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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

Along the Line

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, sex pollen, smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, handjob, p in v sex), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, love confessions

Summary: After you get hit with a chemical on a mission, Bucky has to take care of you. But he won't do the one thing that will fix it, no matter how much you want him to.

And he wants it too. Maybe more. And, at some point, something has to break.

Author's Note: Sex pollen won the poll. First Thunderbolts fic. Big things happening. Enjoy!

Word Count: 11.4k

“I told you this was a bad idea, Walker.”

“Yeah, you’re a genius. Do you want a trophy that says I knew it was a bad idea, or a sash-“

“Can I have a trophy?” Alexei pops into the screen, and you really don’t think this has to be a group activity. “I could make it into a very fancy cup!”

You’re lying flat on the granite counter of the safe house, Bucky stiff at your side as he glowers to the video feed, and you might be dying. Or just burning alive. There’s a hot prickle over your skin that’s only getting worse, a series of cramps in your gut that feels like you’re being shredded apart then slammed back together, and an ache between your legs that isn’t foreign—at least, not when Bucky’s present—but is far too powerful given the circumstances.

Maybe you’ve just lost it. You had been giggling an awful lot while Bucky killed all those Hydra agents, but he’d also called you doll again, and there had been a blissful, fuzzy feeling over your skull. And you’d moaned—really loudly, too—right in Bucky’s ear when he’d hauled you over his shoulder and carried you out of the building.

“Fuckin’- Gonna throw Walker off a roof- We all told him this was a stupid new protocol-“

You’d hummed along to his grumblings, and most of your attention had been fixed on his hair. It was longer now. And he’d been taking care of it, so it was soft, and kind of smelled like vanilla. You’d wanted to tug on it. To run your fingers through it and see if he’d hum. Maybe yank on it while he was deep inside of you-

His muscles had flexed around you, and you’d whined that time.

Whined and buried your face in his neck, before biting back tears as he’d tensed.

The line.

You’d had to remember the line.

Bucky smiles at you more than most people, but the line means that smiles are all you get. He sticks to your side most days, but you’re pretty sure he just feels responsible for you. You’re the lost puppy they picked up off the street. Sweet and likable, but mostly useless.

You aren’t useless.

You try not to be useless.

That’s part of the line, too.

You do a little more for Bucky than the rest of them. You’ll make sure Yelena has all the hamster food she needs, track down Bob all those coloring books he likes so much, and explain to Alexei that no, the government does not know how this season of Yellowjackets is going to end, so you’re not going to ask. But they can figure those things out themselves.

You think.

The point of your job is that none of these people have ever lived normal, 21st century lives, and they need to be likable to the public so please teach Ava about knocking, but none of them are stupid.

They could all live without you.

Bucky maybe the most of all. He has lived a life. He managed to—some fucking how—get his way into congress.

So the line is do everything for him, because you’re a pathetic idiot with a crush on her boss, but also don’t do so much that you’re over stepping.

Prioritize all his questions but don’t neglect the others. Return all of his smiles, and talk to him whenever you can, but he always has to initiate it. Always come when he calls—you really are a puppy—but don’t abandon other conversations for him.

Be an idiot, but keep your dignity.

You’ll let him flirt with you—he doesn’t flirt with you, he just makes polite conversation, and you look at him like he’s sprouting gospel—but you won’t encourage it, because you really do like this job. It pays well. It’s morally questionable, but no well-paying job isn’t. And you’re going to use this money to pay off all your debts, and then your family’s debts as well.

So if Bucky offers you his arm at an event, take it, and pretend you don’t want to grab him by the collar and climb him like a tree.

If someone makes a comment—passing jokes from Walker about how you’re supposed to work for all of them, not just Barnes, or a dry look for Yelena when Bucky says good job and you flush like he just called you pretty—brush it off. Don’t make it weird. It’s obvious, and everyone knows, but don’t make it weird.

You’d whined, though. Whined and tried to nuzzle into Bucky as if he’d want that.

You made it weird.

And you’d pulled back with a mumbled apology, but Bucky had just grunted. You hadn’t spoken for the rest of the walk back to the safe house. If Bucky’s hand on your thigh had been squeezing on purpose, you’d bitten your tongue until you’d tasted the tang of blood. He couldn’t have been doing it on purpose. And you couldn’t make it weird. Again.

You’d gagged yourself with a cloth, when Bucky had set you down on the counter. If he’d thought anything of it, all you’d gotten was raised brows and a small frown before he moved on. Gotten you a second cloth—cold and wet and resting on your brow to combat the dry fever—and called the tower to report that the new protocol was, in fact, a stupid fucking idea.

“Nobody’s getting any trophies.” He grunts, his arms crossed over his chest, and you want to spring up and tackle him.

Maybe the metal arm could go inside of you, while the other one wrapped around your neck and kept you still against his chest, and that low, commanding voice would be right in your ear-

You’re moaning again. And your hips are jerking off the counter.

It’s a good thing Bucky positioned himself where he did. You don’t need everyone to see you humping the air to the thought of metal fingers inside of you, cold and hard, pressing deep into your cunt at an abusing pace and-

That might have been another moan.

The sound might have been too close to Bucky.

Fuck.

“Hey, I’m not handing them out,” Walker raises his hands on the screen. “And Yelena’s the one who started it-“

“No, I did not-“

“Uh, yeah you did. You said my idea was stupid-“

“It was stupid! It is going to get the bumblebee killed-“

Walker voice becomes almost a whine. “She’s not dying, she just got drugged! We’ve all been drugged, it’s not that big a deal-“

“Walker.” Bucky grunts, and that’s his everyone shut the hell up and listen voice, and your nails are digging into your skin with the effort not to grinding onto your hand. “Shut up. It was a stupid fucking idea-“

“But-“

“She’s a civilian-“

“She should know how to defend herself-“

“She shouldn’t have been here.” Bucky’s yelling now. The world is blurring slightly, and he’s not mad at you, but it’s still making your heart howl.

He’s not mad at you.

He still said he didn’t want you here. With him.

The line says you should swallow that, then cry in your room later.

But whatever is making your heart burn and your skin feel raw doesn’t care about the line. It’s just pressing on your eyes and feeding the sting behind them, lumping in your throat and shaking at your lips-

The first sob is soft, and weak. Muffled in the gag. If you’re lucky, too quiet to hear-

You’re not lucky.

Bucky turns to look at you with wide eyes, his brow furrowed in tight lines your fingers are literally fucking itching to trace, and you shake your head.

No attention. If he’s kind, he’ll pretend he can’t see the tears rolling down your cheeks and he’ll ignore you and let you just choke on it. On the overwhelming soreness in your chest and the way your heart is pressing into itself until hairline fractures start to form, and soon they’re going to turn into chasms and why is he moving, he’s a good man that should let you deal with your own problems, so why the fuck is he moving-

A warm, calloused hand rests on your face, wiping your cheeks before moving to your brow, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. If you look at Bucky hovering above you, you’ll either cry more, or moan his name again. If you turn your head you’ll see the rest of the team on the computer, and they’ll be looking at you with all that sympathy—the kind that calls you weak—and you’ll scream.

Eyes shut.

Don’t lean into his touch, even when his finger tangle slightly into your hair. Even when thumb brushes over your lips—why the fuck is he doing that too, he must secretly fucking hate you—hold the line. Don’t open for him. Don’t moan his name into the gag. Don’t-

“Shit.” Bucky’s voice is low, and you squeeze your eyes tighter. “You’re- Shit-“

“What is wrong with the bumblebee?” Alexei calls from the computer, and you can hear Yelena’s sigh.

“Walker’s brilliant plan got her exposed to something. She’s sick.”

“It was a brilliant plan-“

“She is crying, you dickshit-“

“I think you mean dipshit-“

“I am going to kill you-“

“Alexei.” Bucky grunts, his hand still on your face. You’re losing resolve. You’re going to lean into his touch. “Don’t let them kill each other.”

“Do not worry, Barnes. I will stand right between them, and their attack will not affect- Ow!”

Bucky’s hand moves away.

Thank Christ.

“Yelena, why did you punch me-“

“I was trying to punch John, and you were in the way-“

“Yelena.” Bucky’s voice is a little further away now.

You’d wanted him to move away. It was best for everyone that he moved away. You can open your eyes and stare at the ceiling now.

But where his hand had been now feels white-hot, like he’d lit you on fire then poured liquid nitrogen over your skin. And it’s spreading. Through your blood before pooling in your gut, then leaking between your thighs-

“I need you to focus. Walker, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything-“

“Good. Keep doing that.”

“Whatever-“

“That’s not shutting up.” Bucky says your name, and you really hope he’s still blocking you from view. You’ve started to palm at your breasts—just for something—and you don’t really want to be a full, on display sex show. “We need to focus on her.”

Fuck. Your eyes roll back in your head, and his words are sending shivers through your whole body. Up your spine and over all your nerves, and he’s nowhere near you now, but he’s still fucking talking, and that seems to be more than enough.

“Whatever was in that gas, it’s making her- She can’t walk without falling over. And she’s got a fever.”

“A fever?” You can hear the frown in Yelena’s voice. “How bad of a fever?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a thermometer. But,” you turn your head slightly to see the screen, just in time to watch Walker’s mouth snap shut. “I can feel her skin burning. It’s bad. I need options.”

“Options?”

“What can we do.” Bucky mutters, and you can’t see his face, but there’s a strain in his voice that just makes you want to moan for him again. “We’re miles from a hospital, and it’s a two-day flight back. I gotta know how to make it better until we get pickup.”

Yelena hums, her eyes meeting yours through the camera. “Why is there a gag in her mouth.”

“I- Uh-“ Bucky glances over his shoulder, and you choke on another whimper. “She did that. To herself.”

“Can she talk?”

“Yelena-“

“Take the gag out.” Yelena shrugs, still holding your gaze. “She can tell us what she feels.”

No.

That’s a horrible idea.

And you’re trying to tell Bucky that, before it’s too late. Trying to plead with him, using an open, desperate expression. Begging him with your eyes to ignore Yelena and say that he can see that you’re in pain, so the best thing to do is just send the jet.

But he just glances at you, his jaw tenses, and he shakes his head.

It doesn’t look like it’s for you.

It still pulls an almost broken howl from your throat. Like he’s driving a blade right into your chest.

His knuckles brush your lips as he moves the cloth out of your mouth. He won’t look you in the eyes.

The howl splits through the room, falling into more of a whimper by the end, and if the ground opened up, you’d jump down to hell without a second thought.

There’s a long, taut silence—Bucky still won’t look at you—and Yelena clears her throat.

“Are you in pain?” She says your name carefully, and you nod. “Can you speak?”

“Yes.” Your voice is barely a breath, and Yelena’s lips move into a thin line.

“Bucky, she needs to be closer. I cannot hear her from there.”

Bucky grunts, and suddenly you’re being scooped up into his arms. Your face is near his neck again, and you’re being cradled right against his chest, and you can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat, or his-

“Why didn’t you just move the computer, man.”

Bucky tenses around you. “Shut up, Walker.”

“No, I’m not insane about this one. I mean, Alexei, he could have moved the computer right- Fuck!”

“You are not helping.” Yelena snaps, and Walker groans from somewhere off the screen. “Be quiet, or go.”

Walker sighs, but doesn’t move away. There’s a tightness to his face that’s mirror on Bucky and Yelena’s, and that can’t be a good sign. You haven’t even said anything yet.

Yelena says your name carefully, leaning closer to the camera. “What are you feeling.”

“A- a lot.” You whisper, and someone’s—you’re still not clear on if it’s yours or Bucky’s—heart stumbles slightly. “My- Skin. It’s on fire. And, um- I- My throat hurts, and it’s so much and empty and cold-“

“Cold?” Yelena cuts you off with a frown. “You are feeling cold?”

You nod, then shake your head. “It- I’m feeling everything. I- It’s- It’s like I’ve been turned up to a million and it all hurts-“

“Does anything feel good?”

Bucky. Bucky feels good. The feeling of him all around you and the smell of that shampoo and his woodsy body wash. The strength of him around you. Bucky feels so good-

The line.

You nod, and bite your tongue again. You can’t say it. Everything falls apart if you say it.

And Yelena sighs, scanning over you carefully, and shakes her head.

“Bucky, leave the room.”

He goes rigid. You don’t love the idea either. “What.”

“Put her back on the counter and go outside.”

“I am not-“

“Do you want to help her?”

“Of course I-“

“Then go.”

No.

No, no, no. He can’t leave. If he pushes you away it will be like shooting you with a toxin, he can’t, no-

Bucky sets you down with far too much care, and you’re not fast enough to squeeze your eyes shut. He’s cupping your face. Forcing your gaze onto his, looking right into you with an unreadable expression, and your mouth is falling open—a split second from begging him to stay—but he shakes his head.

“Call for me. If you need anything.” His grip tightens, and your hand flies up to his wrist. “I’ll be upstairs. I-“

“Bucky.” You whisper, and something flashes over his face. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you’re asking for. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

Bucky flinches back as if you’ve burned him, grumbles something to Yelena you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears—it was his heartbeat—and then stomps away. When your vision clears—it’s unclear when you started crying, but you’re really starting to lose track on everything—the laptop is right next to you, and nobody is on the screen but Yelena.

“Are you done?”

You nod, wiping your nose with your sleeve, and she lets out a slow breath.

“Good. I mean, keep… Letting it out. As you have to. But if you are done, we can talk.”

“Yelena-“

“I am going to ask you a question.” She holds your gaze, and your arms wrap around your stomach. It’s honestly a miracle you haven’t collapsed to the side. “And you will need to be honest.”

Your voice is still too soft. “Okay.”

“What are you thinking about, right now. And,” Yelena raises her brows before you can answer. “Honest. Whatever you are thinking, I have seen and thought worse-“

“Bucky.” You whisper, and the floodgates open. “And his hands. And arms. And legs. And his face, his face is so nice, and his beard and hair look so good, and I- I need him- His hands- In me. And he smells so good, and I think he’ll taste good too, and if he kisses me I’m going to die- And if he doesn’t touch me I’m going to die- and he- he won’t look at me-“ You’re fucking crying again. You can’t stop. “And if he doesn’t look at me I’m going to die- But if he does look at me I’m going to- Shit, I want him to look at me and touch me and kiss me and his hands-“

You take a long, shaking breath as darkness creeps at the corner of your vision, and Yelena blinks at you.

“So you are… Thinking about Bucky.”

Fuck.

You give a tiny nod, and she-

Grins.

“Oh, thank God.” Yelena leans back in her chair, running a hand over her face. “I was actually worried. I mean- If I say Bucky’s cock, what-“

You let out a loud, lewd moan, and Yelena’s still grinning.

“And if I say we all hate you-“

It’s immediate. The rush of pain tightening in your chest, almost like an electric shock. You burst into tears, pulling your knees right up to your chest, and Yelena’s eyes widen.

“Oh, shit-“

Something slams, and Bucky’s shouting your name far too close to your body. He shouldn’t be close to him. He hates you, they all hate you, you’re going to get fired and die alone and empty and you can’t breathe-

“What the fuck did you do to her-“

“I was testing it! I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

“Obviously you didn’t fucking think-“

“Don’t yell at me, Bucky, I was helping-“

“She’s fucking crying-“

“I know, I-“ Yelena says your name, and you curl into a tighter ball. “We don’t hate you. Nobody hates you. You’re the bumblebee. You do all the work, and you’re sweet, I was- I was just kidding-“

“Just-“ A hand rests on your shoulder. You’d recognize it as Bucky’s even if there were a million others, pulling you right down into Hell. “You told her we hate her?!”

“It was a test-“

“What the hell, Yelena-“

“I can fix it! Listen,” she repeats your name, and you choke on the air. “We do not hate you! Shit, it’s- Bucky loves you!”

That’s your heart. Doing the scratch and break and rewind. Stumbling over itself before kicking up to pace that’s going to burst right out of your chest. And the silence in the air is too long, and too heavy, and you want to keep crying but you also feel like you’re sort of high. He loves you. Yelena might be lying, but she’s not the type to lie about that, so Bucky loves you-

You’re giggling again.

Something is seriously fucking wrong with you.

“Yelena.” Bucky grunts, and at least he’s still touching you. Because he loves you. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“A lot, but- Look! She’s smiling! And I know what she got hit with!”

There’s a long pause, the only sound your soft, breathy laughs—Bucky’s starting to rub circles on your back, and you can feel the moan building back up—and Bucky clear his throat.

“Are you going to fucking tell me?”

“I was getting to it. Keep your pants on.” Yelena laughs. “I mean, for now-“

“Yelena-“

“It is an old gas. The red room used to use it for torture.”

Broad, strong fingers still on your back. “Torture.”

“Yep, that is what I said-“

“What kind of torture-“

“Physical and mental. Her brain is scrambled soup. All of her feelings have been dialed up to a bajillion, so she is going to be very suggestive, and very overwhelmed.” Yelena sighs. “Emotionally. And, ah- Her reservations maybe be… Broken.”

Bucky’s silent for a little too long, and all you can do is focus on your breathing. That explains a lot. You really wish it didn’t.

“Do we wait it out?” Bucky’s voice is impossibly neutral. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t love you, Yelena had been lying to calm you down, and the tears are pricking back into your eyes-

“No. It has to be sweat out. Exercise or torture.”

Fuck. Something low and heavy, dreadful and tight, is starting to bubble in your gut. You can’t walk, let alone exercise. And you’re not strong enough to withstand torture. Not from anyone, but definitely not from Bucky, that’s going to shatter you into nothing more than scattered sand and glass on the floor-

“Or,” there’s a drawling kind of glee in Yelena’s voice, and you keep your face buried in your knees. “Sex. Sex should work.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes land on Bucky’s own, wide ones, his mouth hanging open and something that’s either sweat or the other thing is wet between your legs. He’s still touching you.

“I-“ He coughs, still staring at you, and you’re feeling a little light-headed. “I can’t-“

Oh.

Okay.

You don’t get a chance to cry this time.

Everything just goes black.

———

“No.”

“Bucky-“

“I won’t.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes at Yelena. “Stop trying to convince me.”

“I’m not trying to convince you, I am trying to get you to save her life-“

Bucky shook his head. She didn’t get it. Didn’t understand that what was being painted as the solution was really just the worst crime he could ever commit.

He’d done a lot of fucked up things, as the Soldat. And being at war hadn’t exactly been a picnic before that. But he’d never crossed that line. There were some fogged over memories—the kind that stung at his brain when they bubbled to the surface—where Hydra had told him to, but he’d resisted. Throttled that last bit of his humanity by the throat, and said no. He wouldn’t.

It had been the only thing he’d always been able to fight back against, even when he couldn’t remember his own fucking name. The last thing he’d been able to identify as wrong.

And doing it to Her- When She was trusting him to take care of Her, and it was his own fault this was happening at all, because that gas had been meant for him-

Bucky would rather jump off a tower or shoot himself in the goddamn skull.

“This isn’t saving her life.” He muttered. “It’s ruining it. We’ll wait it out until you can send a jet to us, and then we’ll put her in a sauna or some shit.”

Yelena’s nose wrinkled. “Or you could just fuck the girl you are obviously in love with-“

“I am not-“

“Yes, you are. Do not lie to me, Bucky. You make a really pathetic expression at her, it’s all-“

Yelena’s face went slack, her brows raising and drawing slightly, and Bucky scowled.

“I’m hanging up-“

“No, wait- Just-“ Yelena sighed. “I know you’re a man, and feelings are scary, but this gas is- It will be the worst days of her life, if you do not just get over yourself, and stick your dick inside of her.”

Jesus Christ. If She hadn’t been trying to kill him before—moaning his name and opening Her mouth when he touched it, looking at him with pretty eyes and snuggling into his chest—Yelena was trying to kill him now. All Bucky could see was Her sprawled out below him, Her eyes blown-out with lust as he slid into Her, head thrown back as she whined for more, and Bucky gave it to Her with his lips biting and sucking on Her throat-

These were the type of things he shouldn’t be thinking about. Not now. Not when She was rolling around in bed upstairs, and the last time Bucky had checked on Her, he’d gotten too good a look at Her breasts. Flushed with peaked nipples as the sheets stuck to Her skin, and he could’ve goddamn sworn She’d moaned his name in her sleep-

Not thinking about it. He couldn’t think about it. For so many reasons, Bucky couldn’t think about it, and he’d never do it.

He’d sworn to himself he’d never do it. That the well-played fantasies would remain fantasies, because he had no right.

He was Her boss had been the first reason. The obvious one, when She’d been bouncing in Her heels and looking around the meeting room with an open, sweet expression. Valentina had said meet your new admin, it had clicked in Bucky’s head what that meant, and then suddenly asking Her to get a drink or something had been forcibly tossed out the window.

Then that reason had become… less effective. She’d kept being beautiful—which just wasn’t fucking fair to anyone—and She was smart and charismatic and patient, and her hips swayed a little when she walked, and Bucky’s attraction had grown. Bloomed and spread and burrowed roots over his ribs, where it was impossible to dig them out. He liked Her wide smile, and he liked Her voice, and he liked how She could shut Walker up with just a look.

He liked Her enough to take risks. Risks like walking closer to Her than he needed to, and convincing the rest of the team that She did actually need a room in the tower. And they’d all seen right goddamn through him—he’d heard Bob whisper to Yelena it’s because he has a crush on her, right, after the meeting was over—but they’d let it slide. So he’d taken more risks. Eating lunch with Her in a very professional way. Bringing He to events and keeping Her on his arm, for safety. Casual, flirty comments that were nothing if She didn’t want them to be, but did manage to take an edge off of his own pent-up hunger for Her.

Boss hadn’t been enough.

So he’d turned to young. She was too young. Bucky was over a hundred and She was younger than Bob.

Then he’d walked in on Her watching a TV show with Alexei and Ava, the former looking downright terrified about the comments that were being thrown at the screen. About how hot the actors were. And She’d pointed to one with a beard and longer hair—this hadn’t helped the situation—and said I’d let him do whatever he wanted to me.

Bucky had been a fucking idiot and googled the actor. The guy was almost fifty.

He’d needed another reason.

Too kind. She was nice to everyone, and it wasn’t just for Her job. She never got frustrated at stupid questions, and She’d listen to anyone’s stupid rants—She’d somehow sat through a whole I just think I’d have been a good Roman General speech from Walker without one eyeroll—and Bucky wasn’t rude, but he didn’t deserve that.

The too kind reason had lasted the shortest amount of time. She’d kept being kind, and then She’d made Bucky cookies for his birthday, and he’d wanted to kiss Her right goddamn there.

His current reason was She deserved better. That one had been serving him well. She deserved someone who hadn’t done the things Bucky had, who was all smiles and kindness, who She’d want. That was a second, incredibly useful reason. She didn’t want Bucky.

So he wouldn’t think about Her breasts anywhere but in the privacy of his own room, alone, while he beat his cock into his hand. And he wouldn’t stick his dick in Her, because it would be wrong. He’d be taking advantage of Her while she was vulnerable.

He wouldn’t cross that line.

“Just send the jet.” He grunted, moving his hand the top of the laptop. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Bucky-“

He closed the laptop, and let out a long, heavy breath.

He wouldn’t.

No matter how much this was one of his fantasies come to life, Bucky had to remember that it was really more of a nightmare.

For Her.

For Her, she was stuck in a painful looking state of unpredictable emotion. Bucky tried to bring Her tea, and She’d started crying again because he’d remembered the way she liked it and that was apparently tear-worthy. Then he told Her that she needed a shower—she was drenched in sweat and other things that Bucky was trying really fucking hard pretend he couldn’t smell—and Her odd, soft and happy tears changed to weak, broken sobs.

“Shit- What’s-“

“You think I’m disgusting.” She looking up at him with glossy, watering eyes and trembling lips, and Bucky felt like he was being goddamn shot. “You- You hate me-“

“No.” He grunted. “I don’t hate you-“

“Yes, you do-“

“No. I don’t.” Bucky grabbed Her face between his hands, forcing Her attention onto him. “Trust me. You’d know if I hated you, doll.”

It was a sight, before him. Her lips parted, literal drool falling from them—that Bucky would like to kiss away, but he wasn’t allowed to—and Her hands wrapped around his wrists with an almost strangling grip.

“I don’t hate you.” He muttered, forcing himself to hold Her gaze. “Got it?”

She nodded, sitting up a little up She was on her knees, and Bucky didn’t have enough willpower for this-

His thumb moved of its own accord. Wiping just a little bit of drool from away.

She moaned.

Fuck.

“Bucky.” Her voice was breathless, and almost songlike. “Please. I- I need it, I need it so bad-“

“Doll-“

“Please.” Her eyes were welling with more and more tear, and a few were starting to slide down Her cheeks. “I- I’m sorry- It just hurts- You can fire me after or call the cops-“

He frowned. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I’m-“ She hiccupped slightly. “You’re saying no, and I’m asking again-“

“Jesus- I know you can’t help it, doll, it’s the gas-“

“So fuck it out of me.” She rose higher, and Bucky wasn’t sure if she was pushing Her boobs up on purpose or not. “I- I’m sorry- I need you, Bucky, I’ll do anything, I’ll suck your cock first or after and it can be however you want but please-“

Bucky had to let go of Her. He had to release Her and take a stumbling step back, or else he would have damned it all and listened to Her. She was drugged. Her mind was being altered, and when it left her system, She’d already be embarrassed about what happened. Bucky would rather still be at Her side to assure Her, then cast out into the dirt because he’d been a selfish dick and taken advantage of Her. She only wanted him because he was the only option. If Walker was here, She’d be throwing herself at him, too.

That made Bucky feel fucking sick. Walker wouldn’t do that—at the very least, they all seemed to clear that last, impossibly low bar—but now Bucky was fucking thinking about Her on her knees, whining for Walker to fuck Her. Promising to suck his dick. And now he was thinking about Her under Walker, and there was a bad taste in the back of his throat, and he didn’t even care that it was Walker, Bucky just goddamn hated that it wasn’t him-

No right. Bucky had no goddamn right over the sour feeling in his chest, or the sickness in his gut. If he had a right, none of this would be a problem. She’d actually want him, and there wouldn’t be any complexities, and Bucky could help Her.

But this was Hell for Her. And all Bucky could do was help Her.

She was all that mattered.

So he wouldn’t cross the line.

The rest of the night was hell. The two days for a jet thing hadn’t been an exaggeration. It was even looking more like three. They were trapped together. And Bucky was doing everything he could to make it better, but it only seemed to be getting worse. Bringing Her more tea just led to Her begging for sex. Avoiding Her just meant he could hear Her crying about how much he hated Her, but when he’d try to remind Her that he didn’t, She’d just ask him to fuck Her again. Then She’d start apologizing for asking, all while still pleading, and Bucky would shuffle away to hide in his own room.

A lot of sleep was lost trying not to get a boner to the sounds of Her fucking herself into Her pillows. As the next day progressed, Her activities seemed to be limited to cry, beg for sex, sleep, masturbate.

It was going to drive Bucky goddamn insane.

And She had no way of knowing. No way to understand exactly what She was doing to him.

She’d plead with him, and he said no, and his heart split in two as She’d start crying once more. There had to be some way he could help. He couldn’t just fucking sit here and-

“Bucky.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. She was calling for him again, and he couldn’t ignore Her—what if something was actually wrong—but he didn’t know how many more Bucky, please fuck me’s or I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, it just hurts he could take.

He murmured Her name as he opened the door, but She didn’t respond.

The whole room smelled like sex.

He had to ignore it.

“Bucky.” Her voice was breathy. Soft.

And when he moved to the mattress, She was knocked the hell out. Holding the sheets bunched around Her legs and pressing her face into the covers.

Bucky whispered Her name, moving to pull a little hair out of Her mouth, and she snuggled further into the mattress.

But his knuckles brushed Her cheek, and she let out a sweet little sound that was going to haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life.

She was shivering. Breathing too shallow, with Her fever building, and Bucky didn’t know what the hell to do. Yelena said She needed to sweat, but She was only shaking and whimpering. Running wasn’t an option. They didn’t exactly have warm, sunny days outside. Torture had never even been on the table, and touching Her-

She leaned into his hand. The human one, cupping Her cheek because Bucky had gotten lost in thought, and failed to realize what he was doing.

But She leaning into him. Into the warmth of his skin.

That wouldn’t be crossing any line. Body heat was body heat. Soldiers shared it all the time. It was a necessity.

He stared at Her for another long moment, trying to weigh it out in his mind, and then She whispered his name again. Whispered it and shivered, and that was enough. Bucky wouldn’t do that.

But he wouldn’t just let Her fucking suffer either.

“Hold on, doll.” He muttered, and She shifted slightly on the mattress. “You’ll be alright.”

She would be. Bucky would make sure of it.

He detached his metal arm, first. She’d never had a problem with it—that was one of the things he’d liked about Her a lot, at first—but it wasn’t warm.

Then he crawled into bed at Her side, and used his remaining arm to pull Her right into his body. Her face tucked under his chin and Her fingers curled against his chest. She wasn’t sweating, but She was getting warmer. She stopped shaking, then a lot of the tension left Her body, and within what could only be an hour, Her breathing was steady.

Bucky should go now. His work was done.

He couldn’t move.

And maybe if he moved, he’d have to come back. They hadn’t gotten it out of Her system. It might be better, just for it to worsen the moment he was gone.

It was a good an excuse as any. The closest he’d ever get to Her without losing Her.

So Bucky stopped trying to force himself to move. She felt to right in his arms to push Her away.

And he held Her until morning.

He’d like to hold Her longer.

But he could also die a happy man with only this.

———

He was here. It wasn’t a fever dream.

You know Bucky was here.

The mattress is still dipped where he’d lain. The sheets have been more awkwardly shoved into your arms than caught in them by restless sleep.

You can fucking smell him. Vanilla and cedar, hanging in the silent air around you.

He was here.

But he’s gone.

You don’t understand why he’d be here, just to go. Why he won’t help you.

He must know about your crush, and he thinks that once he indulges you, you’ll be weird. You won’t be weird. You’ll suck it up. You know he’s off-limits, and this would just be a favor to stop how much this hurts. He can see that you’re just in pain from the drug, and it’s amplifying all your emotions, and one of your emotions just happens to be love for Bucky.

Maybe he’s disgusted by that.

By you.

Maybe he hates you, and that’s why he won’t just save you from this hell and fuck you.

But if he hated you, he wouldn’t have been in bed with you. He would have heard you moaning his name—you’ve done that before, only in the privacy of your own room, but the drug doesn’t seem to be doing wonders for your self-control—and curled his lip and turned a blind eye.

He hasn’t turned a blind eye all day. He’s brought you food and made you drink water and helped you stumble to the bathroom. He checks on you every hour, and his jaw always clenches whenever he tells you no, and you burst into tears.

It could be frustration. He’s told you no, and you keep asking, and that isn’t cool. It’s mean. Cruel. Wrong. And a lump is forming in your throat because he’s trying to take care of you and you’re pushing him-

But he crawled into bed with you. Without you asking him to.

And you don’t know why.

You don’t call for him. Your legs feel like paper underneath you, but you’re standing on them. Taking shaking steps to the door, and-

You fall in a second.

Bucky’s there faster.

“What the hell,” he’s scooping you into his arms. They’re so big. “Do you think you’re doing.”

You swallow, trying to fight off a whimper at the firmness of his tone. He hates you-

The bed. He’d been in your bed.

You’re going to figure this out. Your brain feels like a hazy of very loud songs about pain and Bucky and love and it hurts and Bucky again, but you’re going to get to the fucking bottom of this.

“I was walking.”

“You were walking?” Bucky’s expression is incredulous, as he sets you down. You’d laugh if you didn’t think you’d cry at the same time. “Why-“

“Was coming to find you.” You mumble, staring at your hands, and Bucky sighs.

He’s holding your face between his hands.

Why does he keep doing that.

“Could’ve just called, doll.” He mutters. “Nothin’ is so urgent you gotta hurt yourself-“

“Why were you in bed with me?”

He freezes. “What.”

“You were in bed with me.” You whisper, ignoring the blur in your eyes as you hold his gaze. “I know you were. And I- I don’t understand why you’d do that-“

“I-“

“But you won’t fuck me!” You push up on your knees, and Bucky’s so tall over you. Tall and firm, and you want to him to wrap around you forever-

Not now.

Bucky’s staring at you, and you’re trying not to fall into him, and no matter what this ends—either in your head, or real life—with Bucky over you. Right now you just have to push through the white-hot pain in your gut and over your head, and get through this.

“You-“ Bucky clear his throat, his voice suddenly a little hoarse. “You’re not mad. That I was in bed with you.”

“Yes. No. I-“ You take a shaking breath. You won’t moan. “I- I’m mad you were in bed with me and didn’t fuck me-“

“I’ve told you, I won’t-“

“But you will get in bed with me? Without me asking?” You raise your brows, and Bucky lets out a long breath.

“I- You don’t get it.”

“I don’t. Bucky I- I know you don’t want me like that-“

“I never said that-“

“But it hurts.” You sound pathetic. You can’t remember how to care. “I- I just need it to stop hurting, and I’m sorry, I know it’s- I shouldn’t be asking more than once, but it hurts, and if you really don’t want to I’ll survive, but-“

Stop telling me what I- Fuck.” Bucky snaps your name, and pain shooting through your head. “I never said I didn’t want to.”

You’re both silent. Far too silent, for a little too long, and the air grows thin as you stare at Bucky, and he stares right back. Jaw clenched and arms folded over his chest, and you’re either floating or falling but you can’t really fucking tell. You can still smell him. Feel the heat from his body, only a foot away.

Words come slow. Everything that isn’t Bucky is sort of far away.

“I-“ You swallow, your skin on fire and an iron is wrapping around your lungs. “You- Bucky-“

“Breathe.” He mutters. “Slow.”

You take a loud, stuttering gasp, and his eyes flare in slight surprise.

“You should lie back down, doll-“

“No- I-“ You shift around, bunching the sheets between your thighs to alleviate some of the pressure that’s pounding in your core.

Bucky’s nostrils flare slightly, and you’re really trying to not make him uncomfortable—if not only because, if his lips curl in disgust, you’ll start sobbing again and maybe pass out—but it hurts.

“Bucky.” You whisper, and he grunts, his eyes suddenly fixed right over your head. “Can you please-“

“I won’t.”

“Look at me.” You dig your fingers into your thighs, just to stop them from reaching for him. “Please keep looking at me.”

His throat bobs, and if he says no, that will be fine. Right now it feels like a death sentence, but in the long run you’ll get over it. You will get over it. You’ll change your name and move to Mongolia. You don’t speak Mongolian. You’ll figure out how to speak Mongolian, then move to Mongolia. You’ll build a life there. And Bucky will never find you, and nobody will ever have to think about you ever again except for your future Mongolian husband-

Bucky’s eyes drop to yours, and they’re darkened and pretty, and the whine that escapes your throat is involuntary. But Bucky’s jaw only ticks, and he holds your gaze.

You try to mimic Yelena’s cooperate or die tone when you speak.

“I’m going to ask you a question.” You whisper, and in your voice, the authority just comes out as breathless and needy. “Can you please be honest with me?”

Bucky grunts, giving you a tight nod, and you let out a slow breath.

“Do- Do you want to?”

“Fuck-“ He runs a hand over his face, and your whole body braces for the no-

“I’m sor-“

“Of course I want to.” He snaps, and this is floating, not falling. “You look so- I can fucking hear you, and I’d do goddamn anything to make this better for you-“

“Then please-“

“No.”

You gape at him, your heart shooting right into your throat. No. He wants to, but no, and every single nerve in your body is burning and freezing all at once. You can’t even find tears. It’s all just fogged thoughts and pain, torn between Bucky wants to help, wants to fuck you, and no.

“Why?”

Bucky mutters your name, and you shake your head.

“You don’t have to, Buck, I’d- It’s your choice and I’ll be fine-“ You won’t be. But that’s not Bucky’s responsibility, how you broke your own heart into a million pieces because you were an idiot, and this was how it was always going to end, but picking up the mess you made of yourself is still going to slice your hands open and leave your heart bleeding and lonely on the floor. “I- I’ll be okay, but tell me why-“

“I wouldn’t be right.” He mutters, and your chest is going to split open.

“Why not-“

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer-“

“Doll-“

“Please, just tell me-“ You take a stuttering breath, curling slightly away from him. You can’t be close. It’s only making the pain worse. “I promise, I’ll stop asking, but I- Just tell me why-“

“Be-“

“Don’t say because.” You glare up at him, and his mouth snaps shut.

Now there’s a pain in your gut that’s hot and bitter. Sore. You were mean, and it’s not his fault-

“I- I’m sorry.” You whisper, staring down at his knees. “It hurts, Bucky, and you say you want to, but you won’t, and that doesn’t make any sense-“

He grunts your name, and you wrap your arms around your stomach.

“I just- I want to know why-“

“Because it can’t happen like this!”

Your world does the sane little stutter-stop from yesterday. That must be your own heartbeat in your ears, but- Maybe you’ve just lost your mind, and this is all a dream, yet the sound of Bucky’s ragged breathing is very loud. And you’re leaning forward. To Bucky.

When you drag your gaze up his body—your mouth hanging open and your heart still stumbling in your ears—he’s staring at you. His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“You’re not in your right mind, sweetheart.” There’s a softness to his words, and this must be a dream. “I’m not gonna do this to you, when it’s not even you askin’ for it.”

“I- I am-“

“No. You’re not. It’s the gas talking-“

“And where do you think it’s getting the words?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“Nothing I’m feeling is new.” You stare at him, and his frown deepens. “I- I’m not- Yelena said it amplifies things, not creates them-“

“You’re looking for relief-“

“Why do you think I need relief?!”

His stare is cutting right into your body. There’s no fucking way it’s been this easy. That he thought that you just- That you wouldn’t, all the time, every single time you take a breath or lay in bed alone-

“I- I giggled.” You whisper. “And cried. When Yelena said you- That you felt something for me.”

“You were crying about everything.” He counters, but even his voice is dropping to a rasp. “And- Sex is just one of the ways to get rid of it, and I’m here-“

“I wouldn’t be desperate for sex if I didn’t want you.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, his mouth opening and closing, and you push a little higher off the mattress.

“I- I want you, Bucky. It’s not the drugs, it’s me, wanting you, and I- It hurts how much I want you-“

He whispers your name, but you just fucking push on. Too late to turn back now, anyway.

“I want you to touch me and fuck me and use me and let me touch you and- And I want you to sleep next to me and kiss me and l-“

Your words fall into a long, loud moan as Bucky grabs your face between his hands. You don’t fight him. You could never fight him. It’s just waiting for him, and you’re really good at that.

He’s examining you so carefully. Slowly. Trying to give you one last chance to tell him no.

You’re not going to take it.

So you hold his gaze, and let out a soft little sigh when he licks his lips.

That seems to be what he was waiting for.

Bucky leans down, his nose bumping against yours ever so slightly, and then he’s kissing you.

He’s fucking kissing you.

And God, you were right. It’s going to kill you. It’s slow and deliberate, Bucky humming against you as his mouth slots perfectly over yours, taking far too much—and still not enough—time to let you sigh and get lost in the taste of him. Somehow exactly what you imagined—coffee and mint and vanilla—and far, far better.

His tongue starts to trace over your lips before pressing down, and you open for him without a thought. Letting him push in deeper, until you’re moaning into his mouth and he’s eating the sound with low grunts, angling your head in his hands to grant him further access. All you can think about is the warmth spreading through your whole body in a way that doesn’t hurt, and how euphoria is building up like fireworks and light under your skin, and if this is just one kiss, sex might kill you.

It will be a good way to go.

When Bucky pulls back—his gaze blown out and your mouth still hanging open—you’re not above begging again. If he kisses you like that then walks away, you’ll crumble into a million, dented pieces that will scatter on the wind and sink into gutters-

“Is that okay?” His brow is tightened, his thumb toying slightly with the corner of your mouth. “I can do more, but-“

“More.” You nod a little like a bobblehead. “More is good, Bucky, please-“

He shakes his head, and a sob almost breaks out of your throat—he can’t do this to you, not after kissing you first—before you hear the borderline awe in his voice.

“You’re- I can’t believe you’re real.” He murmurs your name, and his hands are so careful on your face. “You need to tell me-“

“I’m real.”

Bucky chuckles, and the sound only spurs your need for him, rushing right between your legs. “Was going to ask if you were sure, doll.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and nod. “I- I’m sure. I’m so sure, Bucky, I- I want you- So bad-“

“How bad?” There’s something dark and hungry in his voice, and you don’t bother to stop your moan.

“So bad, I- I need you, Bucky- Just you, I- I love you-“

There it is.

The second kiss is a little harsher than the first. More demanding, with teeth and spit and Bucky pressing you down onto the mattress. You let him move over you, his hands finding your thighs and slowly pushing them apart-

You gasp into his mouth when the metal hand traces over your core, your hips jerking slightly off the bed your fingers scratching at his back, and Bucky chuckles.

“You like that, babygirl?”

Oh.

That’s nice.

And whatever sound that escapes you must echo that—high and blissful—because Bucky only laughs again.

“Yeah, I think you like that.” He nips at the corner of your mouth, then starts to trail a line of open-mouthed, sloppy kisses down your throat. “Been waitin’ for this so long, think-“

He cuts himself off, pushing up to frown at you.

“You think you can take it slow, doll? Or, uh-“ He slaps your pussy lightly over your underwear, and you squeak. “Y’know.”

He’s still rubbing you with his palm, as he waits for you to answer. And slow sounds like fucking torture, but it’s Bucky asking, and there’s already some sort of relief being offered by him liking you back, he likes you back and it’s making the world slip from under you as your heart floats away-

Bucky grunts your name. “Words would be helpful.”

“Slow is fine.” You whisper, trying to spread your legs a little wider. “Just- Don’t stop touching me, please.”

His nostrils flare, his hand gliding up your stomach to palm at your breasts with a look of what might be wonder on his face. “You want me to touch you?”

You nod weakly, and his tongue flicks over his lips as he mimics the movement.

“Yeah, alright.” His thumb starts to flick over your nipple as he examines your face. “I can do that. Think you can take what I give you?” He lowers back down, just enough for his lips to brush yours as he speaks. “Think you can be good?”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Ye- Yes. Please.”

“Yeah.” His face splits into a wide grin, right as his hand moves away from your chest. “I think you can too.”

You’re about to shove him for the teasing tone—or just whine about how he’s not touching you anymore—but then his hand returns to your core, and he’s just rubbing, but his mouth has attached to your breasts and he’s sucking small marks all over your body, and you’re going to fly out of your skin from nothing at all.

“Jesus, I can feel how wet you are.” Bucky words are muffled against your skin, and you start to grind against his hand. “Slow down, doll, I told you-“

Bucky cuts himself off with a groan that rolls through your body, and in the effort to stop your own movements, you’d yanked on his hair.

Hard.

And you swallow when he tilts his gaze up to yours. He looks like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Don’t stop doin’ that.” His voice is almost a growl. You might be able to cum from only that. “You like these?”

You frown at him. “Like wha- Oh.”

A metal finger shoves your panties to the side, his finger shoving right into your cunt without warning, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

He’s moving so slow. Pumping in and out at a torturous pace, holding your gaze as he kisses his way back up your body. Then Bucky slams his lips back over yours right as a second finger splits you open, and his thumb finds your clit.

“Feel good?” He mutters, and you make a weak sound into his mouth. “Words-“

“So good.” You mumble, clenching around him slightly. “I- I like it- want more-“

Bucky hums, kissing the tip of your nose with mock charity, picking up the pace ever so slightly. “Can you tell me what kinda more you want?”

“I- I don’t-“

He slows down again, and you shake your head, your fingers tugging at his hair.

“Bucky-“

“I want to hear you, pretty girl.” His drawl is lighting a small fire over your skin. “Tell me what you want-“

“I-“ He presses his thumb right over your clit, and gasp. “Mouth. Want your mouth. And your fingers. At- Shit- At the same time.”

Bucky’s brows raise, and if it wasn’t for the way his was still slowly pumping in and out of you, you would’ve pleased for the mattress to swallow you whole. “You want my mouth.”

You nod, and then add. “And the metal hand. Keep using the metal hand.”

“You- Jesus.” He shakes his head, and before you can try to take it back, he’s kissing you again. It’s getting rougher every time, and your hips jerk sightly as his fingers find that deep, spongey spot inside of you.

“I- Bucky- Fuck-“

“Such a good girl, using your words.” He starts to kiss back down your body, following the trail of spots he left before with perfect precision. “Hold on, doll.”

Before you can register what’s happening, Bucky’s shoving your legs fully apart, and-

“Oh- Bucky-“

You arch off the bed as his mouth replaces his thumb, and the speed on his fingers triples in half a second. Pumping in and out of you at an inhuman pace, pressing up and stroking inside you as his tongue leaves small, teasing licks on your clit. His free arm is pinning you down with a splayed hand on your abdomen, and his lips are latched around you and sucking, and every time you tug on his hair it only spurs him on-

It’s building so fast. The tight, hot coil in your gut. And it might be built up frustration from the gas, or the hypersensitivity of your body, or just fucking Bucky, but you’re-

“Fuck- I- I’m gonna-“ You can’t get the full sentence out. Bucky doesn’t seem to care. “Bucky- Please-“

He understands. He hums against you and nods slightly, and you know he understands.

But he doesn’t slow down.

And when his fingers press into your already burning g-spot and rub so fast it feels impossible, you cum with a high scream of his name. Stars cloud your vision and warmth crashes through your whole body, but when the fog clears, you’re not coming down.

Bucky’s not stopping. He’s finger-fucking you harder than before, his tongue moving with almost a fervor and his beard scraping at your inner thighs, and before you know what’s happening you’re flying over the edge again, and again, and soon you can’t tell where one orgasm is ending and the next one is rising. It’s all just a rolling, swirling storm of Bucky and heat and perfect, torturous pleasure.

It’s only when you’re shaking below him that he pulls away. Leaving a soft, gentle kiss over your swollen clit before crawling back over you, and you’re a needy, dazed mess, but he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen.

“You doin’ okay down there?” He brushes a little hair from your face, and you nod weakly.

“S’- Yeah.”

He grins. Your arousal is stuck to his beard. “Yeah?”

You hum, finding enough strength to trail your fingers down his chest. “You’re so big. And hot.”

“Thanks.” He says your name, and when you drag your gaze away from his, there’s a slight blush near his ears. “You look like a painting, doll.”

Your smile is love drunk and stupid, and you don’t care. “Thank you. Bucky?”

He hums, and you let your fingers trail a little lower.

“Can I?” You palm him over his pants—why the fuck are those still on—and he jaw clenches.

“You want to?”

You nod and give him your sweetest smile, and he lets out a long, slow breath.

“A- Just a little, but- Shit.” His eyes flutter closed as you squeeze him. “You’re the one who needs to attention, sweetheart-“

“I feel better.”

That earns you a flat look. “Really.”

You hum, your smile widening. “I feel good, Buck-“

“Uh huh.” Bucky rolls his thumb around your clit, his mouth lowering to rest back over yours. “I love you.”

You go slack beneath him in a second, and breathless sound escaping you as tears prick at your eyes and a giggle bubbles out of your lips, and Bucky looks way too fucking smug with himself.

“Look at that.” He hums your name, and you pout up at him.

“That’s not fair, James-“

He groans, his cock jumping against your hand, and that’s a fun discovery.

Your mouth opens, and he silences you with a deep, rough kiss.

“You can touch me a little, baby. Since you’ve been so good for me. But then,” he ruts into your hand, and you moan into his mouth. “I’m fuckin’ you until you can’t walk.”

He’s trying to distract you from the James thing. Trying to make you forget by rising back up and ripping his pants away, displaying his impossibly pretty cock—the perfect length and thick and making your mouth water—before stroking himself over you with a lazy grin. He’s trying to divert your attention by helping you sit up and guiding your hand up to replace his.

The strategy is working.

He fits so well in just your hand, and he’s making the most sinful, beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard as you pump him slowly. His head is thrown back, letting you suck and kiss at his neck, and deep rumbles roll from his chest whenever you squeeze the base of him or swipe your fingers over the angry head of him. You’re all but folded against him, grinding against his thigh as your hand picks up speed and he moans your name-

You’re being flipped back in a second. Bucky grabs your wrists and moves you back to the mattress with your hands pinned over your head and his mouth attacking yours. Bucky teases his cock against your dripping pussy for only a second—sliding between your folds and slapping it against your clit—and then he’s pushing into you with one, long thrust.

“Shit-“ Bucky’s face drops to the crook of your neck, his breaths ragged against your skin. “You’re so tight, and- Fuck.”

He cuts himself off with another groan, and you understand. You didn’t know you could be this full. That someone could fit so right. And he’s staying so still, trying to let you adjust, but-

You clench around him, and Bucky hisses your name in your ear.

“Don’t do that, babygirl, you’re lookin’ to start something-“

You roll your hips, and Bucky draws over you with a narrowed gaze.

“Askin’ for trouble, doll.” He gives you one, sharp thrust, and you gasp. “Yeah, I said you’d take it. And you told me you’d be good. You gonna keep bein’ good?”

You nod, not bothering to hide the eagerness on your face, and Bucky leans back down with one sharp thrust.

“Say it.”

“I- I’ll be good-“

Another thrust, this one impossibly deeper. “Say you love me.”

“I- Bucky-“ His free hand is hiking your legs up, and he’s so big- “I love you-“

He groans, and his movements start to pick up. “Tell me- Fuck-“ His brow presses against yours. “Say you know I love you-“

“You love me, James, please-“

Tears are just starting to prick at your eyes when Bucky kisses you, and this one is borderline feral. The time for words seems to be over.

Now it’s just Bucky.

You can’t move, with his weight a heavy comfort over your body. He’s hammering into you and bruising against your humming and aching g-spot, but your hands remain trapped above you and whenever you try to bite at his lips he only moans and fucks you harder. Splitting you open on his cock as the bed squeaks below you, and twisting his on your thighs to rub furious circles on your clit, and you’re already ruined but now you’re never going to recover-

This orgasm hits you like a hurricane. Flipping the world on its head and drowning you in the high of Bucky, still pounding into your cunt and roaring your name against your lips as he fucks you through your orgasm, and there’s dirty praise falling out of his lips but it only sounds like a song. Then he’s kissing you down into the mattress and you can feel him painting your insides and inner thighs as he jerks a last few times, and a small, sweet aftershock hits you with a fucked-out sigh.

Bucky’s face drops to your neck as he lets out a long, slow breath, and your smile might look fucking insane.

You don’t really care.

You let your fingers tangle in his hair, and you’re going to sit in the feeling of him as long as he lets you. Breathing him in and letting this last, small waves of pleasure wash away the rest of the pain.

There’s still an ache between your thighs, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You might need help walking to the jet, in the morning.

You’ll ask Bucky to carry you. And maybe ask him to keep putting that ache there, until he gets bored of you-

“You feelin’ better?” Bucky mumbles in to your skin, and you swat that last thought far away.

He might get bored of you. Right now, he’s still buried in your cunt and kissing a soft line over your neck. You won’t ruin this before you even have it. If you do have it. Maybe you’d just pressured him, and you’re going to lose your job, and Bucky, and he won’t get bored of you because he was never even interested in the first place-

Bucky mutters your name, pushing up over you, and you swallow. “What’re you thinking.”

“I-“ You shake your head, fixing your gaze on his neck. On the little bruises you left there. “Nothing.”

He chuckles, and there’s something so open on his face. Like all the smiles he’s given you in passing, but with a veil lifted. “You’re not a good liar doll.”

You frown at him. “Yes I am-“

“No,” Bucky lowers himself down, ghosting a soft kiss over your lips. “You’re not. You’re thinkin’ about something. Tell me.”

You shake your head, but wrap your arms around his neck all the same. You don’t want him to move away. Not yet. “It’s- It’s stupid-“

“Doubt that.”

“Bucky-“

He repeats your name back to you, his gaze driving right into yours that makes you somehow feel more bare than you already are. “If it’s- If you’re having second thoughts-“

“No!” Your voice is almost a yelp. “It’s- It’s not that-“

“Thank Christ.” Bucky lets out a slow sigh, his grin a little sheepish. “Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry-“

“No, you’re not.” He squeezes a hand on your hip, and you all but melt into the mattress. “Tell me, pretty girl. What are you thinking.”

“I- I’m-“ He’s still inside you. And when you squirm slightly, his cock jumps. “Bucky-“

“Shit-“ He groans, and suddenly his hand is pinning you down, stopping your movements. “Nope. No distracting me.”

“But-“

“I won’t fuck you again until you tell me.”

Again.

He’s going to fuck you again.

And some of the drug must still be in your system, because your face splits back into a wide, easy smile, and Bucky raises his brows.

“Did you…” He tilts his head slightly. “Were you worried we were done, doll?”

You nod, not trusting your voice, and Bucky sighs.

“Did you miss the part when I said I love you-“

“No. Told you it was stupid.”

“Yeah, well.” Another kiss. This one softer, and a little more on your cheek. “We’ve both been kinda stupid today. Think I’d like to keep being stupid together, though. If you’re up for it.”

You blink at him. “Like, together together?”

He nods. “You can keep your job. I’ll do all my own shit, or we can get a second admin who’s not fucking me-“

“But what if you fall in love with that admin too?” You whisper, keeping your smile wide on your face, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Nothin’ is coming close to you.”

You can’t stop the clench that his deep voice and promise spark in you, and a low groan is pulled from Bucky’s throat.

“You want a round two?”

You nod, and he grunts, rolling his hips slightly.

“Tell me what you want, baby-“

“You. All of you.” Your hands move to cup Bucky’s face. “This and… that. Please.”

He nods, and the last kiss is just as slow as the first. Deep and gentle, filled with the knowledge that now, you have the time in the world.

“You’re mine?” He mutters, and you don’t know why it’s a question.

You have been for months. Maybe, even without knowing it, your whole life.

“Yes.” Your voice is soft against his lips, and Bucky grins.

“Good.” He nips on your lower lip, and the gas might be gone, but you don’t think anything about him is ever going to make you not want more. “Cause I’m yours.”

End Note: his hair in the post-credit scene.... nature is healing.

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starconchs · 6 months ago

Text

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒— bakugo katsuki

pairing: pro hero bakugo katsuki x gn reader summary: when aizawa calls and asks for a personal favor, bakugo is ready to expect the worst. genre: strangers to lovers, fluff word count: ~7k warnings: mentions of stalking, nothing happens, you take care of it notes: sorry if he's ooc, take this more as a character study. just a little test to see how i feel when writing for bakugo. description of quirk left super vague, literally just a mention of it being helpful. not proofread sorry ummm rushed too

When Bakugo Katsuki gets a call from Aizawa, he doesn't know what to expect.

There's a brief moment of silence when the call connects, and Bakugo feels himself tense slightly when Aizawa does not speak immediately. He's the first to give in, gruffly greeting his former teacher and being met with nothing but a sigh in return.

"Bakugo," Aizawa starts, his tone dull and tired. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, but i need you to do me a personal favor."

Another moment of silence ensues as Bakugo processes his request. He knows he can say no, but there's something about the fact that Aizawa— the man who has been through everything with him and his former classmates, fought with them and for them, and stood up for him when he was kidnapped by the League of Villains—personally calling and asking him that makes him hesitate before answering.

"Fine," he finally says, already thinking about how he's gonna tell Shitty Hair— Kirishima! he hears Mina correcting him in his head— that he might be out of commission for a few days. "What do you need me to do."

"Just show up when I tell you to," Aizawa says in response. "Maintain a high level of secrecy. Don't tell anyone where you're going. I'll send you the address. See you soon."

Aizawa hangs up before Bakugo can respond, and he mutters a series of curse words under his breath before tossing his phone into his duffel bag and leaving for his agency.

Three days later, Aizawa sends him an encrypted text.

Aizawa's text leads Bakugo to a fancy looking apartment complex close to Izuku's agency. When he knocks on the door of the apartment number provided, he's met with none other than Izuku himself.

"What are you doing here, you fucking nerd?" Bakugo asks, his words harsh and biting as he pushes past him and into the apartment.

"I invited him," Aizawa replies tiredly, trying to stop the fighting before it can begin. "This apartment and the other safe house are in the area that falls under his patrol route, so I thought it'd be a good idea to keep him in the loop."

"You're already pulling one of Japan's finest heroes off the streets for this stupid case, is it really necessary to get another involved?"

Bakugo turns when he hears someone new speak, his eyes narrowing when they land on you and an angry looking woman tapping away on her phone.

He knows who you are, used to seeing your pretty face plastered on advertisements and magazines throughout the country. You're a well known singer who dabbles in acting, someone he's tired of hearing about from the group of idiots he calls his friends. An irritated huff escapes his lips and he finds himself thinking about all the times he protected celebrities when he was still a new hero on the scene, and how they turned out to be nothing more than spoiled brats.

"You and Anya both know this case isn't stupid," Aizawa says patiently, shooting you an unreadable look. Bakugo waits to see how you react, studying you as you exchange a look with the other woman— Anya— and pull the blanket on your lap closer to you. Aizawa ignores the two of you, instead choosing to take the time to remind you, and reveal to the other heroes, what exactly he has called them there for. "There is a stalker out there following your each and every move. Do you understand that? And they've already proven that they will stop at nothing to get to you."

"I know," you say softly, your eyes never leaving Aizawa's. "But I can take care of myself. C'mon, you trained me yourself."

There's a moment of silence, and Bakugo thinks that Aizawa might give in. He's wrong.

"No. Hizashi and I have already decided that Bakugo will be keeping an eye on you for the forseeable future and he has agreed to do it. And Midoriya has agreed to keep an eye out during his patrols as well."

Bakugo waits for it. He braces himself and waits for the pettiness and childishness that he's seen displayed by other big names when they don't get what they want. He waits for the yelling, the waterworks, maybe even the sight of you throwing something at Aizawa. But it never comes.

Instead, you nod and stand before turning to face him, letting him catch a glimpse of the frown on your lips and defeat in your eyes before you bow deeply.

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

"O-oh! No, please don't bow," Izuku immediately says, waving his hands in an attempt to grab your attention. "That's not nec—"

"Don't gimme that shit," Bakugo interrupts, crossing his arms. His comment earns him a strangled noise from Izuku, but his gaze doesn't leave you. "Stand the fuck up and tell me whatever else I need to know."

He thinks he sees you biting back an amused smile at his words, but you quickly school your features before you let yourself fall back onto the couch. Aizawa lets himself settle into the seat next to you, a smile ghosting his lips when you reach for a mug of coffee on the table and hand it to him.

"It started a year ago," Aizawa begins. Anya walks around the couch, picking up a thick folder from the table and handing it to Bakugo. He starts looking through it, eyes scanning every individual item before passing it to Izuku. There's letters of varying lengths and pictures of you from all angles, accompanied by the occasional police evidence photo of what he assumes to be gifts you've received.

"I would receive sporadic letters, at first," you add, your voice tired and quiet. "We thought it was regular fanmail, y'know? But then things started getting weird. They would mention specific things that I'd do on my days off, or ask what I was making with the groceries I had delivered to my door on a certain day. They never signed them but the police confirmed that the handwriting matched, so we know it's one person."

"We assume it's one person," Anya corrects, earning a tired sigh from Aizawa. "We don't really know anything about them."

Her words cause you to furrow your brow, and you sigh softly before looking back up at the Pros. Bakugo's eyebrow raises when he comes across a hospital record for a Yamamoto Anya, and he angles it slightly to show Izuku.

"You were in the hospital?" Izuku asks softly, green eyes scanning the report before turning to face the two of you. Anya nods firmly but remains silent, crossing her arms before perching on the arm rest of the couch next to you.

"Anya's my manager, and my best friend," you explain, clasping your hands together. "As I said earlier, at first the incidents were sporadic. Then we went to the police to ask them to investigate. We don't know how, but the stalker found out and things started getting weirder. There were anonymous gifts being received to the apartment I have under a different name and I was receiving texts from an untraceable number. We still don't know who the target was, but the night of the Tokyo Music Awards, there was an attack."

"Wasn't that last week?" Izuku asks, looking through the file to find the corresponding police report. "It was all over the news. They said that some small time villain had attacked but that there had been enough Pros working security for the event and that it had been taken care of without issue."

"That's what we told them to say," Aizawa reveals. "In reality, it was targeted. We don't know if they intended to kidnap or to injure but things got out of hand and Anya was caught in the crossfire."

"The goal was probably to injure so I'd be easier to kidnap," you say, snorting in amusement when Aizawa sighs at your words.

"Who apprehended the villain?" Bakugo asks, unable to find the name on the police report.

"No one did, but I went after them," you admit. "I almost had them but they slipped into the crowd and got away. I returned to check on Anya and then Aizawa arrived and whisked me away. I've been here since."

"You were stupid enough to go after your stalker?" Bakugo growls, eyes shooting up to glare at you. You open your mouth to respond, only to get cut off by him "You trying to get fucking killed or something?"

A huff escapes his lips when he feels Izuku elbow him harshly, and the two of them turn to face you when you breathe out a laugh.

"Or something," you mutter, earning a swat to the back of the head from Anya. You grab her hand and toss it into her lap, only to turn and be met with a disappointed look from Aizawa. You wilt under his gaze, sighing in defeat and motioning for him to continue.

"The plan is to send you two to a safehouse, still within the city, while Midoriya and I investigate," Aizawa explains, pulling out a scrap of paper and handing it to Bakugo. "That's the address. Unfortunately, you can't just disappear off the face of the earth until we catch the stalker. There's still public appearances and interviews that need to be done, but you need to be hidden during these outings, Bakugo. We fear that if the stalker catches wind of the fact that we involved Pros, that might drive them to do something even more drastic."

Bakugo grunts in acknowledgement, unfurling the scrap of paper and studying the address written on it before glancing at Aizawa. "Can I show this to the nerd?"

He nods in response, and Izuku takes a moment to also memorize the address before nodding. The paper is gone within a second, a tiny, controlled explosion reducing it to ashes. Your eyebrows raise with interest at the display, and Bakugo meets your gaze with a scowl. It deepens when you don't immediately cower from his stare.

"The two of you should get going," Aizawa notes, glancing at his watch before standing and tossing a set of keys to Bakugo. You stand as well, taking a moment to stretch before plucking your cell phone from the couch cushion. You turn to Anya, giving her a smug look that makes her groan.

"You should just go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the week. It would be unwise for me to go out in public before coming up with a surefire way to stay safe when out and about," your words are said a little too happily, and you nearly glow with joy when Aizawa contemplates your words before ultimately nodding in agreement. Anya gives you a scathing look, her hand tightening around her phone as you grin. "Let me know who agrees to reschedule! I hope no one's too upset."

The snicker that leaves your lips draws an unwilling smile from almost everyone in the room, and you swoop in to steal a hug from Aizawa before coming to a stop in front of the Pros. There's a bright smile on your lips that makes Izuku blush, and Bakugo scoffs audibly when you give him another bow.

"It's an honor to meet you, Deku. Thank you for doing this."

"Please! Call me Midoriya," he sputters out, cheeks still tinged pink as you turn and face Bakugo. There's a twinkle in your eye when you meet his gaze, and he feels a spark of irritation when he realizes that you don't seem to be intimidated by him.

"Well Mr. Dynamight, shall we get going?"

Bakugo's annoyance only grows when you manage to keep up with his quick strides.

No words are exchanged as you traverse the street, and Bakugo makes sure to keep an eye out as he opens the door and ushers you into the passenger seat, his hand pushing your head down roughly to keep you from smacking it on the roof of the vehicle. You slide into the car smoothly, buckling your seat belt and glancing around as you wait for Bakugo to get in. Silence engulfs the two of you once he does, and Bakugo finds himself reaching for his phone to play some music and fill the stillness. He feels a blush crawling up his neck when one of your songs plays, the new one that Kaminari insisted on listening to the other night when he drove him home after drinks.

A smirk tugs at your lips but you don't say anything about it, thankfully, and he finds a song he likes and plays it before taking off down the road. You're quietly humming along to the song he's chosen as you look out the window, and it isn't until you're halfway to your newly assigned safe house that you speak.

"I'm not, you know?"

That's the only thing you say and Bakugo makes a confused noise before he can stop himself, his hands tightening around the steering wheel in annoyance when you let out an amused laugh.

"I'm not trying to get killed," you clarify, earning a derisive snort from Bakugo in return. "I have a hero license, I was just doing what I've always been taught to do. Apprehend the villain."

Your admission catches Bakugo off guard, and he can't help but throw you a surprised look when he finally comes to a red light.

"You're a hero?" he asks, his curiosity winning him over.

"Mhm," you reply absentmindedly, still looking out the window. "Technically. I attended U.A., believe it or not, but I wasn't in the hero course. Aizawa and some other teachers trained me and he managed to pull some strings in order to have me take the licensing exam in my third year. He said it was better to have it just in case. Between us, I think he got even more overprotective after Nemuri, Midnight, passed."

Bakugo remembers attending the funeral after All for One had been defeated. It had been a deceptively happy day, sun bright and shining as the students, staff, and other heroes gathered to pay their respects to the fallen. He remembers a student standing next to Aizawa, their hand in his as he held onto what was left in the battle: her mask.

"She was my legal guardian, but she made sure to leave me under the care of someone she trusted just in case something ever happened."

And it did, goes unsaid.

Bakugo's left with more questions than before, but he refuses to give into his curiosity and actually ask. It isn't long until the two of you arrive at yet another upscale building, and hum quietly to grab his attention once more.

"Can I have your hoodie?"

"What the fuck? No!" is his immediate reply. There's an unpleasant look on his face, lips twisted up in what seems to be a cross between disgust and offense. "Why the fuck would you even ask?"

You give him an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow before holding your hand out. "Listen, call me paranoid if you want, but I think it'd be a good idea for me to hide my face as we enter the top secret safehouse."

Bakugo grumbles and curses as he slips off his sweater, pissed off at the fact that you were right. His anger only intensifies when he realizes that he didn't think about that first. You waste no time in slipping the sweater over your head, pulling the hood as far forward as it can go and slipping on a pair of sunglasses. It's only then that you slip out of the car, waiting for Bakugo to get out before heading towards the entrance.

The two of you head into the elevator, and when you reach out to press the correct button, you manage to catch a whiff of a sweet, smoky smell. You turn your head to the side as the doors close, lifting the collar to your nose to see if it came from the sweater or somewhere else.

"Are you sniffin' my fucking sweater?" Bakugo asks roughly, pulling your arm back down to your side. You let out an offended noise before wrenching out of his grasp, leaning against the wall and shooting him a withering look.

"I smelled something sweet and I was curious!" you defend yourself, tilting your head back slightly to look down at him. Bakugo feels his blood boil. "I can't believe someone like you smells so good."

"What's that supposed to mean!" he nearly yells, taking a step towards you. You don't deign to give him a response, instead slinking out from beside him when the elevator finally comes to a stop. There's no hesitation in your steps as you walk past various doors, finally coming to a stop at the end of the hallway and wiggling a key into the lock.

Bakugo trails in after you, locking the door and growling when he's met with a sweater to the face. There's an innocent smile on your face as you slip off your sunglasses, placing them down onto the coffee table before traipsing down the hallway. Bakugo starts his usual sweep around the space, making sure to send a text to Aizawa to let him know the two of you have arrived safely.

"Your bedroom is at the end of the hall," your voice calls out, earning a grunt in response. "Mine is to your left and the bathoom is across from my room. They already came and dropped our stuff off!"

Bakugo's eyes narrow when you walk back into the living room, a mass of fluff held in your arms. "What the hell is that?"

"This is Pickles!" you proclaim proudly, holding your arms out. There's a fluffy cat in your hands, and she lazily eyes Bakugo as she hangs in the air. Your smile falls when Pickles twists, jumping out from your hold and beelining towards Bakugo. "Pickles, no! I'm sorry, she's wary around strangers so I'd recommend backing away if you don't want your pants scratched."

Your words fade out towards the end of your statement, your jaw falling slack as you observe the way Pickles approaches Bakugo and proceeds to rub against him. She snakes in between his legs, meowing softly and pawing at his shoe as she waits for him to pay attention to her.

"You little attention whore," you whisper, your face twisting up in disbelief when Bakugo kneels down to pet her. He shoots you a smug smirk when she starts purring, and you feel your eye twitch when she lays down, exposing her belly. "She took forever to warm up to me. How did you do that?"

"I'm just the best," Bakugo replies cockily. "Even she knows that."

"Whatever, I'm going to take a nap. I can cook dinner later if you'd like," you say softly, reaching up to rub at your eyes.

"I can cook my own damn food," Bakugo snaps, his attention shifting to you. You breathe out a laugh.

"In that case, I think I'll turn in for the night. I'll leave my door slightly open for Pickles."

"Don't be a dumbass, you have to eat."

"I'll just get up early and cook breakfast," you shout, already disappearing from sight as you make your way to your room. "Good night Mr. Dynamight!"

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles under his breath as you duck into your room. A laugh is all he gets in response, and your room goes dark as you finally settle into bed. His attention is caught by small meow, and he sighs before picking Pickles up and petting her. She curls up against his chest, swatting at his hand and making a pleased noise when she manages to grasp it between two of her paws. He looks down at the cat, raising a brow when she decides to start gnawing on his finger.

"Just you and me hairball."

The two of you fall into an admittedly easy routine throughout the rest of the week.

Bakugo's surprised by how easy this assignment has been. He's used to stubborn celebrities demanding to be let out, complaining and whining and overall just annoying him until he snaps and curses them out. However, you're a quiet housemate, waking up early to cook breakfast for the two of you before retreating to your room for the rest of the day or lounging on the couch with Pickles. Bakugo takes it upon himself to cook dinner for the two of you, and whoever is in charge of lunch is always decided with a coin toss. He loses more often than you do.

Pickles becomes a frequent presence as well, and sometimes he wakes up to see the cat curled up peacefully on the pillow next to him. How she gets into his room, he doesn't know. When he emerges from his room in the morning with her gathered in his arms, you apologize profusely, your stare lingering on the way his lips curl up into a tiny smile when you take her from him.

You inform Bakugo early on in the week that Anya has listened to you, canceling all of your prior engagements and sending you an updated schedule for the next week. He squints when you hold your hand out, cell phone in hand as you prompt him to take it.

"Mr. Dynamight, give me your number."

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles, pushing your hand away from him. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"So I can send you the schedule," you huff, extending your arm once again. He obliges reluctantly, purposefully taking his time in an attempt to annoy you. You don't react to his provocation, instead smiling sweetly at him when he hands your phone back and sending him the file.

When you begin to send him memes, he refuses to acknowledge you for the day.

The two of you spend days successfully planning how to keep you safe during your public appearances, your combined experience making the task easier than you thought it'd be. Your first week back out in public goes well, and even though you know better than to let your guard down, the knowledge that Pro Hero Dynamight is watching you from a distance helps to soothe your nerves. Your routine remains the same for the following week, during which there is an incident, but it turns out to be an overexcited fan. You then beg and beg Anya to book less appearances until she gets fed up with your fake crying.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you hate your job," Bakugo mutters one evening while making dinner. "You keep brushing off all your stupid engagements and you won't have a fucking career to go back to."

"Good thing you know better," you say playfully, your eyes glinting with mischief as you approach him. Your arm brushes against his back as you peek around him, your hand darting out to grab a slice of the strawberries he's cutting up to eat with lunch. He's too slow to stop you, not that he really tries to.

He finds that his original irritation towards the assignment has faded, and even though he misses being out on patrol and taking down bad guys, he thinks that this mission isn't the worst. Or maybe it's because of you. It takes Bakugo weeks to admit to himself that you're not as bad as he thought you'd be. In fact, you're not anything like what he expected you to be, all sly smiles and snarky words and casual touches that he's too embarrassed to reciprocate. But he doesn't like you, no, he doesn't.

You like to think he's getting used to your presence, but his occasional aloofness makes you think otherwise. There's a part of you, the side that's trying to ignore the reason that resulted in being assigned to a safe house in the first place, that enjoys your time spent with Bakugo. You like the way he's so easy to rile up, the way he carefully plates food for both of you, and the way he smiles when Pickles demands his attention. You think that maybe, just maybe, you might like him, even if everything else about his attitude makes you think he doesn't even tolerate you.

But you're too preoccupied with your ongoing case to really sit with your thoughts and try to sort out your feelings.

Updates from Aizawa and Midoriya are few and far between, and although you and Bakugo have fallen into a comfortable routine, you can tell that he's getting fed up with the situation. His restlessness is obvious, especially with the news talking nonstop about his sudden disappearance and speculating on the reasons why Dynamight might've stopped doing his duty as a hero.

"How long do you think this will continue?" you ask one night, sneaking a peek at him and waiting for his snarky reply.

"I dunno," he responds, sounding defeated. He sighs heavily and turns the television off.

He watches as you purse your lips and reach for his hand, pausing when he instinctively pulls away. There's a brief pause before you take a deep breath and let your hand fall on the sofa. He glances at you, eyes scanning your face as you keep staring at the blank screen, and lets his head fall back and eyes fall shut as he mentally berates himself for his actions. You head off to bed soon after, and Bakugo remains there for the rest of the night.

The next morning is quieter than usual, and the two of you are eating breakfast when there's a knock on the door. You waste no time in prancing to the entrance, reaching for the doorknob before a large hand grabs your wrist.

"Don't open the fucking door," he hisses, pulling your hand down. You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head in an innocent manner.

"Why not? It's only Midoriya."

"What?"

You reach over and open the door with your other hand, only to be met with a sunny smile from none other than Pro Hero Deku.

"Kacchan!" he exclaims, brightening up even more at the sight of his childhood friend. "I'm here to swap."

"What?" Bakugo bites out again. Midoriya's smile falters.

"Uh, swap. Places, I mean," he explains, smiling when he looks back at you. "I thought you said he asked?"

"Asked what?" Bakugo growls, his hand tighetning slightly around your arm.

"Yeah! He did," you respond just as cheerily. Bakugo goes ignored.

"Hey! Listen to me when I fucking talk to ya!"

"Come on in, we were just eating breakfast. Would you like any?" you ask. Midoriya shakes his head and you promptly wiggle your arm out of Bakugo's grasp and usher them into the living room.

"What is the shitty nerd doing here?" Bakugo yells, fed up with the situation.

"He's here to take your spot! Remember, Mr. Dynamight ?"

"I already told you, it's Bakugo," he snarls, eyes narrowing as they fall onto you. Your smile is unfaltering and equally as sunny as Izuku's was when he first arrived. He spares a glace at the other Pro Hero in the room, taking note of the way he nervously wrings his hands as he studies the two of you. He doesn't excuse himself before taking ahold of your arm once again, dragging you down the hallway and into his room before slamming the door.

You take a moment to glance around his room, your eyes narrowing when you spot Pickles curled up on his bed, before finally meeting his eyes. There's a fire in his eyes that you've only seen before when he's mid-battle, reserved for situations where his anger is at an all time high. You meet his gaze evenly, and he seems to calm down slightly when make a questioning noise.

"What the fuck was all that about?" he asks harshly, his voice low in order to not be overheard. The walls are thin, he knows this.

"I thought you'd like to return to your hero duties," you say coolly. "Y'know, patrolling and beating up baddies."

"Listen, when I agree to a job I don't plan on doing it half-assed," he retorts. He wonders if your sudden encouragement for him to leave has to do with his actions night before… and the rest of the week. He knows it does. "You're stuck with me, sweetheart, whether you like it or not. So get out there and tell Deku that you changed your mind and that I'll be seeing this task until the very end."

You don't move for a few seconds, and Bakugo's eyebrows furrow in confusion until he realizes the way you bashfully averted your gaze at the nickname. The corner of his lip tugs up into a smirk, but he doesn't get the chance to comment on it before you start speaking.

"Your reputation and ranking are tanking because of this and it's not very fair to you. Besides, nothing has happened in weeks. No letters, no gifts, no suspicious activity. I'm sure it'd be fine to switch spots with Midoriya for a couple of days. And I thought you were getting a little tired of staying in here all day. Maybe getting out and seeing your friends would do you some good."

Bakugo takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. "I already told you, I'm not leaving you until this assignment is done. Go out there, and tell Deku you changed your fucking mind."

"Yeah, about that," you say, your tone of voice causing Bakugo's eyes to fly open. There's impish smile on your face, and Bakugo feels a sense of foreboding as you speak your next words. "I might've told him that you requested the swap. So really, it's you that has to go out there and tell him you changed your mind."

You laugh and head back to the living room before Bakugo can yell at you, smiling softly at Midoriya before heading to the kitchen to clean up the abandoned plates.

Bakugo groans and begrudgingly heads to the living room, dragging Izuku by his collar and leading him to the front door.

He shuts the door in his face and provides no explanation.

Things are different after that.

Bakugo makes a bigger effort to interact with you, spending move evenings by your side instead of keeping his distance. Slowly but surely you begin to notice, and you can't help but wonder if this has anything to do with your discussion in his room the previous week.

You try not to show that you're flustered when the two of you begin to cook together instead of taking turns, and you have to admit that sharing the kitchen with Bakugo is intimate in a way you never knew cooking with somebody else could be. His movements are always fluid, never hesitant, and you find that you fall into a groove when you work alongside him.

The space is full of teasing and grumbling as well, and you find that fleeting touches between the two of you start to become more common. There's the occassional hip check when he tries to steal a piece of whatever you're chopping, and the occasional hand skimming your lower back when he tries to get past you in order to reach something. You tend to go rigid under his touch, and Bakugo finds that he starts doing it a little more often in order to hear the way your breath hitches when his fingertips skim over your shirt. He's thinks he likes you.

You’ve had the time to sit with your feelings, all the swirling uncertainty and aching that you feel weighing down on your heart when you see Bakugo present you with a new dish or scoop Pickles up when she won't stop pawing at his leg. Bakugo Katsuki is so perfectly imperfect, and you think that there's no one in the world who is privileged enough to get to see every single side of him that he has unintentionally and intentionally bared for you to see in your short time living together. You find that it is much easier to come to the conclusion that yes, you do like him. You think you might even love him.

You don't get the chance to wonder if he likes you as well before it all goes to hell.

It's a few days later, on a sunny Wednesday, that you finally come face to face with your stalker.

"Alright, you have one more meeting after this and then we can get you back home," Anya says, hurrying you you of the building you were in and towards the car. You mumble something under your breath, holding your sweater tightly to your body to protect yourself against the afternoon chill. Anya stops by your side when you stumble to a halt, and you quickly grab onto her when you hear something approaching quickly. "What's going on?"

You waste no time in pulling her back, something— someone, you vaguely think— crashing into the spot where you had just been standing.

"What the fuck?" Anya whispers, taking in the sight before you. There's a man standing in front of you, close to your age and surrounding by dark tendrils. His sharp, green eyes slide from Anya to you, and he breaks out into a smile before taking a step forward. Anya places herself in front of you, blocking you from his view and earning a harsh glare from the man. "Get the hell away from us."

You quickly scan your surroundings for any sign of Bakugo, and even though you know he's close by, you can't help but feel a little anxious when he doesn't immediately show up. A movement in your peripheral catches your attention, and you tighten your hold on Anya and dive out of the way before one of the dark tendrils shoots out and incapacitates her. The two of you crash into the side of the car, and you waste no time in opening the door and shoving her inside.

"Stay there!" you tell her, motioning for her to stop trying to open the door.

"No!" she argues, her shouts muffled by the window. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just trust me," you say reassuringly. Anya hesitates before nodding, her hands falling to her side.

"Stay safe. You better not get fucking hurt!"

You nod once, taking a glance to see your stalker getting closer before you take off in a sprint in the direction you know Bakugo is. You whip your phone out, sending quick 'SOS' to Aizawa before turning a corner. You don't bother sending your location, knowing he's probably been tracking you for years.

The sound of footsteps following you only spurs you on, and you try to think of a game plan to deal with the situation in a safe manner before you feel something wrap around your wrist. You come to a sudden stop when the tendril pulls you back, and you let out a cry when you stumble and fall to the ground, your knees knocking harshly against the concrete.

"I've been looking for you for so long," the man breathes, kneeling down to take your hand in his. You resist the urge to tear it away from him, conscious of the way the tendril seems to loosen when you relax. "I finally found you, we can finally be together."

You take a moment to study him, trying to gather your thoughts before responding. Your voice is light as you speak, and you lean forwards slightly in an attempt to make it seem like you're giving in. "We can. But you're hurting me, you know? You're quite strong, I can't believe I didn't realize it soon."

He takes the bait, retracting the tendril and almost glowing at the words that leave your lips. His lips part to respond and you waste no time in head butting him hard enough to send him sprawling. You hop to your feet, stumbling briefly when your bruised knees almost give out, but you manage to keep your balance and dodge the tendril your stalker attacks with.

"You bitch!" he screams, earning an eye roll from you as he tries to grab ahold of you once more. "I don't know why you're doing this when it's clear we're meant to be together!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you say under your breath, lunging forwards to land a hit. He defends poorly, and you think that his strange obsession with you has come in handy when he refuses to strike back in fear of hurting you.

When Bakugo lands on the sidewalk in front of you mere seconds later, he's met with the sight of your stalker face down on the ground, unconscious and with hands creatively tied behind his back with your sweater as you stare at him smugly. A tired laugh leaves Bakugo's lips and he wastes no time in removing the sweater, slapping on a pair of quirk canceling handcuff onto your stalker and moving to lean him up against the building behind you.

"Took you long enough," you chirp, earning a glare from Bakugo.

"I can't believe you were stupid enough to go after your stalker," he states, his words reminiscent of the ones he said when he first met you. "Actually, scratch that. Yeah, I fucking can."

"Well it's not like you were doing anything," you retort, crossing your arms. "Where were you?"

"I had it under control," he barks, motioning to the area around you. You take note of Midoriya standing on a rooftop, a couple of detectives scattered down the street as they wait for Bakugo's all clear.

"Oh!"

"What happened here?"

You turn when you see Aizawa approaching, eyes tired but alert as they scan you for injuries. You beam at him, pointing towards the unsconscious criminal before gesturing to yourself to show that you're fine, other than your bruised knees. "See! I told you I could handle myself."

"Yes, I suppose you did," is all he says before turning to Bakugo. He's caught off guard when Aizawa bows deeply. "I'm eternally thankful, Bakugo. You did a great job, even if it turned out we didn't need your help after all."

The last statement is said mockingly, and you pout when Aizawa shoots you a pointed look. You ignore it in favor of turning to Bakugo, bowing as well.

"I already told you, don't gimme that shit," he spits out, crossing his arms when you straighten up and give him a shit-eating grin.

"I just wanted to give you my thanks," you say, a teasing lilt to your voice as you take a step forward. Aizawa grunts before walking away, shaking his head as he goes. "Although I suppose that there are other—"

"You're safe!"

Anya's screams interrupt you, and you give Bakugo an apologetic look as she pulls you away, fussing over you and bending down to clean off your knees. You smile fondly as she shoves a water bottle into your hand, stealing one last glance at Bakugo before he's whisked away by the detectives to make a statement.

A week passes and Bakugo hasn't stopped thinking about you.

He wonders how often he'd get to see you now that he's not watching over you, grimacing when he realizes that he'd probably only see you at hero galas and community fundraisers that might overlap with both of your schedules. The two of you have exchanged a few messages since the mission ended, lot of memes being sent from your end that make Bakugo laugh, not that he'd ever admit it.

He's wondering if he should build up the courage to be more direct with you, to possibly follow up on how you could thank him and then ask you out on a date when he hears a knock on his door.

"Hey!" you greet him when he opens the door, bright smile on your face as you shove a bag into his hands. "I hope you don't mind but I got your address form Aizawa. I was thinking I could cook you dinner, you know, as a thank you."

His jaw is hanging as he takes you in, and you snicker when he doesn't respond.

"Hey, what's wrong? Pickles got your tongue?" you laugh at your own joke, and Bekugo snaps his jaw shut at the words, ushering you in and shutting the door behind you.

"That was a shitty joke."

"Eh, can't expect everyone to get my sense of humor."

He shakes his head fondly as he follows you into his kitchen, and you take the bag you previously pushed into his arms and place it on the counter. You look at him expectantly raising an eyebrow teasingly as he takes a step closer.

"So this dinner,” he starts, tone casual as he drinks you in. “Is it a date?"

"Do you want it to be?" you respond. Your voice is quiet and light, and he finds himself crowding you against the counter, arms on either side of you as he cages you in. You're vaguely reminded of the time the two of you argued in his room at the safe house, the only difference being the look in his eyes. Where there was anger that day, this time you see nothing but an unfamiliar tenderness, eyes warm as he mulls his answer over.

"Yeah," he says roughly, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you look at him in mild surprise. "I do want it to be."

“I didn’t think you’d admit it,” you retort. The smile he receives in return is almost blinding, but he feels that familiar sense of foreboding when you suddenly give him a coy look and wrap your arms around his neck.

"So... does this mean I'm... Mrs. Dynamight?" you ask innocently.

"Shut the fuck up," he groans before finally leaning down to silence your giggles with a kiss.

ty for reading <3

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader

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after-witch · 3 months ago

Text

The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x reader]

Synopsis: Shigaraki Tomura finds something at Overhaul’s base that’s worth taking.

Word count: 7000ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon sex, abuse

It’s not that Tomura Shigaraki thought the base of the once-great–he tucks the once into his molars, savoring it–Shie Hassaikai would be teeming with life. It’s that he thought some of them might have the balls to stick around and fight for the remnants of their organization.

But they must have been paying real-fucking-close attention, because there wasn’t a trace of a living person left in the entire facility. Which was a shame–while killing some stupid underlings wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as destroying the hands of a fear-stricken Overhaul, it would still be a little fun.

Well. At least the rest of the League seemed to be having a decent time sifting through the hallways, the abandoned rooms. Finding things to take home or mock or both.

The sights of overturned chairs and abandoned posts both sickened and thrilled him. Sickened because, really, what unloyal douchebags. Thrilled because it meant they were afraid–afraid of the League. Afraid of him.

They should be. It was only a matter of time before everyone else was, too.

Most of the rooms are what they expected, minus any signs of existing life. There’s even some kind of hospital lab–what did that creepy asshole do in there, he wonders–amidst the various bunkers, a kitchen, odds and ends.

Still, there’s one room Shigaraki wants to find–wants to sift through himself, in case there’s anything worthwhile. More money would be nice. More vials, more secrets. More, simply put.

“Think I found it.” Dabi stares at a door that’s so irritatingly obviously the door that Shigaraki doesn’t hesitate to shove his palm against it, watching it crumble into dust with something a bit like satisfaction.

Unlike the other doors, plain grey things, this door was a sleek black metal. Probably with some fancy lock system that didn’t matter anymore.

And unlike the other rooms with their scattered papers and overturned chairs, with signs of messy life and abandonment, this room is really fucking perfect. Prim. Proper. Utterly disgusting, really, and Shigaraki is the first one to step in and sweep his hand across a side table lined with perfectly spaced vases and send them crashing to the floor.

Lovely.

“Don’t take anything yet,” he says, glancing at the others. “But tell me if you find something worthwhile.”

There’s murmurs of agreement that mingle with a general sense of curiosity. He soaks in the feeling in the air–the triumph. The thrill of victory thrumming through everyone’s chests, no doubt, the same way it’s making his whole body tingle.

Overhaul’s room is just as annoying as he is; it’s entirely expected. Immaculate. Through an open doorway, he can see a bedroom with perfectly pressed black sheets. No doubt in the closet were equally perfectly pressed clothing sets. Fucker probably had perfectly shined shoes, too.

It’s all too satisfying to plop down in Overhaul’s chair and stick his boots, dirt and mud and blood flecking off the soles, onto the meticulously organized desk. There’s probably something important on there, but Shigaraki doesn’t mind if it’s got dirt (or a boot print) on it for later.

“What’s this door for, do you think?” Toga pokes–literally–at a closed door on the side of the room.

In the beats of silence after her question, Shigaraki hears it–they all hear it: sound. From behind the door. Shuffling and scuttling. Footsteps–

Someone’s still here.

There’s a curling little thrill inside his stomach as he stands and makes his way to the door. Toga is mid-way asking about looking for the key inside Overhaul’s desk when Shigaraki places his palm on the wood and disintegrates it with his hands.

He expected an underling’s office. Maybe a second-in-command that had yet to show his face, stationed in some side office next to Overhaul. Probably someone just as organized, by choice or by command.

He doesn’t expect a bedroom. Not just a bedroom, actually, but one that is so clearly not Overhaul’s living space that it’s a bit disorienting. Sure, it’s got that same sort of annoying tidiness as Overhaul’s office and the glimpse of his bedroom.

But it’s… prettier. Softer. Touches here and there, that place it distinctly away from Overhaul himself. A soft pink comforter with matching pillows. Watercolor paintings taped to the wall. A bookshelf with spines that he vaguely recognizes–some light novels and mangas, fantasies, romances, all pinks and pastels.

And in the center of the room, a table with some scattered papers, an overturned chair…

Like someone had heard they were coming and bolted.

There’s only one place for someone to go, and that’s the only other door remaining in the room. He gestures for the rest of the League to stand by as he watches the door turn to ash.

Behind the door is a bathroom, immaculately cleaned, with a toilet room and then beyond it, a room with a tub–and inside that tub, no doubt bleach-cleaned like mad, is you.

Cowering, of course. Wearing a pretty white dress with pink flowers embroidered all over it–you’re all flounces and frills. Even from the doorway, he can see you trembling, can see your eyes all wide, pupils blown in fear.

Staring at him like a victim, like a doe. Like some pretty little thing in way over your head.

And you are, aren’t you? You’re like some fish all flopped out of the water, gasping for breath on the sand.

It’s irritating, really.

“Who are you?” He asks, none too nicely.

He sees your lips press together, and thinks, all instinct: haughty bitch.

But then he reconsiders. The pieces are put together link by link. A pretty little thing kept in a room adjacent to Overhaul’s private office, wearing nice clothes, given nice things…

“You’re Overhaul’s squeeze?”

You furrow your eyebrows, like you’re thinking way too hard. He might add “stupid” to his list of descriptors–doe, sweet, scared. Stupid.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Oh, you are sweet. You’ve got a soft, trembling voice to match your shaking form.

“His girlfriend,” Dabi drawls from behind them. The rest of the League is watching, craning their necks, eager (or indifferent) to see where this goes.

“No,” you say, then seemingly correct yourself. “Y-Yes. I… we’re…” Everything seems to confuse you, and you pull your arms tight across your chest. “Where… is he?”

Shigaraki doesn’t hide his grin. “Oh, he’s a little tied up at the moment.”

And then, odd thing you apparently are, you take a breath in. Almost in relief, he thinks. You stand up and take an unsteady step out of the tub–he finds that he likes that. Likes the way you try to straighten up a little, despite being unable to look him in the eye.

“When is he coming back?” You keep looking to the side, and tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. “Did he send you?”

Shigaraki’s lips twitches. “You ask too many questions.”

You fiddle with the hem of your dress, then. And he finds he likes that, too. Likes the way you look like some sort of bizarre doll in this bunker of Overhaul’s, some little treat he left behind.

And left behind you were–because there’s no way in hell Overhaul will be able to get you out of here himself.

“He won’t be coming back,” Shigaraki says, easily enough. “Ever.”

And oh, you finally look right at him and what is this? Something that looks like joy in your eyes.

Shit, maybe you aren’t as annoying as you seem.

“Then I…” You swallow, and there’s a crack of a smile on your lips. “I can go home now?”

Go home? Ah. Another piece clicks together. Not a girlfriend, then. A toy; a kidnapped one, anyway. Overhaul wouldn’t be the first creep to resort to kidnapping to get a partner.

“He kidnapped you?” There’s no pity in his tone, and he hopes you aren’t looking for it, because you won’t find it with him. He just wants the confirmation.

You nod, looking down at the floor again. “Yes. Um. And he… I’ve been kept here a while, so…”

While your words drift away, his mind drifts, thinking of the souvenirs from this bunker that the League’s got stuffed in their bags. Remnants of Overhaul’s reign. He ought to take something besides that fucker’s hands.

And aren’t you the perfect trophy? Some doll that Overhaul wanted and took, kept here in this stuffy bunker. You probably haven’t even seen sunlight in ages. All pretty and soft and maybe stupid, by choice or force.

Why not? He’s earned it. He has a right to anything that shitbag left behind.

Even you–especially you, with your trembling hands and flouncy dress. He thinks about the watercolors on the walls and wonders what happened if you got paint on this dress, or any other; Overhaul probably kept you in the same types of frilly things day after day.

He might, too. Or not. He doesn’t even know what he wants with you, really. He might have fun with you, might just let you go, might just keep you until you’re boring. It doesn’t matter. There’s no sense in plotting so far ahead when the real thrill is in the act of taking what he wants. And right now, in this moment, he finds that he wants you.

It’s Shigaraki’s turn to crack a smile, but there’s not much joy to be found in it.

“How would you like to live somewhere else?”

It is, of course, a rhetorical question.

–

What happened in between? You can’t be too sure; the memories are all blurs and fogs, snatches of conversation–a girl complimenting your dress and someone asking if you had any injuries, if he hurt you–and overwhelming noise.

It was easy to forget how quiet your life had been, when confronted with the outside world.

Maybe that’s why it’s all fuzzy. Your mind or your body or both went into some sort of shock, maybe, in between the bathroom to the truck to the–wherever this is. Not a bunker, exactly, like where Overhaul kept you.

It’s a bedroom, that seems obvious enough. A messy one. The man–Shigaraki Tomura, he’d told you–dumped you in here and said simply, “Don’t do anything stupid,” before leaving. The door is surely locked, though you don’t have the nerve to try it. Where would you go, if you were brave enough to run?

It would be stupid, besides, and he told you not to do anything stupid. You’re good at following orders. Well, now you are; it took training. Will this Shigaraki Tomura want to train you? What is he going to do with you, after all?

The question makes you cringe.

“What am I to do with you?” Overhaul–Kai, he insisted–would ask you, when you did something wrong. The question always carried with it the thread of being remade. Literally. The threat of his hands on you and being blown to bits and put together the way he wanted. So you answered his questions by remaking yourself from the inside out; it was gentler, that way.

Overhaul–Kai?--was… gone. Dead, maybe? They didn’t say. Shigaraki told you that he wouldn’t be coming back for you. Someone else in the truck had quipped–”He’s got his hands full”--which made one person snicker, then everyone else laugh. You didn’t know why it was funny, and you didn’t want to know.

Maybe you’ll be bait. Or ransom. Or maybe he wants you to…

On this messy, unfamiliar bed, your fingers begin to pull at the dingy, faded comforter. The threads come out with a bit of work from your fingernails, and it’s satisfying, to yank on them, as you contemplate.

Maybe he wants you to…

You know what villains might do to people they kidnap. You’ve read your romance novels. Though Overhaul took some of them away once he’d realized what they were about. Still. The thought of that is–scary, sending tingles down your back.

Overhaul never touched you like that. Sure, he looked at you sometimes. When you were asleep but when you were awake, too. Told you to stand still and ghosted his fingers just above your nightgown, until he’d pull himself away and scrub his hands raw in the bathroom.

You don’t suppose this Shigaraki Tomura will be squeamish.

As if on cue, the door swings open, and your sort-of-rescuer-but-maybe-also-kidnapper tosses a pre-warmed bowl of noodles on the bed. They bounce against the plastic wrap, and you can see the artificial color sticking to the condensation against the plastic. A pair of chopsticks lands next to the bowl.

“Dinner,” he says, before plopping down on an upholstered chair shoved into the corner of the room. He tears the plastic off his own bowl, and begins to eat unceremoniously.

You scooch back on the mattress, your clean, full skirt feeling dingier by the minute on the mattress. That was dinner? The meals that Overhaul made you come to mind–not just the meals, but the dinner itself.

Dinner was meant to be at 7pm sharp. At your table, which you’d cleaned and cleared. Dinner was meticulously thought out, he told you, each element designed to give you the best nutrition possible. Protein, fat, fiber, carbs; vegetables, lean meat, rice. Sometimes a bit of chopped sweet potato as a treat.

This–this was certainly not appropriate. And to eat it, where exactly? On the mattress? Something tingles in your chest, imagining all the germs seeping into the plastic, settling onto the noodles.

The noodles themselves were a problem, though.

You clear your throat. Shigaraki doesn’t notice. You clear it louder, and he sighs.

“What?”

You poke a finger at the bowl.

“I’m not allowed to eat that.”

As if he should know.

He blinks at you.

“Eat it, or don’t. I don’t care.”

Then he goes back to eating his own meal, and you’re left with something dull inside your chest. It’s not right–the meal. Or the setting. Or any of this, really.

Some part of you, a selfish part, wishes you were back in your bed inside your clean room; wishes that you were still waiting, colored pencils and paper in hand, for him to get back and continue on with your orderly, if captive, existence.

Well, if wishes came true, none of this would have happened in the first place.

You can’t bring yourself to touch the noodles; the thought of them makes your stomach ache. Overhaul (Kai, you remind yourself) would be able to tell you all that was wrong with a meal like that, and you try to envision what he’d say. It becomes too tiring so you simply pull your legs up and wait to find out what this Shigaraki wants.

The answer must come, you think, when he tosses his bowl in the trash bin and shrugs off his coat. It smells of sweat and dust, or is that him?

Without warning, he flops down on the mattress, almost sending you flying off the side. He snickers, and you feel warmth flush your chest as you try to recollect yourself. But even that brief loss of dignity gets lost when you realize what must be coming now.

What villains do, when they take someone away.

Will it hurt? Will it take long? How often will he do it?

He props himself up on his elbow and you can feel him staring at you. Sizing you up, probably. Deciding on how and when he’ll take you. The realization makes your heart begin to race, and cold sweat beads against the back of your neck.

When will he do it? Now? Now?

When you hesitantly glance at him, you can see he is sizing you up–looking at your dress and your socked feet and the way you’ve pulled your knees up to your chest. There’s a flash in your mind of him ripping it off, shoving you down onto the mattress, and then–then.

But it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t move towards you, despite his leering look.

Instead of hovering over you and pinning you down to the mattress, he simply scoffs. Then he sits up and grabs a game controller, turning on a system set-up at the far end of the room.

“Be quiet,” he says, “It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to mess up this level.”

Eventually, as your heart begins to settle, you stare at the cooling bowl of microwaved noodles on the mattress.

Your stomach growls.

But this would make you sick; that’s what Overhaul said.

And he’d done many things to you, but he never lied.

–

Hunger can be overcome. It can be uncomfortable, true; but you’d dealt with it before. During the days when you hadn’t been good enough yet, and Overhaul refused you anything but water, until you’d given in and behaved yourself.

So it’s not the growing hunger that’s bothering you now, as the day wears on and it must surely be nighttime.

It’s the sleepiness.

Hunger can be ignored–but this? It’s hard to ignore the way your head is starting to slap hard against your knees as you begin to micronap, unable to keep awake no matter how many times you pinch your flesh.

It’s not a gesture you’ve had to do in so long–bedtime was, well. Bedtime. A set time with set things to do, all designed–or so Kai told you–to get you the best possible sleep so your body could rest and heal. (Heal from what, he never said.)

So sitting on a mattress and feeling your body jerk in desperation as it tries to get some sleep is something new. Something difficult.

If this Shigaraki Tomura notices, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are glued to the news, a grin on his face, his palm slapping his thigh at the action.

The news has him enthralled, so your fights to stay awake are probably not even on his radar. Which means you’ll have to bring it up yourself–that question that’s been pulling at you since you realized it must be well past afternoon and into the night.

“Excuse me…” You say, voice hoarse. You clear it, then realize you don’t know exactly what to call him. He gave his name, but that didn’t mean you were supposed to use it. So when you continue, you err on the side of caution. “Excuse me, sir?”

At this, he finally seems to remember that you’re in the room. He waves a hand at you, vague irritation crossing his features. “Just call me Shigaraki.” Instantly, his gaze turns back to the TV.

Your tongue feels heavy as you swallow. “Oh. I’m sorry. Um. Shigaraki?”

You can see him push his tongue against the side of his cheek, his eyes still not leaving the TV. There’s some sort of press conference footage playing, though you can’t quite focus on the words.

“What?” he says, almost a grumble. “Don’t ask for something to eat. I already gave you dinner. Eat it cold, if you’re hungry.”

Oh, that. You’d set the bowl on the floor once you’d decided that it was best not to eat. It would have been awful if it got knocked over and the sauce seeped through the plastic rim, after all. Although given the status of the mattress, maybe it was generous to care about additional stains.

“It’s not–” Your voice is too soft, in this room, with the mess and the TV. You try to speak up, something you haven’t done in so long. “I was just wondering, that is, I wanted to know…” Directly asking things is no longer in your nature, and your fingers find themselves playing with the hem of your skirt.

The sound from the TV stops abruptly, and you flinch. He’s muted it. He turns fully to you now, irritation written on his face. “Can you just spit it out already?”

A shuddering breath escapes your chest as you force the question out: “I just–I wanted to know, what time am I going to bed?”

You do not ask the rest, though surely it must be a given: What time are you going to bathe me, what nightgown would you like me to wear, do you prefer to brush my teeth for me or can I do it myself, am I sleeping on your bed or somewhere else?

He blinks at you, not for the first time today. “Whenever you bother to fall asleep.” The words come out slow, like you’re some inept child.

You’re starting to feel like one. Because the words hit you, the way he intends them, all hurtful and condescending. But you can’t make sense of them. Go to bed whenever? Without anything to prepare you? It doesn’t register–you don’t know what he means.

And you tell him so, as plainly as you can:

“I don’t understand.”

He rolls his eyes, and a pit inside your stomach seems to open up, tossing each irritated expression into it and making you feel worse.

“What’s there to understand?” He waves at the mattress. “Pick a side and go to sleep. Or don’t. I don’t really care.”

He turns back to the TV, clearly not interested in any further conversation, and turns the sound back on. Without so much as an order or command or at the very least, an expectation from you.

What a strange man. What a strange place. What a strange world.

There is, at first, a temptation to tell him. To explain what your needs are–why you can’t simply go to sleep. But then come the thoughts about punishment. He’d already gotten annoyed with you for simply asking. What would he do if you, bold thing, insisted on it?

And so, on this new first day of what is apparently the rest of your life, you’re left to curl up on the farthest edge of the mattress and squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a headache lingering at the back of your forehead, and hunger in your stomach, and it’s all so wrong.

If Kai were here–and he’s not, and you can’t deny that you don’t hate that fact even as your mind jolts from the strange turnabout the day has taken–this wouldn’t be happening. But this new one… this Shigaraki, maybe it’s too much to expect from him right now.

He just took you, after all, and it sounds like whatever group he belongs to was involved in something major today. A long day–a hard day. So he must still be thinking on the rules, how to properly manage you.

You need to be managed, after all. That is one thing you learned from Kai.

It’s surprising to you that you’re even able to fall asleep without everything that ought to be done. Without the ritual of the bath, without being handed your nightgown while Kai turns around and swears he won’t look, without your hair being tended to, without being tucked into bed…

Exhaustion doesn’t seem to care about rituals.

So sleep, you do; and when it takes you, it takes you hard, dragging you into a heavy slumber while the TV plays on.

–

When you wake up, it’s morning–and you are alone.

There’s a bright light streaming in through the windows and it’s a wonder you can stand up at all, with your muscles aching and the world itself feeling topsy turvy, as you fumble for the shabby curtains with one hand over your eyes. They rip a little as you yank them over the window, but at least you don’t feel blinded now.

There hadn’t been windows, before; in the bunker, that is. With Overhaul–with Kai. Just the overhead lights at first, and then eventually, a pretty lamp with a soft lilac-colored shade. A gift, for behaving; for being trustworthy enough to control your own light. It was nice to be able to turn on the light when you had to pee in the middle of the night, at least.

There are no lilac lamps here. Only an overhead light that, when you peer closely, appears to have a smattering of dead flies resting inside the lamp shade. The thought brings bile to your empty stomach, and it growls in retaliation.

You hadn’t eaten in… was it almost two days, now?

Maybe Shigaraki was getting your breakfast. That seemed right–that he’d sleep off yesterday’s havoc and spend the morning organizing his rules for you. What you should eat, and wear, and your schedule.

But what should you do in the meantime?

You stand, stretching your worn-out muscles, and take stock of the room he’s placed you in. It’s not clean, that’s for sure. Messy, to say the least. Used clothes and food wrappers are strewn about, and the whole room has a terrible sense of neglect.

If your room isn’t clean, how could you hope to get anything done?

Kai had told you that, when you argued about his expectations for your room. Everything ought to be perfectly tidy, he’d said. And after a while, how could you disagree? It only made sense. When your room was organized, your thoughts could be organized. When your thoughts were organized, everything else simply fell into place.

And maybe–maybe that’s the trick, here. Shigaraki left you alone in the morning, because he wanted to see what you’d do. Wanted to see if you’d pick up on a classic rule–keep things clean and tidy–without being told.

Before, Kai needed to train you–but now? Now, you knew the game.

A smile, faint and uncertain though it is, crawls across your face.

You’d pass this test with flying colors.

–

He’s still not sure what to do with you. The thought comes to him, faintly and then stronger, as he gets closer and closer to the bedroom where you’re being kept. It’s one thing to take what you’re due, another to decide how to manage it–how to manage you.

It’s a bit like taking in a pet, he realized over the night. You’ve got to be fed and watered and all that. Clothed, if he feels like it. He’s not sure if he does. And if you’re too much trouble, well. It might not be worth the thrill of taking what was once Overhaul’s, in the end.

He almost expects you to still be asleep when he opens the door, but as soon as he steps in, he can see you’re up and about and–

Cleaning?

The room is almost unrecognizable. He doesn’t bother much with tidying. Not when there are far more important things going on. Yet you’ve picked up every bit of trash, folded all the dirty clothes he’s thrown here and there… even made the bed. You clearly haven’t noticed him open the door, because you’re just finishing up the folding, humming a bit to yourself.

He can’t decide if he likes it or not.

“What are you doing?”

You flinch at his sudden words, and there–he likes that; the fear, the flinching, it’s familiar. He can work with it. He deepens his frown, just to see what you do.

You swallow, timidly folding your hands in front of you. All proper and prim.

“I–I thought you wanted me to clean.”

He snorts. He doesn’t know what he wants you to do, exactly, but “tidy up the bedroom” probably wouldn’t be at the top of the list.

“I didn’t tell you to clean.” And maybe it comes out snarkier than he intends to be, but so what? He’s allowed to be an ass, if he wants.

Your hands wring together, and your gaze flits down to the floor.

“But I thought… I thought…” You seem to struggle with the words, your voice getting higher, more anxious. You’re like a bird, he thinks, one afraid to fall from some carefully constructed nest in a tree. There’s an instinct to crush you until those brittle bones break–and another instinct, too. One that makes him want to scratch.

“I thought it was… a test.”

What.

“A test? Are you stupid, or something?”

When you don’t answer, just bring your top teeth over your lip and wring your hands tighter, he can’t help the almost cruel warmth that spreads in his chest. This–this is more familiar territory, he thinks.

He wonders, too, how often Overhaul made you look like that; how often he might want to make you look like that in the future.

“What did that freak do to you, anyway?” Curiosity mixes with his existing annoyance, and it clearly takes a moment for you to realize he’s talking about Overhaul.

“Overh–” You catch the words in your mouth. “Kai,” you say, and the way you say it so sweetly feels rehearsed–and gross. “He didn’t do anything.” You shake your head, like you’ve said something awful. “No! I mean. He did everything.” He watches your throat bob as you swallow. “He taught me how to be better.”

“Better,” he says, the word coming out all slow and sticky and thoroughly unimpressed.

“Yes,” you say, staring down at your feet. Your fingers pick at the hem of your nightgown. “How to be… organized.” You seemingly ignore his snort. “How to be clean. Things like that.”

“Why?” He can’t help the sneer in his voice, even if he’s dimly aware that he’s not fully committed to tearing you down just yet. “Were you a dirty girl?”

You frown and swallow and shake your pretty head. “No, of course not. He made me take a bath or shower twice a day.”

So much for teasing. You’re too stupid–or naive, whether it was natural or beaten into you by Overhaul–to get it, apparently.

He’s not sure how long he stares at you. Long enough that you stop worrying at the floor and start worrying at him, your eyes all wide and anxious and getting glossier by the minute. Soon enough, he’s sure tears will start spilling down.

He stops you before you start sputtering out apologies–and teardrops.

“That’s not what I meant.” A finger goes to his neck, scratching. The white dress, the teary eyes, the way you can’t really keep his gaze… it’s annoying. It’s endearing. Both are equally tiresome.

“You’re giving me a headache,” he says, finally. An end to the conversation, he hopes. Then he digs into the pocket of his coat and tosses its contents at you–a wrapped up egg sandwich someone pilfered a while ago, shoved into the shared fridge and forgotten amidst their recent win. “Here. Breakfast.”

You barely catch the sandwich (your reflexes sure are shit, he thinks; you’d die in the wild) but the way you simply stare down at it, words apparently caught behind your teeth, brings irritation to the forefront again.

“What?” He almost bites the words out. “Not good enough for you?” Maybe Overhaul fed you on silver platters or something equally ridiculous.

Perhaps it’s his tone, or maybe you’re just that eager to get him un-pissed at you, but you manage to unstick your tongue and stumble out something akin to an explanation.

“I’m not allowed to have white bread. It’s too processed.” You turn the sandwich over, inspecting. “And there’s mayo… it’s got too much oil, and–”

“Not allowed.” The word becomes a sneer. “Who are you to tell me what I’m allowed to give you?” Captives–that’s what you are, at bare minimum, at least–aren’t usually so damn bold.

And oh, the way your face seems to fall, the way your mouth perks around your words like a damn heroine in a novel.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean–it’s that–” The wrapper on the sandwich crinkles as your fingers tighten. It makes his chest tighten, too. How stupid. “It’s not safe. It’ll make me sick. Unhealthy. Kai said so–”

So that’s why you turn up your nose at food? Overhaul, of all fucking people?

“Kai says,” he repeats, mocking your voice, the soft lilt of it, the way each word mimics the pitiful wringing of your hands. “Kai,” he continues, “isn’t here. So who gives a flying fuck what he said?”

He doesn’t wait to see what you say or what you do. He leaves without another word–he’ll relax somewhere else, without you and your pitiful self to think about–and doesn’t see you sink down onto the mattress. He doesn’t see the way you grip the sandwich until your fingers smoosh into the bread.

He doesn’t see the way you eventually, and oh it takes so long, peel back the wrapper and take a small and slow bite.

–

It’s only been a few days, and maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems like your stomach is finally beginning to settle. The food isn’t–it isn’t right, it isn’t healthy. That’s what your brain tells you, what your mouth wants to parrot. But you’re so hungry and–this is what Shigaraki wants you to eat.

So you should do what he says. You think. It’s still debatable, still churning around in your head. Kai taught you what was best, and now you’re here, where what was “best” seems to be entirely pointless.

You’re still digesting a microwaved breakfast that definitely wouldn’t have passed Kai’s examination when the door opens. Shigaraki enters, as he always does, without bothering to acknowledge you.

He’ll probably sit down and eat something for himself. Or start texting someone–the other people in his group, maybe. Sometimes he unwinds with video games. Or naps.

But instead, he approaches you, boots thudding on the hardwood floor. They stop right in front of you and you have just enough time to think about all the germs on the bottom of the soles before he speaks–

“Hey.”

You look up. His face is twisted today, nose screwed over, mouth turned down in a frown. You did something wrong, probably. But what? You ate breakfast, and didn’t even complain about it being wrong today. That was a good step. So what–

“You stink.”

Oh.

Shame curls in your gut with the half-digested breakfast. It’s… true. You haven’t washed for days, and you know you’ve been sweating. Shigaraki doesn’t open the windows and the room isn’t exactly a bastion of fresh air, anyway.

He jerks his thumb at the bathroom door. It’s a far cry from your bathroom back home–back with Overhaul. Messy, dirty; the hand towel hasn’t been changed since you’ve been here. And you doubt that Shigaraki cleans the toilet as nicely as Kai did (well, as Kai’s cleaner did, anyway) so the tub can’t be much better.

Still. Still, it’s what he wants, and that’s what should be done–and it would be nice to get under some hot water and have the sweat and grime and overall feeling of awfulness scrubbed away.

So you dutifully follow him into the bathroom, note a change of clothes that he’s dropped into the open sink, and then–as you should–you stand in front of the tub and wait for him to undress you, so that he can give you a bath.

But instead of ordering your arms up or having you sit on the toilet so he can peel off your socks, he simply turns away and starts to leave.

“Wait–” You can’t stop the word from coming out, can’t stop the way you stupidly reach out a hand.

He does stop. He turns around, face questioning, irritation starting to creep onto his features.

“What?” He tilts his chin towards the tub. “There’s shampoo and soap in there. Some random brand Toga stole. Is it not good enough for your highness, or what?” There’s a bit of a jeer in his tone that makes you want to sink into the floor.

“It’s not that,” you force out. “They’re–they’re fine. It’s just…” And your fingers fiddle with your dress, the fabric feeling more thin and frayed from all your worrying it. “Aren’t you going to draw my bath?”

Because that’s how it goes. Kai draws the bath. Kai undresses you. Kai tests the water, and tells you to get in. Then he cleans you or, if you’ve been exceptionally good, lets you do it yourself while he gives the orders.

The jeer in his tone becomes a snort, an almost sneer on his lips. “You really are a princess, you know that? You can draw it yourself. You’re not that stupid.”

And oh, the way your heart pounds. He’s upset, and you’re upset, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s throwing away the natural order of things or if it’s because you’d like him to be nicer to you.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel too loud, in the bathroom, trapped in the small space with you and Shigaraki. “It’s that–Kai says I don’t clean myself up right. So he does it for me. Tells–tells me what to do, if he doesn’t scrub me himself.”

Your fingers clench hard against your fists–and then harder, when you see the emotions registering on Shigaraki’s face. One emotion in particular–disgust. Disgust, yes, and it makes you feel awful. Makes you feel dirty and stupid, and everything Kai said you were, when you hadn’t yet listened. You can’t look at his expression anymore, so you stare at the floor. At your socked feet, at the dirt between the tiles.

It’s the floor that you see when you hear him sigh, when he steps further into the bathroom and practically pushes past you to turn the water on.

Your heart speeds up–is he going to?--but as if he’s read your mind, he crosses his arms. “I’m just filling the tub for you. You can wash yourself. You remember how to do that, right?” And maybe it’s the way the question seems earnest, no longer weighted down with a mocking tone, that makes you feel better. Not stupid–not dirty.

So you nod, and smile–just a little. Just to show your appreciation.

“Good.” He grabs something–a towel–from a hook on the wall and tosses it at you. He glances away when he speaks, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, or if there’s really a faint hint of a flush on his cheeks. “Just… shout out when you’re done and I can help you out or whatever. If you need me to.”

He glances back at the tub, filling rapidly with hot water.

As if to burn away the flush on his cheeks, his voice turns jeering again. “I’ll leave once I turn it off. Don’t take forever in here, either, princess.”

Jeering, sure; but with something nicer mixed in, something like a flush underneath it all that makes your skin tingle.

Maybe Shigaraki wasn’t so bad after all.

–

Overhaul had clearly trained you and fucking hell, you really need to be untrained.

It’s this simple fact that helps Shigaraki decide what to do with you–that is, he’s going to keep you.

Dropping you outside would be like putting some pampered house pet on the streets–you’d be gobbled up. And if you happened to go to the police before you were snatched up by some back-alley criminal, it would complicate things, anyway.

Besides–you’re… endearing. In a way. He likes the way you ask for his permission, likes the way you stammer and stumble over your words when you get anxious.

You’re like a pet. A pet project, that’s what you’ll be. He’ll untrain all the weird fucked up things that Overhaul taught you, and make you into something better.

Overhaul had his kinks, that’s for sure. And while he’s not going to deny that there’s something really fucking hot about imagining you being his mindless doll, letting him bathe you and eating exactly what you’re told and waiting for him to come home in a pretty white dress… it’s simply not very fun.

Or practical, truth be told.

And more importantly–

He wants you to be his in the right way. He’s not some replacement for Overhaul, some step-in that you’ll simply pivot to because he’s there.

Sloppy seconds aren’t his style.

Overhaul is nothing now, a useless, handless fuckup who will rot away and forever regret tangling with him. You should forget about him, forget about what he taught you, how things were with Overhaul. (He makes a mental note: Train you to stop saying ‘Kai,’ especially so damn softly, so damn sweetly. Something Overhaul meticulously taught you to do, no doubt.)

In the end, Shigaraki is better than that failure–so you need to be better than the pet Overhaul created, too.

–

It’s not exactly clear why Shigaraki wants to keep you–but he does keep you. And he gives you something Overhaul had taken away from you: he gives you choice.

So much choice. Too much choice, maybe. Foods aren’t off-limits anymore, and Shigaraki doesn’t scold you for any awful table manners. Maybe because you never eat at a table. You’re allowed to watch TV, and even tentatively take up an extra controller to try (and fail) at the video game he’s currently playing.

He even–and it’s got your stomach in knots, as you make your way down the hall–lets you out of the room. To get some air and, today, meet other people. You’re meeting the League, the people you met (so to speak) on the day Shigaraki took you.

“It’ll be better if you get to know everyone,” he says, almost muttering. “In case someone needs to keep an eye on you while I’m gone for a while.”

The thought of Shigaraki leaving you for that long, too long, almost makes you feel sick, but you try to force it away.

“But you won’t be somewhere else too often, will you?” The question comes out too soft. Something else you’re working on; he told you to talk louder. Less like a rabbit, more like yourself. Whoever you were before all this.

Shigaraki glances back at you, something unreadable in his expression. Did you say something wrong, or not? You’re almost bold enough to ask, when he simply snorts and turns around, gesturing for you to enter an open doorway where you can hear chatter already sifting through.

But you stop at the threshold. At the sound, at the thought of being amongst a group of people. Eating whatever you wanted was one thing; but talking to a whole gaggle of others?

“Are you sure…” The words are soft, but you can’t help it. It’s easier to slip back into that place from before; to be soft and quiet and let someone else take over everything for you. “Are you sure you want to let me talk to other people? Wouldn’t it be better if I only talked to you?”

And now, you did say something wrong, because his expression twists. His nose scrunches and his lip curls up, like he’s thinking about something unpleasant. “No,” he says. “That’d be weird.”

“Oh.” Something dull hits your stomach. Embarrassment and disappointment, a terrible mixture. “Sorry.” You swallow, and add, quickly. “I don’t want to be weird.”

“Too late.”

The two of you turn your head inside the doorway in time to see someone with a burnt face and dark hair watching you, arms folded, a teasing grin on his face.

It is also just in time to see a young girl playfully smack the air next to his arm–”Dabi, don’t be a jerk! She’s not weird, she’s cute!”

There’s barely any time to decide if this is a compliment or not, before Dabi–that must be the man with the burnt face, after all–shrugs and grins. “Sorry,” but he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. The fact that the grin is edged by staples doesn’t help.

The rest of the group is sprawled about the room. On a sofa, on the floor. There’s a card game going on. Drinks on the table, along with takeout. The room looks like it was once some sort of office break room, complete with a microwave and dinged-up fridge.

The conversations that must have been going on are silent now, and you’re left standing awkwardly next to Shigaraki in the doorway. He nudges you forward, then takes a step out the door. There’s a strong urge to grab his sleeve and ask if you can go back to the room, but he begins walking down the hallway and doesn’t give you the chance.

“Um,” you say, and his footsteps in the hall stop for a moment. “Nice to… meet you?”

There’s a moment before there’s a burst of laughter, and the girl–Toga, you’ll learn later–grabs your hand and pulls you inside the room.

–

That night, Shigaraki climbs into bed with you and instead of turning over and keeping to his side of the mattress, he slots himself against your back for the first time.

The freeze response comes naturally, as your heart speeds up and your breath seems to slow down. Overhaul did this, too. When he thought you were sleeping, though.

Shigaraki knows you’re up and his fingers, pinky jutting to the side, ghost over your clothed side, caressing your hip. His fingers skitter underneath your shirt and rest against your stomach, before trailing up, bringing the fabric with it.

He cups your chest and you think the sound you make must startle him, because he pulls away without a word. But if he’s mad, he doesn’t tell you. Instead he stays pressed against your back, breathing.

Why was he still in bed?

“Don’t–” And you stutter out the next words quickly, because you’re not telling him to stop touching you. You wouldn’t dare. But– “Don’t you… want to wash your hands now?”

Something between irritation and curiosity lodges itself in his tone. “Why would I wash my hands?”

You lick your lips, and fight the urge to turn around in bed and look at him while you speak. Sometimes, when you told him about–Overhaul–the disdainful expressions he made stirred something awful in your gut. Made you feel ashamed and silly. He didn’t mean to do it, you think; but that didn’t change how you felt.

“Overhaul… when he touched me like this, he always washed his hands in the bathroom after. For a long time. Because–” The word Overhaul would mutter over and over come back, like acid rain pattering on the roof. “I’m dirty.”

You don’t want to look at him, but you don’t get a choice, because he grips both of your shoulders and lifts you up, until the two of you are sitting with your backs against the wall. The curtains are open and the moonlight washes everything out, but you can see him frowning well enough.

“You’re not dirty,” he says. “Stop saying stupid things.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, but you don’t feel sorry at all. Instead you feel–relieved. Lightened.

He frowns. “And stop saying sorry, too.”

“Right. Sorry–”

You stop with a breath left in the word and in a single beat, the two of you burst into laughter.

That’s when you lean forward and kiss him, smashing your lips against his in a brief moment before he pushes you off.

Humiliation stings your chest and you almost start crying in an instant. The world before and the world today blur into one awful moment and you apologize for things you’re not even sure about. “I’m sorry, that was–stupid. I’m awful, I’m bad, I won’t do it again-”

“Shut up. You will do it again.”

Oh. What?

You blink up at him, stupidly, yes, but it’s a nice kind of stupid. The syrupy kind that only gets sweeter when his hand grips your chin and pulls you in. You don’t fight.

This time, he kisses you. His lips are chapped and so are yours, and your mouth opens awkwardly to let his tongue in. It feels wrong and right and for once, there’s nothing old that dredges itself up with the action. No ghost of Overhaul over your shoulder, no commands, no flashbacks to being locked in closets–

Just you and Shigaraki on his bed in the middle of the night, kissing.

–

You can be annoying. Too meak, too unsure; wanting him to guide you and taking too long when he tries to give direction.

You’re a burden, that’s for damn sure, but oh, he doesn’t want to let you go.

The thoughts of releasing you on the streets seem so dim now.

They faded every time you stumbled through eating food that wasn’t perfect by Overhaul’s stupid standards, every time you looked like a deer in headlights at the prospect of washing yourself, every time you suddenly got the ick at his room and scrubbed yourself raw until he stopped you…

You wanted to be better, though–better for him. That’s what sealed it. Well, that, and that kiss, even though it was mostly teeth the first time. He likes you better for that, he thinks. Because that was you.

You’d once told him that you were afraid Overhaul would remake you, so you remade yourself. And now he’s remaking you. No, that’s the wrong word, isn’t it? He’s unmaking. Undo what Overhaul did and find out what’s underneath, Because what’s underneath–you, the you he’s seeing as he peels away each layer of bullshit–belongs to him.

That’s how it should have been from the beginning. Too bad he didn’t find you first.

–

He’s been gone for longer than usual. Long enough that Toga came in with something to eat and played a round of cards with you. Long enough that daylight came and went and came back again, and the sound of morning birds does nothing but contrast with how groggy you feel.

It was too hard to fall asleep, when your stomach was tied up with worry.

They don’t unravel even when the door opens and he comes in, expression troubled, burdened. You know something about burdens. He smells of sweat and dust, and you long to lift it from him. He’s been… nice, hasn’t he? Nice and kinder, kinder than Overhaul, although his words are often short and he sometimes calls you stupid.

He takes a look at you, at the darkened circles under your eyes and maybe he can see all the thoughts swirling around in your head, and snorts. “Go to bed. You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I can stay up,” you tell him, sitting up straighter on the bed. “To keep you company.”

He pauses, drops his coat on the chair. Something in him seems to soften and harden all at once. A vulnerable question left on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see which wait it will roll. “Why? Why would you want to do that?”

Words don’t come easily to you, even now. “I… like being around you.” It’s more than that, but you don’t know how to say it, how to peel it out from your mouth.

He eyes you with something that might be suspicion. “Don’t lie.”

At this, you stand. It feels better to stand, to be on something like stronger footing. “I’m not. I–I like that you let me do things. You don’t get mad if I eat what I want, or if I read certain books, or watch movies with you…”

He doesn’t respond and maybe it’s not words you need. Maybe it’s this–

Maybe it’s you taking a step forward and gripping his shirt and kissing him, just as awkwardly as the first time. This time, when he pushes you away, he keeps his fingers curled on your shirt. His eyes search yours and you don’t know what your expression is saying, but you try to make it say: You make me feel good and I want to make you feel good, too.

“Get on the mattress,” he tells you, but it doesn’t feel like an order. Maybe you’re sugarcoating it. Maybe not. In the end, you’re okay with it; you’re okay with turning around and crawling onto the mattress, knowing what he wants now.

It’s not how you envisioned it happening with him. You remember what you thought that first day, flashes of him taking you while you struggled and squirmed, pinning you to the bed. A villain in a book that Overhaul took away from your bookshelf.

It’s slower. Slower and maybe not sweet, exactly; but there’s some tenderness there that you can’t explain. Tenderness reflected in both your tired eyes, in the smell of dust clinging to his skin, in the way you cling to him and don’t have to worry that he’ll scrub his hands raw afterward.

Tenderness that makes you forget that Overhaul took you and now he took you, and you’re never sure if you’ll ever be your own person again.

–

When it’s over, he cleans you up. Slow but sure. It’s remarkably soft, but you don’t dare say so; if you did, you think he might push you off the mattress for good measure.

“Shigaraki–” you begin.

“Call me Tomura.” He interrupts.

“Tomura,” you say.

Something about that makes you want to cry, so you bury your head further against his chest and blink the tears away.

Later–not this morning and not for some time–you will think about whether Overhaul would have ever fucked you. What he might have thought about the mess of it all. The sweat and panting, the warm liquid between your legs that was carefully wiped away with a warm washcloth before he hopped back into bed.

For now, all you think about is Shigaraki–no, Tomura–who doesn’t tuck you into bed like you’re some precious doll but instead wraps his leg across your own, keeping you close on the mattress as sleep begins to overtake you.

His hand brushes against your hair as the world begins to turn into a formless buzz.

“Do you want to stay with me?” He asks.

It is, you know, a rhetorical question.

#yandere #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere bnha #yandere shigaraki #yandere my hero academia #afterwitch writes

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rex-rambles · 1 month ago

Text

➤ SUGAR | CHARLES LECLERC SMAU + FIC)

pairing: charles leclerc x pastry chef!reader

summary: you're offered a position as a pastry chef in monaco, where an f1 driver with a distaste for snails shows you the sweeter things in life

wc: 6.5 k

warnings: slight angst? photos from pinterest & ayo edebiri face claim <3

➤ MASTERLIST

Liked by yourbestie and others

chef_yourusername my last day in nyc, had to make the most of it

↳ yourbestie I'm going to miss you, monaco better treat you right

↳ chef_yourusername eat all my favourite foods for me while I'm gone :(

↳ foodie12 have you ever made an Instagram post without food?

↳ chef_yourusername where's the fun in that?

Liked by yourbestie, bi_sous and others

chef_yourusername i promise we're proper, certified pastry chefs monte carlo, i promise

↳ bi_sous i think you mean un chef pâtissier

↳ chef_yourusername oui oui, ma bibliotechique

↳ yourbestie did you just call him a library?

↳ chef_yourusername ...no

Moving to Monaco to become a full-time pastry chef was a daunting, daunting thing.

Being asked to move to Monaco to become a full-time pastry chef was just baffling. You weren't aware that your work had actually been noticed internationally, let alone outside of New York. Yet, here you were, with a fancy title, a terrible apartment, and a line on your resume that you couldn't quite believe.

"Non, non. C'est un gâteau miniature, pas un petit gâteau." No, Bishop corrects, your French leaving much to be desired. It's a miniature cake, not a cupcake.

"Ah, oui." Ah, yes, you manage to put together. Despite it literally meaning smaller cake, petit gateau was the name of an actual thing, whereas you were just saying a small cake.

"You know he can speak English, right?" Maeva says, nudging your shoulder. "We all can."

"I'm just being a good host." Bishop answers, somewhat smug. "They need to know the language."

Maeva picks up a stray paper from the countertop, reading over it for a moment before turning back to Bishop. "You got invited to the Feu de Cascade opening?" Then, glancing back at the paper, "What a stupid name."

"I, believe it or not, am a renowned pastry chef." Bishop answers, plucking the paper from her fingers. "I get invited to special events."

"Temporary pastry chef," Maeva reminds him. "Same as you. I give you two months before you crack."

Bishop, though a native to France, was hired a month before you were, after the last two pastry chefs were caught doing something unspeakable in the walk-in freezer. Luckily, considering Bishop's boyfriend and your own relationship issues, that wouldn't be an issue for the two of you. "You're just jealous you didn't get invited."

"I did get invited," Maeva says, moving to start her prep for the next day. "I'm just not going."

"Not going?" Bishop says with a soft gasp. "What will we do?"

"No 'we' in that scenario," You say as you turn towards the plans you were writing for your not-petit-gateaus. It didn't hurt, really, that you were seemingly ignored in this universal invite. You were new enough to Monaco that they likely didn't have enough space for everyone, or perhaps you were too young, or perhaps you were just overthinking it. "I wasn't invited."

"Then you can have my ticket." Maeva says, dusting her hands off by clapping them together. "You two can have fun putting up with Monaco's finest."

Bishop spares you a glance with a raised brow as you try not to show how excited you are. It wasn't some real, exclusive event, but it was your first time out getting to know the restaurant world in Monaco. One launch might lead to a dinner, or another invite, and pretty soon, you have an in with some of the fanciest restaurants in the world.

Bishop, however, obviously has other thoughts on that. "I thought we were Monaco's finest?"

Charles was very used to red carpets by now. He could speak at any press conference, make jokes with any interviewer, shaking hands and clapping shoulders, playing nice. He had enough media training to tell him when to smile and where to go, but when he was left completely to his own devices, when the cameras turned away from him, when he didn't really know anyone in the crowd, he found himself in unknown territory.

This restaurant launch he was paid to attend was more of a publicity stunt than anything, vague celebrities drifting about and taking pictures together as Charles nursed a glass of wine, tucked away in a seat away from the centre of it all. He's sure, if another driver were here, if someone he knew were here, he'd be much more sociable, much more attentive to those twisting through the crowds, but he was alone tonight, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

He had chosen this seat for its distance, after all. Everyone else was crowding near the cameras, the food tables, the celebrity chefs arriving. Well, he supposes everyone is a general term. The only other person in this far corner of the grass-covered patio was you, but he was pretty sure you were in unknown territory, too.

You had sat down in the chair left to him, arms cradling multiple bowls, and you had lined them up on a small table as you tried each one, taking pictures as you went, happily content in your own silence. It wasn't that Charles was watching you, really, but you were more interesting than the TikTokers who kept starting videos rather obnoxiously. He'd be drawn into one eventually, but for some reason, it seems that you'd be immune to those sorts of things.

You pause your taste-testing line, looking up at the crowd with a soft furrow between your brows, and Charles understands the feeling. The draw to go to where the people are, to make yourself known, to keep up the charade of Monaco life. But, as your gaze drifts from the crowd to him, he finds that he doesn't care much about that tonight.

He's content to just sit here, invisible, for the rest of the night, but unfortunately, you had caught him staring. It was hard not to, anyway. Besides your own strange presence, you also happened to look like an angel, which was more of the wine than Charles talking, but you were pretty, and it was making looking away from you a hard thing to do. "C'est bon?" Is it good, he asks, and you spare a glance to the side with a grimace.

"Si tu aimes les escargots?" Do you like snails? Snails! Charles is quick to lean over to look at the dish, taking in the different colours and textures and trying to figure out which could possibly be snails. Sure, he was Monegasque, but snails had never really enticed him as a dish. You laugh softly at his reaction, a sound that makes him warm under his collar. "Non?"

"Non." Charles extends a hand, and you stare at it as if he just offered you some sort of alien creature, rather than a handshake. "Charles Leclerc."

You offer your name, and Charles notices that French is not your first language, like most people here. Your French is fairly good, but your intonations are off. Strangely, he thinks you sound a bit like George, whenever he tries and fails to speak French. You say something else, and Charles doesn't catch it, based on the distance between your chairs and the soft cadence of your voice, so without much thought, he grabs the leg of your chair and slides to towards him, and in his slight, tipsy stupor, he hits the edge of your carefully balanced bowl of snails, and it topples into the grass silently. You both stare at the mess seeping onto the ground, and Charles waits for the backlash.

The pictures, the disgust, the recoil, the remarks of how stupid he'd been, but rather than making any scene, or scolding him, you shrug as you try to conceal your smile. "Guess you really didn't like snails." You say, before realizing you hadn't said it in French, and you quickly try to translate before Charles raises a hand to stop you.

"I'm releasing them back into the wild." He says as he nudges the bowl under his chair to hide the evidence, and you laugh again, not at his misfortune, but for his humour. He's not sure how he can tell, but maybe it's just from how sweet the sound is. "You are new to Monaco?" He asks, and he watches you relax slightly back into your chair.

"I just started as a pastry chef two weeks ago." Maybe that's why you seem so sweet, he thinks, but would never voice aloud. His brain then catches up that you'd only been here for two weeks, and he can't help but think that all this must be a bit much for two weeks. It had taken him years to get used to this kind of lifestyle, and he was born here. "It's still sort of hard to believe. Everything is so much...more, here." He can imagine: the lifestyle, the people, the money. Everything is bigger and better and flashier and somehow worse in Monaco. "And you?"

Choosing not to give too much of himself away, he settles on: "Born and raised."

"Really? I didn't know they let babies in Monaco." At that, it's Charles's turn to laugh, head tilting back to look up at the stars. Monaco's population was definitely older, though he's never heard someone phrase it like that. "They're not old enough to pay yet."

"Most Monaco babies are born with money in hand." It was a hard reality to escape, really. It was every other fancy car, every other fancy restaurant, and expensive store. Monaco was a place for the rich and wealthy, save for those who helped make it run.

Like you, as a pastry chef. He supposes a place doesn't need a pastry chef to run, but it's a nice thing to have. "Ah, so I'm speaking to a former rich baby?"

A former rich baby.

Charles tries to contain his laugh, still unable to look at you. He's sure that if he did, the stupid smile on his face would grow even larger, and he at least needs to pretend to be somewhat dignified. "You know, if anyone overheard our conversation, they'd think we're crazy."

And maybe, just maybe, he's avoiding the answer. You didn't need to know about that part of Charles's life, at least not yet. He preferred being this kind of invisible with you than some shining star that might scare you off, or entice you for the wrong reasons.

He spares a glance your way, and you just smile over the rim of your glass at him. As least that hadn't ended up in the grass.

"Luckily, the other formerly rich babies don't seem to care." You turn to look out at the crowd, picking up small plates and never eating them, mingling and changing in one great mob. You probably should be out there, talking, making cooking connections. Then, as if reading his mind, you let out a soft sigh. "I suppose we should be socializing, but I'd rather be over here."

The admission does something strange to his stomach, and he tries hard not to show it as you look back at him. There were plenty of reasons you could like being over here, but Charles can't seem to shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, you like that he's over here too. "Really?"

"I'm sorry if I disturbed your peace by joining you, but this-" You gesture between the two of you, leaning on the arm of your chair to look at him, and he realizes relatively quickly that he's had a little bit too much to drink, and that he pulled your chair a little too close, because half leaned on the side of your chair, you're almost in his lap, and he doesn't mind in the slightest. This time, it's Charles's heart that does something strange at you being so close, like just your proximity has him infatuated. "Seemed a lot more welcoming than that."

Not that he'd call it infatuation. That would be crazy for someone you'd just met, but then again, you chose to come sit beside him because you felt it was welcoming. You felt he was welcoming when everyone else couldn't care to look his way for once. "You saw me?"

"I didn't hear you." You say, though not as a bad thing. "The silence was nice, compared to all...that. I hope you don't mind the company."

"I don't mind." Charles says quickly, and a soft smile grows on your face, "It's...nice."

"Even with the snails?" Chares snorts into his glass at your comment, most certainly not a good look, but your smile grows as Charles's heart does, and he finds that he's screwed in a mere matter of minutes.

"Even with the snails." He answers, thoughts returning briefly to the dish he's hidden under his chair. You had the right idea, taking photos of it. So far, there was no proof Charles had attended besides him looming in the back of others' photos, and the few he had taken upon arrival. "Could you possibly send me a photo you took of them? I should post something nice while I'm here."

You nod, returning to your phone, and Charles has never so easily gotten someone's number without even thinking before. "And how should I send it? Instagram?"

"Ah." Or not number, he supposes. Then again, he shouldn't be handing his phone number out to strangers anyway, but still. Giving you his Instagram means you finding out everything about him in one perfect capsule, his former baby lifestyle on display, when it was this kind of connection he wanted you to have. He didn't want to scare you off, or change what this was.

He just wanted something to be normal, for once.

"Ah?" You echo, looking up from your phone, that smile fading.

"You will know who I am, then." He clarifies, and your brows pinch together.

"And you don't want me to know who you are?" Well, when you phrase it like that, it doesn't sound great.

He just doesn't want you to know that side of him yet. "You'll see that I'm not so different from them." He says, gesturing to the crowd, "But I suppose it's too late now."

"You could ask for my number, and I could promise not to Google you?" It's a kind, soft answer, and this time, it feels like Charles's whole body has been set on fire, dunked in ice, maybe thrown in a blender for good measure. Now, you were giving him your number, and as much as he didn't believe you wouldn't Google him, it was a sweet gesture.

A response immediately comes to mind, the sort of brave thing he can picture Carlos saying, or maybe Lando. And, maybe because of how you're making him feel, maybe the few glasses of wine or the distant crowd, he finds himself saying it before he can stop. "Or, I could ask for your number, and take you out to dinner to better explain who I am in person."

He watches your cheeks flush, barely noticeable under the dim lights of the yard, and he'd give anything to see what you look like flushed in the daylight. "I'd like that." You say, handing over your phone, and Charles tries not to shake as he types in his number. This wasn't the smartest thing he's ever done, but something about you is trustworthy. "I'll make sure to pick a spot with no snails."

"You're picking the venue?" He says, glancing up from your phone, and you shrug.

"I'm the chef, after all." You have a point there, but still.

Monaco was Charles's home, despite his qualms with it. He would show you everything and anything it has to offer, including food. Somewhat foolishly, he thinks that, if he can impress you, a chef, with his culinary opinions, he might just make this work.

"But I'm the host." He argues back, handing over your phone. "You've only been here two weeks, I should suggest where we eat."

"Fine, then." You relent, grinning down at the phone in hand. "You pick the place to eat, and I'll see just how good your taste is."

↳ f1gossip A follower spotted Charles Leclerc getting cozy with @/chef_yourusername, a pastry chef based in Monte Carlo, at the launch of a restaurant last night!

↳ brocedes finally someone can teach that poor man to cook

↳ yourbestie anyone makes a joke about them going back to the kitchen and I'm throwing hands

↳ mclar_win charles I hope you have a good workout regime, have you seen the desserts @/chef_yourusername can make??

liked by chef_yourusername

"So, about dinner." You had tried, when Charles had picked you up, to be normal about it. You had made polite conversation, laughed at his jokes, gotten into his ridiculously expensive tinted car without batting an eye, but you knew the conversation waiting just below the surface of your silence.

After all, it was pretty hard to ignore. It had started with some gossip account on Instagram that had somehow gotten your identity, and then it spread like wildfire until everyone you knew was calling you, texting you, sending quotes out to news sources about your relationship status and your past. You and Charles blew up before you even knew his identity, and, well.

So much for you finding out about him over dinner, because now you are very aware of his F1 fame and Monaco status, and he knows you know, except neither of you can really bring yourself to say anything about it. "What about it?" You ask, feigning ignorance even as you cringe internally.

"I think maybe Blue Bay wouldn't be good for tonight." He parks the car in some little back alley, and your heart stops for a moment, because at the end of the day, this is basically a stranger, albeit a very rich stranger. "For your sake."

"My sake?" His head falls back against the headrest, rolling to the side to look at you, and you let out a low breath. It wasn't fair he looked this good when he was probably about to cut this off. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Why?"

"You wanted me to get to know you away from all...that." You understand, now, why he'd hesitated to give you his Instagram. This would've been a lot nicer to learn over good food, rather than the internet. "Thought I'd still give you the chance."

Charles watches you for a moment more before a small smile graces his face, putting the car into park and turning it off. "You're not upset I'm a formerly rich baby?"

"Intimidated, maybe." You admit, "But not upset." Then, because you feel like you need to, "I'm not here because of who you turned out to be, either."

"Good." Charles says, opening the car door. He pauses, then, looking back to you, and he gets that same smile on his face. "Good. I think you'll enjoy this place more, then."

When people typically say a restaurant is a hole in the wall, they mean it's small - Charles has taken you to a place that's basically infinitesimal. It's two high-top tables and a counter, with slices of pizza on display. It's the sort of place you couldn't imagine existing in Monaco, or that Charles would willingly enter.

"Charles!" The shop owner says, quickly shuffling across the small restaurant to shake his hand. It's somehow shorter than Charles, a feat you weren't sure was possible. "Si tôt de retour?" Back so soon? Back?

Charles had come here before? Willingly? "Ah, Paulo. Nous avons besoin d'un endroit privé pour manger." We need a private place to eat, Charles says, gesturing to you beside him, and you offer a small wave.

"Ah, quelle charmante surprise!" What a lovely surprise, which you hope is the truth. He gestures for you to follow, and he opens the door to the kitchen. Charles gently places his hand on the small of your back, gesturing for you to go, and you stop to look at him.

"Anything you want to tell me?" You say, finally walking into the equally small kitchen, and then, to your surprise, through the back door to a little wooden dock on the water, and you stop in your tracks.

"That my trainer does not know this place exists, and never will." What obviously is a back walkway on the water has been turned into a little oasis away from the rest of Monaco. Considering every trip you've taken outside has resulted in some sort of secret photo being taken of you, this table, with two chairs and a candle, far away from anyone, was far better than any fancy experience out there. The sun, just starting to set, has the sky covered in pink and orange twists of clouds, reflected in the water just at the horizon. "Merci, Paulo."

At a loss for words, Charles pulls out a seat at the small table, and you sit. He takes his place across from you, crossing his arms as he looks out at the water.

Compared to all the headlines you'd read about him, all the clips and all the comments, you hadn't really expected this. You expected the former rich baby lifestyle, the luxury, not secret back patios to old pizza restaurants. Somehow, it makes Charles more attractive than he already ridiculously is. "My father would take me and my brothers here." Charles says, finally looking from the water to find you staring. "I know it's not exactly Michelin star, but-"

"It's perfect, Charles." The response seems to take him by surprise, his expression shifting into something you don't quite understand. "I'm impressed."

"Well." Charles says slowly, cheeks and neck flushing. "If I had known this was what impressed you, I wouldn't have tried so hard."

Paulo appears with two glasses of wine and wordlessly sets them down before disappearing. "You were trying hard to impress me?"

"I mean," Charles quickly cuts himself off, taking a sip of wine. "After everything I've put you through, I ought to try hard, no?"

"Well, it's working." Paulo reappears, with two paper plates with single slices, reminding you so much of New York, of the life that, despite only being two weeks gone, felt so far away.

"Paulo is from New York," Charles says, thanking the man as he takes his plate. "I thought you might enjoy."

"That's really sweet, Charles." You happily take your plate, staring down at the food you'd been craving for weeks. "Merci, Paulo."

"Did you like New York?" You don't answer Charles immediately, because you're already inhaling half your slice. He laughs softly, watching you eat, awkwardly trying to lift up the piece to take a bite.

You wave a hand as you swallow, stopping him in his tracks. "You fold the slice."

"What?" Charles looks at you as if you've grown two heads, and you show him with your slice how to fold the edges to make for an easier process.

"This is how you do it in New York." You take another bite as you watch Charles tentatively eat his, before seeming to get the hang of it. "And I love New York. It's home to so many great restaurants, great people. Monaco's a lot more to get used to."

"Well, there are great restaurants," Then, somewhat slyly, "Great people."

"Yourself included?"

"Well," He says, grinning ear to ear as he looks out at the water. "I wouldn't say that."

You hum softly in agreement, and for a moment, all the stress of the past few days slips away. All the photos, all the fans, who Charles is supposed to be disappears, and you're left staring at him, the real him, who keeps trying to fold his pizza slice the best he can and somehow fails it every time, who knocked over snails and asked you out and somehow, despite it all, is still incredibly sweet.

Him being this attractive also doesn't hurt either. "Well," You finally say, leaning forward on the table. "You wanted me here so you could explain yourself better."

"And we saw how well that plan went," Charles mutters under his breath. "Not much else for you to learn, is there?"

"I wouldn't say that." There are plenty of things you didn't know about him. "Like, what's your middle name?"

With a soft groan, Charles lowers his forehead to the table. He mutters something utterly unintelligible, before finally raising his head to give you an unimpressed look. "You're going to make fun of me for it!"

"Well, now I have to know."

"Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc." Charles, Marc, Hervé, Perceval, Leclerc. You try your hardest not to laugh at how truly former rich baby it sounds, and Charles fights a smile as he tries to be angry at you. "I told you!

"You sound like a prince." You say as Paulo reappears with more slices.

"A lord, actually." He clarifies, some sort of inside joke you've obviously missed, and he waves a hand. "Never mind. Tell me something about you, then."

"No, no, tonight's supposed to be about you." You quickly try to change the topic, to keep it on him, but he won't allow it.

"Tonight's about us, actually." He says, and you can feel yourself grow warm, smiling like a fool down at your new plate.

Us.

You like the sound of that. "Tell me your most embarrassing baking story."

"We're starting with most embarrassing?" You question, quickly looking up, and Charles offers another perfect grin. "Really?"

"Well, you already know everything embarrassing about me." With a scoff, you ball up your napkin and throw it at him, and he offers a soft gasp as it hits his shoulder. "What? You've seen my racing."

"And that's embarrassing?" It couldn't possibly be.

Really, you were surprised he hadn't bragged about it by now, made it something bigger, but he had avoided the topic entirely. "It's embarrassing when I lose."

"Ah, poor baby." You tease, and Charles glances down at his plate, the softest expression breaking through, and you decide to give him a break. If he doesn't want to talk about racing, or winning, or losing, he doesn't have to. You'll have plenty of time for that later. "Well, I think most embarrassing for me would be setting one of my instructors on fire."

And you find that, as the night goes on, and the wine gets poured, and the slices keep coming, and the sun dips below the water and night falls, Charles doesn't ever explain who he is, or what his life really is like, and really, you don't need him to. You find out everything you need to know about him simply by sitting across from him and letting yourself enjoy the night.

Liked by yourbestie, bi_sous, charles_leclerc, and others

chef_yourusername I ate more than just food last week

↳ yourbestie the hottest woman to grace this earth

↳ bi_sous i'm never getting the film camera back, am i?

↳ yourbestie i'm still waiting for her to give back my bracelet from sixth grade, get in line honey Liked by yourusername

↳ brocedes call me crazy but is that not the EXACT same photo charles put on his story??

↳ pastry81 charles, we already know, you don't have to lurk

liked by yourbestie, bi_sous, charles_leclerc and others

chef_yourusername proof that I can serve more than food on my instagram

↳ bi_sous you need to stop with the food puns.

↳ chef_yourusername could you say I'm...milking it? or that they're pretty corny?

↳ bi_sous i'm going to need you to put the phone down

↳ f1_fanatic CHARLES??? the hand placement????

↳ fan44 so the soft launches begin

Going out with Charles was...good. It would be hard to say anything else. It was fun, it was new, but it was daunting.

Because it wasn't just a joke, or something to hide, Charles's fame was real, and it wasn't something that would go away, even if you were going on dates with the man. Sure, those dates were behind closed doors, but that didn't stop paparazzi, and fans, and nosy neighbours.

It was quite a different change of pace. Moments with Charles were always in the spotlight, and you had always been behind the scenes, behind a stove, for most of your life. To have a fancy car pull up in front of your apartment building, to have reservations at the most in-demand and then the most unknown restaurants, to be his, it was all sort of a dream. And then, when you weren't with him, you were thrust back into the reality that you weren't part of the former rich baby crew. You were not a fitting piece to this wealthy, strange puzzle.

And slowly, it dawned on you, that he'd realize this. That you catered to people of this lifestyle, you didn't live it. You couldn't name his expensive watch brands, which cost more than your apartment, hell, cost more than some houses. You couldn't pass the small talk, couldn't look the part. That, if you weren't at Charles's side, you didn't matter to the world of Monaco outside of making their desserts.

And some day, when Charles recognized this, all of this would come to an end. The fantasy, the flings, the late nights spent curled in each other's company. Maybe, if Charles weren't so loveable, that truth would be easier. After all, it was Charles, who dumped bowls of snails on the ground, who took the lead to take you out to dinner, who treated it like it was normal. With him, everything felt normal. By your third date, you were lounging on his patio, reading books in silence. You'd taken a photo of it, included it on Instagram, because it felt like something you could control. If Charles weren't famous, it would be perfect. You would be daydreaming of getting into an actual relationship, of some day down the line wearing white, of all the possible futures you have together.

But Charles is famous, and that fame is not ignorable, and it's not in your control. At the very least, you were spared criticism so far by those around you. People on the internet likely had other thoughts, but at Charles's advice, you didn't look at those things. You might occasionally watch videos of him, where he makes little jokes about you like it's nothing, just to remind yourself that this is real.

You let yourself daydream and carry on because, when it does come your time to lose Charles, at least you'll make the most of it. "I never want to see a raspberry again." Bishop says as the night winds down, the last of the orders finished. "Or a blueberry. Or any berry for that matter."

"Just be happy you work with sweet foods," Maeva responds bitterly as she wipes down her station. "I've been working with octopus all week."

One of the servers lingers in the doorway to the kitchen, earning matching glares from the kitchen staff. "Il y a une note pour les pâtissiers?"

There's a note for the pastry chefs, a line that has both you and Bishop look at each other in horror. "Qu’est-ce que c’est?"

"Eh," The server extends a napkin folded into a rose to you with a somewhat embarrassed look, and you might die in front of all the other kitchen staff. "Chais pas."

He doesn't know? How could he not know! You unfold it, expecting something from Charles, but instead, unfamiliar handwriting stares back. How you've come to know Charles's handwriting in weeks, you're not quite sure, but it reaffirms that maybe, just maybe, you've been playing into this delusion for too long.

In case things don't work out with Mr. F1,

It says, followed by a number.

Bishop peers over your shoulder, eyebrows raised so high they almost disappear. He was one of the few people to actually ask you about Charles. Everyone else was either too worried to ask, or didn't care to know. You turn back to the server to ask about who sent it, but he'd disappeared, and you're left with all eyes on you.

It's the sort of attention that makes your skin crawl. "Je reviens!" I'll be back, you blurt, quickly heading for the back door. The last thing you needed was for more gossip to start up about your love life, and then, as you open the back door to the alley behind the restaurant, you find Charles leaning up against the wall, waiting for you.

Perfect timing, as always.

The door slams behind you, startling him as he looks up from his phone, and he breaks out into a grin that, for the first time, doesn't make you smile back. "You sounded stressed this morning," He says, pushing off the wall to come toward you. "Thought you might want the company."

You had texted him about how swamped you were at the restaurant, and at any other time, this would be a sweet gesture, in fact, it still is. It's just overshadowed by your own understanding of how soon this is going to be over. "You didn't have to do that, Charles."

"I only have so much down time," He says with a shrug. "Might as well spend it well."

Then, he notices the napkin in hand, the phone number written down unmistakeable.

"Ah." The small exhale he makes does nothing to help the debate in your mind. Does he think you wanted someone's number? Does he recognize how absurd this whole thing is? An F1 driver and a pastry chef. In what fairytale does that work out? "Seems I have competition."

"It's nothing," You say, crumpling up the paper. Maybe you should keep the number, you think. For when this all ends. "I'm sure."

"You're sure?" He echoes, expression twisting into something unreadable. "If...if you're interested in someone else, you can just say that."

"I'm not, Charles." And it's the truth. You want him, but that's not realistic. That much is obvious, from all the other flings F1 drivers have had, all the normal people who don't exist in their lives. They get models, and actresses, not you. Not like this. "Are you?"

His face twists then into an expression that you can read, which is utter confusion. "No, mon coeur, why would I be?"

"I'm not exactly a former rich baby." You say, trying to joke and failing. It was the sort of complaint you felt shouldn't be put into words, that you were worried Charles would realize how much more he could find from someone else. It was just your insecurity, but at the end of the day, it felt real. It was real. This wasn't made to be something that lasts. "We have very different lives."

"And that's good, yeah?" He steps forward, hovering above you yet not touching. Part of you wants nothing more than to reach out and place a hand on his chest, maybe fix his hair, but another part of you is too terrified to move. "You show me snails, I show you Monaco."

"And when you get tired of snails?" You ask, because if this is happening, you need to get everything off your chest. "And someone comes along that-" You cut yourself off before you manage to say it.

"And someone comes along to try and convince me to try something new?" The alley falls into silence as you and Charles look at each other, because how else could you say it?

There were other people out there better suited for him. Plain and simple.

"Someone comes along with a dish that's more palatable. That people here like." You finally continue, and Charles pauses, the metaphor taking a moment to catch up, and you let out a soft breath. "What I'm saying, Charles, is that this, us, me, it doesn't last. Or at least logistically, it doesn't."

"Logistically?"

"You are used to the spotlight, being front and centre, and that's where you belong. I'm used to being hidden away in kitchens. That's where I belong." Charles opens his mouth to protest, and you raise your hands. "And I want to be there. Baking is my life, but it's not exactly compatible for sneaking around with a Formula One driver."

The words cling to the air, suddenly hot and heavy between the two of you. It wasn't the best way you could've phrased it, but it was the truth. "Sneaking around?"

"Tell me that people aren't saying things. That the whole reason there's so much paparazzi coverage and photos and weird fan messages isn't because you've been seen sneaking around with a pastry chef." That's all you were.

The pastry chef. An oddity. A-"I wouldn't call it sneaking around." Charles's words cut through your thoughts, and you blink up at him in disbelief. "I'd call it dating."

Dating.

Sure, you had gone on dates, but...

Actually dating? "What?"

"These have been dates." He's quick to clarify, gesturing between the two of you. "Have I...not made that clear?"

"Well, yes, but that's...that's a lot more official than it seems." Going on dates and dating, at least from what you're used to, are two very different things. If Charles weren't famous, if you hadn't read so much about him and his fellow drivers, it would be obvious. You go on dates, you're dating, you're something official.

But when a man that rich and famous and beautiful goes on dates? It's just a momentary thing, something to pass the time. None of the headlines you've seen have been serious, but as you study Charles's expression, you realize you've been looking in all the wrong places. The opinions of others never could've shown you who Charles really is.

So why should they dictate what your relationship is? "Ah." Charles breathes out, finally seeming to understand, and a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "Do you want me to ask?"

"Charles."

"I do not care that you are not a former rich baby, or that you like snails, or whatever anyone else might have to say about that. You saw me." His hands come to rest on your waist, pulling you to him slowly. "You came and sat with me like I was anyone else. You make me feel like anyone else. I'm sorry if I don't make you feel the same."

"You do, you do." You rush out, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Being this close doesn't feel real, and that small, nagging thought at the back of your mind reminds you why. "It's just that, every so often, a camera flashing reminds me that this isn't."

"And I will make amends for that." Amends. It's a sort of thrilling thing, imagining Charles all serious, telling people to stop taking photos. It'll never really happen, but it's nice to picture. "But spending time with you, dating you, means the world to me. I...it sounds so stupid in English." He says with a laugh, a warm thing that finally has you smiling back. "Veux-tu être à moi?" Will you be mine, he asks, but it doesn't feel like the kind of question that needs answering, or even needs saying. You're his, the moment he dropped those stupid snails. "Don't pretend to not know French now."

"Oh, I heard what you said." You say, hands smoothing down the front of his chest. "Just sort of...letting it sink in."

And there, in the mild evening breeze, in a barricaded alley with Charles Leclerc, you find yourself in love. It's a little, gradual thing you know will grow further, but right now, you just let yourself enjoy the thought.

"You're scaring me here." Charles jokes, and you finally decide to cut him some slack, and let yourself start living the life you want to live.

"Oui, Charles. Je suis à toi."

I'm yours.

A grin splits across Charles's face so wide, it's as if you've never seen him happy before. His hands immediately come up to cup your face, as your arms loop around his neck, and he's kissing you. It's soft and sweet and so very Charles, taking up all your senses as you pull him closer against you. You had kissed before, little pecks on cheeks, but this is the first one that felt tangible, felt worthy of being called a kiss. It's the sort of reassurance that makes this insane possibility real.

That Charles is yours, and you are his, and this is all possible, kissing in the back alley behind your restaurant like it was an everyday occurrence.

Really, you wouldn't mind if it was. "Good," He mutters against your lips. "I was going to ask you anyway."

"Really?"

"Mhm," He hums, pulling back with a lazy smile. "I had a picnic planned tomorrow. I was going to cook."

"Oh, god." You laugh, letting your head fall forward against his shoulder. "Good thing you asked me now, then."

It wasn't that Charles's cooking was bad, per se, but it was more than yours was better. "Just for that?" Charles says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "We're going on the picnic anyway."

Liked by yourusername, carlos_sainz, and others

charles_leclerc believe it or not, I can cook

↳ chef_yourusername sweetheart, I'm going to hold your hand when I say this...

↳ charles_leclerc I did well!

↳ chef_yourusername you did so well at putting the toppings on

↳ carcarcar I'm sorry, the last photo?? i don't know what looks better, the pizza or @/chef_yourusername

liked by chef_yourusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestie, and others

chef_yourusername if you think dating a chef gets you free food, you are very wrong - you become free labour ;)

↳ charles_leclerc you're welcome, mon coeur

↳ chef_yourusername merci charlie 🥰

↳ charles_leclerc ❤️ 🥟 🍜

↳ mclar_win the matching fits!!

↳ brocedes who wants to bet the white is to hide all the flour?

↳ carcarcar first an ice cream brand, what next, a full restaurant?

↳ chef_yourusername @/charles_leclerc please please please please please please please????

↳ charles_leclerc ... i'll think about it

↳ bi_sous @/chef_yourusername you better hire me

↳ chef_yourusername obviously

a/n: despite learning french for basically ten years now, i have no idea if any of this is correct. enjoy?

#➤ rex works #➤ cl16 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagines #reader insert #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 fluff #formula one fluff #f1 angst

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saudadeko · 2 years ago

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ADHD tips from a girlie who was diagnosed in her late twenties and has had little to no support since and is being so brave about it:

1) Make it easy, make it accessible, and make it appealing. If anything this is the most important thing, all tips going forward are based around this concept.

2) That thing you think would help you but you haven’t bought/done it yet because you’re technically surviving without it? Buy it, you need it. It doesn’t matter if people around you might think it’s wasteful or that you’re lazy, you’re not, just do it, trust me.

3) Expanding on tip #2, if you’re like me and eggs are your main source of protein because they’re quick and easy and feeding yourself is a near insurmountable task- buy yourself an electric egg cooker, make a bunch of hard boiled eggs and keep them in your fridge for quick and easy protein to add to any meal (handful of crackers, a hard boiled egg and a banana? 5 star meal right there. Or mash them up with some mayo for egg salad sandwiches). Other easy proteins include: potstickers (put them in instant ramen), edamame (they have microwaveable snack packs), chickpeas (put in salads!), beans (can of beans microwaved with shredded cheese and some tortilla chips), peanut butter (with crackers, apple and cheese, adult lunchable style), and tofu (cut into cubes, throw them into a ziplock with some seasoning and potato starch, shake that shit up and bake it until crispy).

4) Spend a little extra (if you are able) on daily use items that excite you, it will make you more likely to remember/want to do said daily task. For example: the only reason I remember to use sunscreen is because I bought some fancy japanese sunscreen that smells like roses so I get excited to use it, same for laundry detergent and body wash! there’s a gajillion different body wash scents out there, switch it up!

5) If there’s a task you continuously struggle with take a moment to think about which part of the task is making it difficult, it could be something even as small as “I don’t put my dirty clothes in the hamper because my hamper has a lid on it and lifting the lid is one step too many-”, sounds a little stupid huh? But trust your gut, it’s not stupid if it works. See tip #2 and BUY A HAMPER WITHOUT A LID.

6) If you are having trouble starting a task, break the task down further, sometimes the way I start a task is just by going “Ok step 1) stand up-“ and so forth. Don’t worry about the task as a whole just take it one step at a time.

7) If you’re halfway through a task and have to stop, leave it out. All this, “Put things away when you’re done with them.” is bullshit. you will be much more likely to finish the task if restarting it is easier because you left it out plus it’s a visual reminder. You can also create faux deadlines like “I gotta finish this project before my friend comes over on tuesday because after I finish it I can clean off the dinner table.” etc.

8) It’s okay to outsource tasks and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, humans are designed to ask for, and to require help (what do babies do when they’re first born?? cry for help!!) ask for help and receive help without shame, if it makes your life better, you are WINNING.

9) If you have one big overwhelming task that you think you need to get done before anything else, but you feel motivated to do other tasks, do those other tasks first, it’s okay. Otherwise in all likelihood (at least in my case) you’ll put everything off until the last minute and then have to do said overwhelming task and those other tasks won’t get done at all. Doing those smaller tasks also lowers the mental load and you can use them as a motivation launch pad to tackle bigger things.

10) If you notice you tend to not put something away/forget to do something, perhaps consider moving and storing the item closer to where it ultimately ends up or where you are more likely to see it. For example, my makeup, pills, and mail are all stored on my desk because that’s where I tend to do my makeup, take my pills and deal with my mail. I used to store my pills in my bathroom medicine cabinet but all too often I would forget because they weren’t in my line of sight. Now that they’re on my desk, I have multiple chances per day to pass by them, go “oh I gotta take those.” and take them.

11) Open storage, open storage, OPEN STORAGE.

12) Motivation can look like all kinds of things. sometimes the only reason I get out of bed is because I remember I have a fun snack and I get to go eat it if I get up. It’s okay to lean into those simple “animal-brain” type motivators, you’ll eat because then you can use that fun new kitchen gadget you got a daiso? Neat. you’ll shower because then you can paint your nails that fun new color you got? Fantastic. You’ll go to the dmv and do that annoying thing because you’ll take yourself out for boba after? Superb. Lean-IN to those small motivators, they aren’t stupid or childish, they are VITAL.

13) Don’t buy into the cult of “if it’s worth doing, do it properly” it’s guaranteed to set you up for failure. If it’s worth doing, do it in whatever capacity you are able to. I put sunscreen on once a day because that’s fucking better than not doing it at all and I sure as all hell will fail at reapplying it multiple times a day. If it’s worth doing, do it half-assed babieeee.

Go forth and prosper!!! xoxo ✌️🩵

#adhd #actually adhd #living with adhd #adhd tips #felt like writing these out for reference as needed

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munsonify · 8 days ago

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about time

pairing. clark kent x fem!reader

summary. three times clark wanted to say ‘i love you’, and the one time he did

content warnings. sm fluff, established relationships, kind of secret relationship, journalist!r, teasing, r wearing clark’s shirt, clark calling r beautiful, kissing. not proofread

word count. 2719

a/n. hello first time writing for a dc character in years, i’ve since deleted that account, thank the lord. anyways this might be a crazy mischaracterization of him but idk

———

your little secret

it was rather early on in your relationship when clark realized he loved you. he stumbled about that fact, actually, the day he so timidly told you who he was behind those frames of his. he thought a lot about how he should tell you, or even if he should. there were two things he was sure of upon pondering.

one: clark cares about you. a lot. he plans to stick around for as long as you’ll let him, as long as you’ll willfully have him.

two: outside of his ma and pa - and maybe kara, though he wouldn’t ever admit it to her face -, clark trusts you most. your unwavering loyalty was never something he doubted, even for a second.

when this little secret of clark began eating him alive, gnawing at his stomach with a guilt he knew he shouldn’t have, clark knew what he had to do. if this is what does you in, what has you running towards the hills far away from him, he’ll just have to be okay with that. you may not tattle to anyone, but you certainly wouldn’t lie to him, either. if it was too much, surely you’d let him know. it’s better to get this off his chest now before he roped you in too deep.

long, careful fingers danced against your calf, slow and calming, just like clark’s touch always was. your legs were comfortably draped over his lap as you sat on your couch with him. you two spoke in a whisper, despite having the entire place to yourselves. the conversation eventually flickered out into a silence, words melting away with the breeze that led through your open window. you noticed the way his face contorted into a rather unnatural look for him.

clark, even if confused sometimes, seemed conflicted. this was odd for him. you’ve known him for a while, a lot of which was spent strictly as coworkers, you’ve never quite seen him like this. he’s always dead set on everything. it wasn’t often you saw him second guessing himself. worry started to bubble up inside of you as you watched him chalk up the nerve to maneuver you two into this next topic, the one plaguing his mind.

“is it okay if i tell you something?” clark asks, voice somehow a lot more quiet than before. it wasn’t weak or unsteady, per-say, only a unsure. his round blue eyes flickered up to yours, and all he was met with was the same welcoming energy you always gave him. when you nodded, he took a deep breath, fingers still against your skin.

that’s when those three words slipped from his lips. i am superman. he braced himself, shoulders drawn up and tensed, though eyes still right on yours in an attempts to read your expression. when your lips quirked up into a small smile, clark was a little taken aback. he just let you in on his biggest secret, the one thing he thought might scare you away, and you’re smiling.

“so that’s how you’re getting all of those fancy interviews with him,” you state in just as low of a voice as him. it made sense to you, really. the exclusive interviews and the top-secret knowledge, the unexplainable absences and the sudden need to dismiss himself or the times he secretly slips away in times of particular crisis in the city.

you had your own speculations on who superman really was. you often found yourself coming back to clark. at times, you tried to shake it off, to tell yourself to think logically. you thought you were being naive, or even a little self centered to think you’d know superman. there were so many people who lived in metropolis, even if he was being a bit obvious from time to time. it felt nice hearing clark say that, to confirm your underlying suspicions about the man. it felt even better having the opportunity to tease him.

clark cracked a small smile to match yours, shaking his head slightly at you. you unknowingly confirmed just how trustworthy you are, and you did it so casually.

“well i wouldn’t call them fancy,” he said, fingers falling back into the same rhythm as before, trailing against your skin.

“what would you call it then?”

“unstructured.”

“that’s more like it,” you agree, huffing out a quiet laugh. “it shows in your writing.”

“funny,” clark says bluntly, eyes narrowing in on you.

that’s when it hits him. a sudden wave of intense adoration washes over his body, consuming him entirely. his last secret, one that was accepted with open arms and an open mind, was replaced with another. one that was just as valuable as the last.

clark loves you. he loves how accepting and trustworthy you are. he loves your kindness and your calmness. he loves how open-minded and non-judgmental you are, too. you take everything as it’s given without a single expectation.

part of clark wants to just blurt it out, to confess this newfound feeling that’s been, somehow right out of grasp, growing inside of him. he’s already done that once today. the last thing he wants to do is overwhelm you with news, no matter how willing you are to listen. instead, he sits with this feeling. there’s no need to rush something that’s already so good.

———

late mornings

you woke up a little later than you intended. it’s not that you had a particularly long night, or you were in need of that extra sleep you were granted. your body seemed to just lean into this feeling of comfort, letting it engulf you and sweep you away. it’s never something you’d complain about, not on a saturday morning. especially not when you woke up in clark’s bed. there wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be.

his broad chest was firm behind you, bare and pressing against your back, molding himself against you. one of his large hands rested against your waist, sprawled out and comfortable on your warm skin. his thumb was slowly moving against you, rubbing your skin in a delicate manner. you couldn’t help but smile at the feeling, shimmying just a tiny bit further back. that’s when he noticed you were awake, his hand gently squeezing to acknowledge you.

“g’morning,” clark mumbled against your skin, lips brushing your shoulder. “sleep well?”

“mhm,” you affirmed sleepily. “very well. did you?”

“always do when you’re here.”

it was the truth. while he may not need to sleep, at least not as often as you do, he rests anyways. he finds it much easier when you’re around. something about being this close to you, his breathing slowing to match yours, watching your drowsiness take over, and seeing how peaceful you look so deep in sleep helped him relax enough to succumb with you. it always felt nice to do so, to rest his eyes just for a few hours. this is an intimacy he loves sharing with you.

love. there’s that word again. he couldn’t help but feel it when he’s this close to you. there was no stopping this feeling inside of clark. it rattled inside of him like a bell tower at the strike of noon, loud and relentless, yet to be expected. how could he not feel this love when he’s near you?

you began twisting in clark’s arms, shimmying your way around to face him. you were met with his soft eyes and his charming smile as you lean into him, your lips brushing against the very center of his bare chest. it’s like you could sense what he was feeling, despite him knowing very well that you couldn’t. still, he believed that, on some level, you two were connected, interlocked in some far off, universe binding sort of way neither of you could quite understand. he may know a thing or two about different worlds, but that didn’t mean he knew everything.

———

coffee order

clarks week had been particularly busy for him. deadlines for new and intriguing stories he didn’t quite have put together yet were rushing up on him. problem after problem seemed to arise in metropolis that needed his immediate attention more than usual. it was odd being who he is and still being so strung out and worn thin. he can’t have it all, he told himself. these were all responsibilities he was willingly and proudly bearing.

hunching over his desk, clark stared intensely at his notebook full of information, forehead placed in the palm of his hand. he stopped retaining what he was so desperately trying to read ages ago. it was hard to focus when he was so on edge, expecting nothing but the worst to erupt any minute now.

what grounded him in the moment was you.

clark heard your sweet voice even before you made it to the floor. he could tell by the dinging of the elevator that you’d just gotten on, greeting the folks around you pleasantly on your way up. he wasn’t even sure how he knew to listen up for you, it sort of just happened. something deep inside of him must’ve been waiting for you, calling for your presence. he couldn’t help but perk up in excitement, shoulders straighten just a little in his seat.

and, even if he kept his eyes on his notes, it was obvious now that clark was not reading what was written in front of him. he couldn’t even if he tried, not when you were on your way up the building. despite his excitement, he didn’t turn when the elevator door opened up onto the floor. he didn’t get up to greet you or acknowledge you. sooner or later, you’d make your presence known. your desk was right next to his, after all.

clark only too a peek around when he noticed the scent of coffee radiating from you. your heels made a slight slacking noise against the floor as you found your way over, four cups of coffee in a holder ready to be passed out. the first two were handed off to lois and jimmy, the third to him. you gave him that same smile you always give him in the mornings: grateful, pleasant, shimmering. while the two of you weren’t exactly public with your relationship, you two were glaringly obvious with the way you ogled each other.

“figured you could use a pick-me-up,” you told him, setting his coffee down on his desk next to his notepad. “you’ve been busy.”

“yeah, thank you,” clark replied, eyes staring up at you, wide and grateful. he nudges his glasses up on his nose as you continue to smile at him, taking your own coffee and making your way to your desk.

that’s when clark noticed the writing on the cup. in black, his order was written neatly on the side, etched out by the baristas that made the drink. in blue, there were a few small hearts next to it, bright and obvious. when you began digging through your work bag at your desk, shuffling through the slight mess of it all, he noticed you tugging out a blue marker, the same shade as the one on the cup. as silly as it may seem, it made him smile to himself. such a small act had him adorably happy, content with the small act of adoration you’d just shown him.

clark had that urge again, that striking feeling of love for you that threatened to burst out of his mouth in an instant. he fought it back once again. this was no place to confess this to you. you deserved to hear it in a more meaningful manner, in a place much more secluded and intimate than this. he was sure you deserved better than him blurting it out to you now, in a hushed whisper you could barely hear in fear that someone else might catch on. it was more sacred to him than that.

———

unexpected drop in

it wasn’t often you had a night like this to yourself.

on normal nights, you worked later than usual, or you had plans to attend to. while you appreciated the latter, it was still nice to break free from that every once in a while. so, you took this opportunity and ran with it. you slipped into plaid pajama pants and a large shirt you almost didn’t notice was clarks, ordered chinese food in, and plopped yourself down on your couch for the remainder of the night.

it felt nice being able to lounge like this. no one was here to nag your or expect anything of you. no one was here to look over your shoulder or invade your personal space. there wasn’t much that could make this night in any better for you, not when your cat was perched up on the other end of the couch with you. not when you were full on delicious food, curled up watching your favorite show. though, much to your surprise, one of the only things could make this night better was knocking on your front door.

with your eyebrows knitted together, you slowly push yourself off of your couch, leaving behind your blanket reluctantly. you padded your way towards your apartment door, unlocking it and pulling it open just enough for you to peek your head out. there clark was, bashfully standing at your front door, his fingers fiddling together as he patiently waits. you both perk up at the same time, fond smiles matching as you tug your door open better.

“i hope im not intruding,” clark tells you, even though you’re ushering him inside, pulling him by his arm through your doorway. he still worries a little even when you lock the door behind you guys, his eyes scanning the mostly empty takeout boxes in the kitchen.

“you’re never intruding,” you express truthfully. “i love having you over.”

love. that’s exactly why clark was over here. this secret of his was once again becoming unbearable. he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold it in. if that pretty smile of yours wasn’t going to kill him, surely the love he has for you will if he doesn’t express it.

you were eagerly tugging him over to the couch, sitting yourself back down where you just were moments ago. your cat, as stubborn as always, stays secure in her seat. she simply glares over at clark in acknowledgment, before tucking her head back down on the cushion. with a little hesitation, he sit down next leaning back as comfortable as he can manage for now. slinging his arm around the cushion behind your head, he realizes the shirt you’re wearing.

“i’ve been looking for this shirt for a month,” clark exclaims quietly. you lean your head back as you giggle, draping your legs over his lap like you always do. “you’re a little thief!”

“what’re you gonna do about it, superman?” you ask teasingly, nudging his side with your fingers. he pondered for a moment, humming and everything as he pretends to think things through.

“i think you look beautiful enough for me to let it slide. just this once.”

“do you do that for all the pretty girls you come across?” you question, a smile still present on your lips. “spare them your wrath?”

“only the ones i love,” clark mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear. it takes you a second to process what he’s said to you, and when you do, your eyes light up just a little more than before. his eyes are searching yours, desperately clinging to any reaction you have to offer him.

“clark,” you whisper, leaning a little closer to him now. “are you telling me you love me?”

all he could manage was a nod, slow and certain. your faces were close enough now that his nose nearly brushed against yours at his movement. that grin of yours doesn’t falter in the slightest, not even when you lean in to close the gap between you two, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. the moment you pull away, you knew exactly what to say to him.

“i love you too.”

#munsonify #clark kent #clark kent imagines #clark kent imagine #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x female reader #clark kent x fem!reader #clark kent x f!reader #clark kent fluff #clark kent fic #x reader

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spideyjimin · 6 months ago

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Bloodlines entwined: VI | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.

— pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader

— genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut

— rating: 18+

— words: 11,321

— warnings: mention of morning sickness, strong language, sexual tension, teasing, a lot of making out, dry sex, implied masturbation, swearing, mention of sex, mention of abortion, mention of death, mention of murder, oc is scared, nervousness, and some crying

— author’s note: hiii angels ✨ it feels like it’s been ages since i haven’t updated this week when it’s only been a week 😅 Things are getting hot between jungkook and oc, and you finally get to know if Felix knew about the werewolf universe or not 👀 Hope you enjoy this chapter & let me know what you think 🫶🏼

Chapter VI: like supernatural

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

You study your reflection in the mirror, trying to look for a pregnancy sign. There is barely a stomach appearing which you guess is normal. The insemination only happened nine weeks ago; it might be too soon to have a bump.

However, you’ve been having terrible morning sickness. It’s honestly horrible, and thankfully, it only happens in the morning. It wouldn’t have been easy if you had to leave the classroom to throw up.

You put on the first grey shirt you find, and a pair of jeans. Since you’re going to grab some stuff at the grocery store, you don’t feel the need to put on your best outfit for that. Something very simple is quite enough.

Before leaving the apartment, you put on your headphones with music blasting in your ears. You also grab your coat with your purse and a bag for your groceries and then leave your apartment.

As you’re walking on the streets, a woman suddenly appears in front of you, a very pretty one. She’s wearing a fancy pink dress underneath a white coat. She exudes so much confidence and power. You’re very much caught off guard, especially since she looks you up and down with disdain. Who the hell is this woman?

One thing you’re sure, she’s a werewolf. She has a strong bestial scent; one different than Jungkook, but she has it. Outside your father’s child and Mister Song, she’s the first werewolf you’ve seen. Do they all have this strong aura?

“So you’re the one carrying Jungkook’s child?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and you remove your headphones to hear her.

“Sorry, what did you say?” you politely say, trying to make sure you hear it right. However, she totally dismisses your question. “Who are you?” you ask with evident confusion.

She ignores you again, her eyes focused on your body. She might definitely hear your child’s heartbeat or smell their scent.

“Are you a surrogate or his new toy?”

You’re almost offended by her question, and it definitely irritates you that she doesn’t even bother to introduce herself. What kind of person is she? And who the hell does she think she is?

“I asked you a question,” your tone is firm, and her eyes finally look up at you.

A smirk appears on her face as if she’s happy you talked like that to her. “Yuna,” she holds out her hand to you. “Jungkook’s future queen.”

You tilt your head and frown before you shake her hand. Jungkook never mentioned any girlfriend, and to be honest, it hurts a bit to find this out like this. Was he cheating on her when he kissed you and gave you pleasure?

“Nice to meet you,” you play along.

She clearly doesn’t know who you are, and if he didn’t say anything about you to her, there must be a reason. He should be the one revealing your existence to her.

“How do you know I’m carrying his child?” you ask.

Now, you’re quite curious about that.

“Let’s just say that I know,” she says.

A little smile appears on your face as she carefully chooses her words. She definitely seems to ignore what you truly are and since she can’t reveal her world to a human, she remains vague. However, you don’t want to make it look like you know about the werewolves.

“Well, if you really knew, you’d know if I’m a surrogate or his new toy,” you use her words against her. “And if you’re his future queen as you said, this is something you’d definitely know.”

She’s taken aback by your words. She seems like she wasn’t expecting you to stand up against her. She doesn’t know what to say, and you look at her, expecting her to say something.

Jungkook appears out of the blue, his body standing tall next to you. His eyes quickly roam your face and body, making sure Yuna didn’t do anything to you. A smile appears on your face when you see him. For a brief moment, you let your eyes wander on this handsome man.

As you’re starting to notice, he’s most of the time wearing a suit, today not being an exemption. It’s a completely black outfit, even the classic shirt under his jacket. He pushes his hair back, clearly trying to rearrange it, and making you understand that he came under his wolf form.

“What are you doing here, Yuna?” his tone is rigid, his jaw clenched.

“Meeting the woman carrying your child and checking up on those rumors.”

You frown, not understanding what she’s making reference to.

“Now, I’m trying to understand if she’s a surrogate or…” Jungkook doesn’t let her finish her sentence.

“She’s my girlfriend if that’s what you want to know,” his tone is as sharp as a knife.

Your face turns to Jungkook while you try to remain composed. This is incredibly surprising, especially since you haven’t put into words what is going on between you. There’s only been a few kisses and his fingers in your pants three days ago. Based on that, you wouldn’t especially call him your boyfriend.

“Oh,” she says.

It’s clear as day that she’s hurt to find out about that. You don’t know this woman, but it’s written all over her face, and you kind of feel sorry for her.

“I didn’t know that,” she continues.

“Now, please leave her alone,” he says. “Leave us alone.”

You’ve never seen Jungkook speaking like that, and it sends shivers down your spine. He’s quite harsh, and it might come from the fact that he’s a king. However, you’re also convinced that this woman did something to him. This isn’t just about him as a king; it’s also personal.

When the woman disappears, you turn fully to Jungkook. For a moment, his eyes don’t leave Yuna, making sure she doesn’t come back. Then, once she’s out of sight, his eyes finally meet yours, and they instantly soften. He gives you a little smile.

“Who’s that woman?” you finally ask.

This man’s beauty is truly breathtaking. How can someone be this good-looking? You hope that your kid will inherit his beauty.

“Yuna,” he says. “My ex.”

Well, that would explain everything, and you kind of sense that she hasn’t moved on just yet. She might definitely still love him a lot. Or maybe she might love the crown he wears.

“She presented herself as your girlfriend,” you inform him.

“I’m not even surprised,” he rolls his eyes. “She has reappeared in my life as if she’s expecting me to welcome her back with open arms.”

Does it surprise you? No, because as a king, you expect him to have many women drooling over him, and trying to get his attention. On top of that, he’s extremely handsome. His beauty is mesmerizing, and you feel lucky to have the opportunity to see him this close regularly.

“But why did you tell her I’m your girlfriend?” you curiously ask.

For a moment, he seems to hesitate, and his eyes look behind you. You also note the way his cheeks redden, which makes him look absolutely adorable.

“That’s the only way she’ll leave you alone,” he answers, his eyes finally meeting yours again.

“I hope so,” you say. “She’s impressive,” you admit.

A smile appears on his face at your words.

“Yep,” he says. “She’s from a powerful family too so she feels like the world is at her feet.”

“I’m only meeting important people from your world,” you smile at him. “I’m starting to think that I’m privileged.”

A chuckle leaves his lips while he shakes his head.

“Technically, you’re more important and powerful than all her family combined,” he admits.

Your eyes widen with surprise. It seems impossible that you have some kind of privilege in this werewolf world. You’re a hybrid, a forbidden being.

“How’s that possible?” you ask. “Nobody knows about me, and I’m…” you lower your voice. “You know what.”

Jungkook nods as he understands you’re referring to your hybrid nature.

“You’re the heir’s mother,” he answers.

“Oh,” you say. “Didn’t know it was a privilege too.”

“It is,” he tells you. “Everybody deeply respects the woman carrying the heir.”

It’s good to know. However, you’re pretty much confident that the privilege will disappear the second, people will find out about who you truly are.

“If you don’t mind, I need to do some grocery shopping,” you show him your little bag. “Want to join?” you ask.

His eyes quickly look around as if he’s making sure nobody sees him here.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he answers once his eyes are on you again. “I’ve actually never done that, so it’ll be a first time for me.”

“What?” you ask with surprise. “You never did this?”

This man won’t even stop surprising you, but it sort of warms your heart that he’ll experience it for the first time with you. You feel honored to introduce him to grocery shopping. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s still so normal for you. The two of you start walking in the store’s direction.

“As you might have seen, I’ve many people working for me and they take care of that.”

You’re still impressed by how huge his mansion is, and how many people you saw working there.

“It makes sense, but still,” you say. “It’s something so normal to do.”

“My normal is very different than yours,” his eyes quickly glance at you.

It’s for sure very different, but you thought that was something he would have at least done once in his life.

“Speaking of different,” you begin. “How did this ex of yours find me?”

Jungkook nervously bites his lower lip, hesitating to reveal the truth.

“The baby’s scent,” he answers.

Your eyebrows furrow because you don’t really understand. The baby doesn’t really have any particular scent, and on top of that, it’s mixed with yours.

“As a king and son of a king, I have a particular scent. It’s different than any other wolf,” he explains. “So all my kids will also have a particular one. She only had to follow that scent.”

Everything seems so peculiar with Jungkook—and with you too. But it’s strange to have been brought to this world by the king himself. It could have been anyone else, but you had to end up with him.

Once inside the store, it seems like Jungkook has entered a completely new world. He looks like a five-year-old who’s discovering something new, making him look extremely cute. He helps you gather what you need and even buys some stuff for himself. He’s so proud of himself, and it leaves you wondering what other ‘normal’ things he doesn’t do.

Jungkook accompanies you to your place to ensure his ex-girlfriend isn’t waiting at your door. This thoughtful gesture fills your heart with warmth. Inside your apartment, you invite him to stay a little while and offer him something to drink and eat to thank him.

The two of you are sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a piece of apple cake. As you look at him innocently drinking and eating, you lose yourself in your own thoughts. Even if he’s powerful in his world, he can’t protect you from your truth. He can’t protect you from the fact that you’re afraid of everything. He can’t protect you from who you are.

There is so much more to unveil about yourself, your family, and your parents, and hurt and pain might come along. On top of that, you’re a hybrid, something so deeply forbidden. You shouldn’t exist, and you’re not even sure he will be able to protect you from how the others react. Because, in all honestly, you strongly believe that nobody will accept you. Nobody will even acknowledge your child as the next ruler.

In the middle of all this chaos, there is that tiny little life growing inside you. One that units you to Jungkook, and it will be a forever bond. No matter how your relationship might evolve, there will always be this baby, and all you hope is for you to remain on good terms.

“Yn,” his voice in your head brings you back to the real world.

“Yes,” you say out loud.

“Are you okay?” he asks with concern.

You simply nod. Even though you want to share all your concerns with him, you’ve already discussed them with him more than enough times. You don’t want to bother him anymore.

“You’re sure?” his voice still echoes in your mind.

“I am,” you answer this time through your thoughts. “Just thinking about all the recent events.”

“We can talk about it if you need to,” he gently suggests.

“It’s okay,” you answer. “I just need time to process it all.”

Honestly, it’s been too much in such a short period of time. In nine weeks, you’ve been through a lot, and you definitely need time and space to digest it all. You’d also like to take your time with everything. You’re about to become a mother, and you’d like to focus a bit more on it.

“Soo,” you then say out loud. “Do you already have any name preference for the baby?”

For a brief moment, his eyes stare into yours to make sure you’re truly okay. He’s been quite concerned about you because of all the events. He hadn’t dealt with so many things in so long.

“I haven’t really thought about it, honestly,” he admits. “Although I’ve always desired to name my kid after my father if it’s a boy.”

You quickly disappear into the living room to pick up your phone before coming back. You open the notes app to write down the ideas you might both have.

“What’s your father’s name?” you ask.

“Taemoo,” he says, and you write it down.

“Oh, it’s a pretty name,” you offer him a smile. “For a boy, I already had the name Hwan in mind,” you tell him. “And for a girl, Arya.”

You add those two names to the list. Those were the names you had already chosen for your child before Jungkook came into the picture. It should have been one of those, but now, you can’t decide alone. This baby has a father.

“Queen Arya,” Jungkook mumbles. “Sounds definitely compelling.”

The brightest smile appears on his handsome face.

“I really like it,” he says.

“And you didn’t have any girl’s name in mind?” you ask with curiosity.

“Well, with Yuna, we had talked about it, and there’s a name that I like,” he confesses. “But I’d never given that name to our girl, I don’t want to be reminded of my ex.”

It’s logical; exes are always better left in the past even if this Yuna seems to want Jungkook back. Thankfully, you don’t have an ex doing the same.

“And Hwan,” he begins. “That’s the name of one of my nephews, and honestly, I wouldn’t want two people to have the same name in my family.”

As he mentions his nephew, you realize that you barely know anything about his family while he already knows so much about yours.

“Then, I guess we’ll erase that one from the list,” you say.

It breaks your heart as it’s a name you really love, but you’re not alone anymore. The baby’s name has to be chosen with Jungkook.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t worry,” you smile at him. “We have to decide together, and if you don’t want to, then I can’t force you to agree.”

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“And how many nephews do you have?”

Jungkook proceeds to talk about his close relatives. He has currently two nieces and a nephew, but a second nephew is on the way. The four of them are the children of his only sister, Dohee. She’s three years younger than him, and he definitely seems to love her with all his heart. He has also two brothers, Hyunjin and Mingi, two little monsters based on his description. Growing up, he was jealous of them because they never had to worry about this whole becoming a king thing.

His parents’ names are Taemoo and Jisoo, the two people he loves the most. It’s clear as day that he deeply loves his family, but his father’s death broke something in him, you can see it when he mentions his father. He had so much admiration for him, and he had to navigate this king role without him. He knew it from the start, but experiencing it firsthand is completely different.

“My mom would like to meet you,” he says.

Jungkook purposely avoids mentioning the terrible conversation he had with his family. He doesn’t want to worry you about that. What matters for now is the fact that his mother wants to meet you.

“She knows about me?” you surprisingly ask.

“Of course,” he says as it was the most obvious thing. “You’re carrying my child,” he pauses for a little moment. “She also knows that you’re a hybrid.”

Oh.

It surprises you that he already mentioned that to her, and you guess she didn’t react well when he told her. At least, she already knows it, but you’re not sure this first meeting will go well. She’ll for sure have preconceptions about you. She’ll probably hate you.

“I can meet her if that’s what you want,” you tell him.

“I’d very much like that.”

“Okay then,” you smile.

Family seems important to him, and you’d meet his mother if he wants to. She’s also your child’s grandmother, and you’d like your child to have a strong bond with the people Jungkook deeply loves.

“And I also would like you to meet Felix and Lexi,” you tell him.

His phone suddenly rings, his eyes looking down at the person calling him.

“Give me 2 minutes,” he grabs his phone and goes to the living room.

Even though he moves a bit further, you still can hear the conversation. Due to your very curious nature, your ears pay attention to him.

“Hoseok,” he says. “I can’t today, I’m already busy with something.”

The person on the other side, a man, responds. “What is more important than that?”

“Listen, I can’t right now, but I’ll take care of that tomorrow,” Jungkook promises.

“Please, help us as soon as you can,” the other man adds. “We can’t handle this by ourselves anymore.”

At the man’s words, you truly realize the extent of what it means to be a king. People rely on him, people need him when things get messy and complicated. And in the middle of that, he finds the time to help you and be present for you.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook responds. “It’ll be settled tomorrow.”

The phone call ends, and seconds later, Jungkook comes back into the room, his presence appealing as always. Earlier, when you came back from the store, he removed his suit jacket, leaving him in just his black dress shirt. Now, with the soft lighting accentuating every line of his figure, your attention is utterly captivated.

The fabric clings to his broad shoulders and tapers down his torso, perfectly tailored to highlight the strength he carries so effortlessly. His rolled-up sleeves expose his forearms—strong, veined, and so distractingly masculine—and his tattoos. You try to focus on something else, but your eyes betray you, tracing the curve of his arms and the way his shirt stretches across his chest with every step.

As he moves toward you, the faintest smile appears on his lips, and it makes your heart race. There’s something about him, a mix of elegance and raw strength, that leaves you spellbound. He settles into the chair across from you, his movements unhurried, and leans slightly forward, his gaze meeting yours. You blink, trying to pull yourself together.

“It’s just a shirt, yn,” you scold yourself silently, but even you don’t believe that.

The heat crawling up your cheeks betrays your thoughts, and the way his presence fills the room doesn’t help. Jungkook quirks a brow, a playful glint in his eyes as if he’s caught you staring.

“Is something on your mind?” he asks, his deep voice cutting through your flustered thoughts.

You quickly look down at your lap, feeling your cheeks burn. “No... nothing,” you mumble.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, just watches you intently, the air between you charged with something unspoken. It’s maddening how effortlessly he affects you, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to look away for long.

“Actually,” you correct your answer. “If there’s something important you need to take care of, you can go,” you tell him.

Based on the conversation he just had, he might have more important matters to deal with. You don’t want to be the reason holding him up. However, his rapid answer leaves no room for doubt.

“Nothing matters more than your safety, yn,” he admits without blinking.

“But…” you start arguing but he doesn’t let you speak.

“There’s no ‘but’, whatever I have to deal with can wait tomorrow,” his tone is very firm and takes you off guard.

Before you can respond, Jungkook leans forward slightly, his gaze locking with yours. There’s an intensity in his eyes that leaves you momentarily breathless.

“Listen to me,” he says softly but with an unmistakable seriousness in his voice. “Your safety and well-being come first, always. Whatever is waiting for me out there will still be there tomorrow. You, on the other hand…” his voice trails off, and for a moment, he seems to struggle to find the right words. He exhales deeply, his tone softening. “You’ve been through so much already. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’re not my priority. Because you are, yn. More than anything else.”

His confession leaves you speechless. The vulnerability in his voice is unexpected, and it warms your heart. Jungkook leans back in his chair, giving you the slightest smile as if he’s trying to ease the tension he just created.

“So no more arguments, okay?” he adds, his tone lighter now. “I’m staying right here, whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” you admit in defeat.

Nobody has ever treated you like this. Nobody has ever made you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Yet, this man who appeared out of the blue in your life nine weeks ago has made you feel like the most precious pearl. He’s been by your side, never letting you face this chaos alone. For the first time in a long time, he’s actually the first man you’ll allow yourself to fall for.

His smile grows bigger at your answer before you move to the living room. You choose to watch Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as you’re both fans of the Spider-Man universe. During the movie, you end up falling asleep as you’re quite exhausted from everything. Growing a human—or a werewolf—isn’t really easy. It consumes your entire energy.

“Yn,” you hear Jungkook’s voice in your dreams. “Yn,” he repeats. “It’s time to eat.”

Suddenly, you feel fingers delicately brushing against your cheeks. You shake your head, trying to push away the fingers on your face.

“Mmm,” you groan while you try to hide your face on the couch.

“Yn, you have to eat,” Jungkook talks in your mind again.

“Leave my head, Jungkook,” you mumble. “And let me sleep.”

“If you don’t wake up now, I’ll keep talking in your head,” he threatens.

“Noo,” you groan once more and hide your ears with your hands. “Leave me.”

Jungkook chuckles as he watches you cover your ears. Doing that won’t make him go away, he’s still able to have a mind-to-mind conversation with you.

“C’mon, yn,” he says. “The dinner will get cold.”

“You cooked?” you instantly ask while opening just one eye.

“Yep,” he answers, this time the words don’t echo in your head.

“What did you do?” you now open your eyes.

“Bibimbap,” he proudly says.

“You should have started by saying that,” you sit on the couch, more hungry than ever.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in front of you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Did you just roll your eyes?” you ask with obvious surprise.

“Maybe,” he teases you.

“Mister,” you pause for a split second. “You’re extremely lucky to be the father of my child. Otherwise, I would have already kicked you in the ass for that attitude,” you tease him back.

Jungkook is trying to remain serious, but he simply can’t. So his strong arms lift you up to place you on his shoulder. Your head almost reaches his plump, squishy, and hot ass, and in your teasing attitude, you decide to smack his ass repeatedly.

“Let me go, Jungkook,” you joyfully scream.

“Didn’t know you were into asses,” he chuckles. “Lucky for you, I have the best ass in the world.”

Instantly, you stop hitting his butt cheeks, heat radiating in your cheeks. Jungkook seems to be in such a teasing mode today, and honestly, you won’t complain. You’re enjoying this very much, you don’t want this to stop.

But he puts you down a few seconds later, your bodies extremely close now, and his face barely a breath away from yours. This teasing mood shifts completely into an intense one. For a moment, your eyes devour his lips as you desire nothing more than to kiss him like you’re starving. Then, you glance up at him, his eyes locking with yours.

His huge hands brush against your arms, and the feeling is comforting. Everything about this man and his presence is comforting. Having him with you here and now feels wonderful. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.

This time around, you don’t hesitate twice and press your lips on his. At first, the kiss is soft. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and your heart feels like it might burst from your chest. You can feel his hands tighten slightly on your arms as if he’s trying to anchor himself to this moment, to you.

Then, something shifts. The kiss deepens, growing more fervent as if both of you have been holding back for far too long. His hands slide up to cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks as he pulls you closer, leaving no space between you.

The world around you disappears. There’s only the feeling of him, the heat of his touch, and the way his lips seem to convey everything he’s been holding back: desire, affection, and an unspoken promise of something deeper.

When the kiss finally breaks, both of you are breathless, your foreheads pressed together. You don’t open your eyes right away, savoring the moment. His hands remain on your face, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw as if memorizing you.

“We should eat before it gets cold,” he whispers before pressing a peck on your lips.

You nod before sitting on a chair. A smile grows on your face as you notice the two plates carefully prepared by Jungkook. It warms your heart that he prepared dinner while you were peacefully sleeping.

“Thanks for the dinner,” you say as you start eating.

Jungkook simply offers you a smile before you both eat in silence. It seems like you’re starving because you eat so rapidly, but damn, this is so good! This man has many talents.

“Can you stay tonight?” you ask once you finish eating.

His big doe eyes move from his plate to you, he looks absolutely adorable. This vision melts your heart.

“Yes,” a sincere smile grows on his face.

“Great,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.

You stand up to gather the plates and bring them to the sink. Jungkook, ever the gentleman, stands to help you, but you wave him off.

“I’ve got it,” you tell him. “You cooked, so let me clean.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t argue. However, you notice him keeping a watchful eye on you as you move around the kitchen. It’s a little unsettling but also comforting, knowing he’s so attentive. When you’re done, you turn to him, a mix of nervousness and determination fluttering in your chest.

“Mm, do you want to… go to the bedroom? I mean, to sleep?” you ask, your voice soft, almost shy.

Jungkook arches a brow, his lips twitching into a subtle smirk. “Are you asking me to share your bed?”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Don’t make it weird, Jungkook.”

“I can sleep on the couch, yn,” he then says.

You take a step closer to him. “I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His teasing expression softens instantly, replaced by something far gentler. He closes the distance between you, his towering frame making you feel small in comparison.

“You’re never alone,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “I’m here, I’ll literally be on the couch.”

“But if something happens, you’ll be too far,” you pout.

For a moment, he hesitates, his gaze flickering toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. You can see the internal debate playing out in his head, making your chest tighten. However, he can’t resist those pleading eyes.

“You can stay on top of the covers if that makes you feel better,” you suggest.

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he answers in defeat.

“Thanks,” you press a soft kiss on his cheek, but he’s smarter than you and turns his head so your lips meet his. “Desperate for a kiss?” you then mumble.

“Maybe,” he answers with a smirk on his face.

“All you have to do is ask,” your eyes look deep into his.

“Can I kiss you, yn?” he immediately asks, and you nod.

In no time, his lips are on yours, passionately kissing you. His lips are honestly addictive; you’d be able to kiss him nonstop, and the funny thing is that he hasn’t kissed you many times. But he kisses like a god.

“You’re happy now?” you ask when you break the kiss.

“Not really,” he teasingly says while shaking his head.

Jungkook presses a peck on your lips before pressing a thousand others more, causing you to giggle.

“Better now?” you ask once he stops.

“Mmm,” he pretends to be thinking. “No,” he shakes his head before pressing a couple of other kisses on your lips.

The man in front of you loves to hear you giggle and doesn’t want it to stop. It is his new favorite sound in the whole world. Secretly, he hopes he’ll never be deprived of it.

Then, slowly, the kisses move to your cheeks, forehead, jaw, the corner of your lips, and finally they start to descend to your neck. You can feel his round nose pressed against your neck as his lips kiss your skin. By pure reflex, you tilt your head to give him more room, and your hands move to his hair to play with it. A very soft and barely audible moan escapes your lips.

This jovial and playful moment has turned into a very heated one.

“Wait,” you carefully push him with your hands on his chest.

His doe eyes look at yours with concern.

“This isn’t really the most appropriate place for this…” you whisper, the heat under your cheeks growing as his eyes are deep into yours.

“Why so?” his right eyebrow raises up.

“I mean, we’re in the hallway,” you tell him.

His eyes look around. “But there’s nobody except us, yn.”

“I know, but…” you seem to hesitate.

Jungkook finally understands that you’re not really comfortable taking this any further in the hallway.

“Okay, let’s go to the room,” he says with a smile before gently kissing your cheek.

The man grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours while guiding you to your bedroom. Once inside, he doesn’t waste a second and presses his hungry lips on yours. Slowly, he removes his fingers from your hand to remove your grey shirt. He throws it on the floor, and his eyes instantly look down at your stomach, looking for a sign of your pregnancy.

“The bump isn’t showing yet,” you say.

“Can’t wait to see it,” he mumbles, his eyes looking up at you now.

“Me too,” you admit with the brightest smile on earth.

The past few weeks have been hard and chaotic, but amidst all of that, the idea of your belly growing brings you some comfort. It will mean that your little wolfy is thriving, a reassurance that despite everything, life is forming inside you. This is what you’ve wanted since the beginning. You’ve desired to watch your body change since the second you began this journey.

Jungkook’s warm hand comes to rest gently on your stomach, his eyes locked deep onto yours. This moment is so intimate, so profound, and the rest of the world fades away. A soft breath escapes your lips as the realization settles in: no matter what happens the tiny heartbeat beneath his touch will forever link the two of you. You are bound not only by fate but by the life you created together.

“Now lay down on your back for me,” he whispers.

You simply nod before obeying him and lying on the bed. His eyes hungrily devour you as he hovers over you, his body settling in between your legs. His lips meet yours for a tender but fervent kiss. Then, slowly, the kisses move to your cheeks, jaw, the corner of your lips, and finally, they start to descend to your neck, his cute nose pressing against your skin.

Your fingers find their way to his hair, playing with it while he gives you pleasure. Jungkook’s lips keep going down, dangerously getting closer to your cleavage. Your breath is getting heavier, your heart beating faster, and your eyes fluttering shut. As he gets closer and closer, soft moans leave your lips, indicating to him that he’s doing everything just well.

Before he even reaches your breasts, he retreats to take a look at your pretty face. When you feel the cold air brushing against your skin, you open your eyes to watch him.

“Do we keep going?”

“Don’t stop,” you manage to say.

A smile appears on your face. Before you can even comprehend, his hands move down to your waist, and they are pushing your pants down your legs. Once they are at your ankle, his lips hungrily kiss you. You’re definitely desperate for this man. You want more. And it seems that it’s a shared feeling.

Your baby’s father presses his hips against yours, his growing bulge now against your wet core. That sensation alone makes you moan. Teasingly, he slowly rolls his hips against yours, but he doesn’t stop kissing you as a desperate man. You hold his black classic shirt firmly as you moan against his lips. Without any doubt, your panties are getting soaked. Jungkook is fucking you when you’re still fully clothed.

His lips finally set free from yours so he can rest his forehead against yours. His lusty eyes stare deep into yours which causes you to moan. Your walls clench around emptiness, but you’re slowly getting desperate to feel something inside you.

However, slowly, you realize the extent of the situation. You’re about to have sex. You close your eyes once more. His hips never stop rolling against yours, torturing you just the way you need. The grip on his shirt tightens, and moans keep falling from your mouth.

“Jungkook,” you blissfully whisper.

His eyes roam your face contorting with pleasure, a vision he never thought he needed. The man crashes his lips once more against yours; he definitely got addicted to your lips and never wants to let go of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips, his bulge growing inside his pants.

You both know that if you take this any further, there’s no way back. The second you’ll make love, it’ll seal forever your ever-growing bond. And is it what you want? Do you even feel ready? This is something you can’t quite answer yet, but it scares you. Jungkook wouldn’t simply be your baby’s father or your king—let’s be honest as a hybrid, he’s still your king. He’d become your lover.

“Jungkook,” you whisper again against his lips before you open your eyes.

“Mmm,” he says while he puts some distance between your faces to have a better look at you.

“Maybe we should think a bit better about this,” you tell him. “Aren’t we going too fast?”

Jungkook tilts his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“Going too fast? Hmm…” he murmurs, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Let’s see. You’re having my baby, I’ve seen you at your worst and best, and I’ve already committed to protecting you with my life. But sure, let’s take it slow.”

The teasing spark in his eyes makes your stomach flutter, and you playfully hit his chest.

“Jungkook!”

This man is unbelievable, but he isn’t quite wrong. So much has already happened since you’ve met him, and he’s been there all along. He could have given up on you the second he found out about your true nature, but yet, it seems not to bother him at all.

Jungkook laughs before pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“I’m just saying at this point, I think the universe is pushing us together,” he places a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if this is too fast for you, we can slow down.”

The man now lays down next to you, his eyes looking up at the ceiling before they look at you again.

“Thanks,” you smile at him.

“I’ll do anything for you, yn,” he smiles at you. “Would you mind showing me where the bathroom is? Something down there needs some relief.”

Your eyes look down at his crotch that definitely looks compressed in his pants. So you stand up rapidly to guide him to the bathroom. It pains you a bit for him that he didn’t get his release, but hopefully, his hands will do great work.

“Sorry about that,” you tell him once you’re in the bathroom.

“Don’t worry, yn,” he says before kissing your cheek.

You leave him alone, your cheeks burning at the mere thought of what he’s doing in the bathroom. Obviously, you desire nothing more than suck him off, but you can’t. Things are going way too fast between you, and it’s better to simply slow down for the time being.

The doorbell sounds in your apartment, pushing you out of your sleep. As far as you know, you weren’t expecting any guests today. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked Jungkook to sleep at your place.

You stand up, put some clothes on, and look at the man peacefully sleeping in your bed. He looks like an angel, a beautiful angel. Then, your eyes move to the clock you have in your room. It’s almost 10 am. You leave the room as fast as possible to see who the hell is disturbing your sleep.

To your surprise, it is Felix and Lexi. Your heart starts hammering like crazy in your chest as you realize they’re going to meet Jungkook. There’s no way Jungkook is leaving this apartment without meeting them, and it honestly makes you a bit nervous.

“Hi,” you say when you open the door to them.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Felix pushes you into his arms for a hug.

Felix’s arms will forever be the most comfortable place on earth. These arms have consoled you so many times, and they’ve brought peace when times were harder. You take a step back before pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“Hello, yn,” Lexi kisses your cheek.

“What are you doing here?” you ask with obvious confusion.

You weren’t expecting them to come today. It’s a pleasant surprise, but you wish they had warned you earlier.

“We came to see how you’re doing,” Lexi answers. “And we’ve brought breakfast.”

She shakes in front of your face the little bag that carries the breakfast. They instantly notice something’s wrong, and they frown.

“Are you okay?” Lexi asks

“Yn,” you hear a voice behind you, causing you to look over your shoulder.

Suddenly, Jungkook appears, and your entire world seems to pause for a second. Your mouth parts slightly as your brain struggles to process the sight in front of you. Standing in nothing but his underwear, his messy hair falling over his forehead in the most effortlessly and attractive way. He looks like a fucking dream.

As he walks in the hallway, his hand on his hair to adjust it, you can’t help but be hypnotized by how the toned muscles on his body move. Everything from his sharp-cut abs to the powerful lines of his chest, and to his tattoos is mesmerizing. The intricate ink covering his arm only makes him look more dangerously irresistible, like some kind of dark temptation you should absolutely not be staring at this intently. Yet, you can’t help it.

A wave of heat rushes through your face, and you internally scold yourself. ‘For the love of everything, stop drooling’. Especially with Felix and Lexi standing right next to you.

You quickly tear your gaze away, but it’s already too late. Lexi is smirking and Felix seems to be absolutely astonished. Jungkook stops when he sees them with evident surprise, but instead of feeling awkward, he offers his brightest smile to the three of you.

“Hello,” he says when he stands in front of you. “My name is Jungkook,” he reaches out his hand to Felix.

You glance between the two of them, and something instantly feels off. Felix’s gaze lingers on Jungkook. There’s something in his expression, something unreadable yet undeniably curious. Your stomach tightens as you take in the way Felix studies Jungkook. Does he know him?

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Felix shakes his hand. “I’m Felix, yn’s father.”

A smile grows on Jungkook’s face, and he then looks at Lexi. He reaches out his hand to her, and without any hesitation, she shakes it. The smirk on her face doesn’t fade away at all.

“And I’m Lexi, her sister.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Jungkook smiles at them.

It is almost unreal to see the three of them together; you didn’t expect them to meet so early on. And you hadn’t in mind for them to meet a barely dressed Jungkook.

“Jungkook is the father of my child,” you inform Lexi and Felix.

Lexi looks at you with a gaze that says it all. The smirk on her face is almost annoying because you perfectly know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking that you slept with him and that he’s hot as fuck.

But then, as you look at Felix, you can see that he doesn’t seem happy to learn that Jungkook is the father. Is he aware of something about him that you don’t? Felix’s reaction is very confusing.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll get dressed,” he tells you before disappearing again.

“Dad,” you look at Felix. “Do you know him?”

You can’t go any longer without raising the question. There’s definitely something off and you need to know why. You want to know how on earth Felix knows him.

“Not him,” he answers. “But his father.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you notice Lexi has the exact same reaction.

“How?” you ask.

Felix takes a very deep breath; you can tell that it’s a painful memory.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he simply answers. “But you can’t be with him, yn,” he warns you. “You can’t have this child with him.”

You take a step back, surprised by his words. Your eyes scan his face, trying to understand why he’s saying that. There’s something very deep. Is he aware of Jungkook’s werewolf nature?

“Dad,” Lexi says. “What are saying?”

“You heard me well,” his tone is firm, and it sends shivers down your spine. Felix has only been like that when you both were making mistakes at a younger age.

“I’m not going to abort,” you answer. “It’s out of the question, and nobody can tell me what to do. This child has been desired for a long time. Things didn’t happen the way I intended, but I’ve decided to keep the baby.”

“Yn,” he whispers.

Suddenly, Jungkook reappears all dressed. He looks majestic with his full black suit which is a contrast to how he was minutes ago.

“Mister Kang,” Jungkook looks at Felix. “I guess you knew who truly my father was. I guess you knew he was the werewolf king.”

Lexi’s eyes widen at his words, but she’s the only one reacting like that. Felix doesn’t even blink. He’s fully aware of the werewolf world. It leaves you wondering if he knew that your mother was also a werewolf.

“Indeed,” he nods. “I’ve known very well your father, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

This is getting weirder and weirder. How could Felix know personally Jungkook’s father and never say anything to you?

“Thanks,” Jungkook nods.

“Werewolves?” Lexi says with confusion. “And you both knew?” she’s pointing to you and Felix. “How I’m just learning this now?”

Felix looks at his daughter, his gaze softening instantly. Then, pain shows up in his eyes, and it breaks your heart.

“I wanted to protect you both from all of it,” he admits. “I needed to protect you.”

Now, you have many many questions because this is the most unexpected event of the day. Never would you have thought this man would be aware of this world, but it would maybe make some sense because he was super close to your parents. He knew it; you don’t even doubt it.

“Why?” Lexi asks.

“Maybe, I could explain while we have breakfast,” he proposes.

All of you nod and you head to the kitchen. While you prepare coffee, Felix and Lexi put all the things they bought on top of the table, and Jungkook grabs the plates.

“I’m very curious to know how he met my father,” Jungkook speaks to you through your thoughts.

“Me too,” you answer. “This is so weird.”

“My father never mentioned a human friend.”

When all is ready, you take a seat at the table. You, Lexi, and Jungkook look at Felix, waiting for him to finally explain everything.

“Well,” Felix takes a deep breath. “My wife, Olivia passed away when Lexi was only three years old. It’s been the biggest tragedy of my life, and the worst day of my life,” he begins. “One night, we decided to go on a date, just the two of us, and my parents were taking care of our daughter. It was supposed to be a great night; we had a reservation at a very fancy restaurant. But once we left the restaurant, on our way back home, Olivia was savagely attacked by what seemed like a wolf.”

You don’t really remember Olivia, you were very young when she passed away, but you’ve grown up with pictures of her everywhere at your house. She was a very pretty woman, Lexi definitely looks a lot like her.

“Together with some other people, we tried to push away the wolf, and we succeeded. Unfortunately, he had injured her in her left thigh. There was nothing that we could do. In a matter of seconds, she bled to death. When the ambulance arrived, she was already gone.”

So Lexi’s mother was murdered by a wolf, a bit like your parents. The stories are different, but the murderer’s nature is still the same.

“At the hospital, a man, your father, came to me,” he looks at Jungkook. “He told me everything about the werewolves. It was a werewolf that killed my wife, and it was his first full moon, his first transformation. Your father offered to pay for the entirety of the funeral and to give us financial support,” he looks now at his daughter. “He’s the one that paid for your studies; he insisted on doing that. He has also protected us since then,” now he looks at you. “He has protected you too and also paid for your studies.”

So in the end, Jungkook’s father helped the Shadows to find your parents, but he also protected you afterward from this world. It seems so unrealistic, but he probably didn’t know you were a hybrid. Although you strongly doubt it.

“It was a very difficult time, but he stood by our side and helped us. I had so much respect for him, and we would meet sometimes.”

Jungkook frowns. “Did he know about yn?”

“Know what?” Felix seems confused by Jungkook’s question.

Fuck, he doesn’t know about you. Felix clearly doesn’t know you’re a hybrid and that your mother was a werewolf.

“Shit,” Jungkook whispers.

“My mom was a werewolf,” you answer.

“Oh my god,” Lexi says. “I never imagined one second Mrs. y/l/n to be a wolf.”

“So you’re one too?” he says with evident shock.

You nod, saddened that he has to learn this way that you carry werewolf blood. Things would have for sure been different if he knew. Most probably, you wouldn’t have grown up ignoring this side of you.

But one thing seems to be sure: Jungkook’s father knew about you. How could the king not ever realize that in so many years? Maybe he didn’t know, but you strongly doubt that.

“I’m not fully a werewolf,” you confess. “I’m half human.”

Jungkook then remembers a line he read in his father's journal; one that he got to read after his passing. It was comforting to read those words when the grief was too painful to deal with. The line said: ‘I broke the rules, and I’d be doomed if somebody ever found out. But how could I do otherwise? An innocent life would be taken, and I couldn’t live with myself if I’d respect the rules.’

Jungkook never understood what he meant as he was deeply convinced his father always followed and applied the rules. However, today, this sentence seems to make perfect sense. Taemoo knew about your true nature but decided to spare you. He decided to let you live, knowing the consequences. His father protected you all these years. And now, it’s his turn to protect you.

“Which makes me a forbidden species,” you add.

Now that Felix and Lexi are aware of this, it will make things easier. It’s been so so hard to hide this from them because you’ve been used to sharing everything with them. And this motherhood journey is supposed to be theirs as well, but you had to hide a big part of it because humans can’t be told about the werewolf world.

“So,” Lexi says. “You’re the king now, I guess?” she asks the father of your child and he nods. “It then makes yn’s child the heir?”

“That’s right,” Jungkook says.

Felix closes his eyes. This clearly doesn’t make him happy, and it most probably comforts the idea that you shouldn’t have this baby. His grandchild will carry the same blood as the person who killed his wife. His daughter actually carries that blood. It’s hard to accept that.

“Sorry,” he says before leaving.

A tear runs down your face, and Jungkook squeezes your hand when he notices it. This is devastating, and you can only understand your father’s reaction. In his shoes, you would feel the same.

After a couple of hours, you decide to show up at Felix’s house to have a one-to-one conversation with him. There’s a lot to discuss with him about who you and your parents are. It’s not going to be easy, but you really need to talk with him.

Once you’re inside the house, you follow the sound of his heartbeat. You easily find him in the living room watching tv with a beer in his hand. Seeing him like this, it’s as if nothing ever happened.

“Hi,” you take a seat next to him on the couch.

His face turns to look at you with a little smile appearing on his face. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Hearing the nickname warms your heart. It would have broken your heart if he had called you by your name.

“How are you feeling?” you ask with concern.

“Better,” he answers. “Sorry, I left like that.”

“It’s okay,” you offer him a smile.

Felix puts down the beer bottle on the coffee table before grabbing your hands. His eyes are filled with softness, and it’s comforting.

“Did you spend the last twenty years hiding yourself?” he questions.

You shake your head. “No, I only found this a couple of weeks after I got inseminated.”

“Great,” he answers. “I would have felt terrible if you had kept that a secret from me all these years.”

Even if it’s scary to reveal something this big to someone so dear to your heart, you’re sure that a younger version of yourself would have struggled to hide this from him. He was your anchor. Navigating this by yourself would have terrified you.

“I’m not sure I would have managed,” you admit with a smile growing on your face.

“I think so too,” he says. “And how have you been feeling?”

You proceed to explain how these past few weeks have been nothing but an emotional roller coaster. You explain how it felt to learn that your parents hid something this big from you. How you hated them for a while. How you felt after finding out why they were killed. How you felt while going through your first transformation. You tell him everything.

Felix listens to you and raises questions from time to time. It’s obvious that he’s sad your parents didn’t tell him anything. They were his best friends, and knowing that all these years they hid this broke his heart. But he also understands why they didn’t. If he hadn’t seen with his own eyes a werewolf, he would have never believed them.

“I guess now you’re dating your child’s father,” he remarks, his tone light but laced with curiosity. The memory of seeing Jungkook half-naked clearly lingers in his mind.

“No,” your cheeks are invaded by a strong heat wave. “We’re just friends. He’s been guiding me through all of this, that’s all.”

Felix tilts his head. “Friends?” he scoffs. “You two don’t look like two friends. There’s definitely something going on between you. I can sense it.”

Your gaze drops down at your hands, suddenly finding your fingers fascinating. There’s no way you can lie to him, you perfectly know it. Felix can see right through you; he always could.

“There is something,” you hesitate before adding. “But it scares me.”

“Why sweetie?” there is obvious concern in his voice.

For a minute, you close your eyes, inhaling deeply as you try to untangle the knot of emotions in your chest. How do you even put this into words? When you finally look at him again, your voice is quieter.

“I’ve never felt like this before. Being around him is different. He makes me feel safe,” you swallow hard, barely above a whisper as you finish. “Like I can finally breathe.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, yn,” Felix watches you closely, his expression softening.

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. “It’s not, but it also is.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. You sigh, trying to find the right words.

“Everything is happening so fast. My entire world has changed overnight. And Jungkook… he’s overwhelming in ways I can’t explain,” your voice drops to a whisper. “He makes me feel safe, but at the same time, I feel like I’m losing myself to something I don’t fully understand.”

Felix tilts his head slightly, observing you as if he’s piecing together a puzzle.

“And that scares you?”

You nod, exhaling shakily.

“More than I’d like to admit. It’s like…” you try to find your words. “Being around him is both calming and chaotic. I crave his presence, but I’m also scared of what it means. If I let myself fall completely, what happens when he realizes I’m not enough? What if all of this is just a product of our circumstances? What if it’s not real?”

Felix leans forward, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. His hand grabs yours in an attempt to reassure you.

“Yn, love isn’t something you measure with logic,” he starts saying. “It’s not a list of pros and cons, and it surely isn’t something you can control,” he squeezes your hand gently. “Whatever this is between you and Jungkook, it’s real. I saw it the second you looked at him.”

“But I don’t know if I can handle it,” your chest tightens. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Maybe that’s the beauty of it,” Felix gives you a knowing smile. “Maybe you’re not supposed to figure it all out alone. Maybe Jungkook isn’t just someone who came into your life—maybe he’s part of your journey to finding yourself.”

His words settle deep within you, stirring something you’ve tried so hard to suppress. You’ve been so focused on resisting, on fearing the unknown, that you never considered the possibility that Jungkook isn’t here to take something from you but to show you a part of yourself you never knew existed.

“I don’t know,” you shake your head.

“Don’t overthink, yn,” he gives you a little smile. “Just follow your heart.”

Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop fighting what you feel for Jungkook.

As you’re standing in front of the impressive gates of Jungkook’s mansion, your heart beats immensely fast. You’re about to meet his mother. A mother that apparently has expressed her desire to meet you. The mother of her grandchild—or should you say—the hybrid. It’s making you nervous because 1) she’s Jungkook’s mother, 2) she’s the queen dowager, and 3) she knows you’re a hybrid.

To your surprise, he didn’t hide from her what you truly are. You’re not sure if he should have done that, but she’s also going to be part of your family. Your baby is also forever going to link you to her. She deserves to know who you are. In the end, you believe it’s best she learns it from her son.

The gates finally open, and you drive to the mansion. Jinwoo, Jungkook’s valet is waiting for you, and as last time, he shows you where to park your car.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles at you while opening the door.

You’re still not used to someone opening your door, but you guess you’ll have to adjust to it.

“Thanks, Jinwoo,” you offer him a bright smile. “Is Mrs. Jeon already here?”

“Yes, she is,” he nods. “She’s discussing with Mister Jeon in the living room. They are waiting for you.”

Now, your heart pounds even faster as the realization hits you: They are waiting for you. When can you die? Probably now. This is making you way too nervous, but you don’t have much of a choice. She’s the grandma of your child. The only living one. Well, that’s not totally right. Even though Felix isn’t your biological father, he’ll also be your child’s grandparent.

“Follow me,” Jinwoo informs you.

You both walk in the direction of the first floor's living room. This mansion is still extremely impressive, and you still wonder how Jungkook can live by himself here. As you get closer to the living room, his presence grows stronger. It feels like you’ll never get used to this feeling, but you like it because it’s quite reassuring.

Jinwoo stops in front of a massive door—and you do the same. The man knocks at the door and only opens it once he hears Jungkook’s approval.

“Miss y/l/n is here, Mrs. and Mr. Jeon,” he informs them.

With a beating heart and shaky legs, you step inside the surprisingly small room. Although still spacious compared to your living room, it feels almost intimate within the vastness of the mansion. The soft glow of warm lighting bathes the space, casting gentle shadows that dance along the walls.

Plush furniture is arranged thoughtfully, creating an inviting atmosphere that feels more personal than the grand halls you’ve passed through. The scent of aged wood and faint traces of something musky—perhaps cologne or the lingering essence of past visitors—lingers in the air.

It’s cozy in a way that surprises you, the kind of room that feels lived-in despite the house’s regal stature. You take a slow breath, allowing yourself to settle into the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting space. You definitely like the vibe of this room.

Jungkook and his mother are standing in the middle of the room, their eyes glued on you. The young man offers you a sincere and bright smile. His mother, on the other hand, is kind of analyzing you, but you’re not sure. She’s just looking at you with an unreadable face, the same one her son always has. Mrs. Jeon is a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an undeniable aura of power and confidence.

“Do I need to bow?” the words don’t leave your lips, they are only addressed to Jungkook.

“Yes,” he answers through thoughts. “She’ll appreciate it.”

Standing before her, you lower your head in a respectful bow, the weight of the moment settling heavily on your shoulders. The woman before you exudes an effortless grace. A grace only someone with high stature would carry. Dressed in an elegant yet understated outfit, everything about her radiates authority.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her after you bowed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, miss y/l/n,” she offers you a little smile.

Your eyes quickly look at the man standing next to her, he looks beyond hot. He’s wearing a casual outfit which you honestly prefer on him. The suits look really good on him, but baggy pants and a large shirt look way better.

“Do you want to drink or eat something?” Jungkook asks.

“I’d like a glass of water if you don’t mind,” you answer.

The werewolf king nods before heading toward the door, instructing Jinwoo to bring water and some biscuits. You swallow hard as the three of you sit down on the couch. Jungkook takes a seat next to you, offering silent reassurance with his presence, while his mother sits across from you, her posture impossibly straight, radiating authority.

The air is thick with an unnameable tension, and you can’t quite tell whether it’s just the nerves of meeting someone as powerful as Mrs. Jeon.

“How are you feeling?” she politely asks.

For a moment you hesitate, wondering if she’s asking how you feel in general or referring to the pregnancy.

“I’m feeling good,” you cautiously say, trying to keep your tone neutral. “But the morning sickness has been hitting hard.”

To your surprise, a smile grows on her face.

“I understand,” her eyes now move to her firstborn. “I still remember how hard it was when I was pregnant with Jungkook.”

Her voice is so soft, melodic even, and it’s a bit of a contrast compared to the aura she exudes. For a moment, you take a proper look at Jungkook’s mother. Her son has inherited so much from her: the deep, thoughtful doe eyes, the perfectly sculpted round nose, and even the way they hold themselves with quiet confidence. You wouldn’t say he’s a copy of his mother, but he takes a lot after her. And he certainly is as good-looking as her.

“I think up until the sixth month, I wouldn’t go a day without throwing up,” she adds with a small chuckle as if the memory is distant but still vivid.

“Oh wow,” your fingers unconsciously rest on your stomach. “I hope that in my case, it will be over by then.”

Her gaze moves down to where your fingers are resting. She’s looking at your stomach—the undeniable proof of your connection to her son. The moment is brief, but it carries weight. She’s acknowledging the child, but perhaps also the unspoken implications of what it means for her family.

“Every pregnancy is different,” she finally says.

The air slightly changes, still filled with uncertainty, but not entirely unwelcoming. Maybe she’s just as uncertain about you as you are about her, but one thing is clear for you—she’s making an effort.

“And in your case, very unpredictable,” she adds.

There’s absolutely no doubt that she’s referring to your hybrid nature. It doesn’t surprise you; you knew she’d bring that up. The other way around would have surprised you.

“I know,” you answer, your eyes looking down at your hands. “And to be honest, I just have as many questions as you do, but I want to believe that, like any other mother, I’ll find my way.”

“I’m sure you will,” she gently says. “And you’re not alone.”

Your eyes now look up at her with obvious surprise. She notices your expression, a little smile subtly appearing on her face.

“I’m sure this is not easy for you,” she begins. “Discovering being a hybrid while being pregnant must be scary. But it’s also scary for us because you’re the very first hybrid. Nobody knows how to react. I personally don’t,” she admits. “You aren’t supposed to exist, neither the life growing inside you.”

Your heart resumes to beat rapidly in your chest.

“But if you’re still here, I guess it’s because the universe protected you, and fate chose you to be the mother of my grandchild.”

Her eyes very quickly gaze at her son; it’s very subtle but you notice it. You notice something briefly appearing in her gaze. Like some sort of heavy secret between her and her son. Something that you definitely want to know now.

“Jungkook made it very clear that he’ll protect you,” she continues. “And as a member of our family now, we will protect you.”

Tears start forming in your eyes while your heart swells with an emotion you can’t quite explain. Hearing her say that you’re a part of her family is honestly something you didn’t expect to hear today. Especially from her.

“I will for sure need some time to adjust to this new reality, but Jungkook deeply cares about you. As a mother and a wife, I can only understand what he feels.”

Jungkook’s hand meets your thigh to squeeze it gently. This gesture is a very comforting and reassuring one. Instinctively, you place your hand on top of his. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the Jeon’s matriarch. To her, there’s absolutely no doubt that you’re her son’s soulmate. It’s just so obvious.

She then asks you many questions about your past, how you found out about your hybrid nature, how you’ve been dealing with the news, and how it has been for you to discover suddenly this entire werewolf universe. Even though it’s clear that she’s not entirely comfortable with you, she’s making an effort. One that you deeply appreciate.

You’ve also got to know more about her. She’s a very honorable woman, and you can only admire her for her strength. She’s been a queen and she lost her husband two years ago. The mention of her husband seems to still be painful to her, but she liked to speak about him, to remember the man he was.

Although you were extremely nervous to meet her, the mood slowly softened, and the nervousness slowly faded away. It definitely was a pleasure to meet her. To meet the grandmother of your child. To meet Jungkook’s mother. But it was beyond anything else a pleasure to see Jungkook interact with his mother.

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