt compliment. “He’s a lucky guy, to have your heart like this.”

“Well…I wouldn’t take it that far,” you reply, diverting your gaze as your cheeks pinken ever so slightly.

“You’re blushing,” he teases.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Is that an order, ma’am?” He’s smirking when you look at him.

“Only if you send me a picture of your eight-inch wonder wrapped in your pretty hands,” you purr, smirking salaciously and he immediately looks away, once again back to blushing. “Ah, you’re so easy, Jihoonie.”

“Only for you,” he mutters and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Be careful with him, ma’am. Smart.”

“I have condoms.”

“Okay, good. I don’t want people to look down on you for having a child out of wedlock, or risking catching something from him.”

“Me either,” you agree. “Any other orders, cherub?”

“Yeah, stop calling me that.” He gives you an unimpressed look that makes you giggle, which in turn, makes his expression melt into something fond. “Call me whatever you want,” he decides.

“Simp.”

“Only for you.” He shrugs and moves to open the suite door when you head towards it with your luggage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you there?”

“No, Jihoon. I can do it; I’m a big girl.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “I still worry, though.”

“Okay, daddy.” Jihoon short circuits, and you take the chance to leave, cackling to yourself at the dumbass, open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression he’s wearing.

When you enter the apartment, you immediately spot Wonwoo in the kitchen with his back to you as he leans on the island with both hands, attention on the paper atop the counter. He’s still wearing his leather jacket, and you assume he hasn’t been home long.

After removing your shoes and jacket, you leave your luggage in the entrance hall and walk over to peer around Wonwoo’s arm at the paper curiously. “Oh. Death certificate already? You don’t wait around, do you,” you muse, moving aside to lean back against the counter a little on his left.

“It was already waiting, just needed the details. Everyone knew it was coming. Even my father- well, I guess my ex-father-in-law knew.” He huffs a short laugh that’s barely an exhale of a laugh before looking at you. “Said he knew it’d be this week too, once he saw the way I looked at you Monday morning.”

You whistle impressed. “Damn, just say you’re in love with me, and get it over with.”

He rolls his eyes and finally moves to tuck the certificate back in the envelope, tucking his wedding ring inside too. It makes your stomach twist excitedly. “Don’t take it too far, asshole.”

“I’m very lovable,” you defend.

“Prove it to me.” He turns to face you properly; you mirror his stance so you’re facing one another, perfectly in reach yet neither of you reach out.

“Prove it how exactly?”

He opens his mouth without thought, then closes it before he can say the words, changing his mind as he shakes his head slightly. He takes a second before opening his mouth and saying something less impulsive, “Not now; I’ve literally just become a widower today, so I should at least respect my dead wife by not starting something with the woman who essentially killed her.”

“Hey!” you exclaim and reach out to backhand his bicep, making his lips turn up at one side, smiling amusedly. “I take offense with that! If I was going to kill her, I would’ve done it ages ago! My brothers killed her because of her own dumbass decision to kidnap me. And, well, yours for holding me up so long. You had more part in her death than me.”

“Okay, I can accept that,” he concedes easily, not even trying to deny it in any way. “Then I definitely can’t start anything with you; can’t let anyone know that I killed my wife for you.”

“How romantic of you,” you coo sarcastically.

“Very,” he grins, making you huff a laugh.

“So, just to clarify; you are no longer married, but you want to wait?”

“Yes.”

You hum for a few seconds. “So, you don’t want me to go put on that necklace?”

He stares at you dumbly for a moment as his mind whirls with the mental images your words spawn. “I didn’t say that,” he murmurs lowly, eyes darkening with lust as they focus back on you.

“So, you do?”

“Yes.”

“Ask nicely.”

He doesn’t hesitate to comply with a simple yet so honest and effective, “Please.”

It’s you who stares dumbly for a few seconds this time. “Oh, that was easier than I thought,” you admit in a mutter before smirking at him amusedly. “You really are desperate for a fuck, huh?”

“I can go without usually, but I’ve never wanted someone like I have you. So now I have the chance, yes, I want to take it,” he answers candidly, without any waver to his voice or lust heavy expression on you. “Never know what will happen in our line of work.”

“Hmm, true.” You glance around the kitchen for the gift bag that you know was on the counter this morning when you left, then at him with a confused frown when you don’t find it. “Did you really put it back away?”

“No. It’s on your bed waiting.”

“Presumptuous.”

“I just know neither of us would want to wait longer than necessary.”

“True,” you agree with a nod, unable to even pretend to try and deny his words, before starting to back towards the stairs slowly. “I’m going to shower, and you should too. I don’t want you to touch me with dead wife hands.”

“I didn’t even touch her,” he says.

You stop in your tracks and give him a flat, unimpressed look. “The air touched you both, Wonwoo.”

He rolls his eyes and then starts walking forward, towards you and the stairs while unzipping his jacket ready to remove it. “Whatever, just hurry the fuck up and get naked on my bed.”

“Demanding.”

He reaches out to grab the front of your shirt, technically another of his, once in front of you and stops you from backing up like you intend to. You glance down at his hand gripping the material then back up into his eyes with a raised eyebrow. “Before anything, I need to ask something.”

“No, I’m not going to call you daddy, no matter how much you beg,” you answer, tapping the tip of his nose once with your finger; he rolls his eyes and tugs you closer. “Okay, damn, I was joking, daddy.”

“Shut the fuck up, brat,” he retorts, though he’s clearly trying not to chuckle at your words. “And I know you call your dad that, so I definitely don’t want you calling me that. Keep your daddy issues out of our sex life.”

“Boring.” He gives you an unimpressed look. “Okay, fine, I’ll pretend I’m a serious person. What’s your question?”

“When did you get tested?”

“For what?”

“Anything you can pass on when you sit on my face.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen in clear interest. “Very recently; nothing to pass on. You?”

“Same.”

“Great. Shower; go clean my throne thoroughly,” you say and pat his cheek, though hesitate when you see the scar on his cheek and cup his face so you can run your thumb over it. “What did they do to your pretty face, huh?”

“Nothing your thighs can’t hide.”

“You know what? You’re so fucking right,” you agree then dart forward to press a far too quick kiss to his lips, then back up while he stares after you, in shock at first but then in challenge as you giggle. “Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” he confirms before you both rush upstairs to your ensuites to shower, more than just a little fucking excited to finally get to get your hands on each other.

Over the few days living back at the apartment, you and Wonwoo enthusiastically defile every inch of the apartment humanly possible, and then do it all over again, and again, and again.

Honestly, you have no idea how you both seem to have endless stamina and arousal in your veins to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. All it takes is locking gaze and suddenly clothes are being thrown off, and you’re reaching for condoms, which the two of you had great fun hiding all over the apartment to find again like a horny Easter egg hunt.

It’s even more impressive because you both still have to attend meetings, and Wonwoo has to meet with various people to arrange the funeral properly. He also has to deal with his wife’s belongings; none of which he wants to keep and frankly doesn’t care what happens to it, but he has to keep up appearances at least a little bit.

But, those three days pass far too quickly for your liking, and before you know it, you’re saying goodbye to Wonwoo with his number in your phone and his marks covering your skin under your clothes.

Honestly, part of you thought that now that you and Wonwoo have fucked it out, a lot, and have the opportunity to text and call whenever you want, that whatever is between you might fizzle out over the following few months apart. You thought that maybe, the novelty of finally being able to fall together would’ve worn off, and things would change. But you were very wrong.

Well, partially, because things do change, but not in the way you expected.

Every single night, Wonwoo video calls you, so that you can eat your dinner together despite the distance, and then you spend hours on call. Sometimes you’re quiet, each doing your own thing but just enjoying having the other there. Sometimes there’s nonstop talking. And sometimes, there is, of course, a lot of phone sex.

Even if the exact nature of the calls differ, he still calls and smiles at you so happily with a light in his eyes that you never saw in those months living together. But now, he looks like there’s no longer a weight dragging his heart down, and instead it’s allowed to flutter free, right into your waiting hands.

Wonwoo never hides it either, never tries to pretend that he doesn’t just sit and stare at you sometimes with a soft, content look on his face that always makes your heart flutter when you notice. He never hides how happy you make him, how much he adores talking to you, adores you.

He texts you every morning and at random points in the day just to check in and keep each other updated. Or send photos and memes he thinks you’ll like.

He sends random gifts to your house; flowers, food, lingerie, random knick-knacks he saw and thought of you, and you always show them to him on the next video call after you’ve decided where to put them. He always looks so happy that you’ve accepted the items and allowed them to be a part of your daily life.

The first time you send Wonwoo a gift in return, a giant bouquet of flowers, he calls you the second it arrives and excitedly thanks you so profusely; saying that no one has ever bought him flowers before, and he doesn’t know how to look after them, but he’ll do research and treasure them. Which he does; those flowers last far longer than you expect, thanks to his careful attention, and you can’t help but send him endless gifts after. He’s always so adorably happy and enthusiastic about whatever you send him, just because you had taken the time to think of him.

It’s honestly a side of him you really hadn’t known existed, a side so different to his usual persona that you feel like there’s something right in the depths of you both that ties you together and allows him to let himself be so free and honest with you.

The more you think about it, the more you take moments to just look at him on your screen as he talks or does chores, oblivious to your admiring gaze, the more you think that you might finally understand how Jihoon can be so devoted to you and willing to do anything to make you happy, even though he knows it will never get him anywhere with you.

You think you’d carve your heart from your chest and put it in Wonwoo’s hands if it would make him smile.

You think, that perhaps, he already has it.

Winter isn’t the best time to show off the private stretch of beach that your home overlooks, but it’s out of your control when Wonwoo turns up to deal with things on behalf of the Ahn gang in January.

But really, you don’t mind it, not when it means he’s finally right back within arm’s reach, and you can kiss his stupidly pretty face whenever you want, even if it’s chilled from the sea air blowing in as you sit on the blanket on the sand to watch the sun set.

He’s already been here for a few days, staying in your beachside home with you and defiling every inch of it at every given chance, too. But, it hasn’t all been about sex. There have been a lot of times where you just lay side by side, hands trailing over one another with no intention but to touch, to admire, to silently worship the other in a way you hope you can spend the rest of your lives doing.

There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it anymore, no doubt left in your mind or heart as you see your heart split in half and at home in his chest with half of his own, the other part in your own chest.

You thought having an incomplete heart was something bad, something to be feared and resent, but knowing Wonwoo has so willingly split his to complete yours and readily accepted yours as the other half of his, you think it’s the best thing a person could ever experience.

Even sitting here in the chill and talking about work, as you look at Wonwoo, all you feel is love. Although neither of you have said the words, have even discussed what your relationship is, you’re confident that he feels it too.

“He’s giving me more and more responsibilities now, like he’s getting ready to step down,” he informs, playing with the hem of your jumper, where he’s shoved his hand up the front of your coat to be closer to your skin and leech your warmth. You’re doing the same thing to him though, so you can’t really call him out on it.

“Gang boss Wonwoo, how attractive of you,” you muse and kiss his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder, making him smile at the cute action.

“Attractive enough to be Mrs gang boss Wonwoo?” Immediately, you straighten up to look at him in wide eyed shock at the abrupt question. Wonwoo removes his hands from you so that he can reach into one of his coat pockets and pull out a small, dark cube. A ring box.

“My dad will kill you if you propose to me without his blessing,” you mutter dumbly, eyes glued to the box as he shuffles to face you better.

“I know, so I asked him today.”

Your head jerks up to look at him wide eyed. “And he said yes?!”

“He doesn’t want his daughter being some asshole’s mistress, so he’d rather you just marry the asshole instead.” He chuckles. “It’d ally our gangs too.”

“I wouldn’t be your mistress!” you baulk offendedly.

“I don’t want you to be,” he assures. “I want to do it right this time; marriage.”

“What does ‘doing it right’ even mean, Wonwoo?”

“Not for business.”

“You just said it’d ally us,” you remind.

“That’s not important to me. If you said you want to run away and leave all this shit behind, I’d agree.”

You make an impressed sound similar to a whistle. “Damn. You’re whipped.”

He laughs and nods a little, while opening the box to show you the silver, diamond studded ring within. It matches the necklace you haven’t removed once since putting it on four months ago; you only remove the earrings at night so that they don’t dig into your skull when you sleep. “I am. You proved to me how lovable you are the past months, to the degree that I never want to spend a day without you, Princess. I really have fallen for you, and whether you love me or not isn’t important, because I’m confident you’ll love me sooner or later.”

“Definitely sooner,” you reply immediately, making his lips turn up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“I won’t marry for a reason other than genuine love, Wonwoo.”

“What does that mean?”

You offer your left hand and wiggle your fingers impatiently. “Put the fucking ring on me, then let me ride my fiancé’s dick.”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to pluck the ring from the cushion and slide it onto your finger, before pulling you onto his lap with a smile so bright it puts the setting sun to shame. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

Whatever You Want part two tag: @syluslittlecrows, @eisaspresso, @riseokau

#CosyHomeNet #svthub #kvanity #thediamondlifenetwork #keopihausnet #dovenet #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo mafia au #jeon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo angst #jeon wonwoo comedy #jeon wonwoo fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen mafia au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen comedy

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heyimkana · 1 day ago

Text

Blood Promise

AO3 Link

Pairing: Sub Vampire!Jinwoo X Dom Vampire!Reader

Genre: Vampire AU, smut, fluff

Summary: Sung Jinwoo is your devoted lover. Not wanting to part from him just yet, you turn him into a vampire before the heavens can take him away. Now, as you both enjoy the taste of each other's blood, he asks you to deepen your bond with him.

Content Warnings: blood sucking, penetrative sex, oral sex, swearing, mentions of murder and death

Word Count: 5K

This one is for my sweet moot Courtney @pa1nrema1ns for giving me the idea of newly-turned!vampire Jinwoo wanting to suck reader's blood. I hope you'll like it, babe 🥺

Jinwoo holds you close against him as you sink yourself into the bathtub, your spine glued to his chest, the water around you warm and soothing on your skin. You’re nestled between his legs, your muscles unwinding, your shoulder kissed lovingly by your partner from behind.

“This feels nice,” you say, smiling contentedly to yourself, but Jinwoo doesn’t share that blissful feeling with you, not just yet.

“Master…” Despite no longer needing air to survive, the word is spoken breathily in his deep, sultry voice. His lips, coated with the never-ending affection he holds for you, are slow and sensual against your skin. You can feel his sudden need, his desire to consume. His tongue traces the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his throat parched. “Can I…?”

“Again?” You reciprocate with a chuckle. “Insatiable, aren’t you?” But you grant his wish like always, gathering your damp strands in one hand, exposing your neck for him to feast on.

“No, not there.” His hand reaches down to your leg, the water rippling from his motions. “I want to do it right here,” he whispers, his voice quivering with need. “May I?”

You feel his hand gliding up further, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh. “All right.” You stand up from his lap, the water rising and falling around you. Jinwoo’s hooded gaze follows your every movement, watching with anticipation as you settle yourself down on the edge of the tub. With a luscious smile, you spread your legs for him, slowly, teasingly, revealing yourself like the sweetest secret.

His eyes, cobalt blues beneath the shimmering golden glow of the candles, turn purple bright at the sight. They glow eerily in the dimly lit room, hungry and eager. He stares in silent wonderment for a moment, his fangs growing twice their size, nearly puncturing his own lip when he murmurs, “You’re fucking gorgeous, Master.”

You lean back, a smirk adorning your face. “What are you waiting for?”

He wastes not one second. Diving his head between your legs, Jinwoo parts your legs wider, his mouth ghosting over your core before he moves slightly to the side, where your flesh is the most supple. He attaches his mouth to your thigh, his teeth prickling against your skin, the sensation electrifying. And he sinks them inside. Deeply.

You let out a breathy chuckle as they pierce your skin, taking pleasure from the pain and finding amusement in the way he so zealously drinks from you. It’s almost as if he were a newborn vampire all over again, even when a year has passed since you turned him into one.

“Mmph…” Jinwoo moans, his lids shut close, his eyebrows furrowed as he loses himself in you. He drinks as passionately as he makes love, taking in the sweet coppery taste so hungrily as if he had been starved for weeks.

Jinwoo craves blood the way an addict yearns for his drug, but still, no matter how thirsty he is, he refuses to drink from anyone else but you. A vampire's blood isn’t anywhere as sweet or gratifying as the one that streams in a human’s veins, and Jinwoo perfectly understand the difference. He’s sucked a fair maiden dry on the night he turned, but that was the only time he ever allowed himself to do it. It wasn’t because he felt remorseful for playing with an innocent's life, no. He would kill—he has killed—hundreds of humans before your eyes just to satisfy your bottomless desire. But when it comes to blood, he only wants yours. In the same way he only yearns for you, for your heart, your body, and your soul, for the rest of his life. And for an immortal like him, that means forever.

The young vampire moans against your skin, sucking your blood fervently, draining your strength and suffusing you with the sweet toxin that drips out from his fangs. “Easy, darling,” you weakly titter, your hand reaching down to caress his undercut, your fingers slipping through his strands, giving him a gentle tug to remind him that there was only so much he could take before he drains your life force with it.

Jinwoo detaches his teeth from you, just for a moment. He lifts his head to speak, his mouth drenched with your blood. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” he speaks drunkenly, pressing his lips to your inner thigh, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses all over your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his long lashes, his eyes burning with desire, his body on fire. “You always taste so sweet… Mmm,” he digs his fangs into your skin once more, his tongue darting out to lap up every drop of blood that wells up, groaning wantonly at the taste. “I can’t get enough of you, Angel.”

“Angel?” You laugh quietly. “Believe me, love, I’m no angel.”

Of course, he knows that, too. No angel takes pleasure in slaughtering thousands of humans in the span of a hundred years, drinking their blood without any guilt, just a predator feasting upon her prey. But you are still, even with your teeth bared and your eyes glowing menacingly in the dark, the most divine creature his eyes have ever laid on. Your skin is so soft, your lips are just as sweet as your blood, and your face… God, your face. You’re a piece of heaven on earth.

“Yes, you are, Master.” Jinwoo takes another long, slow lick up your favorite spot, his hands moving to grab your thighs, spreading them wider, giving him more access to you. His eyes are locked on yours, his mouth lavishing your flesh with kisses and licks. “You’re the sweetest thing, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You’re stronger than him due to your age, much stronger, but looking at you right now, all small and vulnerable in his arms, he can’t help but feel protective. Possessive. Obsessed. He wants to take care of you, to hold you, to love you and ruin you all the same.

You smile, tilting up his chin with your fingers, watching his eyes droop as he looks up at you, surrendering every part of himself to the person who owns his soul. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

And that is the understatement of the century. Sung Jinwoo is the most handsome thing you've ever seen, and you've been with so many men over the decades you've roamed the earth. Tall, strong, and muscular; he’s flawless from the tip of his strand down to his toe, the epitome of masculinity, the evidence that perfection does exist, but beyond all that, beneath his rugged exterior, there’s a form of tenderness that you can’t find anywhere else, love that thaws your icy heart and brings lights to the depths of your soul. There’s some sort of devotion that feels both thrilling and dangerous at the same time. It was the reason why, when he was on the brink of death, you succumbed to your selfish desire and changed him into your own kind, stripping him of his humanity just so you could keep him for eternity.

But he never thought you were selfish. If anything, he wants you to be. To obsess over him the way he's obsessed with you.

Jinwoo leans in, his mouth hovering right over your heat. “Master… Can I taste you here, too?”

He knows he should wait for your approval, but his desperate need turns him bolder. He takes a long, slow lick of your core, his eyes dark and filled with lust when he looks up from between your legs, watching you the entire time.

“Naughty boy,” you smile coquettishly. “I haven’t granted you permission yet.”

“I’m sorry.” Yet he takes another sinful, torturous lick, at your heat, his tongue sliding between your folds. He took in every bit of your expression, addicted to how your face contorts with the beginnings of pleasure. “I’ve grown… impatient.”

“Aren’t you always?” You push him down to his knees, your hand fisting a handful of his hair as you stand before him.

He flinches from the pain, but as fearless as he used to be when he was still a human, he keeps his heavy gaze on yours, unwavering. His hand skates up your thigh, hugging you close to him. “Let me pleasure you,” he speaks against your skin, his touch, his kiss, his stare reverent. “Please, Master, I want to—mmph—"

You bring him back to your core with a sudden push of his head, grinding yourself against his face, using him as you please. Jinwoo groans, grateful for the opportunity, and he works his mouth on you as best as he can, licking and sucking on your clit as your grip keeps him imprisoned between your legs.

It doesn’t take long before you crumble, your essence trickling down his chin, watching him drink every drop that coats his tongue. “Satisfied now?” you ask him, your mind still gyrating from ecstasy.

“For the time being,” he replies a little shamelessly, earning himself a soft giggle out of you. Jinwoo runs his tongue across his lips, relishing your taste before he brings you back to his lap. He places a string of kisses from your jawline down to your neck. “Thank you, Master.”

“Pleasure is all mine.” Your hand slides up his chest, your touch titillating. Your fingertips caress the side of his neck, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip as your own hunger arises within you. “May I have a taste as well?”

If he were still breathing, it would’ve turned ragged. “You can have all of me.” He pulls you toward him with ardent passion, embracing you as if he wanted to fuse your body into one. Your mouths collide in a searing kiss, your tongue sliding against his own, tasting your own blood in his mouth.

The consuming kiss lasts a few seconds before your thirst takes hold of you again. You lick a stripe up his neck, feeling his body tensing underneath. “Nervous, love?”

"Excited," he corrects you with a chuckle, desire exuding thickly from his voice. His palm glides up your back, all the way to your nape. “Bite me here, Master.” He pushes your face forward, guiding you to where he wants you to be.

You pull back your lips, your teeth grazing his skin just to tease. ”Where’s your manners, Sweetheart?”

“Please.” His grip tightens around your strands, his tone desperate. “Please. I want your teeth in me. Please, Master…”

“Mm,” you reward him with a soft kiss above his vein. “That’s a good boy.”

Jinwoo lets out a low moan as he feels your fangs sink into his skin, the pain and pleasure washing over him in waves. His body arches against yours as his blood spills into your mouth, his body shuddering in ecstasy from being completely under your mercy.

The taste of his blood is beyond amazing, even when he’s no longer human. “If you think my blood is sweet,” you moan softly against his skin, “You should taste yours.” You bury your teeth into him again, digging in deeper with each passing moment, your eyes shutting close in rapture.

You’re being rougher than usual, taking big gulps, taking every drop as if it were your last time drinking from him. “Ah…” Jinwoo rakes his nails down your back, leaving red angry scratches on your skin that fade away within seconds. “Don’t bite so hard, Angel,” he admonishes you lightly with a pleased smile, his hand gripping your thigh tighter than before. He tilts his head, baring more of his long neck for you to devour.

You chuckle darkly, “Saying that while exposing more skin for me to bite.” You lap on the wound, his body healing faster than you wanted it to. “You’re a dirty little thing, aren't you, Sung Jinwoo?”

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, his nails sinking into your thigh. “Nothing about me is little, Master. You know that.” A wave of arousal courses right through him, and you can feel it too, with the way his hardness pressing against you.

You adjust your position, sitting properly on his lap with your legs spread, facing him. Your heat rubs against his throbbing cock under the water, the feeling hot and dangerous. “You’re right,” you rock your hips against him, rubbing your folds against the underside of his cock. “Nothing about you is little.”

"Master—"

You silence him with a passionate kiss, letting him suck on your tongue and see just how fucking sweet his blood tastes in your mouth. One of your fangs grazes his lip, tearing the skin and you suckle on it, leaving it swollen and bruised. His groan, deep and guttural, bounces off the wall, wanting you to be even rougher with him. You share a messy kiss, smearing crimson on his cheek and chin before you return to his neck once more, taking another deep bite.

“You taste so fucking good…” You say, feeling a rush of power and desire streaming through your system. “Maybe I should suck you dry.”

His body shivers at your words, the threat of you taking all his blood only fueling the fire burning inside him. Jinwoo wraps his arms around you, never wanting to let you go. ”Do it,” he says, his voice thick with craving. He needs the pleasure. He needs the pain. He needs you.

“Careful what you wish for, love,” you chuckle, your eyes still glazed by the sweet temptation. “I might actually kill you if I continue.”

He feels no dread for it. If anything, to die by your hand, by your side, wouldn’t that be heavenly? “I can take a bit more.” His words come out low and slurred, his mind swimming in a haze of pleasure.

You hear his plea, but you also know his limit. “Don’t be greedy, honey,” you tell him as you put a small distance between you. “I don’t want to lose you just yet.”

Jinwoo displays a slight pout at your line, and you kiss it away. You swipe your thumb across his blood-stained lips, wiping them clean before you push your digit into his mouth. He obeys almost immediately, sucking on your finger until his cheeks hollowed out, his eyes, dark with lust, never leaving yours.

His cock twitches under the water, rubbing against your thighs, begging for attention. You give him the friction he wants, but only barely. Jinwoo hisses at the slightest contact, his glowing purple eyes following the obscene sway of your hips. He wants to slide it in inside, to stretch your walls, to fuck you until you cry out his name but he can’t, not until you give him permission to. You may be his lover, but you are still his master. There’s a wall he’s not allowed to breach, but that’s the challenge he loves. There’s something so sexy about being under your control, your mercy, and if somehow, he gets to be the one who makes you beg in return… God, nothing can beat that feeling.

“Want me to ride you, baby?” You ask him, your voice tantalizing. One of your hands slides down to curl around his length, bringing his tip to your entrance but never letting it move past the ring.

He almost growls in response, his fingers raking against your hips. You’re such a fucking tease, you always are. “Would—“ He swallows thickly. He just had his third round with you this evening, and yet, he still can’t get enough. “Would you do it if I said yes?”

You smile in return, saccharine sweet, your face leaning forward until your lips hover just a hair's breadth away from his own. “No.”

He grunts in protest, tossing his head back in frustration. But the second your giggles ring through the air, he thinks it’s worth every torture he goes through. To make you laugh… To make you happy… That’s his sole purpose of living.

“What if I said please?” He questions softly, his lips featherlight as they caress the valley between your breasts. “If I begged you nicely, Master… Would you let me make love to you?”

“Hmm…” You hold onto his face, running your tongue from his neck, his chin, to his lips. “Maybe.”

“Please,” he pleads almost instantly, a hint of desperation in his voice. He draws your body toward him, holding you tight, chest pressing against chest. “Please, Master…” he whispers deep in your ear, his voice drenched with desire. “Let me fuck you… I’ll make you feel good, I swear it.”

Your lust glints in your eyes as a sense of superiority permeates you. You may be trapped in his arms, but you’re nowhere caged. You’re still the one who holds the leash and it fucking pleases you to see just how submissive he is for you. Only you.

“Let me please you…” He guides you down by your hips, letting you feel his hard, swollen tip nudging against your folds. “Let me make you scream my name again. Let me make you come. Please… I need—” His sentence ends with a gasp as you sink yourself onto his cock, taking him all the way down in one fluid motion. The sensation of having your warmth envelop him beneath the water is enough to drive him insane, but you’re nowhere near finished. Your teeth pierce his neck again, ripping it open and taking huge gulps of his blood.

“Fuck,” Jinwoo hisses, his nails leaving tears on your smooth skin but you enjoy the pain. You enjoy the desperation that suffuses him.

Feeling like he’s about to topple over the edge, Jinwoo sinks his fangs into your shoulder, his groan muffled by your flesh, your blood dripping down his chin, staining the clear water below you. You drink each other's blood as your body mingles in a rhythmless dance.

“Master—” Jinwoo groans, sipping more and more, his hips thrusting in and out at such a frantic pace. “Master—ngh—you feel so good—”

For a moment, you let him be, let him grip your hips, and move you up and down his cock. Water splashes down the tub as his thrust turns vigorous, so deep and hard, he’d knock out all the air in your lungs had you had any. “Master—fuck—I’m about to—”

You twine your fingers around his neck, grasping it tightly until he chokes out his words. His body turns still under your silent command, the lines in his features contorting in pain. “Not yet, darling,” you warn him with a smirk, the perilous gleam in your eyes making him turn even harder inside you. “We don’t want this to finish so soon now, do we?”

His jaw slackens on his face, his eyes half-lidded as he looks up at you. “Master… I want to come…”

“In a moment, Sweetheart.” Your eyes travel down his body, exploring, memorizing every plane and every dip. “Where do you like it the most?”

“Master…?”

“When I bite you, Jin. Where do you want me the most?”

A quiver runs down his spine at the sudden question, at the way your tone remains gentle, yet authoritative. “I want you everywhere, Master. Every part of me you can reach. But… If you'll allow me... There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Oh?” You lower yourself to him, sliding down on his cock and keeping him buried inside as your face hangs just an inch away from his own. “Tell me nicely, and maybe I’ll do it.”

He feels your teeth grazing his ear, his body tingling. “I want you to mark me, Master… Right here.” He points a spot right below his collarbone, his eyes filled with both desire and submission. “Not bite. Mark, Master. I want you to leave your mark on me.”

Your gaze darkens in an instant. “You know what you’re asking me, don’t you?”

He swallows. He can sense your emotions rising like the tides. If this were a joke he played, he knows you’d make him regret it. “Yes, Master.”

You’re tightening your hold on his neck without realizing it, your expression grave. “If I leave my mark on you, Jinwoo, you’ll never be able to escape me. You’ll be bound to me for eternity. You won’t be able to survive a single day if you walk away from me. Are you sure that’s what you want—”

“Yes,” he says, no doubt, no hesitation. “That’s what I want. That’s what I’ve always wanted ever since you turned me—no, ever since I met you. To be with you forever. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Your heart, something that has been frozen cold for so long, starts to rattle inside your chest. You want to believe him. God, he doesn’t know how much you want to put faith in his words, but… “Forever is a very long time,” you speak your reasoning quietly, as if you were afraid that he’d be frightened by it.

But Jinwoo simply smiles, a smile so soft, so beautiful, it feels like a dream. “Not long enough if I spend it with you.” He tucks your loose strands behind your ear, holding your gaze affectionately. “I love you, Master.” His arm slithers around your waist as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me be yours forever. Please…”

Your lips tremble before you tighten them, your eyes drooping. “I… love you, too…”

He chuckles softly, planting a tender kiss on your temple. “I know.” There’s not a sliver of arrogance in his voice, only the truth. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have turned me, would you?” He places your palm against his cheek, his lips brushing against the lines as he speaks. “You took the first step, and now I’m taking mine. But I cannot do it without your help, Angel. So, mark me. Claim me. Body, mind, and soul, I’m yours.”

You part your lips to speak but there are no words that can express how… grateful you are for his presence, for his wish to be with you. You almost gave up, didn’t you? After a hundred years of walking the earth alone with only the moon keeping you company, you thought there would be no chance for you to find a partner who speaks to your soul. But now he’s here, and he’s blinding.

Jinwoo looks at you, his gaze both pleading and expecting. His vulnerability shows, mirroring your own. “Please…” he murmurs one last time, and it cuts the final thread that keeps you in control.

You lean close, your lips hovering right above his collarbone. For the first time in your life, you tremble at the sweet smell of blood. If you mark him now, there will be no second chances. If he regrets it later…

Jinwoo embraces you close, his touch soothing. “It’s all right,” he says softly against your strands. “I won’t regret it. I will never blame you for this. I’ve thought about it for so long, over and over again and the answer remains unchanged. I just want to be with you. Let me be with you. Truly."

You gulp, your eyes hot with unshed tears. Then, you yield. “I’ll… I’ll do it gently.”

“No. Hard.” He draws himself back just enough to meet you in the eyes, holding you firmly by the cheek. “I want to feel it. To feel you. So don’t hold back. Not for me.”

He wants to experience it, the sting of your fangs, wants to bask in that sweet, sweet pain that only you can give. You shake your head. “This one is different. It’s going to hurt.”

He laughs fondly. “You think I can’t handle it?”

Though your concern for him still swells inside your chest, you toss him a defeated smile. "You're too brave for your own good." You kiss him on the lips, light and romantic, your mouth moving slowly against his. It’s almost like a goodbye kiss, and perhaps it is, in a way. A farewell to the life he once knew.

“Hurry, Master,” he whispers, his voice low and pleading. He brings you back to his neck, his hand sliding through your strands, keeping you in place. “I can’t wait…”

Please. Take me.

With his name resounding in your mind, you bare your teeth.

I love you.

Your fangs, sharper than a hundred needles combined, puncture his skin. The bite is unlike any other. It burns him to his core, stings harder than a javelin through the chest. His eyes jolt open in pain and his irises gleam brighter than they’ve ever been. He can feel it, your emotions, your desire, your power surging inside him. His soul is now intertwined with yours, your name engraved in every drop of blood that flows beneath his fair skin. He’s bound to you, for eternity.

Despite trying his best to restrain his voice, a low groan still escapes him, his muscles tautening as jolts of agony shoot through him. His hold on your hair turns painful, clutching onto you like a lifeline until a few seconds pass by, and the scorching pain begins to morph into pleasure. He’s losing himself, his mind in a state of euphoria as the effect of your venom starts to kick in. He lets out a soft laugh, gladdened and relieved. He’s finally yours now, truly yours.

You can feel his cock, still buried deep inside, throbbing against your walls as his blood oozes into your mouth. The dopamine dripping from your fangs, and the sizzling mark you put on his skin, are enough to push him to the limit. A few more sucks and he’d come undone inside you.

I need to stop, you tell yourself, still finding the hardest time to unclasp your mouth from him. He’s already lost so much blood before. If I keep this up—

“No,” Jinwoo demands, the second he senses you retracting your fangs. “Don’t let me go yet. I want you to feel me, to revel in my taste, to remember how good”—he suddenly thrusts forward, startling and robbing a cry out of you—“I make you feel.”

You moan at the sensation, your mouth still latched firmly against his neck as you clutch onto him. Jinwoo rises to his feet and turns around to press you against the wall, his strong arms wrapped protectively around you to fight back gravity. With his fingers squeezing tightly against your behind, he drives his hips forward, sliding his cock out completely before he drives himself back to the hilt.

You throw your head back, his blood dripping from your chin to your chest. “Fuck—” You moan his name beyond restraint, your legs being spread apart, fucked like an animal against the wall. “Jin, slow down—”

“I want to mark you, too,” he says, almost in a growl, and it stuns you to your bones. The previous tenderness he displays has vanished without a trace, replaced by this aching desire to own you. He wants nothing more than to see his mark on you, a physical reminder of your bond. “I want to sink my teeth into you and make you mine.”

There’s pain in the pleasure he gives you, something that you quickly grow addicted to. He holds you by your throat, his hips never stopping, his gaze dark, darker than the blackest night. “Can I?”

This new side of him excites you. You always thought he was the sweetest boy, a handsome prince who would never lay a finger on you without your consent. But this… This beast before you who wishes to possess you without giving you a chance to ruminate...

Lucky for him, you've made your decision a while ago.

“Yes,” you reply, your perfect marbled teeth peeking from behind pretty lips. “Put your mark on me.”

His restraint snaps. A primal urge surges right through him, the need to claim you as his and his alone growing stronger than ever. With a low, possessive growl tumbling off his lips, he digs his fangs into the soft flesh of your shoulder, breaking the skin and taking what belongs to him.

The unbearable pain of his bite intensifies your pleasure, and as he fucks you hard and fast against the wall, his fingers threatening to crush your windpipes, you find yourself smiling in rapture.

God, this feels so fucking good.

Jinwoo drives you to cloud nine and he follows you there, your mouth smashed and devoured, your unrestrained moan mingling with his own in the air.

A hundred years… You’ve lived for a hundred years, and this… This right here is the best sex you’ve ever had.

Jinwoo, with his body still trembling from the aftermath of his orgasm, slowly releases his hand from your neck. The nasty bruise lingers for a second before it begins to fade, disappearing faster than the pain that’s still etched on your skin. “I’m sorry,” he says, carefully settling you down, one leg at a time. “I don’t know what suddenly took over me. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

Did I hurt you he said, you chuckle to yourself. If you didn’t have the power to heal, you wouldn’t even be able to speak right now. “I guess you've turned into a real vampire now, huh?” you tease him with a pat on his cheek. “You’re making Mommy so proud, baby.”

He scrunches his nose adorably at that but then his gaze wanders back to your shoulder. Unlike the previous bites he’d left on your skin, this one stays, the same way the one on his collarbone does.

“When you mark someone, the wound doesn’t heal,” you explain, seeing his confusion. “And you can’t mark anyone else. Or get marked by someone else. These marks are just for us.”

His eyes shimmer, still fixated on the mark he left you. “Oh…”

You gather his face in your hand, your thumb stroking against his cheekbone. Jinwoo returns his gaze to you, greeted by your smile. “Do you regret it?” You ask him softly, a hint of sadness clouding your features.

“No,” he answers firmly, his fingers curling around your wrist, pressing your palm further against his cheek. “No, Master, I’ll never—”

“My name.” He stops, his eyes widening in surprise. “Call me by my name, Jin. I’m no longer your master, I’m… I’m yours now.”

His lips part in surprise, taking in your sheepish smile, then his joy transforms his whole features. He brightens, his gaze fond as he holds yours and when he speaks your name in a reverent whisper, you feel like you’ve returned home.

Jinwoo draws you close, his smile pressing against your own in a delicate kiss, murmuring I love you I love you I love you each time your lips separate, only to reunite again. You giggle as his lips move to your cheek, and your nose, placing kisses here and there until he brushes the last one against your forehead.

“With this, our bond is complete,” you utter, your fingertips moving to sketch your name on his chest. “If you die, I will die, too. And if I die—”

He captures your wrist, kissing the vein that no longer beats beneath your skin, all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “I will follow you,” he continues your sentence, his resolve glimmering in his eyes. “Heaven and hell, wherever you go, I will follow you for eternity.”

Your chest tightens, suffocated by the affection you hold for him. “For eternity.”

Suddenly, forever doesn’t seem so long anymore.

Jinwoo buries his nose in your hair, his face radiant with joy. “May I carry you to the bed?”

You chuckle. “Sure, if you treat me like a—” He leans down to wrap his arms around your back and in the crook of your knees, lifting you with ease. “…princess,” you finish, can’t help but turn flustered. When was the last time a man carried you this way, treating you like a delicate flower?

Jinwoo watches you with his eyebrow raised. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.” You cast your face to the side. It almost feels like your heart is beating again. No, racing.

Though he’s still confused, he refrains from asking further. There’s something he wants to do, and that is to take care of you. He steps out of the tub, drenching the marbled floor.

“Wait,” you stop him. “We’re still covered in blood. Shouldn’t we wash it off?”

He blinks once before his lips tilt up into a smirk. He shortens the distance between your faces, his gaze filled with adoration, his voice low and sensual when he says—

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