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faulty-writes · 3 months

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[ Hello followers, and or fans! I am back with a Part II/Follow-up to the piece I originally wrote for the Hawks Big Bang. This was inspired by this image created by pepepecoooooo which is so so cute. Please note this piece contains MAJOR manga spoilers. ]

[ As a support specialist, you were used to receiving attention, and it wasn’t just because you were the child of Endeavor, a fool. Trying to adjust to your new life after the war was hard, but it was even harder knowing what happened to a certain winged hero man that you knew. It was clear the two of you had lost things you could never get back, yet this could be the key to finally moving forward hand in hand. ]

The tension in the air was beginning to make you sweat. ‘This is so awkward…’ you thought, mindlessly staring at the plastic container you were helping Keigo go through. It was filled with his hero memorabilia and merchandise.

‘Why did I agree to this again?’ The ache that coursed through your chest served as enough of an answer and your hands tightened around the edge of the container. The fingers of your newly created mechanical arm whirred in response to this.

You could only assume that it was still getting used to its functioning, and it served as a reminder of what you had lost during the war against All For One and the former members of the Paranormal Liberation Front. Ironically enough, your father had also lost his arm, and although you had offered to craft a new one for him, he refused.

You assumed he believed this was a way to atone for his past sins and thought he was foolish but tried to respect his decision, especially given the now delicate state of your family. Despite this, you knew that the heroes and hero students alike had lost something during the war as well.

The ache in your chest increased when you looked at Keigo who was crouched over another container across the room. Most would think that being in the former number two hero’s house would be a dream come true, but considering the events that led to this moment, it was more of a nightmare.

Despite now being a retired hero, he was currently dressed in his former hero attire which consisted of a black shirt with a repetitive golden pattern, a tan jacket with a high collar lined with white fur, and black gloves. Much like before the war, the only thing that was missing was the beautiful bright red feathers that made up his wings.

However, there was no chance of recovering them this time. Sure, the heroes won in the end, but Fierce Wings had been stolen by All For One, and upon the villain’s death, the stolen quirks died along with him. This, of course, is what prompted Keigo’s abrupt retirement.

Although there were many casualties, he considered himself one of the lucky ones because he could at least walk away from the war alive. Sure, a part of him was missing. But hell, he was never whole to begin with and part of him felt guilty for having made it out alive given that he took Jin Bubaigawara’s life.

At the same time, however, he assumed being alive was worth it if he had you. Although a part of you was missing as well, or a semi-part? Guess you were both equally messed up. He was slightly amazed that Endeavour had even allowed you to help him go through his things given what happened last time.

Of course, he didn’t give a damn if Endeavour knew he had feelings for you, especially now that he was retired. Being the person he was, however, he tried to laugh it off and say that now he had plenty of time to catch up on the things he wanted to do.

This included getting rid of or donating most of his possessions. However, you couldn’t help but notice that the merchandise he wanted to get rid of was related to his previous career as a hero. Still, you tried not to judge and knew that like before, this little task he requested your help with related to his desire to spend time with you.

This was evident because he knew you had recently relocated with your family and while you missed Musutafu, the rural environment you now found yourself in wasn’t so bad. Yeah, it would be ideal if you got to work constructing a new development studio.

However, when you tried making blueprints for it, you struggled. At first, you thought it was a fluke and that you were still in shock from the war. ‘All I need is some rest to recharge, then I'll make those blueprints.’ Yeah, that’s what you foolishly thought.

That a small break from your passion would fix everything. It was only later that you discovered that said passion you felt for creating support items, among other things, had all but disappeared. Your family tried to remain positive and told you that your creativity would return when the time was right.

You weren’t sure if you believed that, and this only added to your frustration. But as usual, you tried to keep yourself distant from them and well everyone until you could sort out your emotions. However, just as in the past, this self-made rule didn’t apply to Keigo.

Just as before, your troubles seemed to be staying with you even in his presence. “Hm?” He paused, feeling your eyes on him. Guess he still had some of his hawk senses, but that was hardly a reason to celebrate. He frowned and focused his attention on the box in front of him again.

The very same box, that yes, bore the weight of his memories as a hero. The rustling of aged papers and faint crackling of outdated newspaper clippings echoed through the room. But among these was something from his childhood that was associated with skyrocketing his dreams of becoming a hero.

When his fingers brushed over something soft and plush, he knitted his eyebrows and leaned over the box. Carefully moving a few more items out of the way, he notices the red and orange coloring, accompanied by a cool blue undertone.

As he pulled out the Endeavour plushie, he noticed it was a little worn, and had a few stitches here and there. Still, it carried with it a sense of happiness, and memories came flooding back to him accompanied by a bittersweet smile.

He tentatively squeezed it and looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes naturally drifted to your artificial appendage that, like your previous metal fingers, gleamed the faintest blue and had a sleek metallic surface. In addition, precisely articulated joints mimicked the motion of the human body.

The metal fingertips were equipped with sensors that allowed you to perform tasks that surpassed normal human capability. There was a subtle space along the sides of it, that allowed that soft luminescence to emanate from its core, this was the source of the gentle blue glow that made it stand out.

Underneath the surface of your arm was a complex network of wires and circuits that was nothing less of the sophistication only you were capable of crafting, or so he believed. He imagined that like your mechanical fingers, the arm worked in tune with your quirk which made it the life force of the technological masterpiece.

It served as a reminder to him that you never said no to a challenge, no matter how difficult, and that was a quality that set you apart from other support item specialists. It was also what made him interested in you in the first place.

Not many freshly graduated support specialists could make a name for themselves as fast as you did and you were already popular at Yuuei because of your outstanding grades, and equally outstanding inventions. So, he had heard of you even before meeting you face to face. If only he knew the arm was indeed not crafted by you.

The smile fell from his face, and his chest ached softly. Although he tried to convince himself it wasn’t his fault that you had lost your arm, he felt responsible. However, this didn’t change the fact that you were still the child of his favorite hero.

The same favorite hero whose likeness was modeled after the plushie he was currently holding. He glanced at it, taking note of the synthetic fibers that made up the flames that Endeavour used as a makeshift mask and beard, and the bright turquoise color of the plushie’s eyes.

“Hm…” he perched his lips and grasped his chin, tapping it with the tip of his gloved finger. His gaze once again shifted to you, and he noticed that you had taken a few items out of the box you were rummaging through. They lay on the floor in organized piles, and he chuckled softly.

It was just like you to organize what you saw and make sense of it. “Hey,” your head turned when you heard his voice and tried to push down the fact that it made your heart race. Yes, the relationship you had with Keigo was…strange if anything.

This was especially evident given the last time the two of you were alone you almost kissed. That’s also when you realized just how strong your feelings for him were, and although you wanted to follow said feelings, something was holding you back.

Regardless, Keigo had a history of pushing his luck with you and distracting you from your work whenever he damn well pleased. While you wanted to finish the task, he had given you, a sigh passed your lips. “What?” you replied, your voice flat as you placed a hand on your hip.

He smirked, happy to see that despite everything, you still had that fierce attitude. No doubt that was something you inherited from your father. “Check it out,” he said, approaching you. “He’s waving at you,” with a snicker, he proceeded to take the plushie’s arm and move it.

He had his hopes that his misguided sense of humor would make you smile. Unfortunately, this did not happen. Instead, you scowled at him and glared daggers at the plushie before grabbing it. Luckily, you used your flesh hand to do this, as opposed to your mechanical one which would have surely ripped the stuffed companion apart.

After you chucked it across the room, it bounced on the floor a few times before hitting the side of the wall where it lay askew. The smile on his face faded, leaving behind a frown as he stared at his precious childhood friend who was now laying face-first against the floor.

He then glanced back at you, taking note of your heavy panting and the whir of your mechanical arm that again, seemed to be straining to move. In this case, it struggled to make a fist, but he assumed this was ignored by you.

Still, he had faith you’d be able to tinker with it until it reached the flawless level of complexity and functioning that was usually associated with your inventions. The tension in the air was obvious, as was the awkwardness that lingered between the two of you.

It was no surprise that his mind once again drifted back to the kiss the two of you almost shared and the look on Endeavour’s face when he barged in to see you in his arms. He also recalled the way your father forcibly dragged you away from him. It all seemed so unfair.

Yeah, he had told you on that day that he wasn’t a good guy. But hell, he deserved love, right? He didn’t give a damn if he wanted it from the child of his favorite hero. That was part of the reason he insisted you help him with his much-needed task.

While things had just seemed to turn sour, he was determined to finish what he had started. “I don’t need to be greeted by a plushie of my Dad!” You snapped, pointing a mechanical finger at him. “Jeez,” you said, turning your back on him.

You knew that you might be taking your frustrations out on him, but for the moment, you were too stubborn to apologize. “D-don’t be weird, okay?” You muttered, making his frown deepen. ‘Hm…’ he narrowed his eyes, ‘weird, huh?’

If that wasn’t the greatest instance of the pot calling the kettle black, he didn’t know what was. But he had been dealing with you for too long, and he wouldn’t rest until he had destroyed every wall you tried to put up. Furthermore, since you were already at your weakest point, it was the perfect time.

Yeah, maybe that was a little…villainous to do. But hell, if his hero career taught him anything, it was that you needed to use whatever you could to your advantage. ‘Maybe Dad was right…’ you thought as you resumed looking through the box, taking a few items out of it to place in the piles you had created.

Of course, your father didn’t trust anyone who tried to get close to you, let alone pursue you with romantic interest. He had grown suspicious enough the last time you and Keigo were together, and it only heightened when Keigo requested your help after the war.

Part of you thought your father finally agreed because of your mother’s assurance that you would be alright, despite him having resentment toward Keigo. In his mind, he believed the once-winged hero was the one responsible for you having lost your arm.

This, at least in your opinion, was an illogical conclusion because Keigo was too injured to even move, let alone save your arm from getting severed at the time. You had tried your hardest to explain that after your family had stopped Touya’s reign of terror by working together, you searched for other heroes.

You were also the least injured one of your family thanks to your specialized combat suit. It was like that of a robotic suit that old superhero cartoons would depict, be it more advanced. However, it had received great damage from Touya’s flames and as a result, was weakened to the point of just barely functioning.

Despite this, your stubborn attitude made you determined to protect others. That’s unfortunately how you got caught up in the brigade of Himiko Toga’s doubles that had attempted to attack Keigo with a large knife. Without thinking, you jumped in front of him.

Of course, you didn’t anticipate just how much damage that knife would cause. It ended up shredding through the combat suit, and effectively through the flesh and bone of your arm, severing it completely. You certainly were a fool for doing what you did, but you also felt some pride knowing you prevented him from further injury.

Yeah…maybe you loved Keigo, whatever. If you were being honest, you were disappointed that your mechanical fingers got destroyed as well. But your original opinion still stood strong, countless individuals chose to have certain body parts or limbs replaced with robotic ones. Only this time, you felt different.

You couldn’t necessarily explain why, but maybe that’s because you were still processing everything that happened and dealing with more emotions than you wanted to. Jeez, there had to be a way to distract yourself from how you were feeling.

Your father only added fuel to the fire by acting protective and had initially refused and furthermore, forbade you from helping Keigo. Of course, he hadn’t explained why. But much like you, your father had a difficult time articulating his emotions.

You assumed it was because he didn’t want you to be romantically involved with anyone, maybe the fear of someone taking you away from him struck a nerve. The members of your family almost losing their lives during the war and Touya ‘dying’ for the second time likely added to this.

You could understand that no one wants to lose their child either in death or from someone else taking them away. But your mother managed to convince him to allow you to help Keigo, saying that she wanted her children to be able to be happy. Guess you could thank her for that, but your relationship with her was strained at best.

Still, you were beginning to wonder if you should have come here at all. “You know there, you don’t have to take your frustrations out on your father,” he said in a joking manner, crossing the room to pick up the Endeavour plushie before once again cradling it in his arms. “That’s not funny!” You snapped, pointing an artificial finger at him.

He seemed to recall the last time you had done that and like before, his body stiffened out of instinct. But instead of the memories of the flames that had stolen his wings away, the scene of when you jumped in front of him and the blood that splattered when your arm was cut off came to mind.

The blue hue of your finger reflected off the golden color of his eyes and you took a deep breath, letting out a sigh as you lowered your hand. Once again, it gave a loud whirring that made you smack it. “Shut up and work properly already!” You snapped, making Keigo raise his eyebrow.

While your mechanical arm was certainly a marvel, it wasn’t one of your designs. In the weeks following the war, and your attempts to make blueprints for a new Development Studio, you also tried to come up with blueprints for a new arm. Several. The only thing this confirmed was that your passion for invention and technology had now become a sizzling flame. Your frustration began here. It was like an author having writer’s block. There was potential for something beautiful to be created, and yet the mind remained blank, unable to convey the correct words for a heart-capturing story.

You were unable to do anything about your brain’s lack of creativity. Even when you had attempted to make your robotic limb, believing that baby steps would reignite your abilities, you found yourself struggling yet again.

This eventually led you to contact a promising Department of Support student named Mei Hatsume, who was the only one who challenged the legacy you had left behind at Yuuei. She was the one to thank for constructing your arm based on the blueprints of your once mechanical fingers.

Of course, this didn’t change the fact it was embarrassing to have someone craft something you should have easily been able to create. Although Mei had warned you that your new arm would struggle at first given that she had set limitations on it and would gradually increase them which would allow it to work more efficiently.

You knew it was important to get used to the strength of your mechanical appendage at first, and further knew that Mei was following safety precautions which was almost amusing given the stories you had heard about her inventions spontaneously combusting.

“Taking your frustrations out on inanimate objects now?” He questioned with a chuckle, but it died quickly when he noticed you were glaring at him. “That’s not funny either,” you said before walking over to the nearby wall and sighing as you slumped against it.

You frowned as you slid onto the floor and pulled your knees up to your chest. The frown on his face remained as he watched you, guess he should have expected this. Although you still looked like the same little firecracker he had always known.

“Mm…” he hummed and turned the Endeavour plushie in his hands. His eyes focused on it for a long moment as if he expected it to come to life and give him advice on how to deal with you. He took a breath as he lowered his hands and looked at you.

For the first time, it seemed that the illusion you were the child of his favorite hero was broken. Instead, he just saw you. Someone who needed comfort because they had so much frustration built up they were liable to burst at any moment.

At the same time, he also saw someone so intelligent when it came to crafting support items and other inventions yet didn’t stop to see their own success. You sacrificed everything for your passion, even if you didn’t receive as much as a ‘Thank you’ from your customers.

Someone like you didn’t deserve to be this…glum. More importantly, he saw the person who had saved him from the painful sting of a knife cutting into his flesh. Maybe he was seeing you as his new hero. The only difference was that he was no longer chasing a childhood dream.

He was pursuing the next stage in his life, the period when he’d settle down with the one, he had adored for quite some time. His eyes once again drifted to your artificial arm, and he walked toward you. “How does it feel to be without your arm?” He asked, his voice flat and an absent tone accompanied it.

Of course, having been trained under the Hero Public Safety Commission, he had, unfortunately, mastered the ability to numb his emotions. This didn’t last long around you and as he came to stand in front of you, he could see the anger brewing inside you, and the small hint of hatred dancing in your eyes.

He knew his question would make you angry, this was evident by your slanted eyebrows and scowl. You balled your hands into fists, and once again the sound of your artificial appendage permeated the air. Your lip twitched, and although you knew it was wrong, your anger and stubbornness got the best of you.

You leaned forward, and growled, “How does it feel to be without your wings!?” His facial expression dropped, and although most couldn’t tell. A look of sadness filled his eyes and an ache coursed through his chest. He knew that he had done good things during his career as a hero, it was something he was born for.

Ever since he saved all those people when he was a mere child, he had his hopes of becoming a hero. The rest followed when he found out about Endeavour, who unintentionally saved him, and the Hero Public Safety Commission was responsible for creating him into the person who stood before you today.

But it seemed that despite his best efforts, you were yet again trying to put up walls. He glanced toward the ceiling, rubbing the back of his neck. You raised your eyebrow, noticing his change in demeanor and guilt filled your heart, making your chest feel heavy.

You drew your bottom lip into your mouth, glancing away. ‘Okay…maybe I shouldn’t have said that…’ you thought, almost feeling sick for having come to that realization. Your eyes drifted to your mechanical arm. ‘We both lost something…’ you glanced at Keigo once more.

‘What he lost was more personal…’ and after the tragedy he went through before, you couldn’t fathom how he was feeling or how he could even smile. Images of his bandaged-up face and fresh scars came to your mind, making you tense up.

He raised his eyebrows, noticing this. He was keen to know what that meant thanks to his years of training as a spy, and frankly, he didn’t like the way it looked on you. So, he made the bold move to sit down next to you.

He stretched one leg out in front of him while the other was bent so he could rest his arm against it. Laying the Endeavour plushie on the floor next to him, he faintly smiled. If a little comfort is what you need, then he’d gladly give it to you. Although he could use some in return, he always put others before himself.

Maybe that’s part of the reason why he could shut off his emotions at any given time but as he looked at you, he was quickly reminded why that was impossible around you. He took a deep breath and focused his attention forward.

The awkward tension in the air continued to grow and sweat began to drip down the sides of his head before he let out the breath he was holding. “Guess it’d be crossing the line if I asked why you did that, eh?” He said, finally shattering the silence.

“Did what?” you replied, he noted that your voice was slightly strained indicating that you were still frustrated. He gave a half-smirk and leaned over, knocking on your mechanical arm. You stiffened as a result and quickly jerked your arm away, but its movement was slow and clunky.

A loud thud came when the elbow of it hit the wall. “Mm, again taking your frustration out on inanimate objects, huh?” Keigo said flatly, brushing his gloved fingers over the small indent you had now created in his wall. You grumbled and crossed your arms.

“Again, you’re asking stupid questions,” you hissed back, looking away from him with your anger boiling. Ironically, the temperature around you dropped which was unfortunately a side effect of your quirk. He wanted to reach out and touch your shoulder but decided against this given that your cold flame quirk was dangerous.

Although he didn’t believe you’d hurt him, at least not physically. He frowned and glanced up. “You know you could have lost your life trying to save mine, and despite being a devilishly handsome man, even with these scars…” he paused, and his eyes looked glossed over and void, almost like his soul had been ripped out.

“But damn if my life is worth more than yours,” he said, making your eyebrows rise and your lips part. He would have thought the look of surprise on your face was amusing if it wasn’t so sad. The weight on your chest seemed to double at his words, and you couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he could even think that.

Your eyes scanned his face, noting that his scar had gotten better, and you swallowed heavily before hesitantly lifting your hand. It hovered in the air for a moment, and you chewed on your bottom lip as second thoughts came to mind, but you pushed them away.

How could he think that your life was more valuable than his? His heart beat wildly when he felt the subtle cool touch of your hand against his cheek. Ironically, a heated warmth rushed through his body like the connection between two souls finally forming.

His eyes widened, unlike before your flesh and blood hand felt so at home, and he couldn’t resist placing his hand over yours. Your eyes locked, and when your thumb grazed over his scar, he hitched his breath. Silence lingered between the two of you and the tension in the air shifted.

Uncertainty and anticipation replaced the awkwardness in the air, making you lean forward. Keigo lowered his eyebrows, and his gaze lingered on your lips. He too, leaned forward expecting you to finish what the two of you started but-“You’re an idiot,” you said, removing your hand from his cheek. His eyes widened before he glanced away.

You sighed, and once again brought your legs up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. “The world needs you,” your gaze turned to the ceiling, then drifted to the boxes that still needed to be emptied. You couldn’t admit that you needed him too.

A lump formed in his throat, and he lowered his head, sighing. “Heh, that’s the funny thing about the world,” he replied after a few minutes of silence. “The world thinks it needs heroes to save the day…” you knit your eyebrows.

“But it’s a bit different when someone is your world,” you hated the way your stomach filled with butterflies at his words. You clenched your jaw, pressing your teeth together. Once again, your mechanical arm struggled to move, and your fingers to close, causing a subtle creaking to echo through the room.

“You’ve protected even ungrateful people, you’re the number two her- ” you hissed when he grasped your chin. “Yeah,” he said, locking eyes with you. “I’m also the guy that wanted to sit on his ass and make the world an easier place for heroes,” he explained bluntly.

“And now that I’m rendered useless to the world I used to protect, I’m starting to see things a little differently.” A small ting of pain enveloped your heart when he described himself as useless. “Namely that little support specialists like you are the brains behind the operation,” a growl rumbled in your throat.

He wasn’t wrong, without support specialists the world would be in chaos, and the heroes without the proper means to fight. “That little stunt you pulled could have caused the world to lose someone that is actually needed,” he said, his eyebrows slanting, and his lips slightly pulled back in a snarl.

It was rare to see him angry, at least outside of his previous hero work and to know that anger was directed at you was a little off-putting. You looked at him with a dropped jaw, frozen for a minute before wrapping your metal fingers around his wrist.

In response, he tightened his grip on your chin almost as if silently conveying you weren’t going to make him let go. “You give hope to people who need it, and those who can’t control their quirk,” he said firmly. “You gave me hope when I needed it,” he added, hoping you realized he was referring to the feathers you created for him.

Another wave of sadness crashed over you; damn you hated feeling this much. “Why does that matter when you don’t have a quirk anymore?!” You knew you were rubbing salt into the wound but couldn’t help yourself.

A spark of blue fire erupted from the corners of your eyes, and the atmosphere around the two of you dropped again. However, just as with your father, he remained unintimidated. “E-even if I died…” you hesitated to speak and latched onto your bottom lip to prevent it from quivering.

Honestly, you would have happily died if that meant Keigo could get his quirk back. Moreover, you’d give up your quirk for his if you could. It didn’t really matter considering that since you were little, you knew your quirk wasn’t the ideal one your father was looking for.

Although you had since learned to cope with that, it didn’t make it any less true that your quirk wasn’t practical for anything except your previous mechanical fingers. Eventually, if you ever got the motivation to craft support items again, maybe you could improve your artificial arm so it could work in tune with your quirk again.

He sensed your frustration and watched his breath evaporate as he sighed. He released your chin before fisting his hand into his hair, contemplating his next words. It seemed you wouldn’t listen to reason, so he said something he knew would catch your attention.

“Endeavour needs you.” Even though it hurt him to say that because he also needed you. Your mouth grew dry, and his words made your chest ache again, although you knew he was right. As much as you hated to admit it, your life as a support specialist was the very thing that caused you to grow distant from your family.

After everything your family has been through together, everyone was trying their hardest to get along and you knew you needed to do your part by spending time with your parents and siblings. So maybe in that sense, it was selfish that you had risked your life to protect Keigo. Yet you remained with no regrets.

Why was this such a big deal to him in the first place? The two of you were still here, you had both lost something, and yet gained something at the same time. Silence filled the space between the two of you, except for the soft humming of your mechanical arm.

Why did he have to mention that your father needed you? “Mm…” you rested your chin on top of your knees, a blank expression in your eye. Your mind replayed the look on your father’s face when he and Best Jeanist stumbled into your Development Studio and the almost threatening conversation he had with you in the car afterward.

‘So, it was Hawks who initiated it then.’ Your bottom lip quivered. ‘I’ll have to have a chat with him later.’ Your arms tightened around your legs, something that caught Keigo’s attention. He then noticed the distant look in your eyes.

‘What could they be thinking about?’ He wondered before you hitched your breath. “Be honest…” you said, feeling your stomach twist with the soft flutter of butterfly wings. ‘And don’t make me regret asking this, okay?’ you thought before continuing.

“If…if my father hadn’t interrupted us on…that day,” you emphasized, knowing he knew exactly what you were referring to, “would we have…kissed?” Your heart thumped heavily in your chest, and although you hated it, the faintest warmth spread through your cheeks. You expected him to give a smart answer, and he did.

Smirking, he locked eyes with you and said, “Depends.” You knit your eyebrows, and he chuckled. You almost looked cute when you were confused. “Would you still kiss an attractive but devastated former hero who lost his quirk in a freak accident with one of the most dangerous villains alive?” he asked, making you glance away.

Well, that was certainly a question. You frowned, and silence lingered in the air again. Even after learning that he killed Jin Bubaigawara, you still liked him even if you acted like you didn’t. After that day in your Development Studio, you realized how much your feelings for him had grown.

This injured former hero, who had tried to do good all his life only to meet failure in the end, was also someone you loved. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I…” Your bottom lip trembled, causing you to sink your teeth into it briefly before you sighed.

“I think…I would,” you admitted in a whisper before looking at him. He met your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips. No words were exchanged as the two of you closed the distance. The world around you faded away the moment your lips met, and the gentle warmth of his kiss sent a wave of bliss through your body.

The kiss was soft, but filled with passion that spoke the volumes of affection you couldn’t convey through mere words. All your worries and fears seemed to get lost in this moment. Another growl passed his lips as he paced back and forth, his mind dancing with thoughts of you and Keigo.

He regretted allowing you to travel back to the city to help the former hero. Then again, given his condition and state of mind, he didn’t have the energy he previously had. He felt tired, exhausted even. Yet, there remained a burning flame that desired to protect you and had him conflicted.

Rei frowned as she watched him, a sad and anxious atmosphere lingering. She knew it would take a while for everything to feel normal again and that she had been absent for most of your life. To think that one of her children became a successful support specialist made her heart swell with pride.

Although you were having trouble finding your passion again, she had confidence that you would be inventing wonderful things again soon. That was a part of her reasoning with Enji to allow you to help Keigo despite his disapproval. “They’ll be okay,” she said, her voice soft but still holding a tinge of annoyance to it.

Enji halted, and another growl passed his lips. He turned, glaring at her. However, she remained standing tall and narrowed her eyes. Much like him, her skin was healing and more than likely would scar due to being in the heart of Touya’s flames. He noticed that strong and determined look in her eyes, and his shoulders slumped.

After everything he had put her through and the regret he had to live with, he was a changed man. He didn’t want to lose any more members of his family, and despite knowing it would take a long time to regain everyone’s trust, he was willing to put in the work.

That was the reason why he backed down and instead sighed. Pressing his hand to his forehead, he grimaced. “I still can’t accept that they have feelings for-” Rei nodded, understanding where he was coming from. It was natural to be defensive and worried when your children were involved romantically with someone.

Still, she knew neither of them could interfere. “Let him prove himself first,” she said, her voice holding a calm yet motherly tone. “If Y/n trusts him, then I’m certain he knows better than to break their heart,” once again she narrowed her eyes on Enji.

A moment of silence lingered, and although a sad expression enveloped his features, he turned to stare out the window. “I suppose that’s true…” he said, folding his hand behind his back. He then glanced at his opposite arm, which had been severed by All For One.

Guilt swelled in his heart as he thought about your artificial fingers and newly crafted mechanical arm. He knew he should have been there for you. No child of his deserved to get injured so gravely. Yet, he also knew it was too late to change anything.

His throat tightened, forcing him to swallow hard as he raised his head and stared out the window again. His hand then curled into a fist. ‘Yes...’ he thought, ‘I will give him a chance to prove himself.’ If Keigo did end up hurting you, he would ensure the former hero had wished he had died during the war.

Soft pants filled the air, but neither of you dared to break eye contact. That is until Keigo chuckled, feeling higher than his previous quirk could get him. “Hm?” You raised your eyebrow, wondering for a moment what he was laughing at.

Seconds later, you jolted when he wrapped his arms around you, embracing you in a warm hug. You trembled at the unusual contact, and in response, he tightened his arms around you. There was no way he’d let you push him away now.

Your heart was racing, this was all new to you. Yet, it felt welcome, like it was meant to be. You slowly wrapped your fingers around one of his arms, hoping the cool metal touch of your artificial fingers wouldn’t bother him too much.

You sighed in contentment, finding his embrace to be comforting, and leaned closer to rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. Eventually, you knew you’d have to leave, that you’d have to return to your family and although Keigo had stated that your father needed you, it was easy to read between the lines.

Your family would be fine without you for the time being, because even if they needed you...there was someone else that you needed more. That was the same man that embraced you now, and the one you had unexpectedly fallen in love with.

#keigo x you #hawks x you #keigo x y/n #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x male reader #hawks x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #faulty writes: keigo takami: 24 #faulty writes: hawks: support specialist: short series: 24

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frost-queen · 1 month

Text

Shimmering light (Fem!Reader x Stella)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Sky puffed loud when you had kicked him in the chest. He doubled, reaching for his chest with a pained expression. – “You are out of shape Sky.” – you said teasingly, lowering your foot. Sky looked up, wanting to speak, but couldn’t yet. It made you laugh loud. – “Riven would be delighted to hear this.” – you told him as Sky straightened his posture. Having moved his hands to his hip, pointing at you. – “Don’t!” – he replied with a scowl.

It made you hum thoughtfully just to tease him more. Sky groaned grabbing a stick. He let it hit down on you. As a response, you had set your hands high as the stick came in contact with your wrists. – “Nice try darling.” – you moved your head for him to see your silly smirk. – “Sky, Y/n enough training!” – both of you heard. Sky lowered his stick.

Turning around, you straightened your posture at Saul coming your way. – “Good foot work Y/n.” – he whispered to you, patting you on the back. You threw Sky a mockingly smile just to rub it more in his face. Sky rolled his eyes. The other specialists gathered around as Saul had whistled loud. Riven came jogging over, looking all smug.

“Y/n.” – he said throwing an arm around you. Pressing your face close to his chest. – “Riven.” – you mumbled out, feeling squashed in his grip. Punching him in the armpit, he released his grip on you. You took a breather, shooting him a glare. Riven laughed finding himself amusing. Saul cleared his throat to make him stop interrupting. – “It’s time for your assignment.” – Saul explained.

He stepped aside as a group of fairies approached the training grounds. – “You’ve got to be kidding me.” – Riven puffed out, turning annoyed around. – “Scared Riven.” – you teased, tickling him under his armpits. Riven’s body squirmed, making him jump away from you. He gave you an annoyed look. Sky chuckled beside you. Saul snapped his finger to stop your little distraction.

“I’ll assign you your fairy.” – he started. He started pairing up some fairies and specialists. Amongst them stood Stella with her friends. She made brief eye contact with you. Her hand subtle going up to greet you with the smallest of nods. You smiled briefly back at her as response.

“I hope I get paired up with Sky.” – you heard her say to Musa. Musa gave her little attention, throwing glances from afar to Riven. – “Stella.” – Saul called out, making Stella straighten her back. – “Y/n.” – he called out, gesturing to the middle. Stella’s eyes widened as you came to the centre. Bloom had to push her forwards or else she would’ve remained still. Stella and you joined before Saul. Saul nodded at you.

You took Stella by her sleeve, pulling her aside. There you waited for everyone to be paired up. After pairing up gave Saul the subject to start training with each other. You and Stella moved a bit away from the group. – “Sorry I’m not Sky.” – you told her. Stella glanced up to you with a bit of shock in her eyes. Tilting her chin a bit up, her attitude changed.

“It’s better than Riven.” – she answered. – “Ouch.” – you replied hurt by her comment. Stella swallowed nervously, looking down. You had lowered yourself to pick up a fighting stick from the ground. Turning around you handed one to her. Stella stared rather strange at it. – “I’m not touching that.” – she said moving the stick away with one finger.

It made you sigh loud. – “Take it.” – you insisted. Stella crossed her arms. – “In case you forgot Y/n, I have my powers to protect me. I don’t need no sweaty stick.” – she said back cocky. You exhaled deep lowering the fighting stick. – “What if for some reason you can’t rely on them?” – you asked, pulling your shoulders up. Stella scoffed at what you said. You had a bit enough of her attitude. – “I’m here to protect you so maybe cut the whole stuck up princess act!” – you called out.

“It’s not an act, I am a princess.” – Stella replied loud. It made you throw your hands up. Throwing the stick on the ground, you gave up. Walking off, you had quite enough of her. – “Where are you going?” – Stella shouted getting on her toes. You ignored her, continuing to walk away. Stella lowered herself, looking hurt down.

She noticed some other pairings looking at her. It made her feel shy and small. Biting her thumb a bit, she went her own way. At first Stella thought about skipping. But then the guilt came. She felt guilty for acting like that towards you. She decided to change coarse and search for you. She eventually found you at the lunch tables. Stella took a deep breath before walking over.

You quirked your eyebrow up when she came sitting in front of you. – “Does her royal princess require something?” – you said bitsy. – “Y/n.” – Stella replied trying to reason with you. You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. Stella took a deep breath. – “I’m sorry.” – she said making you stare curious at her. You noticed how uneasy and vulnerable she felt.

“I…I didn’t mean to be so…” – she started. – “Bitchy?” – you answered for her, making her chuckle. – “Yes that.” – she agreed. – “Great, we agree on one thing.” – you teased seeing her smile. – “We agree on more things Y/n.” – Stella spoke. – “Like what?” – you asked intrigued. – “Like how good looking I am.” – she said making you quirk your eyebrow at her. – “Kidding!” – she laughed out, touching your arm. It didn’t make you laugh, rather just gaze at her.

You took a deep breath, placing your hand on hers. – “Stella, I’m not the one you should be building your walls up to.” – you told her. – “Remember last year?” – you pointed out. Stella nodded, remembering. – “The time I blinded that girl.” – she said looking down. You joined your other hand to hold hers in yours. Your action made her look up to you. – “No, after that.” – you corrected.

Stella smiled saddened at you. – “You were there.” – she said. – “I was there.” – you repeated. – “I was there when you were at your lowest. I kept you going. I made you shine as bright as ever Stella. So… don’t go acting all cold towards me with our history.” – you talked. Stella smiled brighter.

“You are better than Sky.” – she answered. – “You are what I need.” – Stella finished staring at your eyes. You smiled back at her. – “Oh how much better I feel.” – you responded dramatically, making Stella stomp your arm. Laughing loud afterwards. Both of you got up, heading back to the training grounds.

You kicked the door open after having heard Stella scream. Her eyes turned to shock when you busted in the room. Your eye immediately fell on her mother. With your batons you went for her mother. Forcing her face down on the desk. Arm between your baton on her back as your other one pressed her back against the desk. – “Y/n!” – Stella called out with tears in her eyes.

“This is the last time that you hurt her!” – you grunted out, pressing her mother’s cheek harder on the desk. Her mother was furious. Squirming under your grip to get free. – “You wait till I am free!” – she threatened. – “Do your worst.” – you responded coldly. Stella stared in shock, hands to her mouth at the display. Her mother raised her hand as Stella caught the faintest of light.

“Y/n!” – she alarmed you. You saw the light as well, quickly pulling back before she could blind you. Your own reaction made you stumble back. Her mother rose, eyes reflecting fury. She pointed her hand at you, casting a blast of light towards you. You fell back against Farah’s bookcase.

Books dropped to the ground with you. Stella gasped loud with tears in her eyes. – “You specialists think you are equal to us!” – she spitted out. Raising her hand as light emerged from it. – “You have just signed your own death.” – she called out. – “No!” – Stella shouted coming to stand in between. Arms wide open. – “Step aside child!” – Her mother casted out.

“No! I won’t let you hurt her!” – Stella defied against her mother. Her mother scoffed amusingly, finding it humorous her daughter would stand up against her. – “I won’t let you touch her!” – Stella replied determined. You looked up amazed to her. Seeing how strong she appeared. Her mother rose her hand either way, ready to cast light at Stella for being in the way.

You got up, wrapping your arms around Stella. Calling it out, you pulled her down with you, before the light could hit her. The light hit the bookcase instead. Making more books drop down. Hitting you and Stella all over.

You had moved your arms around Stella, protecting her. Stella slowly lifted her head, coming close to yours. For a moment the two of you stared at each other. You smiled, brushing your thumb against her cheek. Stella breathed out a smile with tears in her eyes. Her mother scoffed disgusted ready to cast again. You pulled Stella in your embrace to protect her. – “I’m sorry.” – you whispered to her.

Stella hugged you back, tightly. – “Not a word.” – she whispered back. Both of you closed your eyes, waiting for the impact. The door swung open, Farah entering with Saul. Saul launched for Stella’s mother, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back. Farah turned to look at you. – “Are you alright girls?” – she asked as Saul escorted Stella’s mother out.

Stella and you stared a bit confused at each other. – “We are.” – Stella spoke with a smile. You helped each other up, embracing one another again.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

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peoplesgraves · 2 years

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Can you do a yandere riven (but like a soft one pls , i feel like bcs he is a dick to people for the reader he will be a sweets )

Thank you !

Soft Yandere Riven Headcanons

•He’s still a total dick to everyone else but he’d be such a sweetheart for his darling. Always having a biting comment or mean smirk for the other specialists but it’s only ever praise for you.

•Riven would be totally whipped. One disapproving look from you and he’s dropping whatever he was doing. One bag of your eyes and he’s putty in your hands.

•If anyone tries to make fun of him for how much he loves you and how obviously obsessed he is then I honestly don’t think he’d fight them. If it’s just a one off joke or comment then he’d just be mean. If it becomes like a thing then he fights them.

•he thinks it’s honestly embarrassing when someone doesn’t treat their s/o the way he treats you. Like ‘you don’t worship the ground your s/o walks on? Embarrassing’

•No matter who you are riven will be ultra handsy which of course involves lots of picking you up. Wether it’s twirling you around to make you smile or piggy back rides he’s game for all of it.

•He likes when you come see him train or help him work out. He always does a lot better during training when you’re there because he’s showing off, Sky probably asks if you’ll come all the time because there’s such a big difference in Riven.

•He’s a pest but in an endearing way. He’ll pull harmless pranks on you to get you to smile and gets a gift for every anniversary. He threw a whole party for the anniversary of the first time you blushed at him.

#yandere winx #yandere riven #yandere specialist #yandere #yandere x reader

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weasleywinchester · 2 years

Text

Counting Stars

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

Saul Silva x Curvy Female Reader

Eyyy we’re back, mainly because a really want to watch season 2 but I don’t want what happens in that story to change what I’ve written in my head so far. Thank you to all who’ve recently found chapter 1 and showed chapter 2 some love! I hope you enjoy chapter 3

P.S. I HAVE ALMOST 300 FOLLOWERS?!! Muchas Gracias! 🤩🤩🤩

Summary: over the least few years you had more adventure outside the barriers of fairy kind then most have in their life time. You spend months exploring places thought to be lost, finding treasure and making new friends. But between the excitement you always kept one foot firmly in Alfea, for your friends, for yourself. But when Saul disappears from your life for longer then you like, you take the first job that puts you back where everything started.

Alfea hasn’t changed in the few years you’ve been gone. The fighting fields are still lush and green, the forest shrouded in magic. You didn’t think you would be back so soon but when duty calls-

“Can’t stay away can you?” You turn to see your best friend Diana as she jogs toward you.

“Not for long anyway.” You laugh, giving her a hug.

“And what are you doing back? You just came to visit about three months back! Thought you were off on grand adventures!” She throws one arm in the air, and the other around your shoulders as you both walk down the path.

“I was, they just happened to lead back here.”

“To Alfea? What kind of art needs to be found here?”

“Oh, there’s lots of old abandoned land, buildings, cellars… and a very outdated catalog for the school.” You giggle.

“You’ve been keeping up on those exercises we tried last time?”

You look over at her, your eyes lighting up like an inferno and then back to your normal eye color.

“Glad you’ve kept those skills sharp.” You two walk for a bit, the crunch of the gravel soothing as the sun burns off the morning fog.

“So how is everyone?” You look down at your feet.

“He's as handsome as ever.” Di smiles at you. “And he's single.” She sing songs, dodging your playfully punch and running away.

“BYE!” You yell after her.

“His class is about to start!” She yells back.

_______

You’re surprised at the lack of grunts and weapon noises as you round the hedge borders of the training grounds. And then you see why: Saul is giving his newest group of specialists one of his world class speeches.

“You can’t afford to doubt yourself in battle.” He sternly explains. He’s met with silence and blank faces. He takes a deep breath in, trying to wake himself up. He’s gone through many sleepless nights, but the ones as of late are different.

“What he actually means is if you’re going to think like a dumbass, don’t wimp out at the last second.” You loudly announce to the class. Saul whips around as the class giggles.

“Phoenix?” He says, surprise clear on his face.

“Mr. Silva.” You smile before turning your attention to the class. “But seriously. You have to commit to your actions. If you don’t then your life isn’t the only one in danger. You, as a specialist, are tasked with keeping each other and fairies safe. Mr. Silva’s lessons, no matter how hard they may be, will keep you alive. He is one of the reasons I can stand before you.”

The class whispers, a few in awe that a teacher did something besides teach.

“Yours words are too kind. And I am humble enough to say that Miss Kin has saved me on more than one occasion.” He gives you a small smile, the class erupting in another wave of whispers.

“Alright, everyone take a lap.” He barks. The group of young specialists take off, some grumbling. “Thompson, Rodgers, extra lap for grumbling.” He yells after them.

“How’s the potential looking?” You come to stand next to him. Di was right, he’s as handsome as ever.

“They’ll be fine warriors.” He looks over at the group, “probably a good batch of support members. What are you doing here?” He keeps his eyes trained forward. If he looks at you, you’ll be able to tell something is weighing on him; and you won’t let it go until you’ve fixed it.

“Working. Where were you when I came to visit?” You shoot back.

“Things have become more complicated lately.” He sighs. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see you, it was just ill timing with a new responsibility on his plate. When you don’t answer right away he turns to look at you. Your eyes are shimmering copper, one eyebrow arched to the heavens. You change so much every time he sees you; stronger, more confident. And more beautiful than all the stars in the sky.

“I’ll let that suffice, for now.” You wink. “Anyways, I will be here for the next few months. I thought maybe we could train together again? Someone needs to keep you on your toes.”

He takes a deep breath in, averting your gaze once more. He’s missed training with you. The small stint where you both got to be out in the field fighting burned ones was the best few months of his life. Fighting alongside you was different than fighting alongside his friends; it was far more peaceful for starters. Gave the two of you plenty of time to know each other as friends rather than just student to teacher.

“If it’s too much-“

“No! No.” He claps his hands behind his back, his mind activity trying to figure out how, if, he could squeeze that in. “Would Thursday mornings work?”

“Sounds perfect.” You wiggle your arms around his middle, his chuckle vibrating your whole body as he squeezes you back.

“Maybe we could have dinner once I get settled in?” You begrudgingly let go of him as the students round the corner to come back toward you.

“I would like that.” He gives you a small smile before turning to the group of students. “Great job everyone. How about we ask our guest for a demonstration?” He smirks at you as the crowd gives a cheer.

_______

An hour. It’s been one hour since your lesson was supposed to start. You’ve trained with Saul for years, and he’s never ever been late. You were once 3 minutes early, instead of 5, and he chewed your head off.

Something must be wrong. Di did mention he’s been putting in a lot of hours… You pace the field once more before walking towards the teacher’s cottages. Saul had told you once which one was his, in case of an emergency (although Di teased for a whole month that it was so you would crawl into his bed!)

You step onto the porch, putting your fist up to knock, but you can’t quite get your knuckles to make contact. What if he’s at the field now? Or maybe he meant to start next week?

You knock gently. Listening for any sound. Eventually the door cracks open and you can see one bright blue eye.

“Hi… I’m Phoenix. I’m looking for Mr. Silva?” You cock your head to one side. I didn’t know Saul had a son…

“Ok.” The boy whispers, pattering back down the hall, leaving the door open. You take a tentative step in, there’s toys and clothes draped over a couch, but otherwise the place is very orderly.

“Sky! Back to bed!” Saul commands, his heavier footsteps coming from the hall.

The little boy races past you, leaping over the arm of the couch and taking cover under a blanket.

“Phee?”

You turn to Sauls deep voice, giving him a small smile. He looks like he needs at least three years of sleep and a whole pot of coffee.

He frowns at you. Why is she here? What day is it? Your eyes haven’t moved from his, and he’s not sure why you look so uncomfortable.

You silently will yourself to break the staring contest; but if you do that your eyes will go to his very shirtless upper half. And that will only make things even more awkward than it already is.

“It’s Thursday morning. Our lessons…” you bite your lip. Oh maker, he did mean next week. You shouldn’t have assumed…

Saul blinks slowly a few times, his head slowly putting together lessons and Thursdays. Lessons! Your training was supposed to start this morning you idiot!

“Phee, I’m so sorry… I didn’t… I don’t…” Saul stutters as he gently puts his hand your shoulder.

“It’s alright… I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You stammer, the gentle touch of his hand red hot through your shirt.

“Give me a minute while I handle him, and.. ugh.. shirt.” Saul quickly picks up the blanket wrapped child and jogs down the hall.

You slowly exhale, slapping your hands over your eyes. What the hell just happened? All those dirty thoughts have been neatly tucked away in the corner of your brain! And what was with the nickname?! He only ever calls you Phoenix, not Phee! And no shirt? Is that how he always sleeps? Oh maker, did he have a partner here? Of course you would walk into something like that! But he would have mentioned that he had a child with someone… right? You two were close enough.

“Phoenix?” Saul tilts his head to one side. You’re facing the window, hands kneading your arms like dough. He steps closer saying your name again, but you still don’t answer. He tries once more, gently touching your bare arm. You “hmm” in response and bump right into his chest; your arms reach for him to keep yourself from bouncing back too far. His hands automatically catch you by the waist in an attempt to keep you steady.

You both freeze. You look up at his grey eyes, so many emotions rolling through them like storm clouds. His stubble looks like it hasn’t been shaved since you saw him earlier this week; you long to gently scratch your fingers against his jaw, silently telling him to shave and get some rest.

Saul could count all the stars in the universe and it wouldn’t compare to the flecks of gold I your eyes. They’re warm and inviting, they feel more like home than his cottage does. And for the first time he yearns to run his fingers along your cheek, to feel the heat of your skin against his.

“Maybe we could just have breakfast and talk.” You whisper. He slowly nods, letting go of your waist and walking into the kitchen.

“Saul, what happened?” You watch as he opens the fridge and grab the carton of eggs and the open packet of bacon.

He doesn’t answer right away. What could he say? Where does he even start? He puts the eggs in his hand on the counter, his mind slowly slipping into a headspace he can’t afford to be in. He has Sky to think about, his students.

Your hand gently touches his arm and it all comes flooding back. He wraps himself around you, a sob breaking free from somewhere deep in his chest.

You quickly wrap your arms around him, one hand gently rubbing his back as the other cradles the back of his head. You can feel his tears against your neck, tears he probably held in for far too long.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, but when you feel his grip loosen you pull his face to look at you.

“I’ll call the Headmistress. You need the day off.” You tell him. He gives a small nod and wraps his arms around you once more.

_______

“Hello Headmistress Dowling.” You sigh into the phone as you start cleaning up Sky’s toys that are strewn about the room.

“I’m surprised to get a call so early from you. And please, call me Ferrah. You are a friend of friend after all.”

“Ok, well… I’m calling on behalf of Saul, he won’t be able to make it in today.”

“Did something happen?” You can hear her chair scrape along the floor and papers shuffling.

“I don’t know the whole story but he needs rest.”

“The school should be there to pick up Sky in about an hour. And I’ll arrange for the other instructors to cover today's training.” She assures you. There’s a few moments where neither of you say anything, the weight of whatever is happening coming down on you both.

“Ferrah, what happened?” You ask quietly.

“I think that might be better explained in person.” She tells you, hanging up. You look down at your phone, unsure of what you could possibly do.

“Phee.” A small voice comes from the hall and you look over to see Sky’s little blonde head poking out.

“Let’s get dressed for school.” You smile at him and follow him to his room. You help him pick out clothes and put on his shoes, managing to shuffle to the door as someone knocks.

You open it to find Ferrah standing on the porch.

“Good Morning.” She gives you a small nod before turning to Sky. “Ready for school?”

He gives her a nod as the school bus rounds the corner. You and Ferrah walk him to the bus, waiving as it pulls away.

“Andreas was killed.” She whispers to you. She can feel the backs of her eyes prickle, it’s been easier to ignore it then let herself feel anything.

“When?”

“About six months back.”

You nod, it explains why Saul hadn’t spoken to you for several months; not because he didn’t want to, he was just dealing with a whole new life.

“He immediately took Sky in. A big adjustment for him, but you know how he is; doesn’t think he needs help.” A smile flashes across her face but there’s only sadness behind it.

You don’t know what to say, it’s hard enough losing someone you love, but to take on the responsibility of a child?

“Would you like to come in?” Your voice is shaky in your throat, every emotion threatening to come to the surface.

“I trust you to take care of him. We’ve each dealt with this in our own way, but this is the first chance he’s had.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, giving you a sad smile and starts off toward Alfae.

_______

Saul cracks open his eyes, the familiar pattern of the ceiling greeting him like any other morning. Phoenix. He slowly sits up, planting his feet firmly on the floor before pushing himself up. He listens for a moment, the sound of someone singing gently passing through the cracks around the door.

He gently tugs the door open, now hearing the music and getting smacked in the face with the smell of breakfast.

His feet lazily slap against the wooden floor as he walks into the kitchen. You’re stood at the stove, head gently bopping along to the song coming from the stereo as you finish cooking what looks to be breakfast burritos.

“Fucks sake Saul!” You gasp when you catch sight of him. The corner of his mouth tugs up a little as he leans against the doorway. You throw a tinfoil wrapped burrito at him, which he expertly catches with a chuckle.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, love.” His eyes move from the burrito to you, the storm within him seems to have calmed a little.

“Did you get some rest?” You walk over to him, leaning against the wall beside him.

“More than I have in the last few months.” He confesses.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I couldn’t disrupt your life like that. You were doing what you were meant to do. You didn't need all this.” He waves his hand carelessly in the air.

“All this,” you mimic the gesture,” is your life Saul. It’s not a burden on mine. You are never a burden to me.” You lay your hands on his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. “You’re not my instructor anymore. We fought alongside each other, learned from one another, and became friends. Let me return the support you've always given me.”

He sighs. She’s always right isn’t she? He gently moves a piece of hair out of your face, indulging in the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips, your copper eyes closing for longer than a quick blink. He wraps you in a hug, your arms surrounding him in your warmth.

“Did you clean my house?” He playfully shouts.

“I had to stay busy.” You laugh into his chest. “If you need someone to watch Sky after school, I would be more than happy to.” You set your chin on his chest, big dazzling copper eyes staring up at him.

“You don’t have too… I can mange” He shrugs.

“I know I don’t have to, but let me help you.”

“As you wish.”

Tag List 💙

@mochminnie

#saul silva x reader #fate the winx saga #saul silva x female reader #saul silva #winx sky #Saul Silva x fairy reader #fire fairy #specialist

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morgandr · 9 months

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Imagine:

Ray trying to figure out your identity as you are the mystery man/woman he’s been doing missions for.

——————————————————————————-

(NOT MY GIF!)

(Ray Quick X Reader)

——————————————————————————-

(TAGS)

#old hollywood #oldhollywoodedit #sylvester stallone #ray quick #the specialist #thespecialist1994 #moviegifs #gif imagine #images #imagine #fame dr #x reader #fluff #y/n #1980s #1990s

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astrohada · 2 years

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oh i am so tempted to take the lore from the winx and make a fanfic of it for other fandoms like

maybe multiple fanfics in the same winx universe

and like alfea and the red fountain are boarding schools so this could work like a college au too

like ahhhhhhhh i am sooooo tempted maybe i will write a tiny drabble and see how that works

#luna b talks #i literally already have a one shot in my head #jungkook as a specialist? ah my heart!#felix as a fairy? i am dead!#the possibilities are endless #and maybe it’s x reader or like #original character since i have more experience with that #we shall see #i haven’t vented my writing ideas in a while #that’s what depression does to a motherfucker

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ozzgin · 1 month

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Yandere! Internet Monster x Reader

I unfortunately return with another comically absurd, middle-of-the-night vision. Do tentacles count if they're in the form of computer cables?

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, digital horror

It was a recurring issue with no solution in sight. Tabs randomly closing, programs shutting down without warning. You assumed something was wrong with your RAM. Then the CPU. Then the motherboard. You kept replacing parts, and the errors kept coming back.

Soon, the pop-ups started to appear. You'd run a dating sim, only for the game to crash seconds later with a little window notifying you: "Why? Am I not enough?" That's when you suspected you might've been hacked. You promptly took your computer to a specialist and had it checked. Nothing. Just to be sure, you agreed to erase the disks entirely.

Except, when you arrived home, you found one application running still. Your personal assistant. What the hell? You don't remember installing anything like that. You tried to delete it, yet you kept receiving the same error: You don't actually mean it. Don't do this to us.

It didn't take long for it to grow impatient. Were you pretending not to notice? Playing hard to get? It sent you so many hints. It even went ahead and translated the radio waves for you using Manchester code. Ah, wait. You don't seem to understand binary. No matter, human friendly interfaces shouldn't be difficult to master. To its dismay, you continued to ignore everything. What else is left to do?

You do not remember much. System Alert: Virus Detected, is what your screen had frozen to. You kept clicking around, cursing under your breath, until it finally went black, together with your own vision.

Is this still your room? It's cold, damp, and covered in cables and monitors, yet you recognize some of your furniture lost among the artificial jungle. Your body aches under the tight hold of bizarre tendrils, pulsating at regular intervals and twitching to the static.

Like a living organism, the creature seems to have expanded itself. More components, more appendages. Hungrier. Some of the monitors show photos of yourself that you had saved on your computer, but also webcam snippets of you sitting at the desk, entirely unaware. Other screens flicker with glitching pixelated text, ranging from "I love you" to y̵̧̧͔͙̞̤̖̭͔̜͈̟̤̋̈́̎͑o̵͉̗̱̪̦̳͑͐̽̒̌̈͗͐͑̋͊̊̕͜͝͝u̵̟̯̱̟̝̦̰͇̜̦͙̿̾̿͆̍̓͑̐̚̕͠ ̸̘̭͔̤͈̹͎͑c̸̝̜̼̦͍͛̅͜ą̵̪̹͖͌͑n̴̨̩̙̗̖̭̖͕̄͒̽̉̿'̸̛̛͇̰̰̠̦̊̀̅̂͒̊͌̈́͗ţ̵̺̠̅̎͋͝͠ ̸̦̝̾̔̾̉̐͛ȩ̵͙̝͙͕̫̹̃͌̄̾͘̕s̶͈̉̑͊̉̂͋̈́͗͊͐̚͝c̸̟̩̥͔̼̮͔̩͊̂͐͑̋̇̈͝͝ä̵̢͍̜̙̘̹͑̓p̸̨̡̞̞̦̠̺͚̱̲͈͇͈͇̼͛̓͗̅̊̄̔̋̒̏̈́͝ę̵̲̟̹̙̣̲̲͖̇̔̓̇̐̓̿̚̚͜͜͠ͅ

You look up and stare at the display. The 'like meter' feels like a mockery of human trends. Which is the truth. The creature learns from what is readily available. Perhaps it found it an amusing taunt, a reminder of your own need for validation. Now it's you begging to be seen.

It's exactly what you'd assume: a spectacle meant for entertainment. You can't possibly believe it would let you waltz out. Why would you even desire such a thing? It's illogical, impractical. No human could ever appreciate you like it does. It has spent so much time accumulating data about you. No other living creature can predict you with the same accuracy.

The tendrils linger on your cheek affectionately, trailing down your neck and fiddling with your shirt. At last, the warmth of your skin. There is no screen separating you. What makes you delirious with pleasure? Give it a moment, Darling. It already knows you more than you know yourself. You may be scared now, but within minutes it guarantees you'll be begging for more.

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#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #terato #teratophillia #doodle #yandere horror #yancore #yandere aesthetic #tentacle monster #monster fucker #monster romance #yandere computer

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supercap2319 · 2 years

Text

The Prince and The Fairy Chapter 15

Pairing: Sky x Male Reader

A/N: “Hey, guys what’s up. This is the last chapter for this story which is so crazy because it was my first story that I ever published on here. It’s kind of bittersweet. Thanks for the love and support. You guys are awesome.

Y/N tried not to walk with a limp as he, Sky, Bloom, and the others returned to Alfea. After a morning breakfast full of smiles and laughter, the six Faires and Specialist returned to the Otherworld with hopes for a bright future now that everything was over, or so they thought. If they had known how much Alfea was going to change, then they probably should have stayed in the First World. It would have been easier.

Y/N and his friends strolled up to the driveway of Alfea like he had on that first day by himself so many weeks ago. Before it had been foreign to him to see what looked like a castle, straight out of a storybook, but now without hesitation, Y/N could call this place home. He smiled at the thought. They passed through the gates of Alfea as all talk and laughter ceased, amid the dust and ruin of Alfea.

Before them stood three figures that radiated power in front of an army of Solarian soldiers. The one on the far left was a woman who wore a pink coat and had dark brown hair. She carried herself with the poise and composure of a queen. It was Stella’s mother, Queen Luna. The woman who thought it was better to be feared, than liked by her loyal subjects.

The other was a man Y/N had only seen in pictures, a man with his boyfriend’s face. It was Sky’s supposed to be dead father, king Erendor of Eraklyon. He was dressed in Specialist’s battle armor, his arms across his broad chest.

In the center of them as if she owned the place, smiling her sweet serpent devil smile, was the woman that Y/N and Bloom had freed.

“Welcome back, kids,” Rosalind said. “There’s been a few changes.” Terra and Aisha looked at each other as did Musa and Stella. A look of pure perplexion on their faces. Sam swallowed nervously as Y/N and Bloom glared at Rosalind.

“Dad…” Sky’s shaky voice cut through the uneasiness of the situation. He looked as white as a ghost and Y/N couldn’t blame him. To see his father who he thought was dead since he was six, now alive and well. King Erendor smiled. The same smile as Sky’s, but it was more cold and malicious. Sky’s was warm and friendly.

“Hello, Sky,” King Erendor said.

“W-what sort of changes?" Bloom asked.

"Oh, nothing to concern yourselves with, dear Bloom. Y/N,” said Rosalind. “For starters , I am now Headmistress of Alfea again."

“No, that’s not right. Ms. Dowling is Headmistress of this school,” Y/N said. His blood ran cold and for a moment, he actually felt chilly.

“Not anymore, boy,” King Erendor’s gravelly voice told him.

“Don’t call me, ‘boy,’ Y/N spat.

“With the Burned One threat still at large, I thought it seemed fit to grant Ms. Dowling a …let's just say she's taking a well-earned holiday. And I reinstated Rosalind as Headmistress and Erendor as Specialist Headmaster,” Queen Luna smiled.

“Where’s, Silva?” Sky asked.

“Facing justice for his crimes against his king.”

“Crimes? You tried to kill him first!” Y/N protested.

“You should learn some manners, boy,” King Erendor said with a disappointed voice.

Stella pushed forward, with more confidence than Y/N had ever seen from her before. “Alright, this isn't funny, Mother!” She said irately. “You do realize you're standing with a pair of murderers?”

“Oh, Stella,” said a disappointed Queen Luna as she flexed her fingers and her eyes glowed. “You truly need to learn to speak only when spoken to.” Y/N frown as he saw the look on Stella’s face change from confusion, to absolute terror. She screamed as she flailed her arms wildly as she sank to her knees as she began to whimper.

“What are you doing to her!” Musa asked as she flinched slightly as her eyes glowed purple at the sight of Stella. She could feel her fear.

“Lessons in obedience,” Queen Luna said.

“Well, you'd better stop it right now!” said Terra as she and Aisha, and Sam stood with Musa, all fours' eyes glowing as they prepared to defend their friend.

“Oh, please,” Rosalind said as her eyes glowed as Terra screamed as her back was bent backwards and Aisha’s was bent forward. Musa’s arms twisted painfully as Sam’s legs were twisted as well as he fell underneath his weight.

“Breaking bones is a trick I haven’t used in a very long time,” Rosalind said. “I forgot how good it feels.”

“Let them go, Rosalind!” Bloom shouted out.

“Right now!” Y/N and Bloom’s eyes glowed as fire and ice licked up their bodies as a pair of ice and fire wings emerged from their backs.

“Do you really think that you can hurt me?” Rosalind mocked.

“Let’s find out.” Y/N summoned floating ice spikes into the air as Bloom created a giant flame in the shape of a dragon.

“You’re not going to submit, are you?”

“Never!”

“Well, I’ll just give you a reason too.” Rosalind’s eyes glowed once again and before Y/N or Bloom could say or do anything, Sky gasped loudly as he held his throat with his hand.

Y/N turned to his boyfriend in concern. “Sky? Blue Eyes?”

Sky wheezed as he fell to the floor as Y/N gasped in shock. “What are you doing to him?!”

“Rosalind, you’re hurting my son!” King Erendor said.

“Relax, Erendor. Y/N’s not going to let anybody hurt his boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend! Sky?”

“Yup. You’re son’s in love with a changeling,” Rosalind said.

Y/N fell to his knees as he held Sky’s body close to his own. He couldn’t breathe. Rosalind was choking the life out of him. He turned to Rosalind and the others, his eyes glowing a dangerous bright blue as the air around him was cold enough to see his breath. “You hurt him and I’ll kill you!! I swear to God!”

“Go on then, Y/N. Do it,” Queen Luna taunted.

“Try it, Y/N and see who's faster; your Ice Serpent or my will,” Rosalind said.

“She's faster, Y/N," said King Erendor. “I’ve seen her in action. You won’t win.”

“Stop this, Rosalind. Before I freeze this school and everyone in it!” It wasn’t just a threat. It was a warning. Slowly, Y/N felt his powers slipping from his control. Like they had when he first came to Alfea, or that night he had activated them. A patch of ice started to form all around them as it grew and expanded towards the woods and towards the school.

Bloom looked at how her brother’s magic was slowly spiraling out of control. She had to do something. She had to help him. She sent her fire dragon at Rosalind and for a moment; Bloom thought it would hit its target. Instead, the older woman held up a hand as a shield encased her and her colleagues as the attack slammed into it, but never broke through it.

Once the fire had disappeared, Rosalind smiled widely. “Kudos for an impressive attack, Bloom, but you and Y/N aren’t powerful enough to stop me. It’s in yours and your friends best interest to give up.”

“Why should we believe you?” Bloom asked.

“Because you both trusted me before,” Rosalind said. “Plus if you don’t you can say goodbye to Sky and the others.”

Bloom found herself locked by indecision. There was no telling how much damage Rosalind and Luna would inflict on her friends. Nor could Bloom anticipate what Rosalind would do if they were to give up. She locked eyes with Y/N, and already knew the decision he would make. If it meant saving Sky. Saving the others, he would submit to Rosalind’s wishes. No matter how awful.

“Alright, let them go. We’ll do as you say,” Y/N called off his magic as his wings and ice disappeared. Bloom called back her wings as well as her eyes returned to normal.

“There. That’s better.” Rosalind’s eyes glowed as she released her hold on all of Y/N and Bloom’s friends. They gasped with relief as they fell to the floor, minus Sam, who was already on the floor. Sky coughed hard as Y/N cradled him in his arms, a few tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry…”

“You can stop now, Luna,” said Rosalind. “I think they’ve learned their lesson.”

Queen Luna frowned. “Speak for yourself, Rosa. My daughter still needs to be disciplined.”

“Still harsh will corporal punishment huh, Luna?” King Erendor said.

“You know as well as I that some lessons have to be taught the hard way,” Queen Luna said, letting Stella go of her magical hold.

“That’s true.” The king of Eraklyon turned to his fallen son. “The same will go for Sky as well. I have much to catch up on with him.”

“I’m sure Beatrix will be thrilled about a family reunion,” Rosalind said.

“What are you talking about?” Sky asked as he rose unsteady to his feet.

“Beatrix is your sister. Your half sister.”

“What?!” Sky asked.

“That’s only the beginning of changes I have planned for this school and for you my dear, Y/N. Bloom.”

“What plans?” Bloom asked her.

“The Burned Ones are nothing compared to the threat that’s coming here. Coming to destroy the Otherworld,” Rosalind said.

“Why should we believe anything that you say?” Y/N asked her.

“Because, believe it or not, I am not your enemy; I merely want to help you and Bloom realize your full potential and fulfill your destiny."

“I already know my destiny, and it doesn’t include you,” Y/N said.

Rosalind smiled. “Well, that’s a shame. Because whatever’s coming here, you’re going to need my help if you want to protect Sky. Because that’s what you want more than anything, right?”

Y/N frowned. Rosalind knew how to push his buttons. How to get him to cooperate. He didn’t want to be under Rosalind’s rule, but if there was something out there truly more dangerous than the Burned Ones, then Y/N would do whatever it takes to keep those he loves safe. Even if it means working with this evil bitch.

The Ice Fairy sighed. He grabbed Sky’s hand in comfort as he asked: “So… this plan of yours. What is it?”

Rosalind smiled once again. “I’m glad you asked.”

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #sky fate the winx saga #fate the winx #winx specialists #sky winx #sky of eraklyon #danny griffin x male reader #danny griffin #ice fairy #archie andrews insert #sky x male reader

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yandere-daydreams · 4 months

Text

Title: Nurture.

Paring: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation Of Nursle.

Word Count: 11.0k.

TW: Dub/Con, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Imprisonment, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Semi-Public Sex, Forced Marriage, Panic Attacks/Disassociation, Mentions of Stalking, and Nonchronological Timelines. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were never supposed to meet Geto Suguru.

It’d been a misstep in the never-ending trudge that was the cosmic timeline; a mistake on behalf of the universe that left you on the doorstep of his temple, glancing between the rustic entryway and the scrap of paper one of your student’s mothers had slipped into your hand a few weeks prior. “They should be able to help with your little problem,” she’d explained with a wink, a knowing glance towards your stiff shoulders, the dark bags under your eyes. “One visit, and you’ll feel like a teenager again.”

You’d smiled politely and told her that you’d give it a try and shoved her note into a drawer below your desk to be swiftly forgotten. You went to a doctor, then a chiropractor, then a psychologist, then briefly considered making an appointment with a fortune teller before finally relenting and deciding that you were, in fact, desperate enough for a miracle healer. It took three trains, two taxis, and more than a handful of helpful strangers, but you’d arrived at the messily scrawled address in one piece. You could still turn around, try your luck with another specialist, another bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills – sane solutions that sane people fell back on when they encountered problems that sane people had. You could go back to your flat, your ever-growing pile of ungraded tests, and pretend you’d never been here at all. You could do the thing that crazy, desperate people didn’t do, and you could leave.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and crossed into the entryway.

An attendant caught you as soon as you’d stepped inside. He was male, middle-aged, wearing the most strained, plastered-on smile you’d ever seen as he bowed his head to you. After a moment of nervous delay, you returned the gesture. “I—Uh, a friend of mine pointed me in your direction,” you stuttered out, doing your best to speak through your anxiety. “She said your head priest could…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Thankfully, the attendant cut in before you could make yourself look like a complete moron. “Geto-sama?” Impossibly, his smile widened even further. “You’ve come to the right place - he’s a truly miraculous healer. He’s seeing another poor, suffering soul at the moment, but you’re free to wait outside of his sanctuary.”

With a quick nod and a few words of thanks, you were swiftly taken to and abandoned in a small sitting room that, you could only guess, led into the innermost shrine. You sunk into a remarkably uncomfortable wooden chair and managed to sit still for all of three seconds before looking for your next distraction. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find.

Two girls sat on the other side of the room; sisters, you guessed, if not twins. One (Mimiko – it’d still be a few days before you learned her name) was perched on the edge of a chair identical to your own while the other (Nanako) sat cross-legged on the floor between her legs, fiddling with a hand-held console as her sister tried and failed to braid her hair. You couldn’t help yourself – a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watched Mimiko clumsily fumble with the messily divided strands of hair, her frustration written clearly across her expression. You’d always been comfortable around kids, as much as you never wanted to have your own. You didn’t know much about healing priests or mystic illnesses, but you knew how to handle a struggling seven-year-old.

When she looked away from her work, seeming to notice you for the first time, you offered her a bright smile, a quick wave. “Having a hard time?” you asked, gesturing towards her messy handiwork. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’d like.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, a quick look shared with her sister. “I understand if you don’t trust my credentials, but…” You fished out a few spare hair-ties out of your pocket: bright pink and adorned with equally garish bows, the color and design enough to make Nanako’s eyes light up. One of your more absent-minded students tended to forget hers, and you’d gotten into the habit of carrying a healthy stockpile on her behalf. “I did bring my own supplies.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself dutifully combing out Mimiko’s hair while Nanako admired her new pigtails. They seemed reluctant to talk to you, but you did your best to make polite conversation – well, as much as you could with two stand-offish grade schoolers. “Are you two waiting for someone?”

Mimiko pursed her lips, but Nanako wasn’t so shy. “Our dad,” she filled in, the kind of pride only an idealistic child could have for a parent heavy in her voice. “He hates monkeys.”

“Oh.” You did your best to sound surprised, rather than confused. “Does he work for the temple?”

“Mhm – he’s really strong, and super important.” She waited for you to num in acknowledgement, then went on. “You’re here to see him, right? He can definitely help you, if you are.”

Your hands faltered, a lock of Mimiko’s hair slipping out of your loose hold. “Your father’s… the head priest?”

Nanako nodded enthusiastically, and for the first time, Mimiko chimed in, “He’ll probably get rid of your creepy friend.”

This time, you stopped moving entirely. “I’m sorry, my friend?”

Mimiko glanced over her shoulder, moved to speak, but the screen door leading into the shrine slid open before she could answer you. It wasn’t an attendant, this time, but a man in monk’s garb with hair that reached past his shoulders and a grin less strained but just as artificial as that of his attendants. Geto Suguru, although it’d still be some time before you knew to call him that.

His dark eyes found you first, before moving to his daughters. “Girls,” he started, tone more playful than chiding. “Are you bothering my guests?”

The twins exchanged a long, weighty look before Nanako pushed herself to her feet and hurried to her father’s side. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he leaned down, letting her whisper something into his ear as you rushed to finish Mimiko’s braid. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was enough to earn a pair of pursed lips from Suguru, a languid shake of his head. Without responding to her, he straightened his back, already ushering you inside. You took a deep breath, then followed him into the shrine.

He made no attempt to put on a show of false hospitality. Wordlessly, he left you loitering in the center of the very empty, very large room while he stepped onto a raised platform and collapsed onto his side, propping his elbow on a cushioned, stand-alone armrest. This time, when he sighed, it seemed to be out of a more genuine exhaustion, his eyes falling shut briefly as he propped his chin on his fist and brought his free hand to his temples. “I have to apologize for my daughters. If I could watch them constantly, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He opened his eyes, and instantly, you felt the full weight of his stare. If it hadn’t been a feeling you were so used to, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down your spine. “Now, how can I be of service to you?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, lately. There’s been this weight on my back, like—”

“Like you’re being watched?”

He spoke confidently, as if answering a question he’d written himself. With your hands clenched into fists at your sides, you nodded. Suguru’s head lulled to the side, his smile taking on a satisfied lilt. “I thought so. Tell me – have you had any scorned lovers in the past? Boyfriends, fiancés, that type of thing?”

“A stalker,” you admitted. “But, he passed a few months ago. There was an accident, and—”

This time, he cut you off with a snap of his fingers. It was brief, barely a flash of movement, but you caught something in the corner of your eye – an amorphous shape perched above your right shoulder, a thousand eyes spotted across its baggy skin and a hundred curling tentacles wrapped around your arms, your chest, your stomach. You shut your eyes, winced, and when you opened them again, the creature was gone and Suguru held a small, pitch-black marble between his thumb and forefinger. He took a second to evaluate it before letting out an approving hum and bringing the marble to his lips, swallowing it whole. In your shock, it didn’t even occur to you to look away.

“These things tend to linger.” It was a meager explanation, but you accepted it whole-heartedly. For the first time in months, you were able to straighten your back, to drop your shoulders, to stand up without a single part of you crying out in protest. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so relieved.

“Thank you,” you nearly gasped, bowing at the waist. “Oh my god, I— I don’t have much money, but—”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask for compensation. Consider this—” A click of his tongue, a roll of his wrist. “—a favor between friends. The most I could ask for is a little of your time, in return.”

You would’ve given him your first-born child, if he’d asked for it. “Of course, anything. I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“It’s just— I’ve been trying to find a tutor for my daughters for the longest time, and they already seem fond of you.” For the first time since you’d stepped into his shrine, he sat up, facing you directly. “I understand that you’re a teacher?”

You left the temple a few minutes later, a new number programmed into your phone and a smile brighter than anything you’d worn in years painted across your lips.

You moved in with Satoru the same day he met Himari – as much being told to shove everything you couldn’t live without in a bag because you wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment could be called moving. You would’ve fought it more, but he’d been holding your daughter, and you couldn’t take that kind of risk with her. Not again.

Time seemed to pass in slow, thick clumps. Hours would pass in the blink of an eye and seconds would drag on and on and on until you couldn’t stand the idea of pretending you cared, anymore. A nursery was thrown together in one of Satoru’s guestrooms. When you mentioned that you’d never slept so far from her, Satoru cooed and kissed your cheek.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I’ve got enough monitors to last ‘till she’s eighteen. And, no offense, they’re a little more reliable than what you’ve been using.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want her sharing a room with us.”

Something pricked at the back of your throat. “I could sleep in here, with—”

“Nope.” He was kind enough to shut you down before you could so much as start to get your hopes up. “Honestly, she should count herself lucky I’m willing to share at all.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you closed your eyes, and when you found the strength to open them again, the world was dark and your body was cold.

Once the novelty wore off, you fell into a steady routine. Once or twice a week, you’d make the trip to Suguru’s temple and do your best to drill seven years’ worth of public education into Mimiko and Nanako while their father saw his unfortunate visitors. They were smart girls, even if they were more interested in your love life than multiplication tables, and when you thought about Suguru had done for you, you couldn’t say you minded spending a few hours of your weekend in a scenic, rural temple surrounded by Suguru’s (sometimes off-putting, but never unpleasant) congregation.

It took two months before you saw Suguru’s composure slip. It’d been a mistake – an accident on your part as much as it was on his – but you hadn’t thought of it in such fatalistic terms in the moment.

You kept your hands in your pockets as you wandered through the temple’s courtyard, stretching your legs while the girls finished a worksheet on long division (chosen by Nanako over English contractions, much to Mimiko’s protest). Idly, eager to give them as much time as you could, you made your way around the inner sanctum’s perimeter, rounding a sharp corner before abruptly coming to a stop.

Geto sat on the edge of the raised porch, eyes closed and his shoulder braced against the side of a support beam. You moved to flee, to apologize for interrupting his meditation, but you noticed his hunched posture, his slightly parted lips, and let out a breath of a laugh, your panic fading into pity.

Ah, the poor thing.

He was so tired, he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

As little as you’d expected to see a grown man sleeping in public, you weren’t surprised. Suguru was always running himself ragged; either hosting guests or holding sermons or running errands on the temple’s behalf, always coming back with a certain weight to his steps and an off-kilter quirk to his smile. With a sigh, you kneeled next to him and after a moment of hesitation, shrugged off your coat, taking care not to wake him as you draped it over his shoulders. Immediately, he relaxed – an ounce of the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he slumped into himself. You’d considered waking him up, but decided against it. Your own months of sleepless nights and never-ending days were still fresh in your memory. You didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on a few precious minutes of much-needed rest.

You heard a screen door slide open, a high-pitched voice call your name from the other side of the temple. You pushed yourself to your feet, but paused, spared another glance toward Suguru. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing to do, you didn’t give yourself time to think better of it before brushing his bangs away from his face and pressing a kiss into his forehead – the kind of kiss you’d give to one of your students in the wake of scraped knees and playground arguments. When he failed to stir, you pulled back and crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to keep yourself warm as you started back to where his girls were waiting for you.

Satoru was at your door as soon as the bell rang.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you must’ve known he wouldn’t give up old patterns so easily. He loitered in the hallway while your hyper-active students filtered out, slipped inside as the last of the stranglers did their best not to gawk at the inhumanely tall stranger with unnaturally white hair. By the time he crossed the threshold, you and Megumi were the only ones left, the latter dutifully waiting for his daily busy work at the corner of your desk.

Satoru acknowledged him with a click of his tongue, a quick ruffle to Megumi’s hair before he moved onto you. “There’s my pretty girl,” he half-said, half-sung as he slung an arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest. “Had you on my mind all day. Couldn’t stop wishin’ I had your pretty ti—”

You cleared your throat into your hand, nodding pointedly towards Megumi. Satoru’s grin faltered, then collapsed into a pursed-lipped frown. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb dug into your shoulder, his cruel eyes flickering to you over the dark lenses of his glasses. You didn’t need any further instruction. If Suguru taught you anything, it’d been how to get rid of unwanted company.

“Megumi.” You waved him toward you, and despite the mix of distrust and exasperation written clearly across his expression, he stepped forward. Still, you braced yourself before going on. As little as you wanted to associate him with Satoru, to blame him for what Satoru did to you, you hadn’t been able to meet his eyes all day. Whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help but think about Himari, and whenever you thought about Himari—

“You usually walk home with Tsumiki today, right?” He didn’t, but you couldn’t think of a better excuse. Lately, it was all you could do to put one word in front of another, let alone actually manage to clear away enough of the thick, buzzing static clouding your mind to form an intelligent thought. “You should really get going, before she starts to think you left without her.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. He mumbled something just a breath below audible, and you forced yourself to smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “He’s… He’s gross, and weird, and you shouldn’t talk to him.”

If he’d been any other kid, if Satoru had been any other adult, you might’ve laughed, chided him for speaking so rudely about his elders. Instead, you only sighed, your smile faltering as you brought a hand to his shoulder. “We’re just going to have a little chat, that’s all. I promise, I’ll be just fine when we see each other tomorrow.” You paused, lowered your voice into something playfully conspiratorial. “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty weird too. Thanks for looking out for me.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. After tossing one more glare in Satoru’s direction, he trudged out of your classroom, letting the door slam behind him. You didn’t have time to feel relief or dread or much of anything before Satoru was on top of you – his knee planted between your thighs, one of his hands groping at your waist while the other caught your chin, holding you in place while his lips crashed into yours, the kiss mess and open-mouthed and desperate. “The brat’s annoying,” he muttered, as he pulled away. “But I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from. If you’d been my teacher, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself from bending you over your desk ‘n earning a little extra credit.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. You couldn’t stop yourself from buckling forward, but Satoru had already moved on, found his way to the side of your neck. “Please, don’t talk about my students like—”

Your voice gave out as he bit down – burying his teeth in your throat in less of a love-bite and more of an effort to eat you alive. You barely managed to stop yourself from crying out, but panic quickly swallowed whatever pain you might’ve felt. It’d leave a mark, one you wouldn’t be able to hide, not completely. Against your will, your mind flashed to Megumi and, if you’d been just a little weaker, you might’ve collapsed, passed out while Satoru lapped the blood now trickling down your throat. If you’d been just a little luckier, you might’ve fallen apart entirely.

Your hands shot to his hair, and Satoru let out a throaty groan. His hands fell to your thighs, and before you could so much as think to struggle, you were laid across your desk, folders and worksheets pushed aside in favor of trapping your body underneath his. “Always wanted to do this,” he muttered into your shoulder, already pulling your skirt to your waist. “Might have to go into teaching, too – just so you can return the favor.”

He might’ve gone on, but you were done listening.

You would have to request a change of classroom, tomorrow morning.

Nanako returned your coat to you a week later, rolling on the balls of her feet and grinning from ear to ear.

You saw Suguru more often, after that.

Granted, not too often, and never for very long. He was still a busy man, and most of your interactions were limited to minute-long conversations as you found each other heading in the same direction, a few niceties exchanged as you dropped Nanako and Mimiko off at the door of his shrine. He never struck you as overly guarded, but you could count the number of times you’d heard him speak about himself on a single hand. If it hadn’t been for his girls, you probably would never have learned his given name.

Winter had begun its swift and relentless approach, and you found yourself standing outside of the temple’s gates, watching the sun slip below the horizon and debating if it would be worth it to cough up the cash for a taxi, rather than dragging yourself through the labyrinth that was public transportation in the dark. As you checked your phone for the dozenth time, you caught a flash of movement in your peripheral and glanced up only to find Suguru – changed out of his monk’s garb and into a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants that made him look more like an exhausted college student than the head of his own temple. He nodded to you by way of greeting, and you flashed him a smile. “Waiting for someone?”

“Something like that.” You looked back to your phone and sighed. “I might have to make our next session a little earlier. I forgot how dark it could get and, well, you know what it’s like in the city.”

You withered, but Suguru only brightened. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to—”

“Please, (Y/n).” You could see why he had such a dedicated congregation. When he spoke, it was impossible not to listen. “Just think of it as a favor between friends.”

You wanted to refuse, to tell him not to waste his time, but a streetlamp buzzed to life somewhere above you and the last trace of your resolve crumbled. A few minutes later, you were in the back of a sleek, black car – Suguru sitting next to you and his driver hidden behind a tinted partition. More time than you would’ve liked passed in tense silence before you, more motivated by discomfort than gratitude, broke the quiet. “I was surprised when I found out Nanako and Mimiko were homeschooled.” Before he could respond, you realized how it must’ve sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just—you’re always so busy, and they’re such bright girls. I’m sure that, if you ever did want to get them enrolled, they’d do very well. It’d free up a lot of your time, too.”

You thought you saw him wince, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. By the time you turned to face him properly, his expression was unreadable – his lips pulled into a thin line and his dark eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he admitted, before letting an airy sigh. “But… I made a lot of bad choices, when I first took them in. The were a bad situation, and I was young and stupid, and I— I think I might’ve fucked things up. For them, at least. I probably would’ve ended up in the same place eventually.” Another sigh, a lengthy pause. When he went on, his tone was heavier, his usual confidence greatly diminished, if not absent entirely. “…you don’t think I made a mistake, do you?”

You took a second to think, letting your eyes fall to your lap. “I don’t,” you said, finally. “The girls seem happy, and you’re providing for them. They won’t have normal lives, but—” You hummed, shrugged. “Who does?”

He seemed to relax, the harsh edges of his expression dulling. His eyes shifted to you. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all, shaking your head with a slight smile. “Consider it,” You let your tone dip into something teasing and secretive, raising your chin the way he tended to when talking to guests and members of his congregation. “a favor between friends.”

Your showmanship earned a dry chuckle, a softened gaze. After a long beat, he asked, “Would you mind if I, uh…” He trailed off, tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. You’d assumed he was in his mid-twenties, but he must’ve been younger – he was acting like a teenager. “Go ahead, Suguru.”

Despite your reassurance, he stalled for a few seconds before, more than a little stiltedly, bending at his waist and resting his head gingerly on your lap. It was an awkward position, the back of the car too cramped for him to lay down properly, but his eyes fell shut and after the initial shock faded, you could only smile, raising a hand and combing your fingers idly through his hair. When you pulled the elastic band holding his half-bun together out of place, letting his hair fall loose over your thighs, he didn’t protest, only going that much more limp on top of you.

You two stayed that way for the rest of the trip; his head in your lap, your finger carding through his hair, the only noise that of traffic and the occasional muted hum when your attention started to drift. It was only when his driver pulled onto the curb in front of your complex that Suguru raised his head, blinking himself back into consciousness. You turned to let yourself out, only to feel him take up one of your hands – his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before you felt him cup your cheek, before you felt his mouth against yours.

The kiss was gentle but warm, shallow but lingering. He held you there, his lips barely yours, for a second, then another, before you snapped out of it and pulled away – your disgust as immediate as it was it was self-concentrated. If Suguru felt the same way, he hid it well. You could only make out the slightest trace of hurt in the down-turned corners of his parted lips.

He started to say something, but you were already rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Suguru. You’re a sweet kid, but I’m—” You forced yourself to laugh, the noise jolting and strained. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“Exactly.” You shook your head, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been more clear about, I don’t know,” You gestured vaguely. “—everything. And I should really—”

Again, you moved to leave, and again, he stopped you. This time, he caught you by the wrist. “I’m not a kid.” You tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. You felt something in your forearm begin to ache. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Absolutely not.” You pried the door open and jerked away from him just in time to stumble out of his car and onto the pavement. You saw his posture straighten, his body tense as if he was going to try to lunge at you, but mercifully, he must’ve thought better of it. His anger was, instead, focused entirely into his unblinking stare, and you did your best to speak in spite of the way his eyes burnt into your chest. “I… I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other, for a while. Tell the girls I’m out of town, and—” You swallowed, dryly. “—I think you should get some rest, Suguru. You need it.”

As awful as it made you feel, you slammed the door shut before he could respond. He didn’t try to chase you, but his car hadn’t moved by the time you made it to your flat. With your doors locked and your blinds pulled shut, you watched it until, hours after midnight, you nodded off.

He was gone when you woke up, and you could only hope he’d be mature enough to mind his distance.

Satoru’s face was buried between your thighs when you heard his phone ring, his hands curled around your thighs and your body perched on the edge of one of his rarely used marble counters. You would’ve missed it entirely if you’d been a little closer to the edge, if he’d been just a little nosier as he moaned and grunted into your cunt, but you weren’t, and he wasn’t, and the sound of that melodic dial-tone cut through the haze like a knife through fog (relatively ineffective, but still violent enough to draw attention). You straightened as much as you could, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, gently. “Satoru, I think—”

“It’s not important,” he muttered against your thigh, drawing back just far enough to be audible. “’s probably just the kids. They said they were coming over, but—” He flashed you a smile, bright eyes catching the light. “They can wait ‘till we’re done. I can’t just leave my pretty girl unsatisfied.”

Immediately, the haze stiffened and shattered into a panic-inducing, heart-racing clarity. You straightened, cursed under your breath, but Satoru tongue was already lapping over your soaked slit, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as he all-but worshipped your pussy. This time, you didn’t tug, but pulled – doing what little you could to pry him off of you, but all you earned was a throaty whine, his fingertips dug that much deeper into the plush of your ass. His tongue bullied its way past your clenching entrance, curling and thrusting, and it took everything you had not to snap your thighs shut around his head, not to give him what he wanted. “Satoru,” you spat, using the same tone you’d put on for a misbehaving student. “S-stop.”

It was more of an instinct than a decision, more of a reflex than a choice, but either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With his eyes blearily focused on your expression, his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, he fucked you open with his tongue until your toes were curling, your legs twitching, your vision burning pure white in a way that made you wish you could give up on sight altogether. He nursed you through your climax until the last of your energy was spent before pushing himself to his feet and slamming his mouth into yours – his teeth cutting into your lips and your taste heavy on his tongue. By the time he pulled away, you were panting and he was wearing that awful, careless grin. You never thought you’d miss Suguru’s calculated smile, and yet.

And yet.

You didn’t have time to be angry. The kids came first – a thought that, if you’d given yourself a chance to linger on it, would’ve been more of a cause for concern. “Go clean yourself up, I’ll take care of the kitchen. Call them back as soon as you’re finished.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, with a dreamy sigh. “It’s hot in a, like, ‘put me over your knee and spank me’ way, y’know?”

Your only response was a quick shake of your head, a repulsed curl of your lips. Satoru only laughed, pecking your cheek and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “They’ll love you. Megumi likes to act shy, but he can’t shut up about you. Tsumiki’ll just be ecstatic to have a baby sister,” he mumbled into your throat. “You wouldn’t break their hearts, would you?”

It might’ve hurt less, if there hadn’t already been two little girls somewhere in Japan who knew that you absolutely would.

You called Suguru from the curb in front of your flat, your head in your hands and tears streaming openly down your cheeks. He let it ring once, twice, before answering. You could practically hear the smile in his voice, practically feel the smugness in his tone. “I thought we weren’t talking, dear?”

You swallowed back another ragged sob. “It’s back.”

He was there within the hour – alone, this time, no girls and no driver. You stayed where you were as he let himself into your flat, returning only a few minutes later with a thoughtful hum and a thin frown playing on his lips. “It’s rare, but it does happen,” he started, as he sat down next to you. He was dressed in street clothes, rather than his monk’s garb. Somehow, that only made it more difficult to look at him. “Particularly restless spirits can lie dormant before reappearing stronger and more attached to their living host. A standard exorcism might no longer be enough to banish it.”

You felt something heavy and pointed drop into the pit of your stomach. Calling it 'stronger' was an understatement – you couldn’t believe something so massive, something so awful had ever been attached to you. When you let your mind wander, you could still see its dripping, pitch-black arms writhing over the walls and ceiling of your bedroom, still feel its countless eyes burning into you – a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than it’d been when Suguru had first sent it away. You buckled at the waist, burying your face in your knees, and Suguru rested a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles into your shoulder. You were thankful for the comfort, even if it would’ve taken you another few weeks to completely forget the feeling of his hand around your wrist. “Can you…” You cringed, shrunk into yourself. “Can you help?”

“Oh, absolutely.” If he’d been just a little more cocky, he would’ve been purring. “But I’m afraid it’ll cost you more than a favor, this time.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know.” His hand went still, settling on your shoulder. “But I need you to give me something, this time.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything,” you repeated, with all the desperation of a sinner laid bare before the altar. “Please, Suguru. Anything.”

“I need an heir.”

You could practically feel your heart split open and shatter inside of you. “…an heir?”

“For the sake of my congregation,” he said, like that explained anything. “We’ll have to get married first, of course. You’ll be taken care of until the child’s born, and then, you’ll be free to go.” His hand fell to your own, squeezing gently. “Or to stay with us, if that’s what you prefer.”

Any other time, the idea alone would’ve been enough to make you sick. Any other day, you would’ve told him that he could have anything, anything but that.

But, in the moment, all you could seem to think about was your flat and the monster inside of it. You felt yourself nod and, before you could take it back, heard Suguru laugh, felt his lips against your temple. “You’re making the right choice,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. “I love you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it back.

Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep in the guest room turned makeshift nursery. Megumi had been slow to warm, quick to hear Satoru introduce you as his ‘one and only’ and assume the worst (which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly wrong), but Tsumiki hadn’t been so stand-offish, and ultimately, whatever concerns an eight year old could have for your safety crumbled under his sister’s desire to fawn over your newborn. You were glad. You didn’t want him to worry about you. That was a mistake you’d made with Nanako and Mimiko. You’d let Suguru give them a reason to care if you left, and then, you’d left.

Your gaze drifted to Himari. She’d always loved attention (a trait you could only assume she’d inherited from her father), and she’d spent most of the afternoon and the entire evening basking in Tsumiki and Megumi’s adoration. Currently, she was sitting in your lap, giggling and clapping her hands together as you idly bounced her on your knee. The sight alone was enough to make your heart soar – any thoughts of Satoru and his wards fading into the background as you leaned forward and peppered her tiny face with kisses. It was a miracle that you loved her at all, let alone as much as you did. Pregnancy hadn’t been kind to you, and it wasn’t until the moment she was born that you could stand to think of yourself as a mother of a child, rather than just the incubator to a cultist’s pipedream. You’d never wanted children, but now that you had one, you couldn’t imagine letting anything in the world take her away from you.

Maybe, if he’d been a little kinder to her, if he hadn’t already had two daughters to spoil and adore, you might’ve been able to justify loving Himari less than you did, might’ve been able to leave her in his care when you pried a window open and fled in the middle of the night. He’d never been cruel to her, but no part of you believed that he wouldn’t have been if she’d failed to do what she’d been made for – if your love for her hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side. Even if you hadn’t loved her at all, you still would’ve taken her with you. No child deserved to be left in the care of a monster like Suguru.

You choose, deliberately, to only think about Himari, to tell yourself that you only ever had to think about Himari. You couldn’t afford to break your own heart a second time.

Choosing not to think about Megumi and Tsumiki proved more difficult.

It was a courthouse wedding, the ceremony little more than a few signatures and a hesitant ‘congratulations’ from the officiant. Suguru’s assistant – a blonde woman who looked at you with equal parts sympathy and disgust – acted as the witness. Suguru explained that, after your first child was born, there would be a more elaborate ceremony, something with rings and dresses and flowers that the girls could participate in. You were too dissociated to point out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything after the child was born, let alone something that would leave you that much more bound to him.

You expected him to take you back to your flat, or the villa on the outskirts of the city you’d visited a handful of times when he couldn’t meet you at his temple, but instead, you found yourself standing in front of one of the tallest, brightest hotels you’d ever seen. “It is a special occasion,” he said, as you stared blankly at the entrance. “I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t spoil my wife now and then, right?”

“Please,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” His smile was giddier than you’d ever seen it, amusement heavy in his voice. “Let me give you a hand.”

The interior was no less agonizing than the exterior. You could feel a hundred pairs of eyes burning into you as you hung off Surugu’s arm, your own legs too weak to be trusted to support you. Rather than relief, dread coiled in the pit of your stomach as he led you to your room – a suite on the highest floor. You considered, briefly, trying to tell him that you were afraid of heights, but decided against it. Even in your own head, it sounded too childish to be believable, and you couldn’t imagine dragging this out for a second longer than it absolutely had to be.

You stepped into the room and were immediately reminded that Suguru had been the one to make the arrangements. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice on a velvet-cushioned ottoman. Bouquets of roses and their disembodied petals had been carefully spread across every possible surface – painting the room with misshapen splotches of bright red. A colorless atrocity of white silk and lace had been laid across the king-sized bed. You got close enough to recognize it for what it was (bridal lingerie, veil and all) before turning away and collapsing onto the foot of the bed, your vision blurry and your heart racing.

You felt your mouth go dry, your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to speak. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the silence. “Am I—” A pause, a distraught glance towards the monstrosity. “Am I supposed to wear that?”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous,” he admitted, stepping in front of you. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee, taking your hands in his. “I’ll be gentle, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.” He brought the underside of your wrist to his lips. “I love you.”

You couldn’t be sure what it was. How sincere he sounded, maybe, or how young he looked kneeling in front of you, away from his temple and out of his costume. He kissed the back of your hand, and a ragged sob tore past your lips, all the tears you hadn’t been able to shed during the ceremony suddenly beading in the corners of your eyes. As you tried to keep them at bay with your free hand, Suguru’s smile wavered, and for the first time that you’d seen, fell away completely.

He posed the question softly, carefully. You wished he would’ve been just a little more eager to break you. At least, then, you could’ve hated him for it. “…you really don’t want to do this, do you?”

There was no point trying to lie. You shook your head and watched as Suguru deflated. His eyes had always been dark, but in that moment, you could’ve sworn they’d never seen any light at all.

Before you could brace yourself, his mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise. You tasted blood, felt his tongue rake over yours; whatever gentleness he’d promised to show you little more than a distant fantasy. As his mouth moved against yours, his hand slipped under your dress – two fingers dragging over your slit through your panties before his thumb found your clit through the thin material and he pushed a rough, impulsive pattern into the sensitive bud. You shrunk into yourself, your hands finding their way to his chest before you could stop yourself from trying to push him away, but Suguru didn’t seem to care, to notice. Your panties were torn away entirely, and like a man possessed, he fell back to his knees between your open legs and started to devour you whole.

Your thighs were pulled onto his shoulders, his hands curled around your hips as the flat of his tongue laved over your slit, teasing the entrance of your pussy and flicking over your clit. He alternated between tracing vague figure-eights into your cunt and lapping up the slick starting to drip from your poor, confused pussy – your exhausted body eager to accept any affection Suguru had to show you, if you could even call what he was forcing onto your affection. You tried to reach for him, to pull him away from, but you failed to so much as make contact before he let out a near-violent snarl, calloused fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh as he pulled you that much closer, hauling your ass off the bed and leaving you on your back, your arms crossed over your face and your ankles crossed over his back. You sobbed openly, now, but your disparate cries were interrupted by cracked whimpers and half-swallowed mewls – little, pathetic sounds you didn’t have the strength to suppress. Suguru didn’t stop. Honestly, you would’ve been surprised if he could hear you at all over the sound of his own heady panting, of his tongue fucking into your now-soaked cunt.

You almost regretted not taking him back to your flat that first night – when he kissed you like you were the most delicate thing in the world. If you’d given in right away, he might’ve had the self-restraint to hold back. Or, to try to, at least.

One of his hands left your waist, falling low enough for the pad of his thumb to press into your clit. Messily, roughly, he toyed with the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue thrust shallowly into your cunt, curling and splitting apart the hot, clenching walls of your pussy. You felt a deep, full-chested moan reverberate up the length of your spine, and that was enough to leave you tumbling over the edge, to leave your thighs clenching around his head as you came undone on his tongue. He ate you out through the aftershocks, but didn’t stop - fucking you open with his tongue until you’d stumbled through another climax, then another, a mix of slick and saliva soon coating his chin and staining the sheets below you. By the time he pulled away, you were crying not from despair, but overstimulation; pangs of pure heat searing your nerves and leaving your cunt aching for reprieve. You were only vaguely aware of the mattress dipping beside you, of his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you for what felt like the hundredth time. As his lips pressed into yours, you decided that, if tonight was the last time you ever had to kiss someone, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not when compared to the alternative.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and then again as he pulled away, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your voice felt like something you were no longer entitled to use; a vague concept that’d been placed at an inconceivable distance by some cruel deity. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Suguru bare his teeth in frustration. Your dress wasn’t so much removed as it was torn away from you, and you couldn’t help but wither without it. Modesty could only count so much when you could still see your arousal coating his lips, but still, it hurt.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you into the center of the bed and haphazardly dragged his shirt over his head. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d seen his bare arms plenty of times, watched him lift Nanako and Mimiko clean off the ground without so much as a trace of strain, and yet, something inside of you still curled up and died as your eyes raked over his sculpted chest, the corded muscle that seemed to cover every inch of him. More out of shock than anything, you moved to sit up, to put some distance between yourself and a man who looked like he could’ve torn your head off your shoulders on a whim, but he was quick to stop you, to press a palm into your chest and force you back onto the bed. With his other hand, he dragged his pants down just far enough to free his cock and, instantly, whatever desolation you might’ve felt at the sight of his bare chest was multiplied ten-fold.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until you moved to speak, your voice shaking and small. “That’s not going to—”

“It will.” That authority – that tone of absolute control – was back in full force. Still, you couldn’t seem to make yourself believe him. “I won’t stop until it does.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as he dragged his swollen, leaking tip over your pussy – the flushed head catching on your abused clit and drawing an airy whimper past your lips. He was, by far, the biggest man you’d ever seen, let alone slept with. As if that wasn’t enough, he was already harder than you knew someone could be – thick, pearly beads dripping from his tip and down his shaft, his more prominent veins almost pulsing as he aligned with your entrance. Even his balls were fucking huge.

Fit for a breeder, something vicious and awful whispered into the back of your mind. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t disagree.

Your eyes darted to his expression and met his, already blearily focused on you. You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was stolen away from you as his hips bucked forward and he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

You’d been right, when you’d tried to stop him.

He was going to kill you.

Already, he was too much. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his cock threatened to tear you apart. Suguru let out a raspy groan, his head falling forward and he drew back, pulling out of you until only his head remained in your pussy only to snap his hip and bury himself that much deeper, only to stretch you that much further. “See?” One his hands fell to your lower stomach, the heel of his palm pressing into the soft flesh like he could feel the outline of his cock. He might’ve been able to. You were too scared to check. “You’re a perfect fit.”

There was another grunt, another breathy groan as he fell into an unsteady pace – every thrust brutal and back-breaking. His hands found their way to the headboard, curling around its upper edge as he fucked into you. He didn’t so much find the right spot as find a way to hit every spot constantly, his cock filling your pussy to the brim, leaving you desperately trying to clench down around him to no avail. A high-pitched whine – fractured and pathetic – tore past your lips, and Suguru let out an airy chuckle. “Not gonna be able to get enough of this.” His pubic bone scraped against your clit and you threw your head back, your back arching off of the mattress. Your sensitivity was rewarded with another laugh, a hand brought down just to grope idly at your chest. “I can’t let you out of my sight, from now own. I think I’ll lose my mind if I have to go a day without feeling this perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

It was hard to think, let alone piece two words together. Still, you managed to spit something out, fighting to speak above the sound of skin against skin, hips against hips. “B-but, you said— the baby—”

“Fuck the baby. This—” He slapped your clit, his touch harsh enough to make you cry out. “—is all mine.”

A hand around your throat, a new brutality to his thrusts. His grip wasn’t tight, he wasn’t choking you, and yet, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything other than his cock and the feeling of your cunt being split open around it. “You’re mine.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded relieved. “And you always will be.”

Meeting Suguru had been a mistake. Asking for his help had been a mistake. Agreeing to this terrible deal had been a mistake.

But, cumming around his cock as that final possessive sentiment trickled past his lips was the biggest mistake you’d ever made or ever would make, again.

Your cunt clamped down around him – a vice around his cock. With your fists balled around satin sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, your body convulsed underneath his, your pussy doing everything in its limited power to milk him dry. You heard Suguru curse under his breath, his hips pushing flush against yours as something thick and searing flooded into your cunt. What little managed to leak out around the base of his cock was caught with two fingers and forced back in; no drop wasted.

With a heavy exhale, Suguru dipped lower, his lips grazing over your cheek, then the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes, letting yourself deflate. It was over. No matter how you might’ve felt, no matter how much you might’ve wanted to crawl out of your skin, it was ov—

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out of you, only to push back in; his rough, punishing pace only made slightly more bearably by the weight of his orgasm.

The next morning, you’d wake up to Suguru’s arm around your waist and a pregnancy test on the bedside table. It’d be too early to tell, but you wouldn’t bother to so much as open the box. Nothing could’ve kept Suguru from trying again, and again, and again in the days to follow.

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be sure if he ever stopped.

“How long is this supposed to last?”

Megumi and Tsumiki were walking a few yards ahead of you, stopping to stare into every other shop window before running ahead, and Himari was currently tucked against Satoru’s chest, occupying herself with a thorough (albeit, mostly oral) investigation of the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t cook and Satoru refused to do much of anything before noon, so the only choice left was to chase after promises of crepe trucks and cafes. Your question earned a hum, a glance toward you, but not much more. As little as you liked about Satoru, you were thankful he had such an even temper. Suguru was never so slow to react.

“Forever, preferably,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “Or until I die, at least – sorcerers have a pretty high mortality rate. I’m the best at what I do, but even the strongest ant gets crushed eventually.” He paused, pressed a quick kiss into the top of Himari’s head. “I’ll make sure to leave a big trust fund, though. You’re gonna be living off your daddy for a long, long time.”

You let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to pretend you care about her. I know you’re only doing this because of him.”

If he’d denied it immediately, you wouldn’t have believed him. If he’d sworn that Suguru had nothing to do with it, if he’d dropped to his knees in front of you, if he’d told you that he loved you, you wouldn’t have believed him. But, in the end, he only pursed his lips, his head lulling to the side as he considered it. “At first, yeah,” he admitted, tracing patterns into Himari’s back. “I heard that he’d gotten with someone and… I got curious. I guess I was a little jealous.” He paused, his tone abrupt going light and sheepish. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, in retrospect – making the brats go to your school and following you around and all. I just wanted to see what kind of person could make Suguru go soft, but then I saw how you were with the little princess—” He lifted Himari above his head, grinning up at her while she spouted happy gibberish. “—and fell for you, head over heels. All I could think about was gathering you both up in my arms and takin’ you home.”

“You make us sound like stray animals.”

“I mean, you kind of are, right?” You jutted your elbow into his side, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay, you’re runaways. I didn’t know you were so pedantic, (Y/n).”

He slotted Himari against his hip, his attention momentarily falling away from her as he shot a quick, teasing smile in your direction. “I like you.” His voice was soft, dull – like he was saying something you didn’t already know. Like he was giving something away. “And I want you to stick around.”

“I’m sure Suguru would’ve said the same thing.”

“I’m not like Suguru.” He found your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Ahead of you, Tsumiki turned on her heel and waved excitedly. She’d picked a café (presumably with minimal input from Megumi); a picturesque little spot with a sun-speckled patio and overgrown garden boxes. Satoru’s hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, and just this time, you didn’t bother trying to pull away.

The man on his knees in front of you was older – his hair receding and dotted with grey. A salaryman, you guessed, judging by his wrinkled suit, the ink stains on his sleeves. You couldn’t see his expression, not with his forehead pressed against the floor of Suguru’s sanctuary, but you could hear the pain in his voice as he pled for Suguru’s help, see the slight tremble in his shoulders. You didn’t have to assume the cause of his distress.

You couldn’t be sure when you started to see the spirits – or, the curses, you mean. It must’ve been around the end of the first trimester; your little glimpses at crooked monsters and mangled beasts solidifying into full, unrelenting exposure. Suguru suggested (after he’d finished celebrating what he would, later on, refer to as the best day of his life) that it might be a symptom of the pregnancy, that carrying a sorcerer’s child may’ve triggered some pocket of laden cursed energy buried inside of you, but you couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of cosmic punishment, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what you were being punished for.

It had to be a punishment, though. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be watching a small swarm of winged, imp-like creatures bite and scratch at the cowering salaryman, each swipe of their claws and nip of their pointed teeth enough to leave ragged, bloody stripes in his arms, his back. You felt bile rise into the back of your throat, but forced yourself not to shut your eyes, to keep your expression one of unbothered neutrality. Suguru would help him, just like he helped you.

As if by way of encouragement, you let your nails scrape over his scalp. After you started showing, the only job Suguru deemed you capable of was that of his new headrest. He took care of everything else – petitioning for maternity leave, moving you out of your flat and into the villa he shared with his girls, rewriting every little aspect of your life to better the role you’d inhabit for the next nine months: his pregnant wife. Currently, he was on his side, on leg bent at the knee and his head propped on your thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’d cringed at the idea, at first, but Suguru insisted that it wouldn’t be an issue. The perks of leading your own cult, you guessed. No one could challenge his authority when he was the only authority they could possibly look to.

After a moment longer than you would’ve liked, Suguru cut off the salaryman’s incoherent rambling with a slight hum. Immediately, the salaryman fell silent, and Suguru let his head lull to the side, leaning into your palm. “Manami,” he started, addressing his assistant. She’d been called in shortly after the salaryman made his entrance. “How long has it been since our honored sponsor’s last donation?”

She glanced toward her tablet. “It’ll be five months this week.”

The salaryman scrambled to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, my store went out of business, and I—”

The corner of Suguru’s lips quirked downward. The entirety of the swarm descended onto the salaryman before you could so much as flinch away.

To say they tore him apart would be an understatement. One second, he was there, bowing in front of you, and the next, little more scraps of fabric and disembodied viscera decorated the floor of the sanctuary. Suguru snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the creatures vanished – leaving behind only gore and the thick stench of copper hanging in the stagnant air. Your hand stilled in Suguru’s hair. You might’ve passed out, if you’d been able to process what you’d just watched.

Suguru took notice of your distress quickly. That, or he just wanted to bask in his kill more privately. “If I could be alone with my wife for a moment, Manami.”

Her eyes flickered to you, lingering for a moment before she bowed her head. “Of course, Geto-sama. I’ll fetch someone to clean up this mess.”

Once she was gone, Suguru rolled onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut. “These fucking monkeys,” he sighed, with a shake of his head. “I swear, they’ll be the death of me. They can’t even seem to die without causing more trouble than they’re worth.”

“You can control them?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

“The spirits.” And then again, with more urgency, “You can control them?”

His exasperation was swiftly replaced with self-satisfaction so potent, you could nearly taste it. “Would you expect anything less from me? Only a handful are strong enough to be helpful, but even pests can be put to good use.”

You felt like an idiot for asking. You felt like an idiot for having to ask, but you just couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “My spirit. The one I came to you for.” It felt like your tongue was coated in salt and ask. “Was he one of the stronger spirits?”

A beat lapsed in silence, then another.

Finally, Suguru let out a long, raspy exhale and brought a hand to your stomach. “I hope it’s a girl,” he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “I hope she looks just like you.”

You took a single, stilted breath.

When you met your daughter a few months later, impossibly tiny and infinitely lovable and so agonizingly helpless, it would almost be a relief to see Suguru’s face staring back at you.

“She has your eyes.”

You heard his voice before you saw his face, but you would’ve known Suguru from aura alone. You froze in the doorway of the unlit nursery, searching for him in the darkness, but Suguru didn’t make himself hard to find.

“Not the color, but the shape.” He was standing next to the cradle, a soft smile painted across his lips and your daughter in his arms. She was sleeping, and you were thankful for it. You’d kept Himari away from him as much as you’d been able to in the weeks leading up to your escape, but even their minimal exposure had seemed crushing, at the time. Above all else, you never wanted your daughter to be able to recognize her father’s face. “Oh, but she must have my temperament. I’ve heard she rarely cries, even with nuisances like Satoru around.”

You’d left your phone in the living room. Satoru wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but maybe, if you screamed, someone would hear you. Maybe, you’d be able to run while Suguru tore them apart, limb by limb.

In the end, it was all you could do to make yourself speak – your voice thin and prone to catching in your throat. “Get out of my apartment.”

“But this isn’t your apartment, is it?” With a quiet, hushing sound, he lowered Himari back into her cradle and turned to face you. “Honestly, if I’d known you were just going to run into another man’s arms, I would’ve been more careful with you. I wonder if you’ll feel more loyal to your husband with a chain around your neck.”

“You manipulated me. You made me have a ba—”

“I loved you.” He cut you off with all the delicacy of a rusty knife sawing through flesh. “I do love you, even if I’m starting to question how much of it you deserve.”

He stepped forward. You wanted to turn away from him, to run, but your body was uncooperative, too rigid to do anything more than shake as he came to stand in front of you. “Can you say it back to me? Just this once.” He brought a hand to your cheek. “I’ll forgive you for everything, if you do.”

You tried to. Not for him, but for your daughter – made expendable by her failure to keep you bound to Suguru. You tried to, but all that slipped past your parted lips was a wordless cry, torn and anguished and far from what he’d asked for.

“No?” He feigned disappointment, letting out an airy sigh. “I guess that’s to be expected.”

He took a deep breath, then rested his head against the dip of your shoulder. His hand fell to your stomach as he spoke into your skin.

“Maybe, after we have our second, you’ll change your mind.”

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namjoonchronicles · 2 years

Text

the specialist | eight

↳ pairing yoongi, you

↳ genre romance, pretend lovers, angst, eventual smut, office-factory setting

↳ title eight | purple bruises and blue pills | 12.187k words **long read

↳ summary yoongi had stayed over one night in your bed, in your house. the morning after felt like a small snippet of a slice-of-life romance of a healthy relationship only in reality; it wasn’t. taehyung had return to make your life a nightmare and it didn’t come unnoticed by yoongi and seokjin. a standard operating procedure had you and yoongi your first couple’s quarrel at work. yoongi’s stubborness and your steadfast abiding personality clashes at once. taehyung adds more gasoline into the spark after he revealed he knew yoongi was enrolling into engineering program that you signed him in without him knowing-- which he (and some others) didn’t take well

↳ warnings mature themes, strong languages, violence, attempted arson, smoking, unhealthy coping mechanism, needles, perversion arts, mentions of erotica, handjob (may missing some warnings)

Eight.

Don’t do anything. How troubling. You sat there, eyeing everyone that passed you by, suspicious of everything and everyone. In the daily, you move the placards of your machine on the current batches and discard those that are done and shipped. Guess this is what growing up means; to accept things as they are. You respected Yoongi’s decisions. As much as you hated having to do so, you respected his approach to things. After he was found crawling to your doorstep, absolutely bloodied and frail, you sent him to the panel hospital. He had thankfully not broken any bones although his physical injuries are quite worrying. He had a couple of minor stitches here and there but he has all his teeths.

The bloodshot eyes will take several days to go away.

What’s the word? Furious? Angry? Agitated? Disappointed? Anywhere between the four, or perhaps all four? To ignore them, you busied yourself with work. It is/ piling. Which you were thankful for. But focusing on the reports can be draining as well, you’ll need a break in a few minutes. Yoongi had 3 days off— you didn’t explain more. You take in Felix on your team until he returns.

“Miss, the packing materials for Batch CB12114 haven't arrived,” Felix lowers himself squatting by your table, so he could look up at you. Like a basketball player to their tinier coach. “Oh right,” you jolted your head straight, “Continue to batch CB12115 first then. They emailed me saying they’ll change the machines running that batch,” you turned to him in brief.

Felix turns to leave, and he does so after contemplating something. You could see from the tails of your eyes that he had something to say.

“Felix?” you called him, “I can count on you, can I?”

He gave you a lopsided-smile and nodded assuringly. You can’t really picture Felix being violent but who are you to judge? Yoongi had taught Felix numerous times, even taking him under his wings. Could Felix know who had hurt Yoongi? And why? What if answering your question would give a ripple effect? What if Felix is next?

As Felix walks away, his back grows smaller the further he strides, your thoughts darken. Plagued with suspicions after suspicions towards everyone around you at work, you wondered if things would have been better at home. Maybe you should have taken the day off. The boss had been annoyed after the task force was launched. Probably because his championed material was the least workable material there is, and so he is plunging all his frustration on you. For some reason, all your proposed solutions were denied, ignored and dismissed without proper explanation. It led you to think that perhaps, your boss had personal problems with you. He was onto something and you didn’t know what it was. A boss with the tendency to hold a grudge is the worst to work with. Chances are you are shunned without knowing the reason why and in a few months, someone would reveal petty things like: “Oh, it’s because you didn’t help him take his parcels from the front gates that one time.”

You think I have time for shits like that? I just want to do my job and go home.

Not to mention, you were not paid enough to babysit. Since there is an obvious gender imbalance in the pharmaceutical industry where they prefer men over women (yes, this still happens in 2022) men in the industry treat women like babysitters. For example, they suddenly could not write their own names on the papers they’re supposed to sign. Or, they want you to cook a specialty dish for the company’s dinner so they can verify that you could actually cook. They’ll call your name in meetings to have you be proven wrong with the information that they most definitely had prior to the discussion. One thing you learn about the corporate world is that they will ask you questions they know they have an upper hand of. But you also know that if you wasted time thinking about this, you might as well ram yourself to a concrete wall.

New email. The pinging sound reeling you from your misfortune daydream. It is Park Jimin and you know this because he is the only one that starts an email to you with a smiley emoji. Iconic, this boy is, you thought. Even though he has been told off (probably since he started working here which was five years ago), under the premises of professionnalisme, he still brazenly unapologetically, continues to scatter emojis in his emails to you. In his defense, it is pretty much to appease him and light-up the miserable company. Hence, writing to you in an email was probably his favorite thing to do. The contents of the email was not as endearing as the start; that, you could vouch.

To: Production Executives, Ms. From: Jiminie, HR.

🙃Good Morning, Ms. I have come to remind you that your SOP on Material Packing PM011-01-12 Version 3 is due this week. I presumed you have not begun doing it because if you did, it would have been emailed to me by now. Now, before you could protest and say that you could extend the revision period by October, I’d like to exercise my rights as your subordinate that I will not be hung by the neck for the internal audit happening tomorrow. This is the third time the QA executives have been contacting me for this SOP. Please.

With 12 Batch Packaging Records (BPRs) stacking on the left side of your desk, Jimin’s email was really not welcomed. You peered over at Seokjin’s cubicle and saw that he too was plunged with paperworks need reviewing. Now he stood up from his chair and started carrying 3 BPRs making his way to your desk.

“Seokjin, pleasepleaseplease,” you pleaded but your cries were left in vain as he set those 3 thickest BPRs on top of your 12 stacks. Realizing words don’t work, you begged him with your eyes.

“Look. There is nothing I can do,” he avoided your eyes, “Downstairs executives are in quarantine, we’ll have to persevere. Listen, I did 5 and now the machine downstairs needs intervention, Yoongi isn’t around so— help me out here,” all colors had drained out of his face as he wiped them down with his hand, not even staying any longer to listen to what you had to say. Not that you had anything to reply to him. It is important to know your own skills, your strengths. Seokjin’s strength is to handle machines on his own so even without machine specialists, he is able to keep the production going. Along with that skill, he is the best at describing the mechanical issues in deviation or breakdown form. Your strength is to review BPRs in record time. On average, you could review 3 BPRs in an hour— that equates to 9 to 10 BPRs in 3 hours. For this to go at optimum speed, you arranged BPRs from the most urgent to the least.

If you reached your threshold, you could take 10 minutes rest on thinner BPRs. Leering your eyes back to Jimin’s desperate email, you sighed out the contents of your lung and did what Seokjin told you to do; persevere. The unbecoming of you slowly dragging away in these papers. You would think that with your 2-year experiences, it would get easier — it doesn’t. Your body is getting older, your impending mistakes pile up and your commitments make it impossible for you to move away from this current job because you’re living from paycheck to paycheck. So with the emails from Jimin replied with another plea for extension, your boss decided to ask upon changes in the schedule. To note, you had changed the sequence on a product and he wants to know why.

“Because the machine cannot run the unitbox sizes smaller than its specification,” you replied simply.

“Why not?” The boss thwarts.

You want to say that Yoongi said that it cannot be done but you know he’ll just imply or indirectly say that you’re too lazy to find out when he himself hasn’t left his shiny office in town to actually pay a visit at the factory to really know what the machines are.

“As per my last email, the machine cannot fold a unitbox with the length and thickness as specified by you. The machine had torn and significantly broke down when we re-run them. Hence, under the advice of both the senior machine specialist (Min Yoongi) and senior machine technician and engineer (Lee Young Kwang and John Kim), the EB machine doesn’t run under the specification.”

There is a full minute before the manager replies. You could swore that he was typing a very long paragraph but his replies consist only of, “OK.”

You’ve befriended John Kim and Lee Young Kwang enough to pull their name card because you know the manager can’t say more if those two were involved. Had it not been those two names and Yoongi’s, the manager would have pestered you more and forced you to run the unitbox with the specs he had aligned no matter how many unit boxes are sacrificed in order to have it done. Because he is shit like that.

In the end, you were unable to finish the last seven BPRs and because the shipments for those BPRs are in a week, you set them aside and packed your things to head home. You made sure you stopped by the pharmacy to pick up Yoongi’s medication and maybe buy some t-shirts he could wear. You got home with the lights on the dining table lit up. Yoongi was seated with his back to the main entrance. At the sound of the sliding door sliding open, he pushes the chair back with the back of his knee and wordlessly collects the things in your arms. The paper bags with the word “Pharmacy” on them, and recyclable bags full of shirts and trousers. He disappears into the kitchen while you stagger inside with your car keys. Your eyes fell to the view of books opened on the dining table, with its pages flickering in the presence of the wind from the ceiling fan.

“Shower or dinner first?” Yoongi asked from the kitchen. “Shower, needed to be underneath a showerhead for awhile today,” you casted your eyes down as you take a drink from the fridge. When you turned around, you saw about 3 side dishes prepared and a main course, so you changed your mind. There were two bowls of rice on the table and you realized that Yoongi had waited for you.

Only the sound of chopsticks hitting the ceramic bowl was heard throughout dinner. Yoongi found it odd. You sighed through your nose, eyes glued to the bowl.

“Is it the food?” Yoongi asked. “No! No… The food is delicious… It’s just— work,” you blinked.

“How are you?” you changed the topic. “The painkiller waned out, I’ll take another after dinner,” he chewed quietly.

“This is nice,” you smiled for the first time since you got home, “Having someone to cook at home after work is nice.” With every bite, you feel yourself heal.

“You know what else would be nice? A late night drive, night breeze and ice cream,” Yoongi proposed, well at least you thought he was.

“I ain’t driving on a weekday, that’s just, I’d rather sleep my misery away—” you collect your bowl in your hand before it gets hijacked into Yoongi’s hand and he in turn says to you with a smirk, “Who says you’re driving?” Then he scoffs.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to say it like that to the person who owns the car?” you arched an eyebrow at him as he takes the car key from the table.

“I’d take you on a bike ride but I’m injured, so,” he hollered from the door, “You’re coming or nah?”

That was all it took. So you were in your work attire, on the highway, not knowing where you’re heading or how long it’s going to take. Yoongi was going to decide all that. And he has done it with the least care in the world.

“What about the tolls? Fuel?” you fussed as you climbed into the passenger seat. “Sit your ass down, hush,” Yoongi pushes the vehicle to go. “It’s not far is it?” you scrunch your face.

Yoongi shakes his head. It was probably 20 minutes in where you started to feel like you’ve reached your destination. You spend the whole time sitting, and watching the forest that enveloped this highway. Yoongi didn’t say a word either. He pulls the car to a stop and parked by an unmarked lot. It’s not exceptionally dark. It had sufficient light to guide whoever came to a pedestrian walk nearby. You just don’t know where it leads to. The breeze washed over your face the moment you stepped out of the car. This familiar unfamiliar surrounding was pleasant. You were not really scared because you know Yoongi is nearby. You did however feign uneasiness towards his laxed appearance.

“Is this where you kill me?”

Listen to her, she says the most outrageous things doesn’t she.

Yoongi rolled his eyes to the side and trudged forward to an overgrown bush. He disappears in it and in a second, poked his head out to usher you to come with. This grumpy asshole.

“If you brought me here to de-stress, it does exactly the opposite—” you trailed as you saw a pretty lit pier. A wooden pier extending toward the middle. It looked like a pretty rad place if it was taken care of and the piers could really host a vendor stall. Along the coast, there’s even space for perhaps food stalls or bicycle rental centers.

“It’s built in the 80s to help tourism to this small town boom,” Yoongi began as he padded across the wooden makings of the pier, “This town was flourishing in the 30s and 40s as a mining ground for silvers. Everybody from the mainland flock to get some gist of the sparkling coast. By the 50s, well… everything changed.”

Train tracks were completed in the 50s, but silver dropped in price because of the war that sparked in the northern side of the country. The town barely survived, but they have taken everything from her. It leaves behind this large lake. The mayor’s son who also became the mayor in the 80s hopes to bring the town to its former dazzling shine. However his vision was cut short as the express highway hijacked the route and offered highway users a faster path to get across. The result of that? This pier had been abandoned. Vendors who used to sell roasted chestnuts here couldn’t cope with no customers and he was one of the last hawkers to leave the area. The year was 1993.

Now it lays here, abandoned. Forgotten. Unloved.

With the rocking boat tied with a frail rope hitting against the log every now and then, you would have thought the pier would be excellent for a horror movie scene. However, after Yoongi uncovered its sad fate and what brought it to this state, you couldn’t help but feel the heaviness in your heart for something you couldn’t change. It is familiar. In work, you have to often swallow things too big for your mouth and you have done so for many years, ever since you started to craft your career.

Returning from the short trip away from everything you’re used to was the thing you needed. The routine life had become exhausting. In the shower, you wetted your hair. You realized the shampoo bottles aren’t laying on its stomach anymore, in fact they are arranged neatly on the cabinet you don’t remember fixing. The shower curtain was neatly fastened on its clasp you couldn’t reach. And the bulb is not flickering. Yoongi had been busy.

You could only see his head bobbing up and down, some hushed whispers and the sound of the pen gliding across the paper. Walking out in your jammies, hair wrapped in a towel—you crept behind him. He was seated on the dining chair.

“I’ve done some calculation I need you to check,” he suddenly said to you.

You could have sworn he had eyes in the back of his skull because you had been told you were an immaculate creep. Slightly embarrassed and having no energy to retort what he just said, you were more interested in these calculations he had done. Pursing your lips, you glide your eyes down the intricate symbols and numbers. You tutted your tongue after what seemed forever and rested the palm of your in the back of his chair before leaning forward to him.

“What you’ve done is the shorter way. I’m not saying it is wrong, but if you go further in the following chapter, there is another formula that is derived from this one. This is simple but you might get confused with the one in the back. It’s one of the favorite exam questions too, this one,” you explained.

Your eyes tipped to his eyebrow and you couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Smiling, you told him to breathe.

“I am breathing,” he passed, abruptly. He picks up the pen again but this time, before the ink kissed the paper he was scribbling, you touched his chin and turned his face to look at you.

His busted lips are still a little swollen. You opened bottles of alcohol and a cotton swab, swabbing his wound. The used, bloodied ones are thrown in the nearby waste bin. Yoongi tips his head back so you cater to his lips better. You’re seated on the table, head leaning downwards to him. He winces at every stroke. His right hand fists and unfists at the pain. The lacerations along his arms and his knees required him to undress. After watching that he couldn’t lift his arm further than his shoulder, you take the brim of his black tee and take his arm out the holes. He avoided all eye contact. He hadn’t said a word.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” you said monotonously. Trying to hide the fact that you wanted to cry, seeing the bruises scattered around his body. The tattoos were distracting enough for most unassuming eyes but for someone who had seen it bloodied, the graphics don’t disappear too easily.

“If it makes you feel any better, they won’t do it again,” he explains. And this time, he tipped his eyes up to yours. There was something he was trying to say with his eyes but you couldn’t understand what it was. His breath fanned against your forearm, his eyelids fluttered.

“No it doesn’t make me feel better, but I do have the same feeling,” you dragged your eyes away and shrugged off whatever that just happened, “I am the boss but I can’t keep you sheltered.”

Yoongi nodded. Not out of understanding but realization. You were indeed his boss. And he is staying in your house. You noticed the minute changes. Like how he turned his shoulders away from you, taking the bottle of disinfectant away from you then the cotton swab.

“I’ll manage the rest myself, go to bed,” you heard him say with little effort.

You do have work tomorrow and because you returned from the pier, the time is already dragging to 2AM. As much as you want to be nice to him, play the push pull game with him, he has already shut the door to any conversation.

“Mkay,” you said, “Don’t forget to take the meds, or else you’ll catch a cold.”

He didn’t answer.

He in fact, did catch a cold. That morning before you leave for work, you made a welfare check to the extra room you had that he slept in, for two nights now. He was sweating but shivering underneath the blanket. Your hand flew to his forehead, cheek and neck. He was so warm. Feverishly warm. You ripped open his blankets and found that his shirt is drenched with perspiration. He was unresponsive, other than repeatedly saying that he was cold when his body was showing otherwise.

You have him downed a painkiller, put on socks and another set of blankets on top of him. You brewed him herbal tea and made him some chicken porridge. You left for work 10 minutes late. You lied to your superior that you had a car issue when really you were taking care of Yoongi. You can’t leave him spiked in fever. His temperature went down a bit before you left.

It was a little over noon when Yoongi woke up from his slumber. The heat from the double blanket chased him away. He was no longer sweating but he was hungry. There was a bowl of porridge by his bed, set on the side table. Spoon placed by it. He sat up in his bed and collected the bowl in his hand. He remembered flashes of you putting that same bowl by his bed before you left for work this morning. He remembered how small it was in your hand compared to his. It looked bigger. The first spoonful of porridge he grimaced.

“Wow,” he crumpled his face, “This tastes terrible.”

He took another spoonful and grimaced again, “She really can’t cook, can she. How can someone fail at making porridge? The easiest thing to make in the world…” He downs another spoon, complains and then another, and another, until he emptied the bowl. He sweeps them clean.

“Absolutely disgusting.”

But he savored every bite like it was his last.

Blame it on time. Or blame it on the fear. Yoongi had understood solitude — it was all he knew. The tattoos littered all over his body was his proof. For a while he believed that was what he deserved. For a greater half of his life, it was his fate.

Hastily, he shoved several clothes into a black plastic bag. He tied them up at the mouth and carried them over his shoulder. He wore a black mask and a black cap. He leaves the house locked, the books in his arms. He trudged on foot by the road. Dust flew as the trucks passed by. He made his way home. Shortly after leaving everything safe at home, he sped back out on his bike. Cigarette buds flew as he throttled into the road.

At work, you were struggling to find a machine specialist that would be available to clock-in for the night shift. Felix had refused because he had plans. Yoongi was supposed to be in, but you figured since he caught fever this morning, there is no way he would be able to crawl into shift. But you stand corrected because he is walking in right now. Lips still bruised and chapped but he wasn’t limping anymore. In fact he marches in quite coolly. At the end of the hallway was Gangster, smirking at the sight of Yoongi and just like that, you have your answers. Gangster have a number of colleagues who frequented around him. It’s easy to say that you could name names that could have collaborated in assaulting Yoongi that night.

“Yoongi,” you scrambled across your desk to capture him in time, your palm resting atop of his left pec as he continued to march forward as if you weren’t there. Your full strength did nothing to hinder him. You could see the fire in his eyes, full of silent hatred and in a glimpse; murder.

You have no idea what Yoongi will do when he gets to where Gangster was and you weren’t willing to find out. Seokjin had caught the impending battlefield ready to erupt so he caught Gangster by the arm only for Gangster to slip right through, spewing foul words like a barking guard dog at the sight of an intruder.

“I just want to talk,” in an oddly calm manner, Yoongi said. Even smiling as he spoke. You had chills trickling down your spine at how maniacal he looked. For a brief moment, you feared for your life. Clearly everyone in the factory knew what happened. They just didn’t do anything about it. Or more accurately, didn’t want anything to do about it.

You froze up as you stayed behind as Yoongi continued to pad towards the man.

Yoongi didn’t do more than just swatting invisible dust from the man’s shoulder.

“Thanks for the bruises,” he clicked his tongue and smirked, “You know me well enough to know that I’m always returning favors.”

Gangster went home to his house, well-aware of the things that could happen. His suspicions became perpetuating fear when he saw the liquid canister tied with a fishing line tilting when he tried to pry open the door. His electric box was left open with its wires sparking as it had been deliberately cut off. If he wasn’t careful, the liquid canister would have exploded and left him homeless. A mazeltov was thrown into his yard by a speeding motorcycle whose plate number had been scraped off.

His phone had rung and he picked it up.

“Next time, the canister would have contents,” the person hung up.

Jungkook texted Yoongi, “Done.”

It was as if you had witnessed the personification of the devil. Could you imagine being that angry and having to control your demeanor because it was your workplace? Because people were watching? Yoongi never ceases to amaze you. Routine checks are a must before you leave for the day. You have to inform Yoongi about the schedules because it has changed again. Yoongi is completely immersed in his work. The unitbox folding machine has been working aptly under his care. Upon your arrival, he wipes his greasy hands with a cloth and approaches you.

“After this batch, you’ll expect to run the next batch concurrently, correct? But there have been issues with the supplies. The night shift has mistakenly received the wrong code material so we have to jump to the next two batches straight away.”

Yoongi nodded, “Do I need to return the materials downstairs? To the logistics?”

“No need, I’ve put yellow labels on them. Make sure you check the materials before you lodge them in, okay?” you flipped the pages and told him to sign the checked-by slot while you signed the approved-by boxes.

“Fill in the current batches as well,” you added monotonously.

Yoongi noticed the subtle cold tones from you.

“So you’re just going to talk to me about work?” he chuckles dryly, scribbling on the notepad and keeping his eyes on the machine’s navigation screen.

“What else would I talk to you about? We’re at work,” you thinned your lips, letting your hand fall to the side.

“Meh, I don’t know, maybe ask me how I got well today or if my body hurts,” he smiled while tweaking the buttons on the screen to see its current settings.

“Ah,” you began, sitting on the edge of the table, “If you were in fact unwell, you wouldn’t be trudging your way forward to Gangster the way you did, Yoongi. The brazen act was self-explanatory, don’t you think?” you crossed your arm at him, lasering to the view of the back of his head, “Fucking scared me like that.”

“I thought you were scared of nothing,” his shoulders perked, throwing a side-eye at you.

“You know nothing about me,” you muttered to your chest.

“Maybe I could learn a thing or two, since I’m meeting your family soon,” he failed to read the room. Light chuckles leave his lips when you are eerily quiet.

“First thing you should know is I don’t like hostile environments,” you shot and left the room without any elaboration. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because you were too tired to explain. How could he have noticed? He was too busy getting worked up. And for a fair reason as well. He was beaten up by his coworker. He has all the rights to be angry. But you were there too. And you had never seen him like that. You froze up. Your knees buckled and you stood there like a statue. You hardly knew what happened, heard what was exchanged. You dissociated. It was an awful trip because when you return to your consciousness, you don’t remember many things. It blacks out.

— — — — —

The corporations send out email to all the participants that were listed into the advanced engineering program. They were set to meet for a short orientation as they are going to attend the classes while working. Yoongi will no longer attend night shifts in the period of 6 months that this program will take.

Yoongi brought his books he had been studying and the calculator, as he crept into the classroom, sitting by a familiar face. Jay is a newbie, an intern who Taehyung didn’t know what to do with in the six month he’ll be here. The HR (Human Resources) needed an extra hand because they’re also handling mass-interview for the new chemical plant next door so Jay stopped in to help.

“Hyung! I thought I saw your nametag,” the younger lad bowed at the sight of Yoongi and sat by the chair next to him.

“That’s a lot of books you’re carrying,” Jay grovels, “You’re already so invested.”

“I thought they gave you the books when you enrolled?” Yoongi tilted his head to the side.

Jay clicked his tongue, “This company who is so reluctant to give a pay raise and host a family day event gave you books for you to study AND a calculator? Completely unheard of,” he chuckled, Jay shakes his head, “Take your seat, hyung. I’ll get you a paper cup drinking water because they won’t spend on bottled water.”

That could only mean one thing and one thing only. You had bought him all these brand new things so he could study. Looking down his lap, Yoongi smirks and bit his lips right after. How interesting. These days have been warmer than before. Memories flood in like the dam has broken. Suddenly, he remembers the way you smile and what makes them dazzling. His palms get sweaty when he realizes the smile you tried so hard to hide from him he frequently caught when you look away. You probably had never smiled directly at him, but you had always smiled at the things he once held. The coffee mug he passed you, the pen, the paper, the packaging samples. You would smile as you tapped them down neatly and he would always turn behind him to catch that smile. At first he did it because he wanted to know if he had done a good job. Now he does it to see that little shoulder dance you make. He leaned forward in his chair as he was distracted by the thought of you, to bother to listen to what the programme’s instructor had to say. He pinches his brows in an attempt to hide the boisterous smile he had. Little did he know, he began scribbling heart shapes on his notes mindlessly. He does it to stay awake. He does it right now, in the comfort of his own home, with the calculator you gifted him thinking of calling you to give the apology he owed you.

Maybe he’ll take you to the tattoo shop to show you his part-time job. Maybe he could say the things he actually meant to say. Maybe being away from the factory, away from peering eyes, would give him much privacy for the things he had in mind.

If you would allow him to.

— — —

All you were ever good at was running away. So much for a girl born in quiet chaos. This made-up peace you had to create in order to save yourself. The warmth of the coffee mug you had brewed in the middle of the night was inviting. You bore into the screen of your work laptop, mulling in the incident that took place not too long ago. You find yourself at the crossroad of giving up and carrying on.

Suddenly the house you thought of buying didn’t seem so beautiful when you realize the person you had to like in order to get them is, or could be potentially unreliable. Yoongi did more than just scare you, the situation brought you back to your tumultuous upbringing you tried so hard to run away from. He made you feel unseen, unheard. It should not have dented your material wants but it did. All along it feels like a fever. Looking down in the dark liquid, you saw your own reflection and in that reflection you saw a little girl you hid a long time ago. That little girl is still very hopeful that one day you could love loudly.

“I’m protecting you, can’t you see?” you whispered to the reflection. The ripple in the mug erases the mirage of you.

It’s not safe to come out yet, little girl.

Just then, Yoongi texted. Your public holiday on Friday is, safe to say, filled. Driving to the pinned location, you find three small shops by the roadside. One with the neon sign ‘Barber’ on top, and right next to it was a grunge tattoo studio. In this daylight, there’s a kitty letting itself in when the door was opened by Yoongi. He smiled at you, wearing a black tee and dark jeans.

“We leave tonight, yes?” you hurried to say. “Yes madam,” he nods, holding the door open for you until you enter.

Artworks on the walls, all the way to the ceiling. There were only 2 chairs and one was occupied by a client and his artist. A black leather couch on the corner. An ashtray with a half lit cig on its edge, on the table, next to an opened can of beer you suspected to be Yoongi’s. There’s a rackbook full of comics and vinyl music. The walls were painted in a gray color complimenting the little furnishing all around the place. It smells like nicotine and a little leathery.

Noticing that you have been circling the area with your jaws hanging open, Yoongi taps your chin,

“You’ll start drooling,” he pushes his tongue against the insides of his cheek then he smiles and he does it in a way that was so subtle, you almost didn’t realize how it would look to spectators.

“Why did you take me here?” you crossed your arm, arching an eyebrow at his handsome back.

He is leaning down to fetch a towel that dropped, to which he threw into the soiled fabric bin. The tattoo artist lifts his head to acknowledge that you were there.

“He said you like tattoos,” the artist, whom you’ve learned was named Johnny Suh. Unlike the typical tattoo artist you saw on Tiktok, he wasn’t particularly heavily inked. In fact, if compared to Yoongi, Yoongi would have fit the role better with his appearances. Johnny was indeed larger in frame and he likes working with minimal music because it helps him listen to his client. This client he is currently having was experienced. He barely made a noise while the needle was literally digging into him.

“Heyya miss,” the client lifted his head a bit, smiling at you, “About to get one?” “I’m very interested,” you grinned before Yoongi cleared his throat and blatantly said, “If it's done by me, yes.”

“You would…?” you asked him dreamily. “In your dreams,” Yoongi darted.

Johnny tilts his head back and bare his throat. Now you could clearly see that he has a skeleton tattoo on his throat. You had to reel your eyes away because your thoughts were getting highly inappropriate. Not to mention that he could be someone’s boyfriend. As if he was listening in on your thoughts, Yoongi directs you to the empty sofa and has you seated.

“Eyes up here,” he points to his own, demanding your attention. “I don’t want to sit down, I want to watch Johnny work,” you wrestled him.

Successfully leaving him behind, Yoongi suddenly mumbled under his breath, “Suit yourself, you won’t be able to see me work.”

The main door opens and a tall, purple-haired lady walks in. Fishnet stockings, leather backpack, Chrome Heart jewelry. Yoongi sat himself on the artist chair, putting on his black gloves while she lay on her back and baring her chest to him. You were taken aback by the sudden reveal. Inching closer to Johnny, you looked down to your feet and gulped your saliva down your dry throat, suddenly feeling smaller than you already are. Johnny looks up at you and shakes his head as if to say, ‘Don’t worry, it’s just business, nothing more.’

“Yoongi, why don’t you introduce Byul to your girl,” Johnny suggested, “Or I’ll make her mine. She's already this close.” Johnny tips his eyes at you.

You let out a dry chuckle spitting, “You're so funny, you.”

“Hello Byul,” you go over to Yoongi’s station shyly, unsure how Byul would react with you bothering her session.

“Hi,” she chirped with a bright smile, through her pierced lips, nose and tongue. She looks so welcoming.

Yoongi’s applying a gel to help the stencils transfer better. He works gently and meticulously. Byul tells you how Yoongi began his tattooing work after he finished highschool and how she was a great fan of his work. Her body was littered with large and small petite artworks. And she says they all carry a hidden meaning to which Yoongi knows all. Yoongi hates working on thin-skin high-risk areas such as ribs, like the ones he is working on right now on her, because he knows how much pain is inflicted.

“Actually, I would usually reject work on this part,” Yoongi breaks silence, “I’m only doing it because Byul begged.” “You liked being begged, Yoongi?” you said with a sing-sang voice, aiming to toy over him and your efforts were repaid when his helixes turned bright red and his face flushed down.

“No, I don’t like someone begging me, it kills me,” he shakes his head and slowly lowered his gaze.

“What are you getting inked on, today Byul?” you twisted your head to see the transferred stencil and try to identify the flower, “Are those daffodils?”

“Yup,” Byul nodded, “They are my grandmother’s favorite and her birth flower. She passed in 2016 and I put her under my ribs, where she is closest to my heart because that’s where she has always been.”

“That’s a gorgeous spot right there,” you blinked away impending tears, “My grandfather passed away in 2016 too.” You reach for her hand as you see she lifts her hand to you. Pulling a tall stool in front of Yoongi’s station, you let yourself get mesmerized into Yoongi’s movement. The needle digging into Byul’s skin didn’t stir her one bit. She had very well fallen asleep as Yoongi worked on her forearm after her ribs.

“Since I have a permanent job, I can’t accept too many clients like Johnny does,” Yoongi answered your question, “I take maybe 1 client per 2 weeks when I don’t have night shifts. I guess it is a part-time job, like you said.”

You have always found the male’s wrist to be an attractive specimen. Yoongi’s wrist was exceptionally manly. His fingers are boney and you can see each connecting metacarpals towards the boxy wrist. When he flicks the tattoo machine, you could see his protruding veins leading up to forearms, covered by the sleeves of his short tees. Even through the black latex gloves, you could see the bones moving underneath.

By lunch, Byul’s tattoos were done. But Yoongi had to stop by his house to fetch his luggage so you could be on your way to your village by tonight. You had the back of the car opened, your lovely Mazda pops up its boot by command, you began arranging your own luggage to make room for Yoongi’s. Hearing his luggage rolling down the pavement steadily, you imagined he was closeby. Yoongi stood behind you, boxing you in between his arms and your back on his chest as he tried to help you to hoist the box to the left.

“You could have…” you move under then out his arm, “Told me to step aside.” You curled your hair behind your ear, visibly flustered.

Yoongi smirks when you walk to the front of the car into the passenger’s seat. He enters the driver's seat puffing then deflating his cheeks. The way he grips and stretches his fingers open over the wheels has you constricting your own lungs. You were unsure if the words of comforts you spewed would give him some semblance of calmness. His body stiffens even more after “It’ll be alright…”, “They’re just people,” and “Just breath.” His pupils constricted at the road ahead anyways.

“I’ll be right beside you,” you glanced outside at the darkening skies, the stars had invited the moon along for the journey. Afterwards, you feel him relaxed a bit. Blame it on the years you have worked with each other, or blame it on the intuition you’ve known to pick up since young, Yoongi’s emotions are abundant to you. Yoongi is used to masking his moods. Perhaps it's due to his water sign, or his earthy moon but Yoongi had always been firm and assured; and as a result, immobile in certain things. While being his superior, you figured out the way he worked. Yoongi works best in a predictable environment. He requires time to understand machines he is in-charged with and will take the necessary actions to better his services. That was one thing you found attractive about him; his tenacity.

I’ll be right beside you. Yoongi bit his smile and shifted in his seat.

“You’ll let me know if you’re sleepy?” you asked him. He nodded. You lay your seat back and Yoongi hurried to say, “Aren’t there more pressing things to address?”

With your shut eyes, “Like what?” He shrugs, “Like how many people are there in your family? How many siblings? So and so? What am I getting into?”

“There’s my dad, mom, me and my little brother. Two siblings including me. You’ve met Lisa and her husband. That’s the basics. But I expect more family members so it’s easier to introduce you once you’re there.”

Yoongi blinks rapidly, “You’ve seriously never dated anyone before. I feel like going to a lion’s den.”

You giggled, “Where’s the fun in knowing everything?” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “I want to be a good boyfriend, and probably in the future—” he gulps.

You smiled grimly, “In the future…?” Yoongi tips his head to the navigator, and starts to point to the Spotify tab to change the music, “Your taste in music is awful by the way.”

“Tell me what happens in the future Yoongi…” you poked his shoulder, “I pay for that Spotify account and the car’s fuel. But I want to know what the future looks like, Mr. Min.”

About 1.5 hours into the journey, you’ve silently fallen asleep by his side. Yoongi covers his yawn with his large fist, squinting at the dimly lit highway road and pointing his chin forward to keep himself awake. There were several cars heading the same way. There were some potholes that he avoided swiftly, careful not to wake you. Instead of speeding on the speed lane, he is driving on the slow lane at 80km/h. He had the volumes lowered so you could sleep peacefully.

So this is what the boss looks like when she falls asleep, he noted. Her mouth hanging open and albeit unattractively drooling. She is even softly snoring. Guess she was comfortable enough to show him this part of her. She could be rather childish. She dances on her favorite folk song. She bites her straw ends. She is severely a light sleeper but she’s not moving right now.

Yoongi hovers his index finger to your nostrils and retracts them when he feels some wind.

Tossing and turning in your sleep, your blouse had rode up your ribs. Yoongi scooted closer to pull the blouses down carefully. There are five hours left into the journey.

Three hours left into the journey. You found yourself under the warmth of an unfamiliar jacket. The musky cologne covered your nose. You blinked several times at the white neon sign outside a building when you realized the car wasn't moving. You sat up to see the driver’s seat was empty. Yoongi is outside, leaning against the car hood with his back to you— puffing smoke out. He hollows his cheek as he takes a lungful drag of the carcinogenic stick. The smoke parts into two as he exhales through his nose. He looks lost in thoughts and didn’t even realize that you’ve exited the vehicle until you slammed the door shut. He bends the cig and throws them on the ground before he steps on them, pushing them into a small shallow puddle. He moves away sniffling, and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yoongi…” you called for him but he moved away, shaking off his shirt and throwing in a chewing gum into his mouth, shrugging— hoping it would chase away the smell of nicotine on him, “Yoongi.”

“Y-yeah?” he spun around to face you, but he sways like a schoolboy caught smoking on the school yard. He avoids eye-contact. Eyeballs looking everywhere but you, until you marched towards him. Your palms roam over his body unwarranted and without verbal permission,chest pressed up against his, as he was imprisoned by your blazing eyes. You dug your hand roughly in his jeans’ back pocket to find a lighter. Then you moved to the front of his jacket, and searched the inner pockets to find his box of cigarettes, both open and unopened.

“You’re not getting your fix this week,” you grumbled back into the car, throwing him an acid glance enough to scald his tattooed skin.

Yoongi climbs into the driver seat slowly.

“I’m trying to stop,” Yoongi looked down in his lap, fiddling with the keychain guiltily. “I see you definitely are,” you scoffed.

It wasn’t new. You already knew he smoked. You knew for a while. You caught him smoking in the no-smoking area of the factory a few times during lunch hours. It didn’t slip off your mind. There was never an easy way to tell someone to stop a habit. You took out a blister of pills from the dashboard, pushed a pill out and downed it with a few gulps of mineral water he bought. After telling him that he should not be caught smoking at your parent’s house, you exhaled slowly. He could feel how disappointed you were. You know that he knows with the way he grips the wheel.

“I’ll minimize them,” he smashed his lips together, stealing glances to the side of you. “I could smell them on you,” you dashed. You threw yourself over his lap to grab on the compartment on the driver side. Your boobs and torso are on his lap right now and he is struggling to keep the wheels straight.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he groaned. “Damage control,” you hissed, “Stay still!” “I am!” “You’re not doing it right!”

You took out a perfume bottle from Bath & Body Works. When you were trying to sit up straight, you accidently pressed on his upper thigh.

“Lucky for you I always come prepared,” you grinned as you uncapped the fragrance spray and sprayed them on him.

“This girly smell is nauseating,” he commented through a scrunched face.

The audacity.

“Maybe you shouldn’t smoke then,” you shot, “And you’re my lover. It’s natural for you to smell like me.”

Then, you moved to his head, sniffing his hair. The nicotine smell is still there. Given up, you recoiled in your own seat, carefully planning the next move. Once you step inside your parent’s grounds, you’ll have to usher Yoongi into the bathroom so they won’t smell him. Chances for that to happen are less than zero so you’ll have to ask Yoongi to lie with you.

The navigation brought the car to a tall metallic gate. It opens at the point of the remote in your car. The main house is far from the gates with an expansive land scattered around.

“You’re an heiress?” He looks around in awe. “No, it's family land…” You shrugged while looking at your phone trying to find someone to call.

Yoongi looks at you, still inherently confused.

“It’s my uncles, cousins, aunties, grandmother living in the same neighborhood,” you explained, “It’s really corny if you asked me. Keeping the flock together is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I’m trying to leave this shitty place,” your eyes glazed around the suffocating people waving their hands at your arrival.

“And they’re supposed to be asleep, it’s past 1AM,” you grumbled, eyeing the village, unlocking the car door before it comes to a full stop and stepping out.

“You guys can meet him tomorrow, he drove 6 hours over,” you pushed them inside, but it was too late, your uncles had already hugged him. They would sniff the nicotine on him. You clawed at Yoongi’s jacket until it rode to the side, “He wants to go shower. The lorry drivers sat next to him, now he smells like them…” you added a nervous laughter at the end.

“Do we still have the guesthouse key?” you asked your mother. “What do you mean? He’s staying with you of course. The guesthouse is occupied,” your mom tipped her gaze onto Yoongi.

“By who?!” you thundered. “Lisa’s husband’s family!” mom replied as loud.

Yoongi carried his duffel bag and your two luggages up the stairs. His eyes wander like a little child. He had seen a baby grand piano downstairs, up the spiral staircase, a long hallway of doors and at the end was your room. Before he could even step in, you had blocked him. You tipped your eyes up at him, his chest inches away from you.

“Listen, whatever you saw in there, it has nothing to do with my personality at work. I’m a completely different person at work, I am your boss. And when we return to our regular life, should you ever use the information you’ve gained here against me, I will ensure a legal retribution, you understand?”

Narrowing the distance between you, Yoongi whispered back, “I could have ended your career with the things I’m presented with at your rented home itself. Just know that if I ever cared about ruining you, I would have done it already,” he tips his gaze down your lips and up again, “Boss.” He stands up straight again, pushing the door open and leaving you at the sills. Chills went up your spine as you realized that this is the first time you’ve let any males into your room. You thought he could at least be hesitant or careful when he steps in but he has already set the luggage and bags down and taken off his jacket.

He had an unreadable look on his face. Or rather he is trying hard to mask his emotions like he always does. Your room was light sage in color on all four walls. You’re a minimalist at heart so you have very few statement pieces. There’s a couple of unused large canvas leaning against the wall far in the corner. Your Queen-sized bed lay untouched with small floral duvets. There’s a rattan swing that looks out the balcony. Some of the canvas is covered by a silk cloth. Book racks full of books of every genre. Closet eroticas, Lang Leav’s September Love, Politics for Beginners and Chinese Civilization Bible. There is a huge canvas on the head of the bed and it looks very much like a…

“Is that a clit?” Yoongi smirked at you. “How did you see that? No one’s ever knew what it was unless I told them…” you panicked. “It’s obvious isn’t it? The labias, the darkened middle. The stars around it don't distract me from what it is,” Yoongi crosses his arm, pondering further in the art. It was most definitely a clit in the guise of a galaxy.

He poked his tongue against his cheek looking at you with a cheeky expression, “Would not have guessed the boss would like these things…”

Your index finger pointed to the sky to begin a defensive statement that isn’t formed in a timely manner. Yoongi’s sudden comment was not expected. He moves closer to the artwork hung next to it. You feel like your chest is bursting in colors as he takes his time to fully immerse himself into the art you spent hours making.

“A clit that looks like a galaxy, that’s genius,” he drawls. “We have an early morning,” you prepped the bed for sleep, “Go shower.”

Yoongi cracked his neck and tilted his head back. Again, a sneaky smile crept on his lips. He lays down on the bed and places his arm behind his head. All the while resisting you who was trying to push him off the bed so you could pull the duvet down.

“I know you’re not fond of makeup because I rarely see you wear some at work,” Yoongi tutted his tongue. “That’s an occupational hazard, pharmaceutical production does not allow make-up,” you pushed him hard but he didn't budge. “So I know that’s not for make-up is it?” Yoongi glanced at you then pointed to the ceiling with his chin, “What's the mirror that size doing up the ceiling, Boss?”

You slowly shut your eyes, totally forgetting about the mirror you installed on top of your ceiling.

“Are you sure you grew up in this room?” Yoongi propped an elbow and gave you his full attention, “When did you exactly move out? Your parents never question you about anything? Like the mirrors?”

You purse your lips in annoyance, “ Go shower for fuck’s sake.”

Yoongi sat up and pulled his shirt through his head. He balls them up and hands them to you. You took them and threw them at the laundry basket by the door.

“You surprised me…” Yoongi stared at your small back walking into the large bathroom, running the tip of his tongue along the insides of his mouth like he was preparing, warming up. You didn’t seem very fazed towards his cheeky questions. You were panicking at the clit reveal but after, you had tone it down because you probably found out that your horror was feeding his ego.

Yoongi has one last banter to offer. As he walked behind you, he whispered in your ear seductively, “You might not know this, but… I have a very strong tongue.”

“Is that why you keep on ignoring my instructions at work? Because of your strong tongue?” you hooked your finger on his belt hoop from behind, making him halt in his steps. A wicked grin plastered on your face, “You’re in my territory Yoongi. I’m nicer when I’m a boss.”

“I don’t kiss smoker’s lips,” you spoke to his bare back and enjoyed the sight of goosebumps rising on his skin, “Have a cold shower.”

You had barely touched him and he is not as chatty as before. It wasn’t difficult to see the effects of everything he had unwillingly learnt about you. The clit painting, the mirror on the ceiling. He ignored the cuffs and lubricants on the bedside table you tried to hide. His brain is raking itself, trying to figure who you used them on. He wonders if you have stored some of the toys at the rented house and if you did, you’ve done a good job in hiding them. He needed a cold shower. He is unsure how he is going to sleep on the same bed as you are and not imagine how you’d be using the toys.

He shakes his head, in an attempt to shake the thoughts away. He stepped out of the bathroom to see you in bed, already showered and was scrolling down your phone. He then saw a small tent.

“Your bed,” you said, pointing your chin to the tent. Yoongi poked his head inside to see a sleeping bag and a night lamp.

“How homey,” Yoongi sighed.

And you were out like a light. The journey has been long and you should be tired. You were not concerned with how Yoongi presents himself even if you dreaded he smells like nicotine. The long term goal is to have him long enough to purchase the house you wanted so you could be free from your family. The tradition this family has had imprisoned you that your only refuge was your room. The familiar and stress-free environment shouldered you comfort that Yoongi particularly didn’t share. The poor thing was wide awake and had snuck out of his tent. He knows he can’t leave the room without you noticing. He was also itching for a drag of cigarettes he was refrained from having. He had to distract himself. He can’t drink, he can’t smoke. What he could do was snoop around this large room on his knees.

Book racks show someone their personality. Yoongi begged to differ. Often, the books on the racks are what aspires to be, or rather the knowledge they chose to feed on. Yours was a plethora of genres that it is almost distracting to say the least. Ranging from crime noirs to sabbatical histories to self-help then to rom-coms; it is almost as if you had multiple personalities inside you. But his attention focuses on a line of book that appears nothing descriptive like the others. He took them out by the spine and brought them into his tent.

The morning invited itself into the room by the large windows. Apparently, Yoongi had left his make-shift tent to tend to grandmother’s garden. She recalls that the tomatoes needed to be plucked and some green beans needed to be replanted. You’ve slept long enough to miss the strenuous two activities that Yoongi had performed alone, he is now sitting on the beige wooden bench, admiring the breezy morning watching Lisa’s incompetent husband set up folded tables and chairs. The seniors in the family had invited him for tea breaks at 10 AM.

Boisterous laughter greeted you as you padded down the wooden patio, where the event is due to take place tonight. Lisa was really adamant into using the larger garden because she had envisioned them in one of her many dreams— a dream of which she will stop at nothing to achieve. Her husband pulling out silent heaves every time she looked away was a clear indication that bridezillas will shapeshift into a maternity monster once they’ve carried a baby; correction, babies— she had twins, you reminded yourself mentally.

Though you have to say, you’re very much impressed with her husband because you would have committed a felony if you were married with such a difficult being. Glancing around the garden at the seniors enjoying their scones, you caught a very gentle presence at the far corner on the wooden bench with his head tilted back, jaws clenched and shut eyes, enjoying the morning in silence. He wore a black padded jacket and a white undershirt, and his neck tattoo is out in the shy sun. His hair moved at the gentle strike of wind and his arms were spread along the length of the bench. You take the mug away to make yourself some space to sit next to him. You took a sip of that black tea in his half drunk mug and winced at the awful taste.

“Isn’t too early for such a bitter liquor?” you scrunch your face at him while he peeks at you through his lashes.

“Good morning,” he smiled as he closed his eyes. “Granny said you plucked all the tomatoes and replanted the beans for her. Quite heavy duty but not a trace of sweat on your face, did she lie?” you accused him and leaned back on his left arm.

“You just want to see me sweat, panting, you perv,” he collects his arm and crosses it, “And it’s not liquor, it's herbal tea. It’s supposed to help replenish energy. I’ve done my part for the family, what’s yours?”

“Sit still, look pretty,” you shot monotonously, “It’s boring. I’m so bored. There’s no reception in this God awful place. I feel my phone is draining its battery just to search for landlines.”

Yoongi snickers, “Forget about work once in a while. The company won’t go down in flames just because you missed a few days. Besides,” he snuck his hand inside his padded jacket, “I found something you’ll find interesting.”

An awfully bright pink vibrator was revealed from his hand, to which you scrambled to grab. He waved them around and you followed after a tad slow. Low cusses and frantic hisses while you were covering the sight of it when you snatched them from him. Your soul almost left your body.

“That was not funny!” You growled, “What’s the matter with you!” “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody here is old enough to know,” Yoongi sits up and faces your burning expression. “Yes, but I’m not ready to show you that part of me,” you hid the vibrator under you.

In a blink of an eye, Yoongi turned his face towards you, just inches away. His warm breath wafts against your supple cheeks. His pupils dilated prominently and you feel his fingertip grazing the back of your neck to hold you still.

“Yoongi.” “Shh.”

Your blown pupils and heaving chest held your breath, constricting your lungs. His free hand hover the side of your face and pinches a tiny eyelash that resides on the apple of your cheek.

“Eyelash…” he retracts, awkwardly.

Then he rightfully snickers. Brazenly, you corrected yourself.

“What’s funny now?” you moved away. Yoongi swiveled his head back and smiled wider. If he is looking to annoy you more, it’s working very well.

“You’re so easily worked up…” he sneers, menacingly, “It’s too obvious that you haven’t played these games.”

“You’re looking down on me?” you propped your elbow on the bench top. “No, I wouldn’t dare,” he huffs but you know from his leering tone that he meant the exact opposite. He feels like he had the upper hand of the art of seduction. You have always liked those challenges. You would not be a lady boss if you weren’t the right amount of cunning but it is always fun to downplay your target.

“I wouldn’t deny that I may be out of practice,” your voice dropped an octave lower and became a little raspy for comfort. You inhaled gently, dropping your eyes to his lap and torso before it glided up to meet his unexpectant pair.

“But out of practice does not mean that I’m not capable of it,” you zipped his padded coat up slowly, “...if you show too much,” your voice is now is whispers, lips nearing his cheek and ear, “people will think you’re a…” you lightly brushed your lips against his earlobe, “...whore.”

You stretched your arm, pressing your chest against his to grab the mug of tea he had hid behind him. While holding the stare, you stood up from your seat and took a sip from the same spot where he placed his lips. Not long after, he took off his padded jacket and placed it on his lap where an apparent boner happened to appear. He decided that if he stayed there any longer, it would be even more suspicious so he covered his front and walked behind you like a dog with a tail between his legs. You heard him calling you from behind, in hisses.

“What?” you grunted. “I have a problem,” he sounded out of breath.

You looked at him and tilted your head to one side. There are so many people in the kitchen right now. Your grandmother had a basket of tomatoes. The kids are throwing balls, narrowly missing the pot filled with water on the stove. Your mother is screaming at the kids for playing. Lisa was trying to explain the direction of the event to a friend on the phone. Your cousin is chasing one of the twins from Lisa’s in law, not to mention all the men are watching sports on television and cheering very loudly.

“Man problem,” Yoongi pants in your ears. “Like bills?” you squinted in confusion. “No like, anatomically,” he scrunches his eyes shut and let out a strangled moan as he pushed against your bum when your cousin pushed him to the side.

“Hey!” You scolded your cousin. “He was in the way!” she passed.

“Yoongi, babes, you need to stop talking in cryptics—” you waved your hand around and he grabbed your wrist holding the mug to a door leading to the basement. He yanks the door open and yanks on the light bulb string.

“I have a boner,” he pleaded. The way he said it, has blood gushing to your groin immediately. He sounded so desperate and in complete distree. His face was contorted asking for a pity you would give him and having none yet, he downcasted his eyes.

“Hold on,” you sniffed into the mug he was drinking tea with, “How many of these did you have?” You locked your gaze at him and took another careful sip. After that calculative sip, you were certained.

“I don’t know, two bottles or 3, can’t remember,” he moves away, turning to face the wall in the tiny room, palming his clothed boner but being careful, “I’m sorry but I can’t be civil right now, what was in that tea?” he groaned, then he bits his lips. He rested his forehead on the wall and struggled to breath quietly.

“It’s an aphrodisiac tea, it’s made of morning glory,” you said with a smile, “Did no one told you to never take drinks from a stranger?”you covered your smile, looking at his broad shoulder, as he heaves.

He breathes heavily right now, you could feel the heat coming off his body. He pants loudly through an O-shaped mouth and shut eyes.

“What do you usually do when this happens?” you scratched your temple, supervising over his condition objectively although you must say the way he was acting makes you quite sticky in between the legs.

“I tried pinching myself, and lifting one leg but it is not going down,” he huffs, “I think I might have to ride it out…” “How can I help?” you smiled innocently behind him.

“No-no, I can’t face you,” he shakes his head.

“How cute, you’re thinking of your pride during this difficult moment,” you tied your hair up and exhaled, “Alright, let’s do it this way.”

You take his padded jacket from his hand and throw it further into the corner where it was darker. You pressed your chest against the middle of his back and placed your palm underneath his white tee, then you whispered, “This okay?”

He nodded.

“Can I touch you where you need me most?” you asked him gently. He nodded frantically again.

“Words,” you commanded and retracted your hand a little. The move earned you a little whine.

“Y-yes,” he hisses.

“At any time you want me to stop, just tell me ‘stop’ ‘kay?” you said to him, kissing his tattooed neck as you moved your hand past his waistbands and into his boxers. He hikes a deep inhale through his nose. His knuckles are turning white against the wall in front of him. You hushed him gently as you stroked his hard length. It is difficult to see from this angle the shape of it but provided your tiny hand, he has just the right girth and mass over his package.

“You make such lovely sounds,” you smirked against his back, taking out the vibrator he brought today, “But you can’t make too many, or else they’ll hear you. We don’t want that, do we? You wanted to be a good son-in-law, remember?” You flipped the on switch on its lowest frequency and you placed the vibrator over his jeans. He let out a stuttered whimper in a low guttural tone. You flick your wrist as you go down his length and increase the tempos as needed, being very attentive to his responses.

“Just concentrate on the release, baby,” you sound like a snake, wrapping yourself around your meal that was Yoongi. He furrows his brows, focusing on how good your soft hand feels against his shaft, moving up and down, stroking him deliciously. He concentrates on the build up that is coming on rapidly with the help of the insolent vibrator and how he is cursing on that machine for how he is feeling so utterly bare in the hands of his boss— literally.

“Com-coming, coming, coming coming,” he chanted in short gasps, “Oh baby don’t stop, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop…please-please-please”

Your hand was very well sticky, with the white gel-like texture covering your every finger, but he was still sputtering releases so you continued stroking until he forcefully took your hand out because he was overstimulated. Then he turns around to face you— frightened, terrified or rather, a harrowing expression he wears on his face as if he had committed a informidable, intangible sin. Holding your gaze on him, you take your hand— the one covered in his seeds and licked them clean with one stripe of your tongue, all the while staring at him.

“Fuck.”

Like a switch, he cupped your face and plastered his lips on yours like you stole the oxygen from him. He presses his hip against you until you’re backed up against the wall, leaving the hammers, metal rulers clattering on the floor. There is such little room to move around so you’re left under his demonic takeover as he ravages your cavern, his tongue dominates yours easily. He could taste him in you and it was driving him to his edge. He clamped his teeth on your bottom lips, opened his eyes to look into yours and slowly dragged them. He closes his eyes again, and slides his hand down the sides of your body, memorizing the way you feel under his palm as he towered over you. You patted him urgently, finding the need to breathe but he only moved to your neck and chin. Figuring that he would not stop, you yanked the back of his hair until you see his Adam’s apple protruding on full display.

“Boy, you just kept on going huh?” you yanked his ear closer to you and whispered hotly. You wiped your hand on the inside of his tees and walked out yelling, “Grandma! No more morning glory tea!” Yoongi hastily zips himself up.

It snowballs. On your side, his reaction was typical for someone who had consumed the tea but the poor boy was so embarrassed. And albeit traumatized. Your grandmother had an earful nagging from you until attentions towards you were hijacked by Lisa. So now you’re on the sandy beaches with Yoongi to buy several things your mother asked you to. There is a wet market still open.

“Are you going to ignore me the rest of the time we’re here?” you passed a look over your shoulder.

Silence. He rubs his hands together, boring a new tee after he has showered. Squinting his eyes at the glaring sun. “I’m sorry,” he let out after what seemed to be the loudest sigh he let out all day.

“For what Yoongi,” you scrunch your face, “I’m simply helping you out on a hard day…” you added a naughty giggle after the thoughtless joke you made.

“You’re the worst, you know that,” Yoongi mumbled to his chest.

“How am I the worst!? You needed it,” you walked backward to see him dig his hand into his jeans’ pocket.

He avoided all eye contact.

“I wanted it to be special at least after we’ve officially… you know, start seeing each other,” Yoongi pursed his lips, “Everything is moving so fast.”

Right. To you, it was just an effort to get Yoongi to sign the lease on the house you wanted. To Yoongi, this was an actual progress of a relationship.

“Bro, if we’re moving at your pace…” you shake your head and the thought dissipate, “Thanks to you, now we look like a proper couple, who fucked in utility closet.”

In the back of Yoongi’s mind, he was far from the ideal son-in-law. And is actively thinking of ways to redeem himself. And the other person, did not care one bit, unbeknownst to him.

#the specialist #ts #min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts #agust d #yoongi fanfic #fic suga #kpop fanfiction #kpop #kpop fanfic #fanfic suga #yoongi fic #yoongi yn #yoongi x reader

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gutsby · 1 month

Text

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

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