#undercover marriage

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 15

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6k

warnings: self-esteem issues, feelings

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 15/? 

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© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

The ride home lasts ten minutes, during which you’re holding back tears the entire time. It’s only when you’re finally inside your own apartment that you let them fall. It doesn’t help to see Fenrir’s collar and leash hanging next to your jackets, or his bowls still on the floor. In a way, it feels like you’re back at square one. 

You know you promised Jeongguk you’d call Jihyo, but you don’t, knowing she’d disapprove of you being on your own probably just as much as he does. Still, realizing that sooner or later you’ll need to either get back to work or find another job, you send her a text, asking if there’s any case for you to work on remotely until you’re ready to return fully.

The first night back is emotional, but you’re relieved to finally be home.

“I don’t think it matters how hard you throw it,” a worried Jimin watches Jeongguk hurl a dart at the dartboard. “Actually, I’m pretty sure you’d see better results if you didn’t throw it like an Olympic javelin thrower.”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, just rolls his eyes and grabs another dart. The music around them is surprisingly quiet, drowned out by the chatter of the bustling bar.

“So, care to tell me what’s up with him?” Jin asks, nodding toward Jeongguk as he sets the three pints of beer on the table and takes a seat. 

“His little lady left him,” Jimin explains sadly, sliding one of the pints closer to Jeongguk.

“Oh. Why? You weren’t a couple, were you?” Jin asks.

“No,” is all Jeongguk mutters before he heads over to the dartboard to retrieve the darts. He has three of them, but only one actually hit the board; the other two embarrassingly stuck to the wood-paneled wall. From the marks already there, he’s at least not the first terrible dart-thrower. When he returns to the table with all the darts in hand, he pushes his designated pint back toward Jimin. “Can’t drink.”

Jimin meets his eyes, looking defeated. Jeongguk already explained that when you’re not with him, he can’t risk being drunk in case you need him. If you called, saying Hoseong had found you, Jeongguk would not hesitate to get on his bike or in his car, no matter how much he’s had to drink, and driving under the influence is something he’d rather avoid.

“She’s scared of me,” he repeats what you told him a few nights ago. Hearing the words from his own mouth stings less, but his heart still aches and his blood boils. He throws another dart but misses the board, and it sticks to the wall a few inches left of it. 

“Wait. What do you mean?” Jin asks, confusion written all over his face.

“Yeah. Although I’m pretty sure she hasn’t ruled out that I’ll just snap one day and kill her, she’s mostly scared that I’ll want to hurt her emotionally.”

“But why would you? I thought you two were doing alright? I mean, she’s been living with you for, what, the last month?”

“We were. Or at least, I thought so. She kissed me, and we were… getting closer, but I guess it freaked her out.”

“Why?”

“Remember how I told you I was horrible to her before I found out what Hoseong had done? Yeah, the things I said… they were inhumane.”

“What did you say?”

Jeongguk throws another dart, swinging his arm and using way too much force. “What haven’t I said? I’ve told her that she’s too ugly for me to look at, that she needs to stop eating, that she’s incompetent, and that she basically deserved being trafficked if only the traffickers would take her. That’s the short version.”

“Fuck, man,” Jimin breathes in disbelief. Jeongguk told him what happened ages ago but not explicitly what he’d said to you.

“Yeah. I just��� I wanted her to hurt, to pay for what I thought she’d done, but she never seemed affected. I’d call her something, and she’d flip me off or glare at me or call me an idiot or whatever, but she never… I thought she didn’t care, so the next time I saw her, I said something worse. But I wouldn’t have, obviously, if I… If I… knew.”

Jin puts his glass down, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean, I haven’t met her, but isn’t she, like, objectively very pretty? From what I’ve heard?”

“Yeah, she is,” Jeongguk sighs. “Which is also why I didn’t think she’d take it to heart, ‘cause what I said isn’t true in the slightest.” 

“But can’t she see how pathetically in love you are? No offense,” Jimin asks. “I mean, I take it you’ve apologized and probably told her what you really think? She doesn’t trust that?”

Jeongguk falls silent as he retrieves the darts again, shamefully avoiding eye contact with his friends on his way back.

“Wait, you haven’t apologized?”

“Of course I have,” he argues before lowering his voice. “I just kinda… fucked it up.”

He feels the confused stares of his friends. “I’ve apologized many, many times for how I treated her, and she seemed to kinda accept that? But I never explicitly apologized for the things I said. Nor have I told her how I actually feel about her.”

He sees how Jimin is about to tell him exactly what he thinks about that, but Jeongguk cuts him off before he's able to.

“After I somehow convinced her to stay with me, I thought carefully about how to act around her. I thought that it would be better to apologize for… everything. I thought ‘I’m sorry for how I treated you’ would cover it. And I didn’t want her to second-guess my intentions, so I didn’t actually tell her what I really think.”

“You mean ‘second-guess your intentions’ as in…” Jin trails off.

“As in think that I chose to help her because I was interested in her. I didn’t want her to think I had an agenda or to feel like she’d owe me in any way. She hasn’t had the best experience with men—men in law enforcement, especially—so I wanted to be as… safe, I guess, as possible for her. I didn’t realize she was still thinking about it, taking what I said as the truth.”

Jimin sighs. “So she thinks you might still consider her the ugliest creature to walk the earth is what you’re saying?”

“Apparently. I tried to convince her before she left, but of course, it didn’t seem genuine. I don’t blame her.”

A bit more optimistic, Jin tilts his head. “You don’t think she’ll believe you if you just tell her exactly what you just told us?”

But Jeongguk lets his shoulders slump. “I don’t think so. She told me I scare her because I have a desire to hurt anyone who wrongs me, and she doesn’t feel like she can read me. And I believe her. I wanted to hurt her, and during the mission, I had to pretend to love her when I really didn’t, so I kept switching up on her.”

The atmosphere shifts from frustrated and sad to just sad as Jeongguk runs his thumb over the dart in his hand.

“I lose either way. If I tell her that what I said back then was true, then I think she’s ugly, and I wanted to hurt her by saying so. But if I say that I lied and that she’s really the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, then I still wanted to hurt her. And after everything she’s been through, she doesn’t want a man with a desire to hurt.”

“But like you said, you didn’t mean to hurt her to that point, more so to be taken down a notch? And it got out of hand?”

“Is there a difference? I’ve hurt her, probably beyond what is salvageable, and she thinks I’m still capable of that; that if we disagree on something, I might turn on her.”

With a deep breath, you pull open the doors to the police station one chilly Monday morning, the sky outside gray and heavy with the threat of snow. It’s been three weeks since you came home, and though Jihyo put up a fight, she eventually agreed to let you stay.

Since months have passed, and you still haven’t caught Hoseong and his crew, you figure you might as well try to get back to normal. So you started planning your return to work, but then Christmas came, which you spent at your mother’s, two hours away.

Jihyo also agreed not to tell Jeongguk about your living arrangements, per your desperate request. You’d rather not deal with his savior complex, and you know he’d park outside your building if he thought you were in danger. You scoff to yourself, but almost immediately, guilt settles in. A savior complex isn’t why he’s worried about you; he’s just a good guy. You know that. Still, you don’t want him to know.

Walking through the station at nine a.m.—on your way to Jihyo’s office to discuss your new assignment—you almost hold your breath. Some officers glance your way, still not used to seeing you back, and maybe even less used to seeing you without Jeongguk. Or maybe they know you had a “falling out?” Would he tell anyone here? Jihyo, maybe, if she didn’t already know, but you’re not sure if he’d tell anyone else; his closest friends besides Jimin don’t work at this station anyway. And Jimin probably wouldn’t gossip about you either.

Jihyo is waiting for you when you reach the door to her office, calling out for you to come in as soon as you knock.

“Hey,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“Hey. Want a donut?” she asks from behind her desk, happily pointing to the open box, a half-eaten donut in hand and what you assume is part of the other half in her mouth.

“Nah, I’m good,” you grin, sitting down in front of her.

“Alright,” she says, swallowing and wiping some crumbs from her lap. “So, I’ve been looking over your request and proposed methods.”

You watch as she pulls her laptop in front of her, setting the donut down on the table, and starts scrolling.

“And I’d say it’s very reasonable if we’re okay with the risks.”

“I don’t think there are any risks at all, actually,” you argue softly. “We parted on good terms.”

“Yeah, I know. And they played a part in your survival. But I’m still gonna need to have a risk analysis performed. Who would you want to go with you? I could assign Sana, I think, if you want her? She’s on an assignment right now, but we’re hoping they’ll be done by Wednesday, give or take.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m glad to see you back and wanting to work on what matters to you. I know the chief—ex-chief—did his best to be a pain in the ass for you.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait until the investigation’s finished, honestly. He deserves to rot in jail.”

“Agreed. I haven’t heard anything else from the higher-ups, so they’re probably still elbow-deep in it. Anyway, if you have any details you’d like to show me, I’m all ears.”

Your smile grows, and you reach into your bag for your laptop and notebook.

“Thanks,” you smile, standing up an hour later with your bag in hand. But before you exit her office and close the door behind you, you glance back at Jihyo. “By the way, I’m so glad you got the job. You deserve it more than anyone.”

“Thank you. It’s been… rough, these last couple of months. A lot to do and a lot of stress and pressure, but I think it’s worth it. And I’ve had help, making it easier for me to adjust.”

You know who she’s talking about; you don’t need to hear a name.

“He asks about you, you know.”

Holding onto the door, you look away. You’re well aware of what Jeongguk has done for not only you but also Jihyo, Sana, and the entire police station. 

“Let me avoid him for at least another month. Then you can tell him whatever you want, and I can try to be a better colleague. But now? I can’t… I don’t…”

Jihyo looks at you, seeing the pain well up in your eyes when you think about the reason you left his house that night. If you can just have another month to force the warm, yet invalid and hurt feelings you have for him back into the box they broke out of when you first kissed him, you can try to be more civil with him. Hell, you’ll even work with him if he can keep it professional as well.

Jihyo nods, sad but understanding. After all, she had a front-row seat when he used to tear you bloody.

For another hour, you sit at an empty desk, excitedly looking over the preliminary plan that starts on Thursday. You can’t believe it’s about to actually become reality.  

Step one:

Preliminary timeframe: Thursday. 

Possible obstacles and risks: Low risk of hostility or danger. 

Safety measures: Two detectives, civilian clothes, civilian car, concealed firearms.

Step two: Plan A or B, depending on what you find, if anything.

With your notes full of prepared questions, you rise from the chair, deeming it time to leave the station for the day. As you stand there, organizing your papers, movement catches your eye, and you look up just in time to see Jimin enter the big room. And of course, who does he have in tow if not Jeon Jeongguk, dressed, like so often, in the academy's navy crewneck and uniform pants?

Meeting both of their eyes, you’re saved by your phone’s ringtone, a sound that seems to stop even Jeongguk from taking an impulsive step toward you.

Fishing the phone out from the pocket of your black pants, you swipe your finger across the screen to answer. It’s Sana.

“Hello?”

“Hey! So I talked to Jihyo, and she said that your request got pre-approved? I’m a little busy at the moment and for the next few days, but send me anything you’d like me to look over in preparation.”

“So you’re up for it?” you ask, a wide smile forming. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Jeongguk reluctantly follow Jimin further into the room, where they start talking to two other officers with their backs turned. If you were more of a hopeless romantic instead of a realistic one, you’d describe the glances he sends your way as… yearning. To avoid his gaze, you focus on the notebook lying on the desk.

“Of course! You and me, just like old times.”

“Old times? It’s only been like a year since we worked on a case together.”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, I gotta go. See you.”

“I’ll send the info tonight. See you.”

Discreetly, you end the call and gather your things, quickly but quietly heading for the exit. But in the corridor, you hear a call of your name. You shut your eyes for a second before turning around. It hurts to see him, to walk these halls, avoiding him just like you used to. Only this time, it’s a different kind of pain.

The shame creeps in at the same rate Jeongguk approaches. It’s the same shame for how he sees you, but also for how you’ve reacted. You can barely look at him, yet you’re ashamed for not giving him a chance, even though he’s the one who made the bed he’s now tossing and turning in. He's so handsome, looking so warm and strong as he approaches, his black hair looking soft, shiny and just a little longer than last time. A part of you wishes he’d close his eyes so that you could throw your arms around his neck and breathe him in.

“Can you please leave me alone for a while?” is what you ask instead, clutching your notebook to your chest.

Now standing right before you, he looks down at you with sad, desperate eyes. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Two minutes is all I need.” 

You’re not sure why, because you’re not an immature person, but you press your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. Noticing the shift in your expression, Jeongguk thinks back to what he said, smiling as well. “I set that one up pretty well, didn’t I?”

You turn your head, trying to stifle the smile, but you find that it fades easier than expected. 

“And you think I’d wanna fuck that?” he snaps, eyeing your body with disgust. 

Your gaze locks on the lower part of the wall. You wish someone would lend you the cloak of invisibility so that you could hide yourself from him and the world.

“Look at me,” he instructs, but you don’t. The more you think about his eyes on your body, the more you want to leave. 

“Look. At me,” he repeats, firmer this time but still without sounding angry. 

So you do.

“I get it if you don’t want anything else to do with me, but I can’t have you walking around, believing what I said is true.”

Although you don’t cry, you reluctantly let him see just how hurt you are.

“You were right. I wanted to hurt you. I said those things because I was angry, and I wanted just… some kind of justice. When you instead seemed so… unfazed, I let it get the best of me, and somewhere along the way, I lost myself. But I was wrong and although I wanted payback, I didn’t mean to hurt you to this degree. I was only looking for a reaction, anything that showed me that you were paying for what I thought you’d done. If I’d known how I really made you feel, regardless of if you were innocent or not, I would’ve stopped.“

“So you’re just a man, after all?” you ask, and maybe it’s uncalled for, maybe it’s not.

Jeongguk takes half a step back, appearing lost for words, and with enough pain in his surprised eyes for you to think he looks hurt.

He blinks and lowers his voice. “Yeah. Just a man. But listen to me—the things I said were. Not. True. Okay? You hear me? I cannot let you go around thinking you’re anything like what I told you.”

“I find that hard to believe. How else would you know exactly where to hit? What to say to cause maximum damage? Talking about my cellulite and my… weight and…”

“I said what I figured any woman would be scared to hear.”

“Yeah, sure,” you dismiss. 

It doesn’t matter what he says now—he did know exactly what to say, which means he must have looked at you, inspected your body and found every single one of your flaws. It makes you nauseous, as if some of those flaws didn’t exist to the world simply because no one other than you had noticed or mentioned them. Then Jeongguk and his friends scrutinized every inch of you, uncovering them all and putting them on display.

“I think you’re gorgeous.”

“You would’ve told me.”

You really think he would have. The Jeongguk who wants you to sleep in his bed, holding you from behind, who asks to hold your hand, and who puts frosting on your lips as an excuse to kiss them—he would have told you if he liked you. If he thought you were beautiful.

“I didn’t. I thought–incredibly dumbly–that if I told you what I really think of you, you’d think I was hitting on you. If things were different, if we ran into each other somewhere without all this… baggage, I would’ve hit on you, but all I wanted at the time was for you to trust me as a friend and to trust that I just wanted you to be safe. I didn’t want you to think I was looking to get laid or that I would… that I was anything like Hoseong. I didn’t know that you took my bullshit to heart—because again, it’s just not true—and so I chose not to say anything.”

“But we’ve been past that point for a while, haven’t we?” you ask, finding his explanation a little too weak to believe. “I trusted you enough to tell you about the worst moment of my life, I kissed you, and I told you how pretty I think you are, yet you couldn’t even…”

Frustration boils in your veins, mixing with the raw disappointment and hurt which cools you back down. You feel so… small, so defeated. “I don’t need compliments. Just… something. Something that would’ve shown me you weren’t being sweet only because you felt guilty.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say to that. In retrospect, yeah, he should’ve told you, and thinking back to his joke about pretty being for girls makes him cringe with both shame and regret. Especially since he’d used multiple occasions to taunt you with the fact that you’re not a pretty girl. But it had been hard, finding a balance in showing his affection without scaring you off. When you reacted the way you did that night during the power outage, he... didn’t want to risk making you more uncomfortable or afraid. He’d decided to take a step back, let you lead, and he would follow. Of course, that backfired horribly.

You look at him, hurt still brimming in your eyes.

He searches for words, trying to explain himself better. “I should’ve told you, but I… I didn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable. I wanted to follow your lead and let you decide everything. You wanted me handcuffed and blindfolded—of course I realized you were nervous. But I thought you were more worried I’d do something to you, rather than what I would think of you. I didn’t want to influence you to do anything you would’ve regretted.”

You’re clearly not convinced, and you shake your head slowly.

“You could’ve just given me a ‘you too.’ That’s all I would’ve needed.”

Jeongguk can only watch as you leave, obviously still very much hurt by him. Ten seconds after your footsteps have disappeared, he heads back to the desk area, his head hung low.

Jimin looks at him, JJ and Min gone. The unasked question hangs in the air, and Jeongguk can see Jimin realize that no, it didn’t go very well.

“You gotta remember that she’s had a hectic few months and maybe wasn’t really able to process everything. You being an ass was probably the least of her worries for a while—until it wasn’t anymore. And healing isn’t always linear. I’m sure she’ll come around one day.”

Jeongguk sighs. “I don’t think she will, and I can’t expect that of her. I just… hate myself for what I did to her. I never even realized she was just walking around, bleeding from my words.”

You haven’t fixed your car since the last tampering, but fortunately, Jihyo agreed to lend you one of the station’s unmarked cars. A discreet black thing that you park outside the station at ten a.m. on Thursday to pick up Sana, who needed to retrieve some things and told you to meet her there.

Getting no reply, you lock your phone and step out of the car with a sigh. The ground is powdered white, your shoes leaving tracks as you walk up to the station’s main entrance.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, the doors falling shut behind you.

“Good morning!” Sana rushes over, a coffee in hand. “Sorry, I’ll be done in a minute, I just gotta ask Mark something.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you do, trailing behind her into the sea of desks. The place is unusually crowded with officers, so you decide to wait near the wall, leaving her to weasel her way into the middle on her own.

There usually aren’t this many people here when you’re around, but in your case, the problem isn’t necessarily people; it’s big, strong, law enforcement men. Though they’re not paying you much attention—they must be preparing for something big—you still can’t will your body to fully relax.

By instinct, you tug at your clothes, wishing you hadn’t left your jacket in the car. Since you decided to wear civilian clothes today, you thought you might as well dress somewhat according to your original mission’s dress code. Except adjusted for winter, of course. 

You’re wearing winter boots that reach your upper calves, a pair of those invisibly fleece-lined pantyhose you’ve seen all over social media the last few months, and a cream-colored knitted turtleneck dress. It’s been in your closet forever, but unfortunately, you didn’t try it on before you had to leave.

It feels too tight on your body. Not to wear into a ‘strangely religious neighborhood,’ but too tight to wear here. You pull at the hem where it ends at your mid-thigh, keeping your eyes down when people pass you and hoping no one is looking at you and taking note of how awkwardly shaped your body is.

You stand there for a while, avoiding people’s eyes while you wait for Sana.

However, when you—out of the corner of your eye—notice a uniformed man walking toward you, you look up. Jeongguk’s eyes flicker between you and the people walking past you, as if he’s seen exactly the shameful way you carry yourself around men—these men—nowadays. It’s gotten worse since you left his house; you know that, but when all of your confidence was fueled by anger and then denial, removing those leaves… not much left.

He comes to stand in front of you, looking down at you with frustrated eyes. He’s so broad, so imposing, and it’s very evident when he wears his navy uniform, the sleeves rolled up his veiny forearms.

“Listen to me—”

You look away, about to step back, but he grasps your hand—not just to stop you but to guide the two of you a few steps away from the path of officers and behind the tall panels of a cubicle.

“No. Listen to me. I’ll leave you alone after this if that’s what you want, but I need you to know that you are so incredibly beautiful.”

You sigh, looking at him and wordlessly begging him to just give up already. He’s quiet for a few long seconds, his frustration seemingly growing.

When he speaks again, his voice is calm, more earnest. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“No,” you shake your head. You can’t recall the very first time you met him.

“I do. It was a rainy day—my fourth at the station—and I ran into you at the main entrance. The rain had wet your hair, and I held the door open for you. You thanked me, but you didn’t really smile much, just politely. I think you also bowed your head slightly. I remember thinking that you must’ve been cold from the rain, but I realize you were wary around the men here, even if you and I didn’t know each other.”

Sounds about right.

“And I thought that you were just so beautiful.”

You look down. It’s humiliating, and you feel like shit, hearing him throw compliments your way just to make you feel better. You can’t tell if he’s lying or not, but what else would he say? You can’t exactly say you expected him to approach you today to call you ugly.

Noticing your hesitation, he appears to be searching his mind for something, and you glance at him. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly, and he reaches into the pocket of his navy uniform pants. It’s his phone that he pulls out, and he starts to scroll. He scrolls, and he scrolls, until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“Look,” he says, handing you the phone.

Although you’re not too keen on entertaining whatever this is, you can’t help but be a little curious. What could he have on his phone that would convince you?

Accepting the device, you start reading the words on the screen. They’re text messages from an old group chat, dated years back, and though you can’t remember the exact date Jeongguk first showed up at the station, you assume it was right around then. The chat seems to have consisted mostly of him, Ryung, Hoseong, Seunghwan, and Junseo.

Seunghwan: Yeah, we’re excited to have you, just let us know if you need anything.

The next few texts are from the following day.

Jeongguk: So I just met the most gorgeous woman I think I’ve ever seen??

Jeongguk: Quick question, is there a work dating policy here? I can’t remember. 

Jeongguk: And if not, where do I find this woman again? Is she an officer? I’m not even kidding when I say that I’m absolutely head over heels from a three-second interaction, and she didn’t even really say anything. 

Jeongguk: I’d love to ask her out.

Ryung: If it’s who I think it is then you better stay away, man.

You read on, seeing how Ryung goes on to describe a woman’s features, which happen to align with yours. The length, color, and style of your hair, the color of your eyes, and your height. But also a very generous way of describing your face and the shape of your body.

Jeongguk: Yeah! Is she with one of you already? In that case, I apologize!

Ryung: No, but Hoseong did her briefly, and she’s absolutely mental. Pretty, but crazy

The next words are not very nice, the men urging Jeongguk to stay away from the woman who could only ever be you, promising to tell him what happened the day after.

“See,” Jeongguk says, “Even Ryung knew exactly who I meant; I didn’t even have to describe you, just say that you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.”

You’re not sure. Yeah, the evidence points to that, and you can’t deny that you’re definitely feeling some form of relief, but… you can still hear his voice in your ears, see the anger and hatred in his dark eyes.

You hand the phone back, and Jeongguk looks around, sighing before turning his attention back to you. “You want me to be completely honest? Tell you exactly what I think of you?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “No? That’s the point? I know that I’m not your type. I’m full of flaws. I don’t have a body fat percentage in the negatives like you, I don’t always have the energy to shave every inch of my body, and I’ve never gotten flowers. No matter what you say now, I’m not someone you want.”

“You think I’m someone who would care about any of that?” he asks, his voice tinged with hurt.

“You look like someone who would.”

Jeongguk looks away, taking a second to gather his thoughts.

“I… wanted to ask you out that day, after I first met you. You looked so pretty out there in the rain, and I think my heart stopped for a while. I think that you’re cute—really fucking adorable—and charming, and you’re smart and kind, and you’re absolutely breath-taking and sexy as hell.

"Which was another reason I was so angry at you; I saw this… stunning woman, who appeared to live a very privileged life, yelling ‘sexism’ whenever something didn’t go your way to… I don’t know, avoid consequences and get ahead, not realizing what sexism truly meant for other women. I didn’t think there was that much harm in what I said because I thought you knew very well how goddamn pretty you are, so I gripped at every straw, trying to get a reaction.”

You listen to every word he says, still unable to decide. You want to believe him, but the deep wounds he carved into your skin are still bleeding.

“I was so conflicted during our mission. On one hand, I had to pretend to like the person who had shot one of my best friends, who got away with it and refused to be held accountable for it. On the other hand… I liked seeing you pretend to like me too. First, out of spite, but then I realized that I liked seeing you smile, and how nice you were to the people around you, except for me, of course, but I guess I always started it. Then you fell asleep in my arms at the barbeque, and I knew I was fucked. I felt like I betrayed my friends for… feeling something other than hatred for you. 

“But this little thing, that hated me so much, let herself be so vulnerable as to sleep in my arms. And I guess I looked at you differently after that. The more I realized that you might actually be a pretty decent detective; a decent person, the harder it was for me to be mean to you. After everything, and after I’d found out what had happened, I wanted to tell you how much I liked you and how pretty I thought you were, but I was scared you wouldn’t come with me if I did. I was scared they’d look for you at your apartment, so I kept quiet.

“Even after you came to stay with me, and it seemed like you started to trust me, even just a little bit, I had to convince myself to wait. And the more I got to know you, the harder it became. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to bury you in flowers? Hold you and kiss you silly? And you know why I was always up before you—or at least I tried to be—when you slept in my bed with me?”

You shake your head because you don’t know.

There's something else in his eyes when he holds your gaze, “Because I dream about you, and I wake up hard. But I remembered how I freaked you out when we made out back at the house, when you were on my lap and I got hard. I didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, so I made sure to wake up before you, just in case.

“I wanted to kiss you and hold you and really, it would’ve been my pleasure if you’d wanted to sleep with me. But more than that, I wanted you to be safe and feel safe, never doubting why I was doing what I was.”

He shuts his eyes for a short moment. “I guess that’s all I can say. I don’t need you to forgive me, I just need you to know that all I wanted was revenge; nothing of what I said was true.”

He opens his eyes again, looking into yours with his soft, brown ones and a gentle sincerity. Though it’s overshadowed by something else. “I have many regrets, but you are my biggest. What I did to you.”

Regret.

As if she’s been waiting for the right moment to make her return, you hear Sana call your name. When you turn around, you spot her approaching.

“I gotta go,” you excuse yourself.

Sana looks between you and Jeongguk, but when no one says anything, she shrugs and turns her attention to you. “So, Jihyo said you had a problem with your apartment? The door, was it? Cause I can call my brother, and he’ll fix it for free next week if you want?”

“You’re living in your apartment? On your own?” Jeongguk questions, his voice upset.

You turn back at him, “Yeah. Have been since I left your house. It’s fine.”

Despite the clear worry his eyes display, he makes no effort to follow you and talk you straight, probably realizing that there’s nothing else he can do; that was his last chance.

<previous | next> author's note: so there's that! thanks for waiting for it <3 this was the last puzzle piece of their past, i think, and i'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, but especially him lol <3<3

[aroacettorney]

love how ludger will complain, "you always make unreasonable demands" when it comes to casey, and yet ten times out of ten, he still agrees to it anyway.

[lightshiningforth]

Unless I missed something major, I think fans as a whole ran off the rails a bit with the whole “Vulcans kiss with their hands! Every little hand touch is kissing and their human peers don’t know! Handshakes are MAKING OUT, from a Vulcan perspective!” thing. It’s funny, sure! But I don’t think it’s true.

IMO, this little gesture is only a “kiss” inasmuch as it’s a gesture of affection. Not a “kiss” that elicits physical pleasure. Would they do it in front of so many people, otherwise? Vulcans are private with their pleasure.

I don’t think these are “kisses,” either. Expressions of intimacy, sure. Symbols of particular relationships, absolutely. But not a 1:1 comparison to a classic, mouth-to-mouth, human kiss. And hardly making out, as it’s generally defined (that’s Spock and his MOTHER in that first pic, remember).

Now, do Vulcans do weird sexual stuff with their hands?

Yeah! They sure do!

Pretty consistently.

That said! I don’t think that type of intimacy makes the hands themselves inherently charged or sexual. I imagine there’s a combination of cultural expectations, ritual, and telepathy involved. So, a Vulcan could shake or hold someone’s hand in a different context and be completely unfazed. Well, perhaps not completely - polite, non-intimate greetings on Vulcan seem to take place by default at a distance (🖖 😐 “Peace and long life.” …..3 ft away…..🖖 😐 “Live long and prosper.”) But I imagine they would be slightly bothered by the irregularity of the gesture, not hot and bothered from oh-so-sensitive hands.

Besides, humans can hold hands (romantic) or shake hands (nonromantic). They can even kiss (romantic/sexual) and kiss (friendly greeting). Surely, Vulcans can touch hands (romantic/sexual) and touch hands (nonromantic/nonsexual), and this has everything to do with the context of the social situation and very little to do with the hands.

[katy-kt-katie]

Couples Retreat

Completed Fic || 11k || Undercover as Married ||

Mulder and Scully go undercover at a Couples Retreat. How will they handle intimacy exercises, odd cover names, and one bed?

SECTION from Chapter 3:

“Well, I got a copy of today’s agenda. We’ll have a one-on-one session with Rebecca later, but this morning—there are large-group intimacy exercises.”

“Okay,” he replied.

“Handholding.”

He nodded.

“Prolonged eye contact.”

More nodding.

“Possessive touch.” she continued.

“Oh, I can be possessive,” he winked.

“And kissing.” She whispered.

“Oh,” He gasped.

“Yeah.” Her hands flew to her face, rubbing her cheeks and forehead in seeming consternation.

“And you don’t want to kiss me?” He asked. He imagined kissing her often during those lonely nights on the couch.

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “I actually think we need to kiss now, privately. I don’t want to kiss you for the first time in a room full of strangers.”

“Okay…that makes sense.” Fuck, time to kiss Scully. He thought.

“So then, kiss me.” She said. Just like that? He wondered.

Mulder grabbed her hand and pulled her to the bed. They sat down together and stared for a moment. He leaned toward her, ran a hand along her jaw, and pulled her toward him.

They connected. It was soft. He felt a spark but didn’t want to take advantage of the task; he pulled back.

“Mulder, we have to really kiss. We’re supposed to be married. Give me all you’ve got.”

Read full story here: on AO3

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

Also remember how we talked about Alec and Carlos being the same person?

Like how Alec married Lydia because he was in the closet and Carlos marri-

Yeah, that one.

that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw that scene lmao. But what rubs me off the wrong way is Carlos hiding such crucial information about his life from his fiancé who he has been dating for 3 years. And specially after they have already been down this whole secrets thing like 700 times already.

[saralayne]

Home Is Where The Heart Is 🩵💜

Lucy is offered a prestigious UC opportunity. Her reaction surprises everyone at Wilshire.

Tim had been on a op with Metro. As he walked back into Wilshire. He saw Angela, Nyla and Grey standing by Greys office with the look of shock smeared across their faces. Had something happened? His first thought was of course…Lucy. As he anxiously approached his friends.

“What’s going on? Is everything ok? Is everyone ok?”

This was Tim subtly asking if Lucy was ok. He cared about everyone at Wilshire but his main concern was always her. Lucy. His girlfriend. The love of his life.

Angela placing a supportive, best friend hand on his shoulder.

“Everything is good Tim. She’s good. She’s on patrol”

“Ok. So what’s with the faces?

Angela continuing. “Remember Noah?”

“Ummm. Yes. Kinda hard to forget” Tim remembering ‘hot pants’”

“Well. He came here to the station a while ago. Offered Lucy a very prestigious UC operation which would jump start her career as a UC even before she has taken the detective exam. Something that isn’t offered often. Only to people who have a natural talent and promise”

“OK. Well I knew this day was coming at some point. You’re right. She will be a UC rockstar. I have no doubt about that. She and I have talked this out. I assured her I will be fine. She has promised to take it seriously if I sound the alarm about something. Just tell me. Do I even get to say goodbye to her?”

“Tim. She said NO”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she told Noah she was appreciative of being thought of but she respectfully declined. Noah asked her to take some time to think about it. Lucy said she didn’t need to think about it, her answer was still no”

“This makes no sense. Why would she say no so abruptly. We have talked about it. I have assured her. I will always be waiting for her when she returns and I support her pursuing this path”

Nyla popped into the conversation as she is the one that has experience with UC.

“Honestly, I think this was her decision and based on what she wants. I’m sure your a factor Tim. However, from recent conversations with Lucy, I sense this was all her”

“OK. Well. I’m going to talk to her and find out what’s going on?”

After Lucy’s shift had ended she went to the locker room to change out. Checking her dinging phone.

Bradford: Hi Baby. Just finishing an op. See you at home in a hour?

Chen: Sure babe. See you soon.

They weren’t officially living together. Tim still had his own house. However, he stayed at Lucy’s almost every night. When they would have same shifts off, they would stay at his place. Tim had started bringing Kojo to Lucy’s when he wasn’t with Genny which was often.

Later, Lucy had settled in watching some of her reality TV she had on her DVR. Waiting for her boyfriend to come home.

Lucy heard the door unlock and had a wave of joy riddle through her body. She was always happier when he was with her. He was her safe place. Her happy place.

“Welcome home, Baby”

“Why thank you” as Tim pressed a chaste kiss to his girlfriends lips.

“Luc. Babe. What’s going on? I heard about you turning down a prestigious UC operation. We talked about this. Baby, I’m fine. I support you fully”

“I know Tim. That’s not why I said no”

“Ok. I’m listening”

“I don’t want to do UC anymore. Long term UC is not what I want anymore. I have thought long and hard since the Frank operation. I just don’t want this anymore”

“Luc. This has always been a path you have a passion for”

“Yeah well. It was. But my life has changed since we have gotten together and what I want professionally is different now. I have wanted to talk to you about this but I didn’t want to scare you”

“Baby. I have told you over and over. I am all in with you. Nothing will scare me off”

“You are not just a relationship for me, Tim. You are my future. I know we haven’t been together for long. When I have thought about UC, my mind wanders to us getting married, having babies. Someday. Im not rushing it. So why start going on a UC path when I will be walking away from it. I will not be away you or our babies. EVER. I don’t want to get into a long term UC op. Maybe gone for months. It’s not for me anymore. Life is different now. My career will always be important to me but you and our future is priceless to me”

“Luc. I’m so in love with you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. Yes, even Isabel. So, don’t be scared. Your not rushing anything. I want that life with you. All of it. Marriage, babies, grandkids, growing old together”

“Are you completely sure this is what you want? I will support you unconditionally with any decision you make. I want you to do what you want without hesitation”

“I’m sure Tim. I’m so miserable when I’m away from you when we are at work. We work in the same damn station. Different departments but still see one another in passing and when I’m away from you. I miss you and can’t wait till I get to see you again. I will be miserable being away. Guaranteed I won’t be able to focus so it’s not safe. This. Us. Makes me happy. I have many paths I can take professionally, many that would fulfill my happiness and I will still get to come home to you at the end of the day”

“God. I love you, Lucy Chen”

“Right back at ya, Bradford”

Tim is astonished at how much this gorgeous, amazing woman loves him and the first person to ever make such sacrifices for him. No one has ever done that for him. Lucy Chen is his forever and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Tim Bradford has finally found true happiness, all the darkness is in the past and was a blessing because Lucy showed him light and brightness. The pain he went through led him to her.

[karihighman]

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: The Rookie: Feds Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Brendon Acres/Laura Stensen, Brendon Acres & Laura Stensen Characters: Laura Stensen, Brendon Acres, Simone Clark, Carter Hope, Matthew Garza Additional Tags: Undercover as a Couple, Undercover as Married, Awkward Conversations, Banter, Tipsy Laura, First Kiss, mentions of handcuffs, Innuendo, they're idiots, Mentions of Violence, Fake Relationship, Real Feelings?, Protectiveness, sassy women Summary:

When a weapons trafficker heads to Maui in search of a new supplier, Garza assigns FBI agents Laura Stensen and Brendon Acres to go undercover together as a couple to track down the mystery man. Simone and Carter are along for the ride too, but can Brendon and Laura keep up their act – and keep it together – to catch these criminals? [my first BRENSEN UC FIC]

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Commander's Omega"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: alpha/omega, dystopia, sex slavery, forced breeding, mutilation, rape, corporal punishment, fascism, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, mpreg, age gap (38/23), mentions of abortion, miscarriage

Summary: After years of a mass infertility crisis, the United States is overtaken by religious fanatics, and Bucky Barnes finds himself thrust into a brutal world of survival. When he's discovered to be fertile, he's forced to serve as a vessel: a caste of omegas who bear children for the political elite.

Chapter VI. The Shudder Before the Slide

Story Masterlist

Before:

The first time Bucky hits heat, he’s just turned fourteen years old, has just had a great birthday party over the weekend, and is stressed out over all the stuff he’s gonna have to learn now that Rabbi Schmeckle gave the green light for his mom to start planning his bar mitzvah. Alpha boys get one at 13, but beta boys have to wait until they’re a year older at least, to make sure they aren’t “late bloomers” (a euphemism for an omega son—what Bucky learns later in life is every Jewish mother except for his own's worst fear).

He’s in homeroom at 7:15 am, backpack slung across his lap and foot tapping as he eagerly awaits the bell. Harriet Falsworth is in his third period English class and he’s got a not-so-subtle crush on her. He can’t wait to slide his hand-made valentine into her locker. Just thinking of Harriet makes his heart beat faster. … Lately, it’s made other things happen, too (there’s a reason he’s got the backpack over his lap, right now). If half the kids in his homeroom have put space between themselves and him, he certainly doesn’t notice.

“Hey Barnes, what the fuck?”

Bucky turns around in his seat to look back at where George and Seth are sitting. “What?” he hisses, not wanting to get in trouble for talking out of turn in homeroom. Sister Joan is a real hard-ass when it comes to stuff like that. Everybody hates her.

“Why d’you smell like that?” Both boys snicker. “Is it your time of the month or something?”

Bucky scowls. “Huh?”

“That’s enough,” Sister Joan says from the front of the classroom, making George and Seth shut up. Bucky’s still left confused over the remark, though. “Everyone work on your homework,” Sister Joan snaps. 

All the students in the room are quick to pull out notebooks and at least pretend to be working on something, meanwhile Sister Joan’s attention has narrowed in on Bucky. He gulps as she comes over to him, thinking, great, what’d he do now? (Bucky can’t prove it, but he thinks Sister Joan picks on the kids who she knows aren’t Catholic.) 

“James,” she says, using his first name rather than the crisp ‘Mr. Barnes’ that he usually gets from her. Her kinder-than-normal tone is also concerning.

Bucky wavers uncertainly as she stops in front of his desk. “Um, yeah?”

“It’s alright. You’re not in trouble. I need you to gather your things and come out into the hall with me, Dear.”

He frowns at the ‘Dear’, certain that he is in trouble, somehow. She’s just tricking him, trying to get him away from the other kids so she can really light into him. Bucky frowns, trying to wrack his mind for what he’s done lately that somebody could’ve snitched on. But he’s been good! He’d promised his mom that he’d try harder this school year not to make trouble. He glances back to George and Seth in the row behind, confused and annoyed about why they’re still snickering at him. He can’t help but feel that he’s missed out on some soft of joke. “Erm, but ... why?” he asks Sister Joan.

Her lips thin and she straightens her spine. “Because I said so.”

-

Bucky’s forced to leave school early that day. They send him home in a taxi, since his mom and dad are both at work and can’t come to get him. He tries hard not to cry in the backseat of the cab, but it’s a challenge. He’s presented as omega. That’s what Sister Joan, and later the school nurse, had told him. Apparently they could tell it even before he could. Something about the way he smells. It’s embarrassing in a way he can’t quite yet put his finger on, and he hates it. His mom had sounded really upset on the phone, but like she was trying not to be.

Bucky squirms uncomfortably in the cab and itches to get home so he can Google about this, maybe find some fact that can prove they've made a mistake about him. He doesn't feel omega. He has a vague memory of a fifth grade puberty lecture, but he hadn’t paid attention because boys hardly ever turned out to be o!

He can’t get his mind off the way that George and Seth were laughing at him, and it sticks in his mind as the first lesson he ever gets about being omega: it’s nothing to be proud of.

“Alexa: what’s that Tony Stark quote about Isaac Asimov?” 

“Here’s what I found on the web:”  

Bucky takes an absent-minded sip of his latte as he listens to the answer. It’s gone cold by now, but he hasn’t been able to peel himself away from his laptop for over an hour. Not when he’s on such a good roll. Halfway through his paper on the practical applications for intelligence simulation in robotics, and he is in the fucking zone, hyped up on caffeine—okay, and maybe just a little bit of Adderall that he bought from weird-Kevin in the Library. His fingers skip over the keyboard as he tries to keep pace with his fast-flowing thoughts. 

On the other side of their dorm room, Dylan is working, too. Or, he’s supposed to be. But Bucky’s pretty sure he fell into a YouTube rabbit hole a while ago.

“Ohh, sweet baby Jesus,” Dylan croons.

Bucky glances over. “What?” he asks, taking a second sip from his latte and wincing. He really should just warm it the fuck up. The microwave’s only ten feet away from where he’s sitting.

Dylan removes his earpods and looks over. “Henry Cavill,” he says, as if it’s a complete sentence. 

Bucky arches a brow. “Don’t you have a paper you’re supposed to be writing?” 

“Yeah.”

“Pretty sure it isn’t on Henry Cavill.”

“S’for Family Studies,” Dylan says absently. He’s distracted, still staring at his computer screen with dreamy eyes.

Bucky scoffs at the mention of the course name. “What’s your paper on?”

“‘Gender dynamics in mate selection: A case for traditional marriage.” Dylan catches the nasty look that Bucky shoots him and defends himself with a hasty, “Well I didn’t pick it. It's a diversity requisite.”

“Stupid waste ‘a time,” Bucky mutters. “Making us take a bunch of dumb 101’s that have nothing to do with our majors. And we get the privilege of paying for it. It's extortion. I don’t get how it's even legal. I mean this is friggin' NYU."

"It's private. I guess they can do what they want, yeah?" Dylan shrugs and keeps dicking around on YouTube, his disregard for his coursework once again reminding Bucky that his roommate comes from money.

Unlike Bucky himself, who can’t afford to be careless about anything. Not when he’s depending on maintaining his GPA to keep his academic scholarship. They’re only a few weeks into fall semester right now. Dylan’s an incoming freshman, and he has to take all the same bullshit gender and family courses that Bucky himself put up with last year. He’s got no need to maintain his grades the way that Bucky does, though. Lucky fucker’ll probably nab a paid internship straight out of college, just with his family’s connections.

Dylan sighs happily over at his desk (presumably over Henry Cavill, and not his Family Studies paper). “There’s all these videos of him, like, visiting children’s hospitals. He shows up in his Superman outfit to cheer up all the little cancer kids. Ooh! and this one here: he's holding babies at Comic Con!"

Bucky rolls his eyes, attention back on his computer. “So what?”

“'So what?' So I think my ovaries just exploded, is what! So I need this man to breed me, is what.” Dylan turns his laptop to show the video where Henry Cavil is, indeed, holding a baby, then shoots Bucky a peevish look for not reacting appropriately. “He’s unf—with a capital UNF.”

“He’s okay I guess.”

“... You’re gay,” Dylan declares. “You gotta be. Your ovaries never explode. This man is prime. alpha. real estate, he’s worth like fifty gajillion dollars—”

“Pretty sure he’s not.”

“—and he’s shredded, and he’s so sweet, and he likes babies!” Dylan whines helplessly as he puts his earpods back in. “Did you see his bicep? It's bigger than the baby's head!—and I'm sorry but that baby has a fat fucking head. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Breed me Daddy.”

Bucky hisses and waves his hand. “Hey! Watch it with the God stuff, would you?”

Dylan looks over his shoulder at the door. "Door’s shut.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Bucky scolds. “Alexa’s listening. You think that shit doesn’t get reported back to the RAs?” 

“I—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. Can you repea—”

“Alexa, never mind!” Bucky snaps. He looks back at Dylan. “They clock you for too many JFC's and they’ll write you up for creating a ‘hostile environment’ for the rollers,” he scolds. 

Dylan winces. “Right, sorry. Just …” he gestures at his computer screen with a happy sigh. “Ovaries.” 

“Yeah yeah.” Bucky pushes out his desk chair and goes over to stick his cup in the microwave for sixty seconds.

He hasn't been in a very charitable mood about the university's 'decency' code, lately, not since he got into a tense altercation with his ethics professor, after the guy had unfairly ruled on a debate that Bucky had clearly won. The debate had been about the campus’ recent ban on porn viewed through the university wifi—Bucky had been against, his opponent for. The professor hadn’t equally applied the debate standards. And even if he had ... Bucky’s been growing increasingly disturbed with the more things he notices changing around campus, not to mention the broader world.

"Sorry man," Dylan promises. "I'll put a post-it up to remind myself."

Bucky almost laughs. “Good idea. And you want my advice? You’d better stop joking about your ovaries all the time, too. Or your heats."

"Exploding ovaries is my go-to!"

"Find a new one. If the rollers get wind of you being fertile, they’ll never leave you alone.” He pulls his cup out when the microwave beeps and carries it back to his desk, making a long-suffering face as he blows on the top. “Trust me, I should know.” 

Of course by now he’s started taking all the precautions that they tell you to take, these days. He’s stopped getting his suppressants from the campus health center, ordering them from an online pharmacy that uses discreet packaging, instead. He uses incognito mode on his parents’ cell plan to watch any porn, or to buy condoms, or search for anything that’s even remotely controversial. He’s deleted his heat tracking app, changed his documented religion from “Jewish-Agnostic” to “Non-denominational,” edited his dating profiles on all the apps from saying “wants kids” to “unsure,” and has even had his father sign for legal control of all his O-HIPPA forms so that nobody can ever data mine his medical records again—Emphasis on “again,” as he certainly hadn’t done it in time to prevent it from happening once. 

Somewhere out there in the digital ether, somebody already has his medical information in their database. And they’ve definitely been selling it to others, if the nonstop emails, spam calls, and junk mail he’s been receiving are anything to go by. Ever since he got the abortion last semester, various fertility-for-profit and pro-life groups have been bombarding him with heartfelt appeals for his surrogacy, offering compensation for his eggs, extolling the virtues of omega motherhood, bemoaning the population crisis, blessing him with prayers, entreating him to join up with this congregation or that one, begging him to surrender to God’s will for his 'biological destiny'. Oh, and Bucky’s personal favorite: threatening him with surprisingly graphic descriptions of eternal damnation if he doesn’t repent for his sins and produce more babies as penance for killing his unborn child. 

He even received a signed copy of somebody called Serena Joy's book: An Omega's Place. Bucky's never burned a book before, but it'd been damn tempting to start, once he'd flipped past the title page and realized what it was: a flaming shitpile of anti-omeganist trash. He'd shelved it in the library, right next to a book about infectious diseases of the bowel and colon.

“Don’t you want kids?”

Bucky presses his lips together at the presumptive question, trying to cut Dylan a break. The poor fucker probably has ADHD, and to be fair, he doesn’t realize how insensitive he's being, because Bucky hasn't told him about the abortion. “Sure," Bucky says. "I guess. Like, one day if I get married or whatever. Just not now. Not for a long time.”

“Yeah. Me too I guess.” Dylan reaches for his computer mouse with a dirty snicker. “Unless I find an alpha like Mr. Cavill. Then it’s baby-makin’ time.”

“You’d better watch your mouth,” Bucky mutters. “Pretty soon they’re gonna start a womb draft.”

“Oh come on. That’s never gonna happen.” 

“You just wait and see. They’ll be going after abortion soon,” he warns. “Then who knows what else.”

Dylan ‘tsks’ and goes back to scrolling on his computer, telling him that’s an extremist and unrealistic way of thinking. “That’s about as likely as me getting with Daddy Cavill.” He makes a sad, mournful noise. “Son of a bitch is taken. Why can’t I meet a nice alpha like that?”

Bucky hums in false sympathy and goes searching in his desk drawer for a pair of earplugs to drown out any more distractions. He’s joking about the womb-drafting thing … mostly. But he’s actually got a bad feeling about the abortion part of it.

It’s been months, but he hasn't forgotten that rude-ass doctor from back at the first clinic he’d gone to, over break. He remembers the man’s face screwed up in disdain, and more worryingly, the confidence he’d had in turning Bucky away. Bucky can’t get the guy’s parting words out of his mind:

“The law’s gonna change real soon.”

It’s silly to still be thinking about it, he knows. Because he’s checked, since then. He's been keeping up on current events, reading up on national and local politics, keeping an eye out for anything in the news about any change or challenge to reproductive freedoms in New York, or even at the federal level. But other than the usual sanctimonious op-eds and click bait about holy rollers losing their shit outside Planned Parenthoods, there hasn’t been anything happening. 

Still ... He can’t quite get the words out of his mind. 

Base camp for the resistance is a scattered collection of trailers and hastily-constructed shacks in the Appalachian mountains. Bucky knows that they’re somewhere in Pennsylvania, but that’s about all he knows. When he’d first met his contact back in Brooklyn, it’d been very secretive. Nobody had trusted him at that point, and he’d been driven around and then led into camp with a blindfold on.

That’s just fine with Bucky. He knows what he needs to know. Other people shuttle them out on missions when they need to go. Bucky’s quickly made rank as sniper. He’s killed something in the range of fifty or sixty guardians of the faith, and he’s relished every kill.

His mom wouldn’t like that if she knew, would tell him it’s sinful to be glad about killing people. But she hasn’t seen the things that The Faithful are doing nowadays. They’re hanging people who won’t convert. They’re kidnapping omegas and doing god only knows what with them. The few omega refugees that the resistance takes in don’t talk about their experiences out there, and Bucky doesn’t ask. He’s heard rumors though, ridiculous things about sex slaves and breeding centers. He’s got a hard time believing that. It’s a little too outrageous of an idea, even for The Faithful.

Anyway, Bucky’s mom is tucked away with his sisters, safe in Toronto. She hasn’t seen the things he has. Bucky likes to think she’d be proud of him, if she knew what he was fighting against.

He sits next to two other guys on one of the cots that crowd the medical tent. He and the other serving omegas are waiting their turns to get suppressant injections. Bucky had cycled naturally until he was sixteen, then his mom had taken him to the doctor and he’d gotten set up with oral suppressants. He likes the way his body feels when he’s on them, and it’s a relief that he’ll be able to stay on them here. He hadn’t expected that luxury. Sex with anyone but your own hand out here is rare, so pregnancy isn't something he really worries about. But not having a heat while he's trying to shoot some motherfuckers? Yeah that's just peachy.

“Barnes,” the medic calls out. Bucky gets up from his seat and goes over to the guy. “Let's see your ID.” Bucky shows it to him and the man checks something off on his clipboard. “Alright,” he says. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Bucky does. He watches as the medic preps the syringe. It’s been explained to him that they do injections out here instead of pills because it’s more reliable. Makes sense. One shot every three months and you’re good to go. Can’t exactly depend on having a daily pill available when you’re out fighting for weeks on end. And the last thing that’s strategic on the battlefield is an omega in heat.

He holds out his arm for the doctor to shoot him up.

Bucky grunts as Brock and the other guardian pull him out of the back of the van. This is the second damned time he’s been dragged into the red center against his will, and it makes him feel like a hell of a failure for getting caught. At least he doesn’t have a bag over his head this time, but that’s about the only thing that’s improved.

“Thought you could run away, huh?” Brock says, as he tugs on Bucky’s arm to get him to follow along. He looks over, notices the blood crusted on Bucky's neck, and pauses. “You hurt?” 

“No.” Bucky tries to pull away, but he can’t. He growls in frustration when Brock reaches up and tucks his shaggy hair behind his right ear. 

"Aw, hell kid," Brock says when he sees the mess. "What the hell did ya do to yourself?"

Bucky jerks his head away and scowls without looking at him. "What I had to do." They pass through the outer fence, then the secondary, then the inner checkpoint. Each gate locks behind them with a click and a computerized ‘beep’, the sounds like physical blows to the deepest pockets of Bucky’s remaining hope. They hurt. Those are the sounds of his freedom being stripped away, again.

Brock takes him through the gymnasium and into the old locker rooms, back by the showers. He makes Bucky take off all his clothes—beta blue that he’d stolen off one of the caretakers—and tells him to wash the grime off himself. 

Bucky turns the water on and waits for it to get hot. The old pipes behind the tiled shower wall clunk and groan as the water pressure comes through. He holds his hand under the water, noticing the coat of dirt on his forearm and the back of his hand, the blood crusted under his fingernails. He’s been living rough while trying to figure out a way to get past the city limit checkpoints. It’d been okay building up a stink. At least it’d done a bit to cover up the smell of his heat. 

The Faithful don’t believe in the use of suppressants, think it’s against God or nature or some such bullshit. So of course Bucky and the other vessels are never allowed to have them. He hadn’t been able to find any when he was out on the street, either. Being in heat had made the escape harder, but not impossible. He’d gotten out and joined a homeless encampment underneath the 495 overpass near the northeast edge of the city, had traded handjobs with one of the alphas there in exchange for protection, for him scenting Bucky up real good each day and night. It’d worked, until it hadn’t. The camp got raided, and Bucky and a few other omegas were grabbed in the chaos before they could make a real run for it.

Now he’s right back where he fucking started. 

He pumps out soap from the dispenser on the wall and rubs it over his shoulders and his neck. He peeks back at Brock. The alpha isn’t averting his eyes. He’s leaning back against the wall all casual like, watching Bucky wash himself, his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. Asshole. “So what was the plan?” he asks. “Hitch it all the way back to New York?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Or basecamp. Whichever.” He’d thought about heading for New York, or the Canadian border, but that was a long fucking way to go without being caught. From D.C., the rebellion’s basecamp in the Pennsylvania mountains had been the closest option. And even then …

“You wouldn’t’ve made it,” Brock says. “Don’t feel bad. Nobody could, not with the way they’ve got the roadblocks set up. Checkpoints, patrols, citizen tip line. It’s impossible right now. You were always gonna get caught.”

Bucky wonders if Brock’s really trying to make him feel better, or if he’s just in the mood to rub his nose in his own failure. He shrugs, sluicing the water back off of his hair. “I had to try,” he says dully. “You know that.”

Brock hums in agreement, but doesn’t say any more. Bucky pumps out more soap, washes his face, rinses. He turns around and lets the spray beat down on his back, not caring to shield his modesty at all as he stands facing Brock. He lets his eyes slip closed for a beat, enjoying the hot water. 

“You should’ve waited until your heat'd passed,” Brock says. “Bought yourself more time.” 

Bucky grits his teeth and fights not to snap back at him. Of course he knows that, now. But he’d gotten emotional and had panicked. He'd jumped the gun—and Caretaker Kevin—when an opportunity presented itself. He’d acted before he could stop and analyze his options more rationally. Remembering it now just makes him feel awful, so he purposefully stops thinking about it. He opens his eyes and looks at Brock instead, who’s leaning casually against the wall and looking at Bucky’s naked body with mild but undisguised interest (Bucky’s not worried. Brock’s never tried to take liberties before, and he’s had plenty of chances).

But contempt curls in his gut the longer he watches the other man, watching him, standing there at ease in his Guardian’s uniform and his alpha insignia armband, a radio strapped to his chest and a stun baton hanging from his utility belt. 

“Why do you do this?” Bucky asks bitterly. He knows that Brock isn’t a zealot like some of the other Guardians of the Faith are. “Why do you help them, huh? Why not fight?” He watches as Brock’s expression turns grim. For a second it doesn't seem like he'll answer, but then he says,

“I come from a big family. Italian. Catholic.” His eyes flick up to Bucky’s face and he and Bucky just sort of stare at each other for a long moment. 

Bucky wasn’t expecting that answer, and he feels like an asshole. “They alive?” he asks. 

Brock nods.

“They get out?”

“Couldn’t. Not before the borders closed.”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky swallows thickly, looks down and shakes his head. “But that still doesn’t mean that you have to—”

“Oh, they converted,” Brock says, cutting him off. “But we weren’t just a little bit Catholic, right? We were a lotta bit Catholic. Known in the community.” He gestures to himself. “I had to join up. To help sell it.”

“Oh.”

“And my kid sister? She’s o. Married to a divorcée.” 

Bucky’s guts sink. The Faithful don’t recognize divorce, or second marriages. He’s met plenty of other vessels at the red center who were ripped from their "invalid" marriages, their “unspouses” executed for adultery, their kids given away, and their wombs rented out to the state. 

Brock nods again when he sees Bucky’s wan expression. “Yeah. So. One day I take inventory of what I got. I’m ex-special forces. I’ve got marketable skills. And ex-colleagues with those same skills. I approached a Commander, back home, and we came to an understanding. He’s the only reason my sister hasn’t been salvaged.”  

Bucky just stands there under the pouring water, wishing he hadn’t asked in the first place. It’s easier just to hate. He doesn’t feel angry or self righteous anymore. He just feels … tired. Like he did right after they took his arm. “You could’ve at least tried to do the right thing,” he says, but it lacks heat. “You could’ve fought back. I did.”

Brock’s eyes harden. “And watch them string my Nonna up on some wall? Uh-uh. I’ve got too many people I love to fight back.” He points his finger at Bucky, angry. “You picked up a gun in a losing fight cause you had the luxury of knowing that your family got out. So don’t you fuckin’ stand there and judge me.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches and, bizarrely, he feels tears press up hard at the backs of his eyes. He blinks and looks away in humiliation. They’re tears of despair more than anything else, he realizes. Despair at how fucking fucked the whole world is. For everybody. He clenches his teeth and turns back around to face the shower wall, not wanting to chance letting Brock see how stupidly close to tears he is. His face feels hot, and by the time the water hits his face again, he feels a sob working its way up in his chest. He gasps and breathes open mouthed under the deluge of the shower spray, throwing his hand up to lean against the tile wall and calm down.

Behind, he hears Brock sigh heavily. “I didn’t choose any of this, kid. S’just the hand I been dealt, same as you.”

Bucky wants to snap something back to him about that, something nasty about how Brock and he are nothing alike, how Bucky had done the right thing and Brock had been a coward, and wherever their families were didn’t excuse choosing the wrong side. But he holds his tongue and reaches for the soap dispenser instead, pumps out a bunch more of the shower gel and finishes washing off a month’s worth of grime from his body, feeling more drained and hopeless than he has since the day he woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed and looked over to see a stump where his left arm used to be.

Brock’s right: His mom and sisters are all safe in Canada right now. He’d joined the resistance knowing that his actions couldn’t hurt them. Would he have done the same if they were still living in New York, under the regime? He’s never stopped to wonder. Now he’s not so sure.  

“Please!” Bucky begs, struggling against Brock and the other guardian as they manhandle him down the hallway and into one of the old classrooms.

The red center is set up in what was once a high school, and this is one room Bucky’s never been in before. Having heard the screams echoing out into the hallway, though, he’s got a good enough idea about what goes on in here. There’s a padded table with straps that makes his blood run cold and his imagination run wild, and he jerks harder in their hold as they push him closer to it. “No please!” he begs again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” He’s crying, but Brock and the other guardian ignore him.

“God, shut up already and take what’s coming to ya,” Brock complains. “I thought you used to be a soldier.” He doesn’t say it like he’s trying to make fun of Bucky, but the other guardian snorts like it’s a joke anyways. Bucky tries to headbutt him, but Brock catches him in time and stops the other man from striking him. “C’mon kid,” he warns. “Don’t make us tase you, too. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Nnngh!” Bucky might’ve been able to overpower just one of them, if he still had both of his arms. But he doesn’t, and he can’t. They get him up on the table and restrain him face-down. Straps over his back, arms, waist, thighs, calves, and ankles hold him completely immobile. Bucky’s bare feet hang over the table’s edge as he sobs and begs in fear. “Please!” He’s nearly screaming it at them by the time the caretaker walks in, and his heart seizes in fresh terror when he sees who it is. 

It’s Caretaker Kevin—the one whose clothes he’d taken, whom he’d left beaten and tied up and gagged in the school’s boiler room while he made his escape. The man walks in holding a bundle of short, frayed metal cables in his hand. “Under His Eye,” he says to Bucky, as he approaches.

“Please!” Bucky begs, eyes unable to move from the sight of what Kevin’s holding. He knows what that’s for. He’s seen other omegas brought back to their cots, bloody feet bandaged and dragging behind them. “Please don’t do this! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart,” Kevin coos, reaching out to pet Bucky’s hair back in fake compassion. He tuts when he sees his bloody, mutilated ear, then steps out of sight towards the foot of the table. Bucky hears his horrible, saccharine voice say, “Forgiveness is God’s gift to us all, James. That’s the miracle of His love. But that forgiveness comes through redemption. Do you know what redemption means?”

Bucky sniffles and repeats, “Please, please, please,” against the table’s padded surface, wet from his terrified tears. 

“'Renewal through blood', Ephesians 1:7-8,” Kevin recites. “We all must be punished for our sins.” Down at the end of the table, he makes a slight movement, and Bucky yelps out in fear as something cold and hard touches lightly at the bottom of his right foot.

“No no no! Wait, wait!” He looks helplessly over to where Brock and the other guardian are standing sentinel by the door. “Please help me!” he cries. It’s pathetic even to his own ears, and Brock turns his back to him, looking pained. The other guardian however, seems to want to watch. Sadist. 

Caretaker Kevin takes an audible breath back where Bucky can’t see. There's the sound of displaced air, a 'swish', and then a searing, unbearable pain in the sole of Bucky's right foot. 

He screams bloody murder.

-

They drag him back to his cot that night, bandaged and barely coherent, his eyes swollen and face snotty from crying. Once the caretakers turn in for the night and only a few remain to do the usual nighttime rounds, Bucky gets a slew of apologetic murmurs in the dark from the other nearby vessels. He doesn’t thank them, just cries miserably into his pillow. He thinks of his family and of the unending pain in his feet. He misses his mom.

Within six weeks the wounds are healed, and Bucky’s left with some pretty unique scars.

After:

One time, when he was a few months away from turning fourteen—not long after he’d presented omega, and after the embarrassing debacle of having to cancel an already planned-out bar mitzvah for a "late bloomer" who was no longer eligible for one—Bucky’s whole extended family went on a cruise to Antarctica with the money that Grandpa Herschel left in his will. 

Bucky doesn’t remember too much about the trip, other than sneaking crab legs off the buffet with his cousins and being a moody fourteen year old who was not happy about presenting omega. But one day he’d been standing out on the stateroom balcony with his dad (having a “talk” about how life was apparently going to get better) when they’d witnessed a huge chunk of iceshelf break off from the Thwaites Glacier. It’d felt almost alien to Bucky, surreal, just standing there listening to the incredible noises it'd made, feeling in awe of how something so massive and sudden could seem to happen in such slow motion.

It was the most beautifully terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed up until that point in his life, and after the trip he’d gone on a bit of a geology tangent, reading books about glaciers and watching specials on the Discovery Channel about the polar ice caps.

Looking back on it now, it’s eerie how parallels can be drawn, between icebergs and what wound up happening with the country. Because you see, the thing about the shelves breaking off like Bucky and his dad saw, is that it’s a process. It happens over a long time, and most of it goes unnoticed. The cracks starts early, and small, and they don’t look like much. Sometimes they can’t even be seen from the surface at all. But underneath, they deepen, and they deepen, and they spread, and turn into fissures. Then caverns form underneath, unseen, getting hollowed out and eroded by the seawater, bit by bit. Then the caverns disappear entirely, and it’s just this big, massive iceshelf attached to the glacier, waiting for that final crack that’ll bring it all tumbling down.

The part that you see happens all at once, in a big, dramatic rush. But there’s a ton of groundwork that needs to be laid before that to make it breakable. Then one day it happens. There's this horrible, screeching groan of ice on ice, deep inside, the shudder before the slide. And the next thing you know, the entire shelf is collapsing in this huge, dramatic cloud of ice and snow, breaking off into the water, loud, cataclysmic. And when you watch it happen from the sensible distance of a stateroom balcony, it seems like: wow, dramatic, so horrifically sudden.

But it isn’t. Not really. It happens over time, with lots of cracks you don't see.

-

Bucky’s got no real patience for metaphors, anymore.

He takes things for what they are, and doesn't think too deeply on anything when he can help it. He definitely tries not to think about his old life and how things used to be. The only thing worse than that is thinking about whether he'll ever live a normal life again, or see his family again. One day at a time—isn't that what the alcoholics say?

That day it's cool out, mid fall, the neighborhood trees having dropped about half their leaves, the temperature having dipped noticeably overnight. Bucky enjoys it, likes the way the air smells at this time of year, with all the leaves piling up on the sidewalks and starting to rot, the neighbor houses burning woodsmoke out their chimneys. It's not a smell he associates with home back in the city, so it doesn't bring up any painful sort of nostalgia. He likes that, too.

He sits cross-legged on the front porch swing and watches Sam working at unloading pumpkins and pots of brightly colored mums, hefting them out of the truck bed and bringing them over one by one to sit on the porch at either side, going up the steps and framing the house's stately front door. He’s arranging a nice, autumnal display.

Rich people, Bucky thinks with a smirk, trailing his fingers idly over the bottoms of his feet. He's barefoot even though it's cool out. His red cloak draped over his shoulders does the job of keeping the chill away, and he sits there and plays absently with the texture of the scars on the soles of his feet, contemplating the ridiculousness of seasonal porch decorations in this brave new world of theirs. He wonders if it annoys Sam and the others, to have to put up with all of the mundane domestic tasks that they have to do, to serve as cover for … whatever else it is that they do.

Probably, Bucky thinks. It would certainly annoy him if he had something more important to be doing. Though as it is, Bucky would kill to have a daily routine full of tasks like gardening and bread baking. Anything to cull the hours of boredom that he faces each day, with no reprieve to look forward to besides the couple of hours Steve allows him in the office each night—and he does look forward to it. Bucky is insanely grateful to have that.

He and Steve have become more comfortable around one another, maybe even something resembling friends. Almost. Steve still refuses to talk to him any more about The Secret. He either doesn't trust Bucky enough, wants to keep him out of the loop for his own safety, or both. Bucky thinks it's both. Natasha and Sharon and Clint and Sam have clearly been told to keep their mouths shut, too, because they haven't yielded to any of Bucky's prodding questions.

Sam arrives back at the porch with the last of the mums, setting it down in one spot and then stepping back to judge its placement. He comes back to turn it at a slightly different angle.

“Hey Sam?” Bucky says, knowing that he can talk to the others without worrying about rules of propriety. “Do you think we could carve some of the pumpkins? In private? Just for fun?”

Sam gives him a look. “C'mon. You know we can’t.” Carving pumpkins has been forbidden, along with all other Halloween-related things, since the regime took over. It’s a pagan ritual that The Faithful scorn. Sam seems aware of Bucky's boredom, though, and he glances back at the truck. "I picked up a crate of sugar pumpkins for Sharon. She'll probably need help scooping those out for pies, or whatever she makes with them." Bucky looks pointedly at his empty left sleeve, and Sam shrugs. “Well she could cut, you could scoop?"

"Maybe."

"Eh. She won't be doing it today, anyway."

"Right," Bucky says, resigning himself to his boredom.

Sam gives him a considering look. "... I could use a hand raking all these damn leaves, though," he offers. "If you're—"

"Sure!' Bucky’s never been so quick to agree to yard work in his life. He unfolds his legs and hops off the swing, hurrying for the front door. “Let me just get my shoes!"

-

Later, just as he’s raking to merge his pile in with Sam's, a black van marked with the Gilead government crest pulls into the driveway. Too many bad experiences in the backs of such vans have Bucky freezing in place and staring. Could it be guardians? he thinks. Someone come to take him away? Has someone reported him for reading? Has someone reported Steve? He gulps as his heart rate ticks up in apprehension.

The van’s side door slides open with a jarringly loud sound, and a man gets out. He’s dressed like a guardian, with an alpha’s insignia on his armband. He has slicked-back hair and a scar across his chin, a rifle slung over one shoulder and a duffle bag over the other. He’s got a grim set to his face as he spares a glance around the property, barely looking at Bucky and Sam before dismissing them and heading for the front door.

He goes up on the porch and rings the bell, and meanwhile the van he arrived in pulls away and heads off down the street. Bucky’s shoulders relax somewhat once it's turned the corner and gone out of sight. No van in the driveway means nobody’s getting black-bagged and hauled away. He still watches the newcomer with a sense of unease, though. In a moment, Steve has come to the door and is stepping out onto the porch to shake the guy’s hand, speaking with him like he was expecting his arrival.

Sam appears close at Bucky’s side. “That’s Steve’s new head of security,” he tells him lowly. “Rollins. He was assigned here. Steve didn’t pick him out.”

“Does that mean he’s not one of you?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. He doesn’t seem pleased.

Bucky resists the urge to let his eyes slide sideways. “Should I … act on protocol, then?”

“Follow Steve’s lead,” Sam says, after a moment of tense silence. 

They both watch as Steve gestures in their direction, talking to Rollins and ostensibly telling the man who they are. Rollins’ eyes do another cool sweep over Bucky, and without realizing it, Bucky’s lowering his eyes in a deferential move that’s been drummed into him since his earliest days at the red center. When he dares to peek back up, Steve and Rollins are just disappearing through the front door into the house. 

“Definitely keep your mouth shut around him,” Sam advises. "As far as he's concerned, this is just another Commander's household. And as far as we’re concerned, he’s an Eye."

"Right."

Together, they go back to raking the leaves. Eventually Bucky works up the nerve to ask a question that he isn’t sure he really wants the answer to: “Why does Steve need a head of security?” Commander Putnum hadn’t had one.

“Death threats,” Sam says. “Not a big deal,” he assures him. “We get them all the time. Mostly it’s nothing.”

“Mostly?" Bucky scoffs, wondering who’d be dumb enough to threaten a Commander of the Faith. "Sounds like a good way to end up on a wall," he mutters.

“Most of it’s noise," Sam excuses. "Untraceable. The ones we can trace almost always lead back to resistance members."

“But I thought—”

“Other resistance members,” Sam says lowly, shooting Bucky a look that clearly says he should shut up. Nobody in the household has yet confided to Bucky just what sort of organization they work for. “Militia remnants, like the ones you used to pal around with, apparently.” Sam smirks and knocks his rake against Bucky's, then goes back to pulling in the edges of the pile they've got. "I should go get bags for these.”

Bucky ducks his head and represses the urge to ask more questions about Steve and Sam and the rest of them: who they work for, what their mission is, how they communicate with—

“This Rollins guy might not just be here for security,” Sam warns, just as Natasha appears at the front door and gestures for them both to come inside. They drop their rakes and head for the door. "There could be another reason."

"You really think he’s an Eye?” Bucky asks, hoping it isn’t true. Whenever eyes start getting involved, people start being disappeared.

Sam doesn’t deny or confirm, but the unhappy set to his face says plenty. “Treat him like one,” he mutters, as they go up on the porch and into the house. 

In the darkened interior of the foyer, Natasha is holding an armful of bed linens. “Commander Rogers is welcoming Guardian Rollins to the Household,” she says, speaking in a way that Bucky only picks up on as being fake because he’s observed how everybody talks now when their guard is down: this isn’t it. Natasha nods for them to come with her, and they follow along behind as she starts up the stairs. “They’re in the office, having drinks. Dinner is in an hour—just them, but we’ll be on standby. Then he wants us all presentable in the parlor for the evening.”

Sam and Bucky share an unenthusiastic look, but say nothing. For the life of him, Bucky can’t imagine what they’re all going to do in the parlor with their new houseguest that evening. At his last placement, the Putnams would frequently entertain guests, but Bucky was rarely ever requested to be present for such things. He’d been quite content to remain in his room in the basement—out of sight, just the way Mrs. Putnam had preferred it. 

“I’ve gotta make up a bed for him,” Natasha says at the second floor landing, and they all part ways to head off to their respective parts of the house. 

Bucky goes up to the attic level to wash up and change clothes. He tries to think of what he’ll be expected to do whilst spending an entire evening with Steve and this new guy that they need to stand on ceremony around. With all the protocols he learned back at the red center, and knowing how things were at his posting with his first Commander, he’s not expecting to enjoy the rest of his evening very much. All he can think of is that he’ll probably be expected to remain quiet and tucked aside, only speaking when spoken to, and only very politely and perfunctory at that.

He gets grumpy about it, because this means that his usual routine of eating a nice relaxed meal with everyone else at the dinner table and then getting to immerse himself in books in Steve’s office is out the window for tonight. Maybe even for the foreseeable future. Oh god, he hopes not. He hopes that this new guy Rollins won’t wind up staying long. He’d hate to lose the one thing he’s come to enjoy. 

He usually makes a firm habit of trying not to let himself get his hopes up about anything, but in this one thing, he realizes he’s failed. He’s fallen into the trap of wanting, and now it’s going to lead to the same inevitable result it always does: disappointment. 

He dresses the way he knows he’s expected to, in a fresh pair of soft red pants, long sleeved red shirt, tidy red sweater, white socks, brown indoor shoes that are more like slippers than shoes. Red’s not his color, but at least the clothes are comfortable.

He stands in front of the bathroom’s crappy plastic mirror and combs his hair, which has grown longer since they last cut it at the red center, before this placement with Steve. If it grows much longer without being cut, it’ll reach his ears again soon. Bucky considers the blurry reflection of his left ear, with the tiny redtag curled over the cartilage … and his right one. He brings his hand up absently to touch at the mutilated place where he’d used scissors to do what had to be done. He feels oddly apathetic about it, though it’s anything but attractive. What’s the point in worrying about a little ear mutilation when you’ve had ninety percent of your left arm lopped off? 

Still … maybe Steve won’t care if he lets his hair grow out.

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[goldenkid]

so if the martha spinoff does become a thing do we think she's still gonna be married to mickey? either way I can't wait to crack open that can of worms again and by can of worms I mean RTD's skull

[fallingbones]

sometimes you have a very beloved oc with a pair of best friends and you know. in your bones(ha). that they would not live for very long past being a teenager

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 14

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 9.7k

warnings: a LOT of bodyshaming and fathobia and sexism

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

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part 14/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

“I hope you know that I appreciate all the things you’ve been telling me. I know it can’t be easy, all the things you’ve gone through. So I appreciate it, even if I unfortunately…”

“Don’t have much to say?” you smile at him as you turn to close his bedroom door behind you.

“Yeah. It’s a lot different than when I’m talking to someone who maybe just got out of a… situation because, while that’s always hard, you just have to listen and assure them they did the right thing, going to the cops and that we’ll guide them through the rest and hopefully help them get justice. That it wasn’t their fault, you know? But you know all that already, and I’m not much help; in fact, I was a big part of your problem and going to the police probably made it worse in your case because we let you down instead of helping you.”

It’s sad, the way he says it, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt at the back of his neck. He pulls it over his head before he suddenly stops, the shirt stuck across his lowered arms. You meet his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and see how it dawns on him that despite explaining earlier that he wants to keep his shirt on–at least with you in the house?–he hasn’t actually been committing to that promise. You wonder if it had anything to do with his scars, if he wanted to spare you from seeing them or just not risk you being uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, take it off,” you comment casually, “but do know that I might warm my cold feet against your skin.”

He grins, finally removing the shirt entirely and throwing it onto the chair in the corner. “Feel free.”

Flicking the lights off, Jeongguk joins you in the dark, getting under the duvet and getting comfortable.

It’s silent for a while, and you’re halfway between sleep and consciousness when Jeongguk says something you definitely weren’t expecting.

“Are you still scared of me?”

You roll over to face him, even though the room is almost pitch black.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I think that I will always be aware… of what you can do. Even right now, if you in this moment decided to hurt me, there would be nothing I could do about it. I can spend my days in the gym but odds are a vast majority of men could overpower me anyway. If I were to trust my gut, it would say that you’re a… good guy, but I know that most women murdered by a man they knew or even their male partners didn’t fall for someone openly abusive. They’re sweet at the start, and then they change. Hoseong was like that too; kind until he wasn’t. I know you know that because he fooled you too.

“When it comes to you, I think the only reason I’m here with you is because of what you did that night. I would’ve found any reason to believe that you were still playing a game of making me trust you, just waiting for the right moment to strike, if I hadn’t seen you fight them. No matter how talented of an actor you are, they were prepared to kill you, and you… were prepared to die.

“And this…” you move your hand under the sheets, tentatively finding his chest and the scar. “I don’t like looking at it, and it feels like it’s my fault your mom almost lost her son, but it’s also… almost a relief. I don’t have to second-guess if you really want to help me or if it’s just a long con to… finish something. But like I said… just because you haven’t tried to kill me yet doesn’t statistically mean you won’t. I don’t think you will, but then again, there are a lot of dead women who probably wouldn’t have imagined their murderer being someone they knew.”

Jeongguk places his hand over yours on his chest. “For what it’s worth, I could never hurt you. I know I did; that I hurt you emotionally and scared you, but not even when I thought you were the most selfish person on the planet would I have physically hurt you.”

“I will let the fact that I came to live with you speak for how I feel about you, or at least want to feel about you. Also the fact that I’m sleeping in your bed with you.”

“That you find me entirely irresistible, dying to be close to me at all times?”

You roll your eyes, however, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good that we’re on the same page then, cause I’m kinda stuck on the fact that you kissed me.”

Inevitably, your cheeks warm up further, but it’s okay since it’s dark anyway.

“I did. It was a good kiss.”

“Yeah. I totally wouldn’t hate it if you did it again. In fact, I am open to kisses anytime, just as I am hand-holding.”

“You’re sure? Even from me?”

You hate that you have to ask, but… you do.

“Absolutely.”

You consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to trust his words, at least tonight. Empowered by the dark, you move your hand from his chest. It travels over his warm neck before it reaches his jaw. Your heart beats so hard you’re almost convinced he can hear it, but you ignore it and move closer. Despite the dark, you see his face and how he’s smiling, patiently waiting. It’s both a blessing and a hellish curse how handsome he is; he truly takes your breath away. 

Using your hand, you move your hair away, and you lean down to connect your lips. His are so soft, and he kisses you back so sweetly, letting you set the pace. You move your mouth against his, pulling back an inch just to do it again. Jeongguk lets his hand hold your waist, and even though kissing him is… a dream, you’re reminded that there’s a limit you’re not comfortable crossing.

So you pull back, but you still let him hold your waist.

“There.”

You fall asleep quicker than the nights before. A few hours later–and a few hours before morning–you blink your eyes open, finding yourself entangled with him. You’ve got your arm thrown over his middle, your cheek resting on his naked chest, right below his chin, and one of your legs lies between his.

For a while, you listen to his breaths, thinking about what it is that you’re doing. He’s so warm, and he feels so… safe, but there’s still a certain thought in your head.

When you wake up the next time, you’re once again alone in Jeongguk’s bed, and the first thought crossing your mind is how unnecessary boarding up your window really was when you’re practically almost always sleeping in his bed these days. Also, does he count on being able to hear a potential intruder trying to break in through his window? Because there is one, and it’s definitely not boarded up.

Your curiosity grows when you hear Jeongguk move throughout the house, and the sound of a…. what is that?

Rolling out of his bed, you yawn as you open the bedroom door to almost run head first into a stressed-looking Jeongguk. The sound you heard you identify as the now turned off blow dryer, something you’ve borrowed yourself but never seen him use. Looking up, you realize that, yeah, his hair is still wet from a shower and blow drying it means that he either doesn’t want to wait for it to air dry or he can’t.

“You’re going to the station?” you ask, noticing that he is actually indeed wearing his dark blue, almost black uniform.

“Yeah, uh, multiple trafficking victims on their way. Want to be there before they arrive.”

A very specific feeling moves through your chest; an uncomfortable sadness that someone has most likely been through hell, but there’s a warmth there too, for Jeongguk.

“What are you looking for?”

He looks around, patting his pockets, “Uhm, I have my phone, wallet, house keys. I need the… bike key and the helmet. The helmet is probably in the garage, but I’m not sure where the key is.”

You blink, trying to remember what jacket he was wearing the last time you recall him using the bike. The leather one, right? You step up to the coat rack, looking through the jackets until you find it. Swiftly, you search the pockets until… 

“Found it. Do I put it in your uniform jacket?”

“Oh, thank you. Yes, please,” he says over the sound of the blow dryer that he grabs once more.

You watch him dry his hair, incessantly running his fingers through it to speed up the process. A few minutes later, he turns the machine off and runs his fingers through the black hair one last time, “It’ll have to do.”

Then, he’s gathering his stuff, taking the jacket from your hands and heading toward the door leading to the garage as he throws it on. “Not sure when I’ll be back, it might take a while cause I don’t know how many they are or what they’ve been through, but I can update you?”

“Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Come here for a second.”

Confused, he takes the four steps until he’s in front of you looking down curiously but a little stressed at you.

You smile at him, at how pretty and caring he is. “Be careful.”

He grins, a little surprised. “I always am. But it’s mostly just letting them talk and writing it all down, and–”

“I meant on the road. With the bike. I know you can handle the case.”

“Oh. Will do.”

For a millisecond, he looks at you, his bottom lip bitten. Then he’s pulling you closer by your waist, pecking your lips sweetly.

“I’ll see you later.”

With warm cheeks, you watch him enter the garage, thinking of his kind, brown eyes. You don’t know what to feel.

When Jeongguk returns, he’s angry. He doesn’t say much except frustratingly relaying that apparently, one of the women had called the police about a creepy neighbor appearing to watch her house six months ago. The two officers sent did absolutely nothing at all. Couldn’t offer any protection, didn’t talk to the neighbor, couldn’t even give the woman any advice, just left. Two weeks later, the neighbor takes her. You understand Jeongguk’s frustration toward the system, but when he’s spent two hours in the gym without any kind of break, you decide to check up on him.

You hear the brutal beating of the punching bag long before you spot him.

“How are you doing? You’ve been in here a while…”

Jeongguk stops and looks at you from behind the sand-filled bag, breathing heavily. He’s shirtless, and there’s sweat covering his skin and wetting his hair.

“I’m alright.”

But you can tell that he’s frustrated by the turmoil in his eyes. Although it’s hot to see him work out, you don’t like seeing him like this. It has an uncomfortable feeling growing in your stomach.

“You’re doing what you can.”

“Yet there’s always more to do. It never ends, and it’s never enough.”

He’s definitely right about that, but does it help to be so worked up about it? Or are you the weird one, more likely to go apathetic when reminded of the injustices of the world these days?

“But you did your part today, and I know you made an impact in their lives.”

He looks disappointedly at the sandbag, as if your words didn’t affect him at all.

“Hey,” you call softly. He looks at you.

“If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

‘Right now’ as in alive.

“But I–”

“If you never transferred, they would’ve gotten me at this point.”

“Bare minimum,” is all he mumbles.

“It meant a lot to me. Everything, actually. And I’m really grateful.”

At that, he finally smiles a little, and you find yourself dangerously lost in his eyes again.

Thirty minutes later, at nine p.m., the power goes out. You stop what you’re doing, your hand, holding the kettle frozen in mid air over the mug. Even the very, very low humming of the fridge and freezer stops. You put the kettle down, glad that you probably managed to fill your mug with enough tea water.

Where is your roommate? Last you heard, he was about to take a shower. 

“Jeongguk?” you call, but the moment you peek out into the hallway, you run straight into him, still wet from the shower and with a towel around his hips, you think. 

“What happened?” he asks, his hands steadying your elbows.

“Uh? I don’t know? I was pouring tea and the lights and everything went out.”

“Oh? So that means it wasn’t our doing. I’ll check if there’s a blown fuse; you never know.”

“Okay,” you pat the pockets of your sweatpants, “Here’s my phone if you want a flashlight.”

“Thanks,” he nods, grabbing it from your hand.

He taps the screen to turn the flashlight function on, the light pointed down immediately illuminating every little crevice in his abs and the glints of water still on his skin. The white towel hangs low, exposing a bit of a happy trail.

You look away, and Jeongguk, seemingly none the wiser, turns around to find the fuse box somewhere other than in the kitchen, guided by your phone.

Sighing to yourself the moment you’re alone again, you go back to your tea, removing the bag from the mug. Opening the fridge, you’re once again reminded of how dependent on electricity you are when the open door doesn’t trigger the built in light. Still, you find the milk, and you manage to pour a little bit into the mug and put the container back in the still chilly fridge.

By the time you finish stirring the tea spoon around, you hear Jeongguk’s steps approaching you, and you see the ray of light illuminate the floor in front of him.

“No blown fuses. I’m gonna see if there’s anything on the provider’s site or else I’ll give them a call.”

“Are you gonna get dressed as well, or?” you joke, watching him smile cheekily. 

“Yeah. I was just barely done washing my hair when the light went out.”

“I can see that; you’re dripping all over the floor.”

“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head like a dog, launching drops of water at your clothes and face. 

 “Jeongguk!”

Laughing, he leaves the kitchen and steps out into the dark.

“What if I slip and fall?” you call after him, wiping the drops from your face before returning to your mug to take a test sip. It tastes good, but you’ll definitely try to remember to buy honey next time you go grocery shopping because you’re a sucker for a little sweetness.

Half a minute later, you hear footsteps approaching, and when you turn around from the sink, Jeongguk is drying the floor with the towel he was just using, now wearing what looks like a pair of sweatpants of his own. He doesn’t say anything, just makes sure the floor is dry and then he leaves again, much to your amusement. Like you said; you’re a sucker for sweetness.

While he’s gone, you use your phone’s flashlight to pour the rest of the water into another mug in case Jeongguk wants some tea too. Then you venture carefully into the living room, trying not to spill the hot contents. It goes without accidents, and so you set the mug down onto the coffee table before reaching for the remote. Which doesn’t work. 

“Fuck, no TV,” you mutter to yourself. And you’ve used your laptop without the charger all day. Even more fuck.

“Jeongguk, is your laptop charged?” you call out, praying to the gods.

“Uh, yeah,” he appears behind you, having matched a black hoodie to his gray sweatpants.

He’s holding something in his arms, a lot of smaller things. Candles, you realize when he leans down to gently dump them onto the table. From his pocket he then produces a lighter.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks, lighting the candles one by one, the coziness factor doubling with every flame added.

“I was gonna watch this documentary, but my laptop isn’t charged,” you pout. “Oh, and also, the Wifi won’t work.”

Jeongguk chuckles. “Mine should be fully charged. And we can use my mobile data.”

Wow, way to flex.

“Great. I made tea, do you want some?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

While he goes to grab his laptop, you return to the kitchen to fix his mug of tea as well, returning as he’s setting everything up, the screen illuminating his face where he sits on the couch. The flickering candles are doing their best too, casting a more yellowy glow across the room.

“Thanks,” he says once more when you place the mug in front of him. “Here.” 

You accept the laptop, navigating to the specific streaming site and the documentary released just last week about the development of the space shuttles. Due to the size difference between Jeongguk’s TV and that of his laptop, you take your seat closer to him than usual.

Jeongguk sips his tea, but the moment he’s put the mug back safely on the table and is leaning back against the couch and watching the screen, he slowly lets his hand find yours. 

In turn, you find yourself moving closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. He smells nice, and he feels nice. And it’s suddenly like someone started some kind of wordless game. You don’t say anything, but there’s also a kind of tension that builds, no less in your body. 

Perhaps also feeling the… electricity building, Jeongguk makes his next move, this time slowly lifting his arm to put around you, making you lean against his chest instead. The action has his hoodie riding up just a little, exposing a sliver of his stomach.

When it’s your turn again–and you feel your shared anticipation grow–you try to psych yourself up. He likes you, he likes you. 

So, you place your hand on the exposed section of skin, caressing it carefully with your thumb.

Besides the documentary, it’s quiet, although you’re almost positive Jeongguk can hear your heart beat erratically; it’s definitely beating loudly in your ears. For his next turn, Jeongguk somehow both swiftly and slowly pulls you onto his lap, and before you know it, you’re straddling him, staring down at his smiling face.

The narrator speaks in the background, but you can only focus on Jeongguk and how your heart might soon beat its way out of your chest. 

You could kiss him. You could.

He looks at you like he’s hoping for it but not expecting it, and you pray to God he actually does want you to. Because you want to kiss him so badly. 

He’s got his gentle hands on your thighs, and you place yours softly on his face, holding his jaw and rubbing your thumbs slowly over his cheeks. Until you move one thumb and press it even softer against his lips.

This man is too good to be true, he has to be. As you let your eyes admire him, you think about the fact that, even if you disregard how he literally took a sword to the heart for you, he’s done more for you in the short period of time you’ve known him than any other man in your life.

So you move your finger from his mouth, nervously switching it out for your lips. You can’t even describe how much you like kissing him. When it’s sweet and innocent and just lips and a wordless confession of ‘I like you,’ or when you use a little tongue, and he chooses to follow your lead, kissing you back with the same growing heat. But there’s still something bothering you that you can’t ignore.

In the midst, you pull back an inch, eyes glued to his lips to avoid his eyes. “I like kissing you, but… “

“But what?” he wonders, his hands drawing innocent shapes on your thighs. Your heart pumps even harder as you choose your next words.

“I’m not really your type.”

He smiles, looking carefree, “You are. I think you’re a sweet girl.”

Jeongguk kisses you again, and you try not to think about it, but even with his lips against yours, it’s hard. A sweet girl. Letting one of your hands fall from his face, you grab the collar of his hoodie, clumsily placing your hand inside it to touch his chest, feeling for the scar.

Taking it as you wanting it off, he pulls away to yank the hoodie over his head, and it ends up somewhere toward the end of the couch. Even without it, his bare skin is just as warm under your hands, but before you know it, you’re on your back on the couch, and he’s above you. He’s very sweet, and in this moment–with your hands splayed across his back and the scar there–you know he won’t hurt you. 

A sweet girl.

Right?

A sweet girl. You hear the voices and feel the anxiety and fear return to fill you. You go with the flow, unsure of what to think or do. Jeongguk helps you out of your shirt and then your bra, and you watch him sit back to throw them onto the floor somewhere. 

But the moment he returns his attention to you underneath him, he stops. Because you’re covering your naked chest with your hands like your life depends on it, eyes teary and absolutely and helplessly begging him to look anywhere but at you.

He still does, and you can tell he’s surprised, his wide eyes taking in the situation from above you.

So you plead quietly, “Please don’t look at me.” 

It takes half a second, and he’s immediately closing his eyes, turning to feel around for something behind him. Your shirt probably lies somewhere farther away on the floor, and so his black hoodie is what he ends up grabbing, handing it to you still with his eyes closed.

And he of course moves off of you, the only sounds in the room being the documentary, the slight rustling as you’re putting the hoodie on, and your quiet breaths.

When he assumes you’re dressed, he opens his eyes, heart visibly breaking when he sees how absolutely shaken to the core you look, hugging your body and sitting up. You turn your eyes to the documentary on the screen even though both of you know you haven’t been watching it.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he starts to explain, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, wanting desperately not to make a big deal out of it. If you could just will your hands to stop shaking.

“No, I–”

“Jeongguk, please. I’m fine, okay. I’m not… I’m not ready, but… Can we not talk about it, please?”

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and see the somber worry in them as he watches you from where he’s sitting, still shirtless.

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do…”

You smile tentatively at him, desperate to move on from the subject, “Watch the rest of the documentary with me?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “I’ll, uh, go and change so you can get your hoodie back.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Keep it,” he’s quick to rise to his feet, already on his way somewhere–presumably his bedroom.

The forty seconds he’s gone you use to calm your breathing and stabilize your voice. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t going too fast or not listening to you. He listened to what you gave him; you, yourself only figured out where exactly the line was drawn when it was basically already crossed.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt when he returns, taking a seat next to you and focusing his eyes on the screen, probably more so for your sake than his. “I hope you know that you can tell me anything. And I have no certain expectations you have to fulfill or so.”

You already know that he’s not asking sex for rent, if that’s what he’s wondering. But regarding his first statement… there are definitely things you don’t want to talk to him about.

“Yeah,” you answer regardless.

When the credits roll only a few minutes later, you know that you have two options. If you sleep in your own bed like you ideally want to, you risk there being an awkwardness tomorrow and that you definitely don’t want. Or you sleep in his bed with him like you have the last few days, and sure, it might be a little awkward, but he probably realizes you’re not up for cuddling, and it’ll be easier tomorrow.

“Oh. Finally,” Jeongguk exclaims when the ceiling light flickers on, signaling the return of the electricity. “I was starting to worry about all the food in the freezer.”

Subsequently, he leans over the coffee table, blowing out the small candles one after the other. It’s late anyway.

“So, uh…” he rises from the couch, “I’ll keep my door open, but I’m not offended if you choose to sleep in your bedroom.”

“Okay,” you nod at him, watching as he leaves to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

You stand up too, but no matter how much you want to crawl into bed next to him and have him hold you the entire night, you get ready for bed, and you lie down in your own room. You’re still wearing his hoodie because it smells like him, and it ironically brings you comfort. Still, you lie there in the dark, and you think about his face, and his eyes, and his body. His voice, even, and how he might actually be a good guy. Maybe even everything you want, even if it doesn't matter. And you curl up, a few tears running silently down your cheeks. Because Jeon Jeongguk is so very far out of your league, it’s not even funny.

After waking up, you trudge toward the kitchen, still feeling half asleep. After everything that happened yesterday, you still managed to sleep pretty well, most likely because you were exhausted and sleeping alone.

“Morning.”

You stop, hands mid eye-rub. 

“I… thought you’d be at the station?” you say, redirecting your focus to taming your hair. Jeongguk is sitting at the kitchen table, donning a white t-shirt and black, what looks to be cotton, shorts.

“No, I’ll use today to go over some of the potential leads you helped find. Can do that from here.”

He takes a bite of a cupcake, and you catch his eyes linger a second on your body and how a small smile pulls on his lips before he looks into his phone in front of him. Glancing down, you realize that since you didn’t expect him to be home, you didn’t change out of his hoodie so what he saw waddle into the room was you, swallowed by his hoodie, sweater paws rubbing your eyes.

“It, uh, smells good,” you mumble quietly, realizing way too late that it’s not that great of a defense. “But I’ll wash it and you can have it back.”

It smells good because he smells good.

He waves his hand, still looking almost… fond. “It’s okay, keep it as long as you’d like. I have a ton of them.”

“Okay, uh, thank you.”

“No problem.”

At least the awkwardness was for another reason.

You decide to do a bit of laundry, although skipping the black hoodie and hiding it away under your duvet for a little while longer. Doing the laundry, vacuuming most of the house, and emptying the dishwasher takes you almost an hour, and then you find yourself outside Jeongguk’s office, knocking on the open door and peeking inside. 

“Making any progress?”

He lifts his head from the laptop screen and swivels around in his chair to face you, a pen in his hand. 

“No,” he sighs, “I’m looking into the girlfriend angle and so far, we’ve put detectives on a recent ex of Seunghwa’s and on two of Ryung’s flings, but it hasn’t resulted in anything. Regarding Hoseong… I’m not sure I ever actually heard him mention anyone by name, at least not any name that I can seem to match to anyone.”

“What about… I remember him talking about this Jimin?”

“Who’s that? I think we’ve covered most of his friends?”

You search your memory, but it’s hard to remember details. It’s been years since the conversations you try to recall, and as far as you remember, he only mentioned her in passing. “It was a woman, and I think they were more than friends. Or at least she wanted to be.”

“I didn’t even think of that; I only know male Jimins. Tell me more,” he urges, and you can tell he’s trying to recall if there was ever a mention of a Jimin.

“Well, I heard him complain about her a few times; said she was clingy and honestly a little obsessed with him. He made it sound like he didn’t care for her that much. In retrospect–besides being a very red flag–it sounds like something he could’ve said about me when I liked him.”

“Someone who maybe is mostly just a regular woman and would still maybe help them if they’re desperate enough to ask. Or him, at least.”

“Yeah.”

For a few hours, you and Jeongguk work together in his office, and you nearly forget about yesterday’s mishap, trying to find more info on this ‘Jimin.’ Until you find yourself nearly chest to chest with him after turning around too quickly and not expecting him so close. Instead of meeting your eyes sweetly and slowly lowering his head to kiss you like he probably would’ve even yesterday, he smiles and… backs up a few steps. 

“Hey, should we take a break? Have a late lunch?” Jeongguk stretches his arms out in front of him. 

You continue noting down some last names from your phone onto a paper, using the chair Jeongguk wheeled into his office specifically for you as a table while sitting on the floor. “Uh, you go ahead. I had a late breakfast.”

He stands up. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

“Mhm, you were already in here.”

“I can wait then, and we can eat together.”

“It’s alright; go ahead.”

He mumbles something you don’t quite catch, but he does leave you to your notes and disappears from the office.

For the rest of the day, it’s just as if you’ve taken two or even three steps back. You don’t… touch a lot, and you definitely don’t kiss. A part of you misses it, but another part is relieved that he’s giving you space. He’s still very, very sweet, of course. You didn’t expect anything else.

Like when you open a cupboard, gaze set on a specific mug of his you’ve taken a liking to thanks to the very big ear that prevents the hot tea from burning your hand even through the ceramic. Compared to your male roommate, you’re lacking a little more in the vertical department and for some reason, whoever emptied the dishwasher placed the mug on the top shelf.

You look at it for three seconds, debating on whether you should grab a kitchen chair and climb or simply admit defeat and choose the next best mug. You’re about to go for the latter option when your hero swoops in, wordlessly and casually picking it down for you, a mug of his own raised to his mouth.

“Thank you,” you take the offering from his hand, a smile growing on your lips.

“You’re welcome.”

Or how he’ll still open whatever door you run into for you, to the point that it wouldn’t surprise you if he tried to open the automatic doors and hold them open with his hands when he takes you grocery shopping.

And sometimes, you do touch. Whenever he’s quick enough to exit the driver’s seat and open the passenger door for you, he holds his hand out for you, and when you take it, he helps you out as if you can’t step out of the car on your own. 

When you watch a movie, you don’t sit glued to each other, but he’s not scared to gently pull your feet–which you’ve complained all day of being tired–onto his lap to briefly massage them for you. He smiles at you, all crinkle-cornered sparkly-eyed and dimpled. On two short occasions, he holds your hand carefully, something you don’t object to because it feels nice, it really does.

But despite all these things, you still sleep in your bedroom. You don’t lock the door, but you do sleep alone.

Three days after the incident during the power outage, you’ve worked a long day in Jeongguk’s office. Alone, because he had to leave for the station at nine a.m.. You’ve had a lot of time to think, not only today but ever since what happened–and before that honestly–and it’s become very clear that you need to make a decision. Maybe you should simply gather your courage, give it a shot, and tell him how you feel about him, no matter what happens after?

Despite feeling somewhat determined and having some kind of honestly not very thought out plan, you’re anxious, wandering around the house as you wait for him to return. 

An hour before he comes home, you find yourself in front of the washing machine, throwing the black hoodie into it finally. With the machine on, you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of wine. It helps a little, and the remaining nerves that still reside in your chest, you decide to just try to ignore.

The sound of his bike is what notifies you of his return, and you leave the kitchen to meet him in the garage, watching as he swings his leg over the bike and takes the black helmet off, holding it under his arm.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you waiting, a genuine smile on his face. “How was your day?”

“Uh… good. Narrowed down the Jimins a bit, I think.”

“That’s great,” he grins, his elatedness infecting you too, causing you to smile a little hesitantly despite the nerves devouring you. “Have you eaten yet? I know it’s kinda late but if not; I could cook something?” 

He puts the helmet on one of the shelves that line one of the walls, and then he comes to stand before you. 

You keep your eyes on the jacket with the police emblem on it before you peer up at him. A little hesitantly, you reach for the zipper of his jacket, fiddling a little with it.

“I, uh… actually have something else I want to do. Something I’d like to try… If you’re up for it…”

Tentatively, you reach your hand out, fingers pulling down the zipper of his jacket. He watches you curiously, doing nothing to stop you.

“What is it? That you want to do?” he asks, his warm voice definitely sounding curious but not overly so.

You swallow, deciding to just go for it and slowly placing your arms around his neck, “Well… Do you have any… handcuffs?”

He tilts his head, holding your waist while looking at you, searching. “For me? I do, but we don’t have to do anything; you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but if I really want to? Or maybe you…” you realize that he might just not want to. Like, at all. Oh, how embarrassing.

Seemingly noticing the way you take a step back, lowering your arms from around his neck, he stops you, his hands keeping them there.

“No, no. I’m always willing to let you do whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind.”

His encouragement has a more genuine smile pulling on your mouth.

“Meet me in your bedroom then?” you ask, “And bring the cuffs.”

Not waiting for a confirmation, you drop your hands from his neck, and you turn around to head inside the house. Your heart is pounding, going absolutely haywire while you wait for him on the edge of his bed. Maybe you should’ve worn something else? Something other than just a pair of mom jeans and a blue sweater, but it’s too late now, you guess.

He shows up only a minute later, eyes curiously observing the heavy chair you’ve moved from the corner and into the middle of his room. The first thing he does is unbutton the dark blue shirt of his uniform, sliding it down his arms and throwing it onto the bed. You look at his chest and his arms and his stomach, and you see how he notices. This… humble confidence looks so good on him, and it’s so insanely different from how he acted during the mission. You’ve never seen anyone so attractive. 

The next thing he does is approach you where you’re sitting, offering you his hand all while smiling sweetly… but still a little cheekily.

Placing your hand in his, you’re pulled up to your feet, basically chest to chest with him. There’s heat in his gaze, but it’s not scalding; it’s just warm. 

You give in.

“Kiss me?”

He searches your eyes for hidden answers, but you really do want him to kiss you, and so he does. He places one hand on your lower back, moving your body with him as he steps back and sits down on the chair. Ending up sitting across one of his thighs, you open your eyes when he pulls away just enough to speak.  

“I don’t mind you doing… whatever you want to do, if that’s just sitting on my lap or… exploring me. I’m all for it. Do what you want to do. But,” he says, emphasis on that last word. “Only do what you actually want to.”

You nod, and he reaches down to pull something out of his pocket. The handcuffs. You take them from him, pocketing the small key.

“By the way, how did you get out of the cuffs at the house?” you ask, weighing the metal in your hand.

“I went and got another key before. So I threw you one key and kept the other.” 

You feel your forehead crease as you think about what that means. You were only able to relax when you thought he couldn’t hurt you, but he… could? At any point, he could’ve simply unlocked the cuffs himself?

“I didn’t keep a key because I had ulterior motives or anything. I was just worried you might hurt yourself or pass out for real, like, stop breathing and everything, so I needed a way to get to you if that were to happen.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” you admit quietly. It’s true; the fact that you had multiple pairs of handcuffs with you to the house, and they all use the same universal key entirely slipped your mind. “But of course. How stupid of me.”

“It wasn’t stupid. You were under a lot of stress, and I used that to my advantage, hoping you wouldn’t think about it.”

Standing up, you round the chair to kneel behind it. Without having to be asked, Jeongguk puts his hands back and waits for you to cuff them together.

“So I’m tightening these extra hard and making sure I have all keys,” you joke, still fastening them tight enough for him not to be able to slip them off.

“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable. But I hope you know that I’ll always listen to you.”

You nod, maybe more so to yourself when you stand in front of him again. He looks up at you where he sits, shirtless and looking gorgeous and absolutely mouthwatering.

You bite your lip briefly. “Can I… kiss you?”

“Whatever you want,” he grins, a smile that widens when you sit down on one of his thighs again.

“Okay. Close your eyes?”

Without a word, he obeys your request, and you feel yourself get almost hypnotized, looking at him. You’ve truly never seen anyone so stunning, even to the point that you could sit and gaze at him for hours. The best of mankind but still very much a man. You remember how you used to hate him, thinking God wasted this incredible beauty on someone so ugly, but although you’re not entirely sure how you feel about him, you know you don’t hate him.

Carefully, you trace your fingers along his sharp jaw, and despite his eyelashes fluttering, he doesn’t open his eyes. Unable to help yourself and because you truly don’t think he minds, you allow your gaze to drop. His neck is relatively thick, and the veins are only slightly visible compared to when he’s physically active. Your eyes then land on his collarbones. Then his wide, muscular shoulders and pecs. Then the scar, before traveling across his abs.

“You’re so pretty,” you state quietly, looking up at his face just in time to watch him smirk.

“Pretty is for girls; I’m a man.”

You can’t quite explain the emotional wave that hits you as you come to terms with what you have to do–the decision he’s made for you–but you know that you have to hide it, can’t make a sound of hurt in the silent room. Pressing your lips together, you look around the bedroom before you rise from his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, still smiling and oblivious, his eyes closed.

Already at the window, you untie the white curtain’s tieback and hold it up. “What about this?”

He opens his eyes and looks at the white piece of fabric in your hand, but doesn’t appear too skeptical. “For what purpose?”

“Blindfold.”

Trying to keep a positive and somewhat fear free mindset, it still hurts when you see how he immediately connects the blindfold to how you shielded your chest from his eyes. There’s pain and there’s guilt swimming in his dark eyes.

“You can, but please don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Okay then.”

With his permission, you place the folded sash over his eyes and tie it in the back, careful not to trap any hairs. When you’re done, you take another second to look at him. There is something so irresistible about him, something that has your heart yearning and your body pulled in. He’s so warm, both body and presence. You bite your lip, using your hand to trace his cheek softly while thinking about how he’s so conflicting. What if you want to stay here forever? Curl up like this where he can’t touch you, and lean your head against his neck where he can’t see you?

Like the time when you kissed three days ago, you touch your thumb to his soft lips, and you let the smile and the mask you’ve been wearing fall. Quietly, you stand up, and you take a step back.

“I thought you were going to kiss me?” Jeongguk jokes lightly.

You don’t know what to say, stuck in your footing to the floor and how he can’t see you. It’s like a weight has dropped from your shoulders, but your heart still feels heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

Not picking up the real meaning behind your words, Jeongguk tilts his head. “Okay. It’s alright. Why don’t you uncuff me and we can maybe order dinner instead?”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Wait… what?” he straightens up, struggling to process your words, “Why?”

But you go silent again, unsure of exactly how you’ll ever be able to tell him everything. He calls your name, sounding stressed, and you hear how he tugs on the cuffs.

“You scare me.”

He stops, and you can tell by the way he seems to almost be holding his breath that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I… I understand that you’ve been through a lot, but I’m never going to hurt you.”

You keep your eyes on him, feeling like he, himself most likely believes what he’s saying. But it’s not that easy.

“I know… that all in all, you’re a good man. You want to help me and others, and I know you said that not even when you thought I was the most selfish person in the world would you be able to hurt me physically. But you had no problem hurting me in other ways.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ve apologized for that, and I’ll keep doing it.”

“I don’t know how to read you,” you add, disregarding what he said because he has apologized, but not in the way that you needed. Not in a way that really matters to you. If this man hasn’t had you broken in a thousand pieces and still insisted on stepping on the remains.

So you keep going. “You look sweet–you’ve been sweet, but you look just like him. Hoseong was sweet too, until he wasn’t. And you… you have this desire to hurt, you want to inflict pain on those who wrong you or who you think have done you wrong. What happens if you think I’ve done something you don’t agree with?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions without talking to you, I’m not making the same mistake again–”

“What if I actually do something you don’t like?”

For a few seconds, he goes quiet. “I’m not going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”

You fiddle with your hands, glancing down at them. “Are you sure? It was so easy for you, using all my weaknesses against me and breaking me down without ever asking me for my side of the story. And it scares me how you, during the mission, showed just how easy it was for you to one moment act like you could stand me–looking just as sweet as you do now–then angrily tear me down the next.”

It hurts in your whole body but the worst pain originates from your chest. You feel small, insignificant, but also like you take up too much room.

“I know that you probably don’t want to hurt me physically, and that you’re a better man than most, and at first when we came back, it wasn’t too difficult to ignore what you…. think of me, but now…? I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it just… everything is coming back. I’ve been trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t hurt me at all anymore and that maybe you even like me like I like you, but I know that you don’t. Which in turn makes it hard to know why you’re doing all of this. I think maybe you feel guilty or want to be nice? Give me a chance even though I’m not your… type. But I… I like you. I really, really like you.”

It’s easier to admit than you originally thought, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I want to look at you every second of the day and my hands absolutely yearn to touch you all over. But I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to look at me. I don’t want to be perceived at all. I know that if I stay here and show myself to you, you will not like what you see. You will be disappointed.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, not straining against the cuffs anymore but taking on a calmer approach. “It’s not true. I really do like you, and I think you’re really pretty. Please, I apologized for the things I said, and I’ll do it again. I’m really sorry; I just said those things because I wanted to hurt you. “

“You did. You hurt me, and I’m hurt. You apologized for wanting to hurt me, but you’ve never impli–actually, It doesn’t matter. I know what I look like, it’s kinda hard to forget when you’re constantly reminded. You and your friends came for every single flaw of mine, Jeongguk. “

“I only continued because you never seemed fazed by it.”

“‘I never seemed–’”, you stop to chuckle in disbelief. Your eyes are tearing up as you recall the moments you’re about to remind him of. 

“Are you saying that you never noticed that I stopped eating lunch at the cafeteria after what you did? Hoseong said that maybe someone would actually like me if I ‘ate less,’ and you laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. That was the day after you walked past me in the cafeteria, saying ‘leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?’ Jihyo brought cookies for her birthday two weeks later, and you suggested–in front of everyone–that maybe I should do something else with my mouth besides eat. I criticized the fact that no male officer wanted to work on ‘low-rewarding’ cases like my trafficking case, and you… Do you remember what you said?”

Your eyes are already blurry with silent tears, and you feel the humiliation drown you. There’s no way to go, nowhere to hide. People like Jeongguk are watching, inspecting and observing every little part of you. Your bottom lip trembles.

Jeongguk is silent. If he could see, he’d be looking at your feet. You were right to blindfold him because you would’ve never been able to speak so earnestly had you not. Although you like him, and he’s been so kind and sweet to you, you’re back to feeling like nothing in his eyes.

“‘It’s not about the case; it’s about you. You couldn’t pay me to even look at you. In fact, I bet not even the traffickers would take you, otherwise we would’ve definitely traded you.’”

The pain radiates from your chest, leaving no cell of your body unaffected at the implications. You are so ugly and disgusting to him that if he had the chance, he would’ve sacrificed you to a fate no one should ever have to face. 

He doesn’t give you a reaction now either; he just sits there with his head lowered. But this is your one chance to tell him how you really feel. You take a big, shaky breath.

“I was doing okay before all of this. Sure, I’ve always known that I have a lot of flaws, but I was doing okay. But you’ve said over and over again that I disgust you, my body makes you want to hurl, you wouldn’t fuck me if your life depended on it, etcetera. It takes its toll. Eating around men gives me anxiety, even if I try to hide it. I cover up my… shoulders as much as I can because I can hear you describe them as ‘manly,’ and how every man within earshot chuckles. 

“I wear thick bras and tops, especially around you, because you made it a habit to comment on my breasts and how unfortunately shaped and sized they are. I remember how you asked me how on earth I ever expected Hoseong to like me when I had the ‘saggiest tits in the district.’ And I remember the field day you had when you found out they’re a bit uneven, finding a way to lower your rating of me from a 0.5 out of 10 to a 0.1. Then you asked the other men for their opinion and rating. Or how you’ve so kindly informed me that I didn’t have the tits for that pretty, blue dress and that it looked awful on me. Are you saying that you didn’t notice that whatever you’ve commented on, I’ve never worn again? Not even anything similar?

“I don’t wear tighter pants without a longer shirt to cover my ‘misshapen,’ ‘unfeminine’ hips and the ‘weird dips’ you’ve laughed at, and whenever work dress codes require me to, I’ve avoided you and other men the best I could.

“I wore a skirt to work once, and when I ran into you before changing into my uniform, you said that skirts are for pretty girls and that no one wanted to see my… cellulite. You took every chance to remind me that I have myself to blame for being undesirable, and that men weren’t the problem, I am, and ‘how wasn’t I ashamed for thinking someone like Hoseong could ever like me?’

"Believe me, I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you think I never considered just… drinking the poisoned coffee? Or just starting the car even though I knew the brakes wouldn’t work? If there was a way to get rid of one’s body, believe me, I would’ve. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know what he did to me at the time because how I looked never changed. But looking like you do, I get that you don’t understand how it is to walk around, filled with shame for existing in such an unfortunate body, but I can tell that you want to be better. Maybe you feel bad and want to give me a free trial of how it is to be with a Good Man. Or you want to do the ‘right thing’ so that your dad would be proud? I don’t know, but I can’t ignore the fact that I know how you really perceive me and how you are so far out of my league, it’s embarrassing to even stand here and say it.

"So while I appreciate everything you’ve done for me cause I’d be dead and gone without you, I can’t stay here. You want someone to hold hands with and to buy flowers for, but that’s not for people like me.”

Finally done, you wipe the tears that fall, and you shakily swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat.

“Take the blindfold off and uncuff me,” he begs, once again straining against the handcuffs. You know he isn’t getting out of them, and while he could stand up, the chair is too heavy for him to just pull along with him when he’s got the blindfold on and no sight. He knows, just as well as you, that there’s no use.

“No.”

“Then listen to me; none of that was true. You are so pretty, so breathtaking. I like you so much.”

“Forgive me for not believing you. If you really thought I was even remotely pretty, there have been countless opportunities for you to say so. Or even just a ‘hey, you know you’re not actually as revolting as I told you.’”

“I… I didn’t want to overwhelm you or have you doubt my intentions, but I’m telling you now that I’ve always thought you to be beautiful.”

You scoff sadly. “Yeah, now when the consequences of your actions have arrived,” you glance down at your feet, feeling so insignificant. 

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’ve already packed my stuff.”

“Where are you going? You can’t go home; it isn’t safe there.”

Truly, at this moment, your safety doesn’t seem like your top priority. “I’ll be careful.”

“Can’t you stay with someone, at least?” he bargains, “Jihyo or Sana?”

Another tear falls, and your voice goes quiet. “I want to go home.”

You really do. You haven't been home in months, and you feel like a child sleeping over at a friend's, missing your mom so much it hurts and just wishing she'd come and pick you up.

“I know, but you just gotta hold out a little bit longer. Call Jihyo, please. Do you want me to watch your house twenty-four seven, cause I will.”

You consider his words, and if there’s anything you don’t want, it’s to have him so close again. “Fine. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…”

With nothing really left to say, you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the Uber app.

“I’ll uncuff you in a few minutes, I’m just ordering an Uber.”

Luckily, a car is only three minutes away, and so with quick fingers you confirm it. You packed your stuff three hours ago in case this would be the outcome, something you’re very grateful for now. Maybe, maybe, if he had said something, you would’ve kissed him and decided to stay, hoping that he was being honest. But you know that you might be a sweet girl to him, but you're not a pretty girl.

A minute passes, and you sigh sadly. “Okay, I’m gonna open the handcuffs, but I’m begging you, Jeongguk, stay there until I’m gone, okay? Don’t remove the blindfold, please?”

It’s his turn to seemingly consider what you’re saying. What you did, agreeing to call Jihyo, was for him and respecting his wishes. So he has to respect yours. He can’t rip off the blindfold the moment you twist the key in the cuffs and try to persuade you to stay, no matter if he wants to. 

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You decide to trust him, and with the key belonging to the cuffs, you round the chair where he’s sitting. Kneeling like before, you manage to unlock one of the cuffs in two seconds, and the metal clinks as it falls off his wrist. Instead of freeing his other wrist as well, you grasp his free hand and put the key into his palm, closing his fist around it.

Though you shouldn’t have expected him to be entirely quiet and still, because while he doesn’t make any move to rise from the chair or remove the blindfold, he does swiftly grab your hand, holding it firmly. Despite being blindfolded, it definitely feels like he’s staring straight at you behind him.

“Don’t believe anything any of us said, please. You really are so gorgeous, and not only that but you’re incredibly smart and hard-working. You’re amazing, and I will regret what I did to you for the rest of my life.”

But you hurt so much on the inside that you don’t say anything to that, you just pull your hand out of his grasp.

<previous | next>

author's note: so.... anyway, uh... like, comment, and subscribe <333

[aroacettorney]

lbr i will never achieve this high again

[navybrat817]

Just Like That

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky suggests staying in a hotel together before an undercover mission, which would be fine if you didn't have a massive crush on the super soldier. Word Count: Almost 5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, pining, flirting, slight possessive behavior, talk of undercover mission, "only one bed" trope, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: A combination of @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge and my Bucky Barnes Smut Menu, courtesy of @ellemj. "Only One Bed" Trope and the dialogue prompt in bold italics. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The engagement ring on your finger suited you. Not large or overly flashy, the single diamond radiated a subtle sparkle. It was beautiful and a perfect fit, a representation of the unifying love of marriage. When you looked at it under the light, it was almost as if you could feel the love that Bucky had for you.

If only that were the case.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” You asked, taking a seat at the table across from Bucky.

“So we can practice and make sure we’re a convincing couple,” he replied.

You sighed as you glanced around the hotel room for the umpteenth time. A small sitting area, a dining and kitchen combination, a single bathroom, and a bedroom. When you pointed out that there was only one bed, Bucky reminded you of the expectation that the two of you had to sleep together while on assignment since you were going on a couple's retreat. Which wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have a crush on him, right?

Right.

You were completely enamored with Bucky Barnes, the handsome former assassin turned agent for the revamped SHIELD. Instacrush wasn't something you experienced often, so he took you by surprise. It was pathetic to fall for him so hard and quickly. It had to be some sort of karma or divine intervention that you were with him in a hotel room.

Just the two of you.

“You know,” he began, wetting his lips as he leaned back in his chair. You blinked, only because you didn't want him to call you out on staring. “You don't have to look so miserable to be here. Is my company that terrible?”

“What? No. Bucky, you aren't terrible company,” you promised, slumping a bit in your chair. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. “Just been a bit since I've been in a relationship and I’m kind of rusty.”

“You're talking to a guy who hasn't been on a real date since the 40s,” he deadpanned.

He had a point. Plus, from what you understood, Bucky wasn't exactly interested in dating anyone. Every time Steve or Natasha suggested he go on a date, he found a way to brush it off or change the subject.

Even if he was interested in dating, did he think of you as anything beyond a colleague?

Taking this assignment may have been a mistake.

“I’m just not sure I’m the right one for this job,” you said.

“You’re perfect for this job. Why would you think otherwise?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, even as his compliment warmed your heart. It meant a lot that he thought you would do the job well. But how were you supposed to answer that question? That you adored him and it would be torture to pretend to be with him for a week just to back to being coworkers after?

“We should practice,” you suggested instead of giving him an answer. The backstory wasn't overly elaborate, but you had to get it right.

He leaned forward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Did someone say something to make you think you wouldn't be good for this assignment?” He asked in a low voice. “Because I'll straighten them out.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering. The thought of him putting someone in their place to make you feel better was swoon-worthy. “No, Bucky. No one said anything. You're right. I’m good for this,” you said before you added, “We’re good together.”

You couldn't read the look he gave you and it became more difficult not to squirm under his gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning back and clearing his throat. “So. We’re engaged. Going to a resort for a much needed vacation. We’ll have to mingle with some of the guests in between investigating the owner. One of the first questions will be how we met.”

With an exhale, you recited, “We met at a coffee shop. We both ordered the same drink.”

“An iced caramel macchiato,” he said.

“And we reached for the drink at the same time,” you smiled, making a show out of reaching for the glass on the table. “Our fingers touched first. Our eyes met second.”

“And I immediately asked you out,” he smiled.

Your heart swelled. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world when he smiled like that. “You did,” you said, trying to blink the longing from your eyes. “We went to dinner and talked a bit about ourselves. You told me you're a mechanic and I told you I’m a teacher. And once dinner was over, we went back to that same coffee shop and we shared an iced caramel macchiato.”

“Even proposed to you at the same shop,” he said, gesturing to your left hand. “But I actually got the ring after our first date because I knew I wanted you to be my girl,” he said with such conviction that you found it hard to breathe.

The way his eyes softened as he gazed at you, you found yourself believing him for a moment. You had to stay rooted in realism though. The point of the mission besides the actual mission was to act as if you two were crazy about each other.

Not that you had to do any acting on your part.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back from the glass. “If only that were true,” you said, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger. You weren't cynical about love, but this whole thing was a reminder that you were single and alone.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Heat crept up your neck. You shouldn't have said anything. “I mean, it just would've been nice if we met at a coffee shop,” you replied to avoid saying you wanted to be his girl.

“What’s wrong with how we met?” He asked, crossing his arms.

The metal arm gleamed under the light. You noticed that he had a tendency to wear long sleeves and gloves whenever he was in the building, but seeing him with his sleeve pushed up and missing glove? You would almost say he was comfortable around you.

Again, he had to play the part right.

You pulled yourself from your thoughts when he said your name, which sounded like it melted on his tongue. It made you press your thighs together. You needed to stay professional. “Do you not remember what happened or are you just being nice?” You asked.

Months ago, the day you met Bucky, Steve informed you that he planned to introduce you to him after he came back from a long assignment. Not only were you excited to meet one of his best friends and a great soldier, but you had wanted to make a good impression on him. What you did was make an ass out of yourself when you turned the corner only to smack right into the former Winter Soldier.

And splattered your beverage on both of you in the process.

Instacrush and a horrible impression on your part.

Bucky’s lips curled in a smile as your eyes widened. “You do remember,” you said, wadding up a nearby napkin and tossing it at his face, which he easily caught. “Oh, my God! That’s why you chose ‘coffee shop' for this, didn't you?”

You concentrated so much on getting the backstory right that it didn't occur to you that he was maybe poking fun at you. He wasn't the kind of guy that liked making others feel bad though. Tease you, sure. Outright make fun of you at the risk of hurting your feelings? He would never.

“Hey, I didn't choose how we met, but I also didn't object,” he said, raising his hands in surrender when you went to throw another napkin at him. “And I wouldn't forget meeting you, doll. You make a lasting impression.”

You wished you had done something to make him remember you besides spilling a drink on him. “I guess making an idiot out of myself is a lasting impression,” you teased.

Something dark flashed in his eyes, making your breath hitch. “That’s not what I meant. You didn't make an idiot out of yourself and I don't like you thinking that or talking down about yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, not used to someone getting so defensive at your self-depreciation. There was something sexy and heartwarming about it. “You were very nice about the whole incident.”

“You were nice, too,” he said, gesturing to his torso. “I mean, you offered to buy me a new shirt.”

“Because I spilled my drink on it! I felt bad,” you said.

“And when I said you didn't have to buy me a new shirt, you said, ‘Are you sure I can't pay for the dry cleaning at least, Sergeant Barnes?’” he said in a falsetto voice.

He chuckled when you rolled your eyes. “I don't sound like that, first of all, and I was being considerate,” you said. You couldn't believe he remembered your exact words. “And you just gave me that half confused smile of yours before I grabbed napkins for both of us to clean up.”

“You mean this?” He asked, his lips stretching in that familiar awkward grin.

“Yeah, that,” you giggled, your heart doing that funny flip that happened far too often around him.

In the beginning, whenever you smiled at him, he gave you that very look in return. Somewhere along the way, the uncomfortable glances on his end became genuine fondness. It didn't mean anything though.

Just an agent being kind to another agent.

Bucky stared at you as you continued to giggle at the memory. “I’m sorry. I just-”

“I love your laugh,” he said, almost making you choke on your own breath. Nothing like forgetting how to be a human and breathe. “And your smile.”

Maybe he had switched back into practice mode. “You do?” You asked, playing along as you smiled directly at him.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I do,” he replied, his voice thick as he unfolded his arms. “You know, you're one of the people that actually smiles at me. And you look me in the eye when you talk to me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because some people are still afraid of me,” he whispered.

Your heart sank. He was a good man. A hero wrongly painted as a villain. It wasn't fair what he went through and you had no reason to fear him.

Why couldn't everyone else see the good in him?

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky,” you promised. And after what he went through, frightening people was the last thing he would do. “Never have been. Never will be.”

“Maybe you should be,” he muttered, some of the light leaving his eyes.

Your eyes narrowed as you tempered the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Seeing this vulnerable side of him also brought out your protective instinct. “Listen to me. You’re amazing and a good man, okay? And if I don't get to call myself an idiot for spilling a drink on you, then you don't get to say I should be scared of you, Sergeant Barnes,” you said with an air of finality.

He gave you an impressed smile. “Just like that? Because those are totally different things you're comparing.”

“Just like that,” you said, putting your hand on the table for him to take if he wished. “Do you trust that I'll have your back on this mission? Because I trust that you'll have mine no matter what.”

He stared at your upturned hand for a moment before he took it. “You're one of the only people I do trust,” he admitted.

His eyes bore into yours as you tried to find the words to respond. He wasn’t feeding you a line to make you feel good about yourself. Bucky Barnes trusted you.

“Then trust me when I say we got this,” you promised. You would look out for him and let him know that he hadn’t misplaced his trust in you.

“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” He asked suddenly.

The switch in topic jarred you, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “That’s. I’m. What? How is that relevant?”

It wasn't smooth, but it was better than blurting out that your hopeless crush on him was one of the major factors.

“I’m curious,” he shrugged.

“Oh. Well. My last boyfriend dumped me for being an agent. Seriously, he didn't like the fact that I could kick his ass if I wanted to,” you told him, squeezing his hand without meaning to. He didn’t object. “Which I wouldn't.”

“You could kick my ass if you wanted to,” he winked. Physically, Bucky was broad and strong. You weren’t sure you could take him in a real fight, but you could take him another way if he ever offered. “And your ex sounds like an asshole if he can’t stand beside and support an amazing woman.”

You smiled humorlessly. “Thanks, Bucky, but I’m not-”

“I swear to fuck if you talk down about yourself again, I will put you over my knee,” he threatened, his eyes darker than they were seconds ago.

You didn’t laugh as he stared at you. Neither did he. Your clothes suddenly felt too heavy, your body too warm. Licking your lips, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Is that a promise?”

Bucky pushed his chair back and pointed at his thigh, his eyes still on you. “Get over here and find out.”

Oh, fuck.

The sound of Bucky’s phone ringing snapped you both out of whatever spell you two were under. “Shit,” he muttered, taking his hand from yours. “It’s Steve. I better-”

“Yeah, you should answer that,” you said, almost knocking the chair over as you stood. “I think I'm going to call it a night.”

“Wait, what?” He asked, answering the phone. “Hold on, punk,” he said, covering the screen as he looked at you. “You’re going to bed now?”

Guilt settled in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. “Just going to lay down. I may not go to sleep right away. And we can practice more in the morning,” you replied. You just needed to step out of the room and take a breath.

He waited a beat before he nodded, the tension still lingering. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, leaving him alone so he could talk to Steve.

You splashed a bit of water on your face when you went to the bathroom to change. The assignment hadn’t started and you couldn’t keep your cool. With squinted eyes, you pointed at your reflection and mentally scolded yourself. Yes, you wanted Bucky Barnes and maybe, just maybe, some part of him wanted you. At least, he wanted you enough to put you over his knee.

You couldn't have him though. Could you? Mixing business with pleasure could lead to complications if you crossed that line, but it wasn’t like you’d break some major bylaw by being his girl.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Get your shit together,” you hissed, rushing through your nighttime routine and changing into your comfortable yet sexy nightgown.

Your eyes went to the bed when you left the bathroom. Just a regular hotel bed. Inviting, but not overly frilly. Large enough for the both of you, but small enough that you might end up in each other’s arms.

“It’s going to be a long night,” you muttered.

Sighing, you left a light on for Bucky to see and crawled into bed, shutting your eyes as he wrapped up his call with Steve. You tried to block out the sound of his footsteps as he made his way to the bathroom. Maybe his nighttime routine would take a bit longer than you thought and you could drift off and wake up to the sight of his beautiful eyes and-

The bed dipped as Bucky curled up behind you, your eyes opening when he placed his arm around your waist and pulled you back against him. You were conscious of every shift in his body, every breath he took. How you could smell his lingering cologne as he pressed himself closer. How he ran warmer than you and you wanted him to heat you up even though you weren’t cold.

And that he wasn’t wearing a fucking shirt.

“I know you aren’t sleeping,” he whispered, his fingers brushing along the fabric that covered your skin. “Your heart’s beating too fast.”

He was right. It was about ready to burst through your chest. “Can’t sleep.”

“Why not?” He asked, helping you roll over so you were on your back. He didn’t remove his hand though. “Did my ‘threat’ make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it didn't,” you assured him, heat pooling between your legs that you couldn't prevent. “I wouldn't have continued with the banter if I was uncomfortable.”

“Just making sure,” he said. “I was only teasing.”

You huffed out a laugh in an effort to cover up the crushing feeling in your chest, your arousal fading to a dull ache. “Of course, you were,” you uttered. Teasing. Nothing more. “Good night, Bucky,” you said, turning your head away.

He brought a hand to your cheek and brought your face back toward him. How did his eyes look so blue in the faint light? “Don’t go to sleep yet, please.”

“Why not?”

“You rushed to bed and now you're shutting down. I clearly said or did something wrong,” he sighed, which made you feel bad. He hadn't done anything wrong in your eyes since it wasn’t his fault you wanted his teasing to mean something. “I need to fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix because you didn't break anything,” you said, the ring heavy on the finger. “But can I ask for a favor?”

“Of course,” he whispered.

You didn’t dare search out his gaze when you said, “I may need reminders this week that you don't actually have feelings for me.”

A few seconds went by before he asked in a small voice, “What?”

You took a breath to compose yourself. The last thing you needed to do was get upset for no good reason. “We’re going to hold hands and cuddle and share a bed and be a couple, but you may need to give me a reality check now and again that you only see me as an agent. Okay?”

Maybe he’d ask Steve for a new partner in the morning.

“You think I only see you as an agent?” He asked, sighing when you nodded. “I used to be good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Teasing. Flirting,” he answered, leaning in close. He stopped just before his lips touched yours. “Kissing.”

“Wait. You were flirting with me?” you said, not moving forward or back as you put a hand on his chest. His heart raced as fast as yours. And your brain couldn’t compute that implication that he wanted to kiss you. “You weren’t just practicing for the assignment?”

He huffed out a laugh this time. “You’re killing me, doll,” he whispered, closing the distance.

You imagined Bucky kissing you before, but didn’t think it would ever be so soft. His lips barely brushed against yours, but it felt like the beginning of something more. It tempted you like nothing else ever had. He must’ve felt it, too, since he deepened it. You melted. You surrendered.

You never stood a chance.

“So, you like me?” You asked when he pulled back a little to gaze at you. “I’m sorry. I just need to hear you say it because I really like you and have for months. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that because we have a whole week together for this assignment and now you know and I don't want it to be weird.”

Your mind almost shut down when he gave you a full-blown smile and said, “Yeah, I like you. I thought it was obvious. I tried dropping little hints, talking about your smile and trusting you.” He chuckled almost shyly as his words sank in. “I took this assignment because of you.”

A moment passed before you giggled, happiness blooming in your chest. Bucky Barnes liked you. Wanted you. “Thank fuck,” you breathed, pulling him back down for another kiss.

He groaned, ravaging your mouth as he moved on top of you. His knee pushed your legs apart so he could settle between them, swallowing down your whimpers when he pressed his growing hardness against your pussy. He ground his hips, your panties soaked as his tongue tangled with yours. The man kissed you like he had something to prove.

Like he wanted to own you.

His muscles rippled as he leaned up and grasped the bottom of your nightie. The vision of him above you like this was now engraved in your mind. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

Sleeping with him was moving fast considering you just confessed your feelings for each other, but you didn't care. “Don't stop,” you whispered, quivering as he tugged the fabric over your head.

Your hands moved up to cover your chest before he gripped your wrists. “Are you trying to hide from me?” He questioned, his smirk playful in comparison to the uncertainty in his gaze.

You didn't want him doubting himself or your want for him for a second.

“Maybe? I mean, look at you and look at…”

You wouldn't knock on your looks since you were generally confident in your appearance, but the super soldier was an entirely different level of gorgeous. He towered over even the largest of agents, with the exception of Steve, and his dark lashes framing his steel eyes were enough to pull you under.

And who were you compared to him? Just another agent. Average.

“Don't,” he whispered, releasing a wrist so he could cup your breast. You arched your back and any uncertainty in his eyes before faded when a moan escaped your lips. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

The praise almost made your eyes water as he brought his head down, losing focus when he swept his tongue across your nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a wave from a sea of ecstasy crashing over you. Your heart thudded faster, addicted to the feel of his sinful mouth.

“You’re the reason I don't have a boyfriend,” you whined, your fingers twisting in his hair. Why did you say that?

He smirked against your skin before he reached down and tore your panties away. “I haven't gone on a date because of you.”

Your body throbbed with need as you met his gaze. “You're just saying that to get in my pants,” you joked.

His eyes raked down your body, stopping between your trembling thighs as he pushed his pants and underwear down. “If I had my way, I would've taken you out first,” he said, drawing a moan from you when he wrapped a hand around his thick cock. “But all I can think about right now is how loud you’ll say my name when I make you come.”

“Bucky,” you moaned, tempted to reach down and touch yourself to the sight of him.

“Louder than that,” he said smugly, rubbing the tip of his cock along your slick folds. “Fuck, I wanna take my time and explore you. Make you feel like a goddess. Treat you the way you deserve.”

It warmed your heart and sent another wave of desire through you knowing he wanted to take care of you. “I know you'll treat me well,” you smiled, opening your legs wider. “But for now, please, fuck me.”

He didn't ask about birth control, which you were on. You didn't ask about condoms. It didn't matter. You wanted to feel all of him.

You glanced down as he lined himself up, watching as he slowly eased into you. It was overwhelming as you took every inch, your mouth falling open with a moan. You floated in a cloud of lust, the sound of his groan reaching your ears.

“Look at me,” he ordered as he bottomed out.

Your eyes flew to his as he gripped your chin. The feel of him inside you, his eyes staring so intently into yours that he practically touched your soul. It was almost too much. And that was when he began to move, the weight of his body on top of yours as he fucked you in slow and deep thrusts. It was the kind of lovemaking that would make you crave more.

Crave him.

“Knew you'd take me well,” he grunted. You whined, the praise going straight to your core as you tightened around his thick cock. Your walls couldn't stop gripping him as he slid in and out. “Knew your pussy would be greedy for me. Won’t let me go.”

Your head fell back against the pillow, dizzy as he trapped your body under his. As he rolled his hips, you wondered if he’d let you ride him at some point. Maybe he’d fuck up into you as he brought your hips down. Or maybe he’d lay back and cup your breasts, let the weight bounce in his hands as you took all of him.

You’d take whatever he gave you.

The growing pleasure within you was like you were burning from the inside out, each movement from him stoking the flames. His low groans mixed with your whines, his thrusts increasing in speed when he brought his thumb to your clit. Your hand worked its way back into his hair as you cried out his name, your control slipping further and further away as he took over.

“Just like that,” he moaned. “Don’t hold back on me. Wanna hear every pretty sound you make.”

“Bucky, I'm gonna…” you trailed off, your orgasm building fast in your core and ready to burst.

“Come,” he finished for you, a filthy smirk on his face as he laced his fingers with yours.

One more thrust and you were gone, his name falling from your lips as you came. Your mouth stayed open as you spasmed, pleasure rushing from head to toe. You panted and didn't care if you'd ever properly breathe again. That was how good it felt.

“I’m close, doll,” he gritted, resembling a growl as he continued to fuck you and chase his release. “Gonna come inside you. Gonna own you.”

“Come inside me, Bucky,” you begged, watching through half-lidded eyes as his face contorted in ecstasy. It was such an erotic sight. “Please.”

He buried himself deep with a long moan as he filled you in hot, thick spurts, nuzzling his face in your neck when he finished. He said your name as he heavily breathed against your neck and it was the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wrapped your arms around him when he stayed inside you, not at all bothered as your mixed release slowly trickled out.

You didn't want him to let you go.

“Well,” you huffed, a dopey smile on your face as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I don't think we’ll have a problem convincing people we care about each other.”

He chuckled, kissing your warm skin. “And we won't have a problem sharing a bed,” he said, keeping you close as you yawned. “Sleep, doll. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, too,” you said, feeling him smile against you as you drifted off.

The delicious ache between your thighs was the second thing you noticed when you woke up. The first, of course, was Bucky’s arm and leg draped over you: warm, protective, perfect. He was still fast asleep, the blanket pooled around his waist, completely at ease with the world. You could get used to waking up like this.

You hesitated before you touched his cheek, not wanting to wake him as you kissed his forehead. You wished you had time to kiss every scar on his body and worship him the way he said he wanted to worship you. The two of you would have to leave the bed sooner or later. There was work to do.

“Mmm. Morning,” he said, his voice laced with sleep as he cracked an eye open.

“Morning,” you whispered, cuddling closer as he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed over the ring. The motion made you brush against his crotch and you were close enough to hear the hitch in his breath. You did it again, keeping your gaze innocent as he opened his eyes more and groaned.

Yes, there was work to do, but it was still early.

“You’re still horny? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last night?” He teased.

“Yeah, I’m still horny,” you replied. Waking up next to him would arouse anyone. “Need you to fuck me again.”

“You won’t be able to walk if I fuck you again,” he smirked, rolling on top of you and digging his fingers into your waist.

“Should’ve known you’d be a cocky boyfriend,” you teased back, your heart thundering in your chest as he leaned down and skimmed kisses along your jaw. “Sorry, we didn’t put a label on this and there’s still stuff to figure out and the mission and-”

“Hey. Boyfriend, your man, whatever you want to call me, I’m yours,” he cut you off, his mouth drifting to your neck. “And I still owe you a date, got it? You’re my girl. You’re mine.”

“I'm yours,” you gasped when he nipped your skin hard enough to sting, his tongue soothing it after. You were his and he was yours. “So, we're a couple now? Just like that?” You smiled as he worked his way back to your lips.

Bucky answered you with a kiss. “Just like that.”

I struggled a bit with this one after having to scrap almost 2k and go in another direction, but I ended up falling in love with it. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Unhinged Power Move (ft. Marriage, Ra’s al Ghul, and an Uncomfortable Batfamily)

No one really understood how it started. One moment, Tim Drake was Red Robin—tired, overworked, and fueled by caffeine. The next, he was dropping a bombshell in the middle of a routine debrief:

“Oh, by the way, I married Ra’s al Ghul.”

The room froze.

Dick’s dumbbell hit the floor. Jason choked on his beer. Damian’s sword slipped from his hand. Bruce, staring at Tim like he’d grown a second head, barely managed a strangled, “Tim. What did you do?”

Tim took a sip of his coffee, utterly unfazed. “It’s a power move.”

Jason, wheezing with laughter: “Oh my god. You married Ra’s out of spite? Replacement, I’ve never been prouder.”

Tim smirked. “Something like that.”

-----------

It wasn’t really spite.

Ra’s had been obsessed with him for years. The offers of succession, the constant attempts to lure him to the League—it was never-ending. Tim was tired. Tired of being hunted, tired of the games. So, one day, he called Ra’s’ bluff. If Ra’s wanted him so badly, he’d have to deal with all that came with it. Including Tim’s unrelenting need for control.

Ra’s agreed.

And just like that, Tim Drake became the most terrifying in-law the batfamily had ever seen.

-----------

Talia didn’t know what to think at first.

She’d seen it all before—people manipulated by Ra’s, twisted into tools for his will. But Tim? He didn’t play by those rules. He sat at Ra’s’ desk, sifting through League reports like they were Gotham case files. He didn’t bark orders; he made suggestions. And then, the soup happened.

Talia returned from a mission, bruised and exhausted. Tim, barely looking up from his paperwork, said, “Sit. You’re hurt.”

She scoffed. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s soup.”

Talia stared. “Why?”

Tim shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

It became a routine. She’d return from missions, and Tim would be there. Not with judgment. Not with manipulation. Just quiet support. He listened. He offered advice. He treated her like a person, not a pawn.

Somehow, they started having regular bonding time. Shopping trips. Quiet conversations on the balcony. Tim became a person Talia could trust—a concept she hadn’t believed possible.

-----------

Damian was losing his mind.

“Drake!” he hissed, cornering Tim in the Batcave. “You’ve… corrupted my mother!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Corrupted? She’s thriving.”

“She smiles at you!”

“I’m very charming.”

Damian’s finger trembled as he pointed. “This makes you… my grandmother.”

Tim smirked. “Respect your elders, grandson.”

“I REFUSE!”

-----------

Bruce was spiraling.

“Tim, this is dangerous.”

“Relax,” Tim replied, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You married one of our greatest enemies!”

“Think of it as an undercover op,” Tim said, voice calm and unyielding. “I’m playing the long game.”

Jason, from the sidelines, grinned. “He’s playing 4D chess, and you’re still on checkers.”

-----------

The Real Chaos?

Tim didn’t marry Ra’s to make him happy. Hell no. If anything, it made Tim sick to his stomach knowing Ra’s was smug about it. But if putting up with Ra’s al Ghul meant protecting Talia, stabilizing the League, and giving Damian a family that didn’t break apart at the seams?

He’d endure.

Because Talia was healing. Damian’s mother was smiling. And Ra’s… well, Ra’s thought he’d won.

But the real winner? Tim Drake.

Gotham’s most unhinged vigilante had just become the League of Assassins’ terrifying step-parent. And honestly? It suited him.

-----------

Damian, whispering to Alfred: “I need… therapy.” Alfred: “We all do, Master Damian. We all do.”

[jellybeanium124]

gentiles really will deny antisemitic euphemisms are antisemitic euphemisms till the cows come home. imagine if no one believed you when you brought up how "border security" "states rights" "parents rights" "protecting jobs" "traditional marriage" and so on etc etc were euphemisms to cover up racism and queerphobia. imagine bringing these things up and people start saying "welllllll but federalism tho, states rights are a real thing" or "welllllll don't parents have the right to raise their kids how they want? it's not about preventing their kids from learning about the systemic history of racism and thus developing an opinion different from their parents'." imagine having a political conversation where everyone is trying to find the ~best possible interpretation~ of these words instead of believing you when you try to explain they are just covering up more blatant hate.

goyim are just never willing to accept that antisemitic euphemisms are antisemitic euphemisms. "but what about the people who don't mean it like that?" well what about the people who do? what do you expect me to do when people start using antisemitic euphemisms other than assume I'm in danger? that's the only sane option I have. because euphemisms are insidious and I don't know if the people saying them are dumbasses or undercover nazis. and I'm not safe if I'm in a room with nazis.

[penkura]

Hi x

I love your writing. If you're not too busy could I make a request for some OP men (Zoro, Law, Penguin - you've made me love Penguin) x reader in Wano.

Where Kin'emon (due to the crew's meddling) makes them and Y/n pretend to be a married couple as part of their undercover roles.

Yes wonderful, the Penguin agenda continues to expand! I really love fake marriage plots (*cough* last forever fanfic *cough*), so this was a lot of fun to do!! I hope you like it! :)

Law

Heavily against the idea, Law doesn’t understand how he ended up having to pretend to be married you, a Straw Hat member, in the first place.

Well, okay, yes he does. You’d gotten yourself into trouble, like your crew always does, when one of Kaido’s Gifters got a little handsy with you, instead of running you started to fight him, almost getting captured before Law intervened. You agreed with him afterwards that you would’ve been just fine, though he didn’t believe you and argued back at you.

“Oh so you wanted to get captured and potentially used by those men?!”

“That’s not what I said!”

When he heard about it, Kin’emon said others heard you two arguing as well and assumed you were a married couple having a fight, so that would have to be your role now to keep up appearances. You both are against it even as it’s fully explained to you, but you don’t have much of a choice and end up putting on a façade around the people of Wano. For the first couple days, you begrudgingly let Law walk you back to your base of operation, just so the ruse is kept up. Law keeps his arm around your shoulders until you’re far enough away from the citizens, then removes it before you step away to keep distance.

More often than not you both argue when Law comes to get you from the teahouse you’ve been working at, a few of the patrons and other employees wondering if they should step in to stop you both from saying anything you shouldn’t.

One day, when you’re both arguing, your boss at the teahouse calls you back inside, thought you continue to argue with Law for a few more minutes. It’s not even about anything important, you had agreed to taking him to another couple’s home for dinner and he’s not happy about the idea.

“You could’ve waited and asked me first!”

“Well I wasn’t sure when you’d come by, and I know you well enough that you’d just say no!”

Before Law can say anything more, your boss calls you back inside, saying immediately or your pay would be docked. Law takes your arm before you go inside, making you glare at him just a bit, expecting him to keep arguing.

“We’ll talk about this when you’re off work. For now—”

Law doesn’t even get to finish his thought before you grab him by the back of the head and kiss him, just wanting him to shut up for once. He's so stunned that he can’t even finish his sentence when you pull away, looking embarrassed but annoyed with something else there that he’s not sure about. You almost look flustered but also happy?

“Just be quiet and go, Traffy. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re an abusive husband or something.”

Law doesn’t even say anything as you turn back to the teahouse, instead pulling his hat over his face and leaving, trying to hide the blush you’ve caused to cover his face. You’re as stubborn as he is, but he’s finding he doesn’t mind it, he doesn’t even care that you’re pretending to be married anymore. You’re getting under his skin and he doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, because it seems he’s done the same to you considering the smile you have the rest of the day.

Penguin

Penguin has dreamed of the chance to take you on a date in the first place, so the moment it’s suggested two of you from the Heart Pirates pretend to be married, he’s throwing his hand up to volunteer as soon as he hears you’ve agreed to it yourself. Law knows very well how much Penguin likes you so he rolls his eyes and says fine, you and Penguin are now pretend married for the time being.

“Just don’t do anything suspicious.”

Penguin promises that he won’t, and makes good on it, just treating the way he would if you two were actually together. You pretend to be a housewife while Penguin finds a job at a pawn shop to help pass out the fliers Kin’emon had made up to recruit samurai. Anytime someone invites the two of you over, you both do your best to make everyone believe you’re happily married, Penguin isn’t even faking how happy he is to be able to hold your hand and tell people you’re married, even if it’s fake. You can’t say you mind it, the thought of really being his wife starts to take over your mind especially at night when you can’t sleep, sometimes even dreaming about it being reality.

If he runs into you during the day, while you’re talking with other housewives of Wano, Penguin has to stop and give you a hug and kiss on the cheek, making your face feel warm as you greet him, hugging him back while he grins at you. The other women whisper or giggle seeing such a display of affection, most of them aren’t used to seeing that in public.

“I hope you ladies are having a good chat with my wife!”

Every time Penguin calls you his wife it makes your heart race and you can’t help but feel like he’s meant to say that, like it’s so natural for him to call you that. When he needs to go back to the pawn shop, he’ll hug you again but this time you give him a kiss on the cheek that makes him blush bright red.

“I’ll see you tonight, husband.”

While you take off again with the other housewives, Penguin is frozen in place with the blush still on his face, to the point Shachi has go drag him away.

“Come on, lover boy, we got work to do!”

Penguin is determined to ask you out on a proper date after everything is settled.

Zoro

Zoro is very neutral about having to fake a marriage with you. Considering you are his girlfriend already, it’s not a big deal, you just have to call each other husband and wife when talking about the other to anyone who asks, but he does believe this will help keep you safe from Kaido and his men while you’re in Wano. If people hear you’re married to a ronin, it might make them think twice before messing with or attacking you.

Of course, you could defend yourself no problem, that’s not what Zoro is even a little bit concerned about.

He’s more concerned about how you seem to lose yourself in your thoughts and want to help people when they ask for it, even if they’re obviously lying to try and kidnap or steal from you. It’s happened so many times that he’s become your designated buddy to keep you from getting into trouble, like how you became his to keep Zoro from getting lost every time you go somewhere.

It's a good trade of you have going with each other, even with your relationship, and keeping it up in Wano is the safest option. No one questions you about it really, the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates keep up the ruse too along with their placements in the country and recruiting all the Samurai you can.

You end up working at a small café that’s frequented, unfortunately, by Kaido’s men who seem unable to keep their hands to themselves most of the time. Zoro has asked every day if any of them tried anything with you, but you’ve denied it every time, the second they heard you’re ‘married’, most of them leave you alone though a few try to convince you to leave your ‘husband’ for them.

Zoro stops there one night to watch and make sure you’re okay, staying in a corner where you don’t notice him as he orders from another waitress and watches when you take an order from a Gifter. He sees you acting nervously but can’t hear what’s being said between you and the man, but he can guess it’s not anything good once the guy grabs your wrist and tries to pull you into his lap, Zoro’s about to jump up to protect you when he sees that.

“Come off, you’re off soon right? You should come have some fun with us!”

“No, thank you, I’m married,” you pull your arm away, giving a fake smile, “Will the two drinks be all for you?”

“Hey, come on now, wouldn’t want your boss to he—”

The Gifter trying to get you to go with him shuts up as a sword touches his neck, you being pushed behind Zoro while he glares the man.

“She said no, and you’re asking in front of her husband, ya know.”

“Love, you can’t use your sword here!”

You end up getting kicked out by the Café owner, Kin’emon only sighing when you tell him what happened.

You are glad to know that if you do end up getting married one day, that Zoro will continue to protect you always.